Prowl Stimboard 🤍🖤❤️

prowl stimboard 🤍🖤❤️

Warden's Pet - Overlord x Prowl - Chapter 2

Check this post for Chapter 1, this is going to be a three-chapter-story! WORD COUNT: ~4900 WARNINGS: 18+ NON-CON, Violence TAGS: Sticky/Valveplug, Torture, Punishment, Revenge, Restricted Movement, Toy Usage, Electrostimulation/Shockplay, Overstimulation, Spark Play, Non-consensual Voyeurism

Final Warning! Prowl is NOT enjoying this!!!

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When Prowl came back online, his first reaction was a pained groan. It took him a moment to register his position, servos behind his back, leaning against a cold metal wall. Very creative, really, to use his own handcuffs against him. It took a while for his sensory system to work, but with satisfaction he recognized himself to be fully repaired. He could see, he could hear, his frame seemed to be a mess no more. Even his face was fixed, although an uncomfortable sensation was still haunting him, some pain in the joints from the stiffness of being immobilized. Leftovers from a previous surgery, he remembered the feeling, albeit it usually had different reasons. The current reason for his predicament was sitting at the desk across the room, pedes on top, tapping away at a communication pad. Prowl could still feel him on his tongue and suppressed a gag at the thought of it. Overlord's lips curled upwards with every ping of the comm-pad. He noticed Prowl returning to his senses in his periphery, so he spun the chair around, landing his pedes with a heavy thump, taking a quick snapshot of the view and apparently shipping it through the console. Curious, Prowl thought to himself, whoever was on the other line trusted Overlord with their contact data, they were close enough to be updated on Prowl’s condition, but not close enough to communicate over the personal communication system that would be the standard. Then again, Prowl’s own personal contacts were limited to those that he worked with regularly, the only current exception being Jazz, who rarely ever utilized the old code. Prowl would not be surprised if he, like Chromedome, had changed his contact data by now.

“Good Morning, Prowler!”, Overlord hummed, an uncannily cheerful melody to his words. A nickname as rarely used as his personal code, usually by the very same person. He checked the line. No, nothing. Still jammed, he had no means to communicate, not even his emergency signal could get out. Perhaps that was why Overlord used the console. Perhaps getting his fingers on it would be Prowl’s way out? All he had to know was who the contact on the other side was, perhaps they would be convinced to help him. But could he really rely on- “Maxie’s happy with my work, you know.” No. No, he couldn’t. Fortress Maximus had brought him into this situation and as a convinced realist, Prowl knew he was not gonna go anywhere if his closest contact was the warden. He defaulted his gaze to an annoyed glare, pressing his intake shut to form a straight line. Overlord chuckled. “I fixed you so carefully and all I get is a glare. That supposed to be intimidating?”, he said, the mockery clear as day. He typed a last message into the comm-pad and got up, casually picking up the little pill from the day before and strolling over to Prowl. “Cute.”, Overlord spat out, grabbing Prowl by the chin. He had to reach down to do so, the smaller mech barely reaching his knee in his current posture. “Yesterday, as much fun as I had…”, Overlord licked his lips, caressing Prowl’s face as he did, as if it were an extension of his glossa, “I have so much more in stock for you.” With that Overlord knelt down, bringing himself closer to Prowl and yanking him up, using the hands that previously caressed his face to choke him against the wall. Of course, the ventilation system was not impacted by such a movement, however Overlord dug his blunt digits into the fuel lines that ran down Prowl’s neck, resulting in a choked noise that allowed Overlord to force his glossa into Prowl’s intake, pulling him into a violently deep kiss. Once they parted he went for the neck, biting at cables, drawing Energon just for the bliss of tasting it. Prowl underneath him tried to pull away with no avail, he vented heavily from the willpower that was needed to suppress any kind of noise that would make his captor happy. He wouldn’t give in so easily. He could use him until his face warped into a state of no recognition and still, his mind would not break.

Prowl did not remember laying on the floor, panting and moaning around a spike that had long left. Neither did he remember Overlord recording this moment of no dignity to send it to Fortress Maximus. He was left to believe that he passed out from being used, from being abused in a beaten state. He was left to believe that his processor had never blanked out.

“Second chance Prowl, you’re only getting three”, Overlord said, lips stained in pink. He held the pill up, offering it to his prisoner in an unnervingly urgent, yet gentle matter. What was it anyways, what kind of drug was Overlord so intent of putting him under? Prowl’s reply was a well-aimed spit, for once his instincts had overruled his reason. He wasn’t getting out of here anyways, he was going to be abused whether he behaved or not, what did it matter? He still had pride, he still had his will and his intellect and those were things that Overlord couldn’t frag out of him. Overlord let out a dry chuckle as he wiped the oral lubricant from his face and rewarded Prowl with a flick to his optic, strong enough to break the sensitive glass. It wasn’t enough to provoke a reaction. He returned to his desk once more, placing the pill on top and rummaging inside the drawers.

With half of his vision gone, Prowl had to tilt his head to get a glimpse of the box that Overlord dug out before casually walking back to him, sitting down cross-legged with an almost serene smile. Overlord was silent. Prowl did not like that. Silence was just another way to torture him, surely. Among the most suspicious behaviors were either chatty bots being silent or silent bots drowning your audials in a flood of information all of a sudden. Prowl had two options, no, three. He could ask Overlord about his plans, however this would most likely either result in his calm smile turning into an arrogant, knowing one, feeding his otherworldly ego even further – or he would receive a reply that would give him everything except for a clear answer. He could also attempt to get into Overlord’s head, figuring out by himself what he had to offer, what he could be planning, what he was toying with inside the container of which the lid had been conveniently angled to just barely obscure the secret item. Besides the obvious wonder of what was in there, what he was planning was another question. Tightly intertwined with the third option was one more: Did Prowl want to know what was going to happen? As much as he hated being out of the loop, only being able to watch, listen and let happen rather than to calculate and take control, what benefit was there to go through the effort of knowing how this would play out? He could demote his mind to be a spectator and just wait. Patience was no weakness of his, he had plenty when needed, but evaluating his current situation was exhausting in many ways.

To only wait, to not act, was that not a surrender in itself?

Silence, he swore to that thought and went back to the second option. Overlord knew a lot about him, information that was without a doubt passed on by Fortress Maximus, perhaps even by a network of bots he had ticked off in the long years of war. Prowl’s jaw tensed up by the mere mention of his name, by the memory of bots not rarely turning violent against him due to some infantile grievances. A heated feeling ran through his pulse. What pathetic behavior it was to not only be bitter about a minor mishap some years ago, but also to not execute this grudge himself. He didn’t expect this cowardice from someone like the unwavering warden of Garrus-9. Prowl discarded the topic and refocused on the box, trying to get a proper view of Overlord’s servos, of his face that was now deep in thought. He looked up. Their optics met. Overlord smiled. “Eager, aren’t you?”, he said, cocking his head. Prowl took a moment to recognize the statement and snapped his neck into a different direction. Maybe in the reflection of Overlord’s optics he would have been able to see what he had in his servos. He considered the thought but couldn’t resume his analysis. He could feel the stare digging into him and didn’t want to risk encouraging the banter any further. Being forced into a position of cluelessness gave him a headache, he had no need for something as ridiculous as this mockery to worsen that condition. Prowl tried to focus on the noises of fidgeting, hoping for hints among the general clutter. He heard metal clicking together in assembly, he heard plugs being connected and if he concentrated very deeply, he heard a slight electrical whirr.

It was an unfamiliar collection of noises, at least up until the point where the whirring grew louder and eventually turned into distinct vibration. He recalled the feeling of a spike in his mouth and shuddered involuntarily, turning his head back to Overlord who, as if in celebration turned the box around with exactly the knowing smile that Prowl had expected to see. As he had predicted. That was good, he thought, he was managing to get a better read on his opponent. He looked down into the container and his short-lived victory immediately died off. The vibration had in fact not misled him, a fake spike was neatly placed in the center. Prowl did not have much experience with them, being too prideful to indulge in this kind of pleasure, however he still recognized by the assembly lines that this was a customizable experience. Considering the parts that weren’t installed and the amount of time spent on building it, Overlord must’ve had chosen a very specific collection of mods. There were barely any hints visible from the outside though and that was what made Prowl feel a sense of dread creeping into his system. He suppressed the urge to throw up and forced his mind to silence itself before the possibilities of what this creation was capable of made him lose his cool. It was a proper size, but smaller than Overlord’s. He hated his ability to even make that comparison.

His face unfazed, he looked at Overlord who was now fully grinning. Prowl’s servo twitched in the sudden desire to punch the grin off his face. He wasn’t in charge of his annoyance today, certainly an inconvenience. Inconvenience was an understatement, he corrected himself, this hateful thinking was a sign of Overlord getting to him. It was an actual problem. “You know what this is?”, Overlord said, feigning innocence as he picked up the toy and turned it around in his servo, allowing Prowl to inspect it. “A false spike.”, he replied dryly. No emotion, no expression, just a voice with a hint of static. Surely left there from the day before. Overlord’s grin widened as he pointed to the box. “What else is there?”, he asked, his voice melodic and amused. He let his thumb caress the underside of the fake spike, an internal clicking could be heard. It was reactive, almost impressive. Prowl’s gaze wandered to the case. He saw cords, discarded parts, cables strewn around in a messy way. It was a sight that would put any orderly mech into stasislock but there was nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. A trick perhaps, to fool him into overthinking. A trick that didn’t work. Being afraid of things that didn’t exist was something he left to the more superstitious mechs, to those that feared things like gods or sparkeaters. He looked back up to Overlord and gave him his reply: “A mess.”

The hollering laughter that followed inflicted only a small injury to Prowl's confidence; his fuel tank however seemed willing to crawl out of his throat in aversion to the sound of being ridiculed. “Maxie was right! Oh, he was so right about you!”, Overlord almost cheered, openly sharing his amusement as he put the spike to the side, spinning the little chest around and plucking some specific electronics out of it. Prowl didn’t recognize them; he was not an engineer, a scientist, a doctor or anyone that would bother himself with such things. “Come on, you’ve never seen these?”, Overlord said, leaning forward and giving Prowl a closer look at one of the roughly thumb-sized circuit boards. He stared at them blankly before replying with a disinterested negative. “Impressive, Prowl, you’re either the most boring bot I’ve ever met- “, Overlord was repeating himself, that was a positive, “- or you really have as little game as they say you have.”

Prowl scoffed, internally rolling his optics. There were many, far more important things than interfacing. Sure, he could not deny the significance in knowing how crucial intimacy was to a social species like theirs, however aside from using it to gain vantage he saw no value in it. Any bot he ever held close had eventually ended up turning their back and surely enough Prowl did not miss the voices around him. Not Jazz’ never-ending cheer, not the Constructicons’ endless support, not the intellectual challenge that had accompanied him through Chromedome. All of these relationships had been temporary alliances for his benefit, a moment of pawns moving alongside each other, alongside their strategist, before ultimately separating again to relocate and adapt a more advantageous position. There was neither time nor need for sentimentality, all it did was interfere with his work. With his mind. With anything. Overlord reclaimed Prowl’s concentration by attaching a circuit board to his neck. A technology similar to Simultronic, perhaps? He remembered the machines; he remembered the addicts that more often than not ended up so lost in their hallucinations that they perished from not consuming any energon. He never pitied them from overindulging. A sudden shock rippled through his body, springing from the neck and rushing through the fuel lines straight to his array. The unexpected sensation drew a surprised hiss from him before he snapped his mouth shut in horror of his own noise. Overlord released a jeering snicker in response and attached a second board on the other side of Prowl’s neck, a second rush to flood his body. This time he was prepared, he remained silent and motionless despite the invasive sensation. Another set of circuit boards was attached to the wrists behind his back, to the insides of his thigh, one right between his doors and a final one on his torso, right above his modesty plating. Prowl mentally prepared himself, expecting a wave of pleasure-inducing signals to flood his body, but nothing happened. Overlord put away the chest and as he was standing near his desk anyways, he resumed to chatting with presumably Fortress Maximus.

Prowl was left to wonder just how exactly their relationship dynamic worked, analyzing the relaxed way that Overlord sat in his chair, legs occasionally jittering in excitement, the expression in high spirits, as every other message had his face twitch just for a moment. One could count the amount of times Overlord drew his glossa over his lips, sometimes biting it, holding it while typing and slipping it back into his intake. Lewd messages as encouragement or motivation, most likely. Disgust was the sole judgement. Without even doing as much as looking at Prowl, Overlord’s expression evolved into an increasingly lustful grin before touching the false spike that he had placed on his desk, caressing it with utmost care. The message that followed let him release an appreciative whistle as he pressed the button in his hand. The button that had previously activated the-

Prowl’s processor had to reset from the amount of electricity exploding in his frame. Too many sources, too much stimulation all in one shock, the moan that left him being no more than a pained cry as his sensory system was violated with pleasure impulses beyond anything comfortable. The temporary disconnect between higher and lower functions led to the vocalization being aired shamelessly as he bent forward, cowering as his frame tensed and trembled, as he tried to calm his voice and ventilations. Insults were muttered, so laden with static that it was barely recognizable which words he attempted to use, oral fluid bubbling from his intake along with the wiper fluid that dripped from his optics. Just with the press of one single button, Prowl had become a mess. Somewhere in his mind he envied the powerful tool. How useful it would have been in the earlier days. How much time he could have saved by using it on his victims. He inhaled sharply, drawing a slight whistle from his ventilation system before swallowing the pooling oral fluid and shutting his mouth. He straightened his posture as best as he could and gave Overlord a disdainful glare. Even with only one functioning optic, the other still broken after being flicked and cracked, even with tears still shimmering on his cheeks, Prowl’s arrogant defiance seeped through as he held his head high enough to give the illusion of looking down to Overlord. He merely had been caught off-guard, he still had himself under control. He was prepared now; he knew what to expect from the little applications that were so carefully placed in sensitive spots. His doors still twitched slightly, the charge being persistent in them, but as long as that charge was kept far away from his interfacing equipment, he saw no reason to worry. He sorted his processor, attempting to coax his functions into thinking about escapes and plans and mind games instead of giving any attention to the growing pain in his body. The shock that had filled him with heat before had left him to feel suspiciously cold now in its absence. Temperatures were a way to simulate intimacy and comfort. A cheap trick that he was immune to. He knew warmth, but even better he knew the lack of it; the true freezing cold of solitude. He reveled in it. Overlord was doing him a favor. Prowl still had the upper hand.

Overlord typed a last message into the communication pad and resumed to Prowl, bringing both the remote and the false spike with him. He knelt down, grabbed Prowl’s face by the sides and wiped away the tears with his thumb, licking the wiper fluid from it as he purred deeply. For once, he didn’t comment on anything, he merely tapped the modesty panel that held back Prowl’s aching interface equipment. “No.”, Prowl said firmly, knowing exactly what the silent order meant. Overlord seemed satisfied by the statement, wrapping his hand around the panel instead and locking their optics in search for fear. All he found was a provocative boldness, unflinching and prideful. He slowly tore the cover from its place, watching Prowl’s expression tense up as he clenched his jaw tightly, keeping his vents steady and controlled. An agonizingly rough creaking sound filled the room along with the growing noise of systems running in overdrive, covering up the barely audible grunt of pain as the plating finally came off, only to lovelessly be thrown to the side. Prowl’s pressurized spike twitched helplessly as the cool air caressed it, the valve vulnerable and wet, aching to be loved, but quickly hidden by Prowl pulling his legs together. Overlord could not ignore such a sweet plea for mercy, forcing his knee between them, travelling his servo up Prowl’s thighs and gently drawing it along the edges of his valve as he pressed the remote in his other hand. Prowl noticed the motion early enough to stiffen up, but his frame was not nearly as resilient as his mind. He grit his dentae as hard as possible, trying to use the pain as a way to remind himself that he was a captive, that this was a forced situation, that this was not pleasurable, but merely the foreplay of worse things to come. Overlord pressed the button for what felt like an eternity, watching Prowl attentively as the initial impact wore off and the previous petulance returned. At least to his face it did, his interfacing equipment was speaking in a completely different tone. Prefluid dripped down Prowl’s spike, lustfully decorating the tip and gliding along the underside in a display of pure want. The valve was just as needy, perhaps even more, making a mess of Prowl’s thighs, vibrant lubricant painting him and the floor beneath. Overlord dipped his fingers into the liquid, contemplating about whether he should have a taste or not. He decided against it, instead holding Prowl’s head steady and smearing the fluids across his face. Overlord licked his lips with delight, putting his servos on Prowl’s knees to spread them apart further. Keeping him exposed with one servo, he grabbed the false spike with his other, kissing it gently, causing it to vibrate ever-so-slightly under his tender touch. Prowl realized where this was going, not that he hadn’t considered the possibility before, it was just the lack of certainty that had been missing from his calculations.

The last variable was in place; instinctively he unraveled one of his legs, kicking the servo that tried to hold him in place. The cuffs that kept his wrists tied recognized his attempt to fight back as an attempt to flee, activating the programming to send an electrical shock through him to immobilize and prevent his escape. The electricity was amplified by the circuit boards, sending a raging current through his frame, an unfiltered and honest scream fried his vocalizer as the movement had trapped him in a circle of pain. How had he miscalculated this badly? Had this been a scheme? Never, no, Overlord wasn’t that smart. Prowl had expected the cuffs to react, considering he was the one who specifically requested them to be made that way, but he hadn’t thought about the boards. Writhing in pain, there was no way to fight back when Overlord caught his leg and used the leverage to spread him wide and lay him down. “I don’t remember allowing you to enjoy yourself.”, Overlord said smugly before shifting his weight, breaking the hinges of Prowl’s doors, their clattering coming to a halt upon being disconnected from their body. After securing his prey, Overlord realigned the false spike and forcefully rammed it into Prowl’s valve. Prowl swallowed a groan, the pain from being filled so suddenly was nothing compared to the torturous experience he had made just mere moments beforehand, leaving him sore from a mistake caused only by himself. He felt the spike inside him twitch, it was curious just how realistic it felt, how responsive it was. Even more so, how long Overlord waited to make his next move.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, Overlord slowly rotated the spike as he pulled it out before ramming it back into him, fully sheathing it. His heavy servo on Prowl’s chest prevented the deep ventilations required to cool his systems, a pressure right above his spark, it would be easy to just crush it. Prowl almost hoped for this mistake to happen, but this was not the death he wanted. Violated by a tool, by a mech he had attempted to use before. He cursed Chromedome for failing his mission and freeing Overlord. He cursed him for opening his mind to Bombshell. Absentmindedly he began cursing other mechs, with every thrust that Overlord hammered into him he cursed someone else that was somehow at fault for his current situation. It was his last straw, an effort to cling to his own sanity as he felt the false spike slide in and out, the noise of it unbearable enough to make him miss the way his senses had been dampened the day before. Prowl could feel his calipers stretching more and more, having a hard time to let go once they got caught by the surface of a spike that he could swear was growing every time that it pounded into him. His optic was online, his dentae gritted, his ventilation almost calming from the steady rhythm. He fled himself into a safe space of noting other people’s mistakes, of reevaluating situations and knowing that he was the smartest mech in most rooms, that he would end up as the superior victor of every game he played. He reminded himself that this was only happening because of Fortress Maximus’ inability to let go of the past. To see the bigger picture that was so blatantly obvious. He reminded himself that this happened because he was Prowl, he was a, no, the strategist with plans beyond a simple warden’s understanding, beyond the understanding of a psychopath that turns prisons into gladiator pits. Who else would be able to endure this and keep their integrity intact

No matter how forceful Overlord was, Prowl seemed to almost doze off while daydreaming, his face was tense, his body under constant stress, but his mind seemed to be distracted, at ease even. Overlord couldn’t allow this relaxation and pulled out the spike entirely, watching as the empty valve twitched, lonely and abandoned. Poor thing, he thought, resisting the urge to invite himself into the warm and welcoming port. He balled the servo that kept Prowl down to a fist, lifting it off of him before smashing it to his chest. Only the slightest grunt was heard, a disappointment. Overlord repeated the motion, with more force. He hit him a third time, and a fourth, until with the fifth a cracking noise announced the injury that he aimed for. Prowl immediately returned to the present, his optic flashing back to full brightness. He felt a stabbing ache in his spark chamber and the warm feeling of energon spreading in his internals. Overlord released the drills from his fingertips, Prowl swallowed down the anxiety that the noise of mnemosurgery equipment caused in him. Overlord was not Chromedome. Overlord was not Bombshell. Overlord was better. Tempering with his mind the direct way was the easiest method of manipulating anyone, but Overlord didn’t do easy, it was not his style. He had to do things in the most complex and extravagant ways, it was in his nature and he knew he could allow himself this arrogance. This indulgence. Prowl turned his head, looking up to see his captor hovering above his chest, the drills not yet activated. He had been waiting patiently for Prowl’s full attention before turning on the drills, slowly resting them on his captive’s chest, a vibration that not only reached his spark immediately but also had his whole chassis feel the sensation. A nudge to his valve was all the warning he got, Prowl tried to disconnect himself from his body, shutting down his optic willingly. This was not a surrender. This was acceptance. This was preparation. He felt the drills enter his spark chamber at the same time the spike entered his valve. The drills vanished quickly, only being used to make it easier for Overlord to tear open Prowl’s frame to expose his very soul. Prowl shuddered as the cold air hit his internals, the shuddering being answered by the spike inside him activating its vibrations. Overlord grinned, touching Prowl’s spark ever so slightly with surprising reverence. He didn’t seem to have the intention of injuring it, which was about as unexpected as suspicious. Even worse, it was the most pleasant feeling so far, dizzying Prowl’s processor into a delirium that he had a hard time keeping himself out of. He couldn’t hold back a shaky moan, soft and pathetic, only ever so slightly audible but filled with despair. Overlord immediately drew back his servos, leaving Prowl’s spark craving and his valve neatly plugged by the false spike that was still happily vibrating. Overlord stepped back, typed into the console, snapped another picture of his work and returned to the messy scene. Prowl laid sprawled on the floor, leaking, exposed, expressionless. Overlord gave the false spike a kick before bending down and securing it with tape, making sure that it wasn’t going anywhere. Along with it, he taped the remote for the circuit boards to its base, a steady current now running through Prowl that was blurring together with every other sensation into a mess of pleasure, pain and misery. He couldn’t distinguish a punch from a caress anymore, it was all just the same in this void of consistent stimulation. Even his thoughts were no more than electrical signals passing through his processor. Overlord got up, and sighed with contempt. “See you tomorrow, Prowl.”, he said, his voice almost nearing sympathy. He turned off the consoles and lights, Prowl’s body being the only source of illumination as his biolights flickered weakly. Overlord halted for a moment. “Take the pill. I mean it.” He muttered as he left the room.

The door was still open.

Prowl couldn’t afford to care.

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And with that, Chapter 2/3 is done!

My ask box is as open as always, currently running an offer for free horny headshot sketches if you wanna see more of my illustrations 👀

Until then, keep your eyes peeled for Chapter 3 and the release of this 'fic on my AO3 where it will have the proper formatting~

48 notes View Post

getaway-sucks-ballzzz

9 months ago

Transformers as memes - a thread (pt. 4/?):