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Ratchet was under the impression that Nightlock attempted to run late to their parties. However, today he was clearly taking his sweet time, pulling Ratchet along slowly and letting the mechs ogle his prize. And he wasn’t shy about selling his toy to just about whoever came up along the way, today, either.
“UH! UH! UH! UH!”
His most recent buyer overloaded in him with a grunt while fisting the leash tight in his servo, drawing a latent cry from the veiled Ratchet. He was the seventh on this journey, and the toy was practically already full. He pulled out and let Ratchet slide down the back alley wall he had been fragged against, only held up by the tugging of his leash.
“You do know how to pick ‘em, ‘Lock,” the mech said, handing the leash back to his owner. Nightlock smirked and shrugged. The mech clapped him on the shoulder before pulling his spike back into its casing and walking away.
Ratchet was under no illusion that he was Nightlock’s only shareware. He’d seen enough photos and videos of other repeat mechs and femmes to know there were others. But his owner kept his toys separate, or so he thought.
Nightlock pulled him up, his red cloak falling back over his exposed valve (the rules were still the same—he’d made the mistake of not realizing that as they were leaving his building. He was damn lucky no one was in his hallway today.)
He was dragged back up on his pedes, transfluid pooling on the rough ground beneath him. Nightlock got a glimpse, and his smirk widened. Ratchet knew this got him off—seeing his things used, knowing he decided who used them.
“You know, I haven’t told you much about this party yet, have I?” he pondered aloud, pulling Ratchet back towards the main street. They were only a short distance away now. They could have gone through the back alleys, but then Ratchet wouldn’t get as much attention. And no, Nightlock hadn’t told him much about the parties because he never told Ratchet anything about the parties. He was thrown in sight unseen, used however the buyers pleased, then returned to his owner, who’d take him afterwards. It was a simple cycle, and Ratchet had only needed to use his safe words twice (which of course put the whole show to a halt immediately—Nightlock made sure of it).
“This one's a bit special,” he said, after approaching a door in another alley out of sight of the main street. “You’re not the only thing on the menu.”
With that subtle warning, the door was opened without either of them having knocked. Nightlock stepped in first, dragging Ratchet behind him. It took no time at all for Ratchet to spot them.
Shareware. Return to Nightlock.
Two collars, both reading the same thing. Not Buymech, like his, but Shareware. The two mechs were of different builds—the deep green one strong and tall, and the light blue one short and lean. But they were both Nightlock’s—and they weren’t even for sale. They were free. They both also had the magnetic cuffs on both their wrists and ankles. He also caught the print on the wall opposite the three toys: his (apparently their) safe words and signals.
He felt a servo on the small of his back, and he was shoved forward, into the waiting arms of the other two toys. The toys each took one of his servos, and suddenly they were writing in hands.
I’m Skydrive, the light blue one wrote, while the green one wrote Apexer.
It took Ratchet a second, but he replied with his own name to both of them while they lifted the veil off of him. It was at this point that he noticed the other twenty bots in the room, spikes out, watching from the walls as if allowing them to know each other before breaking all three of them. They both shot him a quick smile before Apexer unhooked his cloak, letting it fall to the floor and revealing his already transfluid-covered valve. Whistles rang out at the sight of him.
:: They have the same rules. :: Nightlock commed, stepping forward to point out the sign with the safe words on it. :: They’ll fight, but trust me, they're just as into it as you are. ::
Ratchet didn’t speak, just nodded in his direction. In this room, the only noises out of his mouth were supposed to be him begging for mercy or moaning, and eventually begging for more spike. Nightlock grinned in approval—he had trained his toy well.
“Well, I’m not one to keep everybody waiting,” he gestured to the three in the center of the room, huddled up as they began to assess their surroundings. “Have at them!”
Ratchet didn’t have much time to observe the sex swing, the holes in one of the walls, or the multiple sex toys strewn about the room before they were on him like a pack of cyberdogs, pulling him away from his fellow toys. It didn’t take long for a spike to be shoved into him, causing him to wail.
“W-waIT! AH! AH!”
Whoever was behind him took his hanging leash and pulled, forcing his head up and back to arch as he was fragged. He managed to spot Skydrive being shoved to the floor and onto a spike, his mouth quickly filled by another one. He only saw him for a few seconds, though, before he too had a spike in his throat.
They never started slowly, he found. When they pounced, they fragged him like they hadn’t fragged in weeks, desperate and violent. He was gagging before he realized, being manhandled in some direction he couldn’t place. After a couple of minutes, the spike deepthroating him overloaded, the mech grabbing the sides of his head to hold him there as he spilled into Ratchet’s pipes. Once he was done, he let his head drop. Ratchet tried to swallow as much as he could, but he had already been on his knees twice tonight, and he couldn’t take much more in. Before he knew it, the mech fragging him also overloaded, pulling his leash until he was almost choking. Instead of pulling out, that mech forced him up against what, at first, Ratchet assumed was a wall. Until he looked up and realized why he had been moved into this particular spot. The mech removed his spike quickly, and another filled him in its place in an instant.
“Heard you like being watched,” this mech whispered before biting Ratchet’s final. Ratchet couldn’t move, pressed against the window like he was, facing the main street of the slums. The spike began to pump in and out, picking up the pace.
“Ah! No no plEAse! D-don’T LET anYOne—sEE!”
But mechs did see, or at least heard. They glanced up, and some even paused, watching as the mech fragging him laughed and just went harder. Primus, a dozen bots must have been watching him, witnessing the toy get fragged. He’d developed a reputation, he knew that, in his months of being Nightlock’s prized buymech. Maybe some even recognized him.
“AH! AH! WAit! AH! NO! nO!”
The mech just cackled, taking Ratchet’s helm in one servo and shoving it against the glass, forcing his cheek against it as he panted for relief. From this angle, he could see both the bots watching him from the street and in the room, the ones in the room self-servicing to his torment.
Suddenly, he heard another mech’s moans right next to his. His fragger didn’t mind letting him turn to spot his fellow victim, Apexer, getting shoved right next to him. The window was perfect for two mechs, side by side. She was being fragged just as ruthlessly as he was, though her collar had no leash, and he was being held on to by the collar itself.
“NOO! YoU CAn’Tt!” she begged through her cries, struggling against the cuffs magnetized against her back. But Ratchet saw her optics, blown wide with lust. Nightlock wasn’t kidding. They really were just as into this.
Soon enough, their protests were drowned out by grunts and screams, pounded into submission as the audience on both sides of the glass witnessed their spike-filled valves and fragged out faces.
“UH! AH! AH! UH!” “OH OH OH OH!”
They were both there a while—when a mech finished inside them, another simply stepped in and kept them in position, never stalling for a second. At some point, they had released Apexer’s servo, and she had taken Ratchet’s, holding on for dear life as both of their drool collected against the glass. Their audience grew, onlookers openly lusting after them while finding their own partners to frag in the crowd.
Ratchet couldn’t pay attention to the green toys' conquests, but he counted seven overloads in him by the time the last one pulled out, finally letting him collapse against the glass and floor. He was quickly taken by the leash, however, and dragged back into the room, abandoning Apexer to her continued fragging.
Already fragged out of his helm, Ratchet could hardly keep track of where he was going, dragged against the floor, until he was thrown on top of him.
“UGH! AHH! AHH! PleASE! Let ME! GO!”
The mech he was on top of was Skydrive, facing him, begging to be released with overstimmulated tears in his eyes, and the mech Skydrive was on top of was fragging the blue toy with a brutal pace. Ratchet didn’t have time to push off before someone was pushing down and pushing in.
“AHH!” Ratchet cried as a particularly large spike stretched him open, someone settling on top of his back and beginning to thrust. Quickly finding a rhythm, both toys were taken pressed up against each other, Ratchet’s drool dripping into Skydrive’s open mouth. Their moans weren’t synced, crying out the second the other had finished doing so.
“AH!” “UH” “AH!” “AH!” “OH!” “PLeASE!”
Ratchet’s servos were pinned between the blue toy’s and his chest, and he was too stuffed to get his legs working. He was immobile as he stared into the wanton optics of his fellow toy, trying not to fall entirely on top of him.
“Make them make out!” he heard someone yell from the viewing party. Before he could react, his face was being shoved onto Skydrive’s, forcing them into a bruising kiss that drowned out some of their moans.
The cheers that rang out and the transfluid that sprayed on them as the mechs self-servicing completed suggested that two objects kissing while being used was very appealing to the party at large. Ratchet felt the transfluid he had swallowed dripping into Skydrive’s mouth and tasted the mech who had overloaded in his. He jerked with each thrust, but the servo on his helm kept him down and interwinning his glossa with the blue toy’s. Eventually, his helm was pulled back, only for someone else to take it and push their spike into it as Skydrive’s wails began again.
“AH AH PLeASE I CAN’t—” anything else he was trying to say was drowned out by a particularly harsh slam, a scream punctuating the sentence.
It had been hours, at this point, and all three mechs overloaded in them at relatively the same time. They slid out from under and above the two toys, too exhausted to untangle themselves. They both panted desperately, transfluid pouring from their holes. Ratchet felt the familiar feeling of energon being spilled onto the two, all the way from their helms to their exposed valves, as their audience laughed and watched. Skydrive was already broken. Ratchet could see it in his face as it twitched in pleasure.
After a few minutes of witnessing their handiwork, a mech pulled Ratchet off the blue shareware and rolled him to the side, back against the floor. Before wondering why, a struggling Apexer was placed between them, lying with her aft in the direction of the other two’s faces. Pulling his helm up to see her face, he realized she’d been equipped with an open-mouthed gag, allowing her to suck spike but silencing her pleas. That was the only thing he could absorb before mechs had rolled under them, and all three of them had a spike in their valve again, fragged in sync and all in a row.
“AH! AH! AH!” “PLEE—Ee—E—EaSE!” “UH UH UH UH UH!”
After a few minutes, three other mechs joined in. Screaming as their valves were stretched as tightly as they could go, all the toys had two spikes fragging them at once. Their screams shook the walls as Nightlock stepped up to snap pictures and film. Their shouts couldn’t drown out the smacking of the spikes against their valves, or the squelch of their well-used holes with each thrust. They were all being split apart, servos scrapping against the floor in an attempt to escape, before their wrists were magnitized the the ground: leaving them truly helpless in the servos of their captures.
It wasn’t long before their mouths were filled, too. The rest of the party towered over them as nine mechs fragged the three toys, bringing themselves to completion and adding to the transfluid already caking their mesh. Ratchet’s optics rolled into the back of his helm as Nightlock tossed a couple of markers to the buyers. If he could’ve focused on anything but the three spikes filling him, he might have noticed the beginnings of marks and writing against his and his fellow toys’ frames. But a spike was overloading in him just then and being replaced with another spike and again and again and all he could think about was being fragged out of his mind and he bet that’s all they could think about too.
It must have been hours before they were finally released from the torment. As the last spikes pulled out, a vibrating plug was shoved into each of their valves, trapping the transfluid inside of them as it dripped out of their mouths. Their ankles also magnetized to the ground, they were left there, abandoned on the floor and constantly stimulated. The party-goers gouged themselves on energon and high-grade as the toy’s tears of overstimmulation pooled onto the ground. They whimpered and moaned, and when they could eventually pull their glossa’s back into their mouths and form words, they two without gags pleaded.
“T-t-take i-it oUT!” Ratchet cried weakly, trembling violently.
“P-pleaseEE I CAn’T—I caN’T—” Skydrive panted, overloading once more with a shout.
Their pleas went unanswered, of course, save for the few attendees who came by to pour their cubes onto the sobbing messes below them. Covered in blue and pink and writing Ratchet knew well (SHAREWARE, SPIKESLEEVE, FRAGTOY, TRANSFLUIDDUMP), they kept overloading alone for well over half an hour.
Ratchet was the first to be released, dragged up by his helm, and he was also the first to discover what those holes in the wall were, as he was shoved through one and felt a shutter close over his waist. He was met with another view of the street, this time of a well-travelled footpath, as floor-to-ceiling glass left his front open to new viewers. Several had already collected around the open wall, staring intently at the newest victim. They had certainly done this before.
Before he knew it, Skydrive was pushed into the hole to his left, but legs first, leaving his valve exposed to the street audience. He saw their silent cheers, and he kicked in resistance. It was then he saw the screens up above the three holes, facing the viewers, and realized they were a live view of what was on the other side of the wall. No part of them was to be hidden.
With the final addition of Apexer to the wall (still in her gag and face-first like he was), the buyers began to take their places. He watched as a single mech came to their side of the wall and lined up with Skydrive. With no further preamble, Ratchet felt the plug get yanked out of him, and a spike slide in its place—and from the cries of the others, they did as well.
The cheers of the viewers grew more rambunctious as Ratchet and the other toys keened and cried. The tears returned to Ratchet, streaming down his face as he jerked with the force of his fragging. He tried to plant his servos against his side of the wall, push himself forward, but it was no use—he was stuck.
“AH AH AH AH AH AH!” A drop of drool flew down his chin as his glossa lolled out of his helm, trying to pant through the fragging. The other toys weren’t doing much better, screaming and sobbing through the overstimulation. He locked optics with several of the mechs through the glass, watching him and the others be used like the fragtoys they were. Primus, were those speakers outside? So they could hear the distraught moans of the shareware? By the Allspark, Ratchet was being heard by everyone.
After what must have been hours, several changes in the onlookers, and at least eight overloads, they were all pulled from the wall. After a meer moments break, they began their use all over again.
Skydrive was taken to the swing, Apexer to a table, and Ratchet back to the front-facing window. He had several of the same audience members as before, waiting for their favorite entertainment to be fragged in front of them again.
Ratchet had no idea how long it had gone on. They kept switching locations, being fragged separately and together. At one point, all three of them were stacked on top of each other, Ratchet in the middle and facing the other direction, and fragged at the same time. They were made to eat each other out, lapping up the transfluid from the dozens of overloads spilled into them as another fragged whoever was eating from behind, and another took to one being eaten out by the mouth. Someone at one point brought out a three-pronged false spike and shoved the three onto each prong at once, and that was only one of the litany of sex toys they brought out. A couple of mechs had even played a game on Ratchet’s back as they fragged his mouth and valve, rolling a ball over it and trying to hit each other instead of letting it roll off. The toys never fragged each other, as their spikes were all locked away, but they were, of course, each fragged by Nightlock on separate occasions (Ratchet lasted the longest).
When the last party member cleared out, at least several hours more than half a day later, Ratchet truly thought it was over. All three toys were hanging by their wrists from the same chain in the center of the room, fragged out and shattered. Their twitching, trembling, and drooling were their only movement. Nightlock, with his everlasting grin, walked up to them casually, releasing the magnets and letting them collapse against one another on the floor. Before they even shifted, Nightlock had attached three leashes to their collars and pulled them up. This was typically the part where Ratchet was adorned with his veil and cloak, but his owner made no move to do so. Instead, he began dragging them to the door. Groaning with the movement, but too tired to resist, they followed him out to the back alley.
Ratchet realized what was happening too late, as his and their wrists were magnetized to the outside wall, leaving them facing another sign. A sign with their safe words and signals on it. A sign that said, FREE USE.
“NooO!” Ratchet cried, struggling against the restraints. The other two were too fragged out of their minds to do even the slightest pull. Sighing, Nightlock walked up to Ratchet and took his chin in his servo, forcing him still.
“Oh, please, we both know you want this, plaything. You want anyone who wants to use you to have you, take you and frag you like the fragtoy you are.”
Ratchet felt his collar fall from his neck, and another replaced it. He didn’t need to see it to know what it said—the shocked stares from the other toys gave it away.
Free use. Return to Nightlock.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Enjoy yourselves~” he sang with a smile, before pressing a button that sounded a bell. He walked away, and in seconds, the alley was filled with the mechs who were viewing them while they were stuck in the wall.
Despite their cries and pleas, they were taken over and over again, used carelessly, and with no regard for their comfort. Fragged and used and fragged all over again, their never-ending moans rang through the streets.
“AH AH AH! PLEASE! NO! MORE!” Ratchet cried to one of his fraggers, who just slapped him again and fragged him harder. These mechs were even more brutal than the party-goers—slapping and biting and tugging, leaving no part of them unblemished. The wall behind them and the ground beneath them were covered in transfluid, constantly pouring from the toys’ valves as spikes were replaced with other spikes and more spikes. Ratchet’s optics were embedded in his helm at this point, his glossa permanently out and dripping. The others were the same, broken beyond repair as fifty more mechs surrounded them, some not waiting their turn and pushing a second spike in their abused valves. Their cries were so loud that mechs came from the main street—certainly not to rescue them, but to join the line. Eventually, someone figured out how to lower the toys’ wrists so they could use their mouths as well. Never releasing them, but now moving them up and down depending on which hole would satisfy them, sometimes using both.
“OH OH OH OH OH” “NOoooOOOoo” “FRAG—PLEASE—SAVE—US!”
They had been first attached out there a little past midday. The sun had set by the time Nightlock returned to clear the crowd.
All of their legs had given out hours ago. They hung there, processors fragged out of them, completely and utterly broken. Their only sounds were their panting and moans, their only movement their quivering and the transfluid spilling out of them. They each had several toys shoved into them, vibrators and beads and other things they couldn’t see. The wall behind them had been littered with text that could be read even through the copious amounts of pink fluids dripping down it.
FREE USE
GREAT FRAG
KEEP STUFFED
TRANSFLUIDDUMPS
FRAG THEM
ROUGH FRAG
FREE SPIKESLEEVES
Nightlock took a photo of the three of them up against said wall. None of them registered it. Nightlock smiled at the sight of his favorite toy’s new collar, guaranteeing him too whoever came across him. He wondered what the walk home would be like now. Unfortunately, there was still a while until the walk came.
Nightlock stepped up to Skydrive first and took his turn. Stuffing his spike into his valve, he fragged him quickly, drawing feeble cries from him. He took Apexer next; her noises were nothing but grunts.
Finally, he claimed his favorite, shoving his spike in with no remorse. Ratchet screamed—the only one who still could. With a curt laugh, Nightlock took him by the throat and pressed him against the wall, fragging him hard but slowly. Ratchet cried out with every thrust, the spike dragging through his worn valve at an agonizing pace. Fresh tears sprang to his optics, which his owner possessively licked away before overloading into him, adding his transfluid to his toy’s collection. Releasing his throat, Ratchet slacked against the chains, still conscious by a thread.
“You all did so well~” he praised, taking Ratchet's chin and kissing him fiercely—receiving no response. He stepped back, letting his toy drop once more.
“You did so well, in fact, you’ve earned a six-hour break. Recharge while you can, ‘cause you’re booked out for the next two days.”
Ratchet tried to mutter a protest, but all that came out was a wanton moan that brought a grin to his owner’s face. He watched Nightlock open the door and step inside, leaving them out there, before finally passing out.
He woke up to a new spike in his valve, exactly six hours later. Rested, he and the other two toys were barely back to their senses again, crying and shouting with every thrust as Nightlock leaned against the opposite wall, watching them.
They stayed locked up there for what felt like eternity, constantly stuffed and fragged by mechs who probably hadn’t fragged anyone in months. Anyone who came by, if they were clean, was allowed to frag the three pieces of shareware mounted to the wall.
There was a moment, however brief, when he had a sliver of sanity remaining—where the toy thought the Nightlock should make him a permanent installment for anyone to use for the rest of time.
And then another mech overloaded in him; he broke all over again, and he ceased to think at all.