Feminine Troubles 20
Author slinks sheepishly out of the shadows, ducking thrown objects as she goes. After checking to make sure no one is looking, she dumps a chapter on the doorstep and runs off into the humid night…
But seriously folks, sorry this took so long. I hit a writer's block like nothing I've ever encountered before. It may have been made out of basalt, and I was a little short on dynamite. Fortunately, a wandering muse left me with some industrial strength etching acid, and it eventually ate past the blockade.
Also, the wonderful Naggingfishwife, who did such great art for this fic appears to have left Livejournal, which is a terrible thing for all the fans, and I hope she's ok. Alas, I don't have copies of any of the fanart for this story.
Also, regarding the recent instances of stories being removed from FFnet for content; I find it very upsetting that they are choosing to simply purge stories for the sake of censorship. After all, the entire point of having a ratings system is so that people can avoid content that they do not want to see.
Should this story be removed, it will be available in whole on my Livejournal, where I am Thornwitch1. It is also currently up at its original home on tfanonkink, also on Livejournal. I am trying to back up all of my reviews for both of my stories, because I'd hate to lose them.
I considered simply posting a bowdlerized version here to start, but frankly, this story is both sex positive and female positive, and I don't really feel that it would be emotionally scarring for anyone, unless they have some serious issues.
Ravage was having Issues. Damn the Autobots, damn Optimus Prime, and Damn Primus for interfering in their war with some gender bending and this thrice damned Heat. Of course their fragging deity would have to be the universe's worst matchmaker. Cybertronians were just lucky like that.
She paced, her paws making no sound on the metal bulkheads of the Nemesis. She seriously needed to get out of here, before she did something she was liable to regret. Like finding the nearest mech who was at least quasi size compatible who was not a member of her team and fragging him silly.
You knew things were bad when you started eyeing Dead End and wondering if he would be reasonably trainable in the berth. Ravage had always been of the opinion that when one interfaced with a much younger mech, the important thing was to leave them better than they were when you found them, but even she wasn't quite ready for that much of a fixer-up.
No, indiscriminately pouncing on the first mech that came handy was no way to go about something like this.
It was a bad idea on so, so many levels she didn't want to contemplate it too hard. There were a few Decepticons who she would actually consider fragging under normal circumstances, but that didn't mean she wanted to ibreed/i with any of them.
If she was going to have kittens (and a part of her was excited by the idea) she wanted a competent sire, who she had at least a modicum of respect for.
She needed a bigger cross-section of mechs, or possibly more stringent methods.
Boss? she sent over the private comm. frequency that she used to speak to Soundwave. I need to speak to you. It's important.
Not to far away, the third in command of the Decepticons on Earth had a sudden sense of foreboding.
Naturally, Bumblebee had called for help as soon as she spotted the seeker. For the few minutes between Dirge grabbing her and him dropping her like Sam with a not-so microwave safe dish after foolishly removing it from a heating unit that Wheeljack had been tinkering with, it had seemed like a really good idea.
Now however, it seemed like perhaps she had overreacted.
There were a pair of short, normally attitudinal Decepticon twins giving her hopeful turbopuppy optics and shuffling their stabilizing servos.
"So…" Frenzy said suavely.
"Uh…"His twin continued, looking like a cybernetic version of an opossum staring at the oncoming headlights of a multi-ton vehicle.
Bee finally took pity on them, giving them a sweet smile. "Thank you for the rescue, Frenzy, Rumble." She said. "You were very brave."
Frenzy scoffed. "What, taking on that flying box of loose bolts? We ain't afraid of Dirge or his bunch of looser wingnuts." Rumble elbowed him in the abdominal plating. "Uh, but if you think it was brave, then that's awesome!"
Okay then. Definitely didn't have to worry about hostilities from the cassette twins. That was nice to know.
"So, uh, Bee, is it all right if I call you Bee?" Rumble said. "Now that you're here, and we're here, we were wondering, if maybe you'd like to do an activity some time? Or, if you want, the three of us could frag like turbobunnies. That would be cool too."
Well, that was… unexpectedly direct.
Bumblebee was honestly tempted. Both offers were good ones, given that she had been really, really horny lately, and well, twins. Besides, it was sweet how they had been all homicidally aggressive in coming to her rescue and then became all bashful.
They were really kind of cute, in a punk Decepticon kind of way, and she was pretty sure they were somewhere near her own age, which was nice. Dating a much older mech was sometimes good, but she didn't like it when they started acting like they knew better than her because they remembered the Golden Age, back in the good old days, and she had been sparked after the uprisings had begun.
She opened her mouth to suggest that they meet up sometime soon, perhaps to view the phenomenon known as the Aurora Borealis, which was supposed to be unexpectedly strong over the next few days due to a series of solar flares, when she was interrupted by loud comm. chatter and the sound of high performance engines rapidly approaching their location.
The cavalry she had called earlier was about to arrive.
One particularly unpleasant thing about the current state of their beloved, broken homeworld was that it took forever to get anywhere.
Elita sighed in irritation as they had to stop iagain/i for Torchweld to do a quick patch job on one of her troop's gyros. This time it was Moonracer, who was sitting on the cracked, rubble-strewn surface of what had once been the busy main artery of a small provincial outpost.
Elita was leaning against the corroded wall of what could more-or less be termed a building. It looked like it had once been a large compound, possibly the residence of a group of special-function mecha who had made a particular product of had a specific skill set. Now it was just a ruin, of course. It had probably been one since before the war really got rolling. A lot of these small towns had been abandoned early on when energy began to get scarce.
She didn't recognize the place anyway; they were a long way from Iacon, where she had spent most of her function prior to the war.
The Decepticon slaggers had it easy with their flight mods. They didn't have to navigate the planet's slagged up infrastructure like grounders did. Elita often wished that she and her Autobots could simply fly over the ruined, blocked, and sometimes boobytrapped roads of Cybertron.
Chromia came to lean companionably next to her. "The scouts haven't seen anything. Same for our spy eyes, unfortunately."
"Frag." Elita said feelingly. "We can't go in guns blazing if we don't know where our guest is, and I'd really like to avoid walking into negotiations with Shockwave without any intel."
"Well, there's always plan C" The blue and silver femme smirked. "Put a bag over Shockwave's head and do it for the Autobot cause. He'd be putty in your servos in no time."
Elita snorted a laugh. "Gee, Chromia, you have such a way with words."
When they moved on, Elita was still chuckling a little under her breath.
Perceptor had been repaired, washed, waxed, and buffed to within an inch of her existence by a veritable army of Shockwave's drones. While this was immensely preferable to being hacked, interrogated, tortured, or any number of horrors rumored to be visited on mecha unfortunate enough to fall into the clutches of Megatron's steward, it was still somewhat worrying.
The cycloptic mech hadn't done any of her repairs personally, and looking at his one clawed servo and one gun barrel, she was distinctly relived by that. He had...lingered in the repair bay, though. A few seekers had come in to gawk as well, but Shockwave had made them leave as the tiny repair drones skittered over her armor.
Then there was the small talk.
He was awful at it, which she had a certain sympathy with, but given that she was still waiting to hear what terrible fate was in store for her, she didn't feel the sense of fellowship she otherwise might.
The Autobots would be willing to negotiate for her return, or they would send a team to rescue her. Assuming they knew where she was, which was by no means guaranteed. Still, she kept hoping to hear the ghostly pede-falls that might mean Mirage was here for her...Not that the femme in question would actually make such a betraying noise...
Shockwave had escorted her to a small, barren room and left her. She was quite certain that the slightly shinier patches near the tops of the wall were sensor suites, and they had passed numerous security drones and a few seekers on the way here. The seekers had leered.
Naturally, Perceptor was now sitting on the spare berth, building a three dimensional rendering of all of the parts of the base she had seen so far. She added the sections she was able to extrapolate from other sources in different colors as a way to stay organized. While she was unlikely to get the opportunity, she would use any maps she was able to create in an escape attempt if at all possible.
Failing that...well, there were rumors that Shockwave was starved for company here on Cybertron. Their reports indicated that the seekers spent most of their time scattered across the globe instead of in his presence, and most of them were undereducated younglings, in any case. Being charming and entertaining was not exactly her forte, but Shockwave was what Wheeljack or the humans would refer to as a "nerd" and might find the things she had available to her as conversational topics interesting.
The spec opps femmes had had an overcharged conversation one night about the "Scheherazade Gambit." She had listened, rapt, as Bee, Mirage and Jazz had spun out (doubtless embellished) tales of beguiling and distracting more physically powerful foes using variations on it over the long eons of war.
Basically, it involved using a combination of seductive whiles and excellent storytelling to keep your captors from killing you while you awaited rescue.
She had never had much in the way of whiles to use, but at least now she had the "feminine" bit to add to what little she had available...
Ironhide caught Ratchet's optic from the other side of the conference table. She then tipped her helm towards Optimus, a speaking expression on her faceplates. The medic nodded her understanding.
She agreed completely with her old friend, it was time to do an intervention on their Prime before said leader fried something out of sheer pent-up sexual frustration. While her dedication to duty was commendable, Optimus was not operating anywhere near her optimal levels, and was visibly short-tempered and easily distracted. Something needed to be done, and as the CMO, it was her duty.
Well, she was quite sure Ironhide would be happy to lend a servo as well.
Their leader needed some quality overloads and a nap before doing any more strategizing, and they were just the femmes for the job. Besides which, Jazz looked likes she was about to vibrate out of her armor if she didn't get some relief soon. The visored femme was sitting next to the Prime, and she didn't seem to be dealing with the massive onslaught of cyber pheromones and hungry, searching energy fields well.
None of the mecha in the room were unaffected, but the head of special operations definitely seemed to be the worst off. Ratchet would prescribe a couple of hours of Prowl and possibly a box of magnetic restraints, but the two of them could probably figure it out for themselves.
Finally, the meeting ended, and the mecha present gratefully filed out, expressions of relief on their face-plates.
As Optimus headed for the door, Ratchet and Ironhide boxed her in, each one of them grabbing an arm. The bigger femme looked down at them, her expression puzzled. "Is there something the two of you need, my friends?" She asked gravely.
"Huh, I'd say there's something YOU need, Prime." Ratchet growled. "Before you make everyone on the base explode out of frustration. You know better than this."
"I beg your pardon?" Optimus asked.
"You need an overload Prime." Ironhide replied bluntly. "And you don't seem willing to take things into your own hands, so we're going to see that you're taken care of. Now, bend over the conference table. I have something to keep you occupied on our way to Med Bay."
"I…what?" The Prime looked baffled, even with her features hidden by her mask. "I have had more overloads in the past week than I normally do in a month. It can't possibly be that bad."
"Over, Prime." Ironhide commanded. " I can feel the heat coming off your plating, and you've been sitting in a meeting for the last hour. "You're going to hurt yourself and you're making everyone else crazy."
Optimus granted that her old friend might have point, since she felt like she would do almost anything to have a spike or two in her valves right now, but this seemed a bit excessive. On the other hand, she trusted Ratchet and Ironhide, and a medically necessary overload or three never did anyone any harm.
On the other other hand, she needed to set a good example for the other Autobots, and not allow her own selfish needs and desires to override the general good. "Ratchet, Ironhide, I appreciate the thought, and I am deeply touched by your concern, but this is the middle of duty shift, and I do not think it is appropriate for me to be engaging in recreational activities during it."
Ratchet facepalmed, a human gesture that most of the base had picked up. "Optimus" she growled, "you not taking care of your basic needs is setting a much worse example, and besides, you're our Prime. You're far more than just a military commander, and it's very slagging unhealthy to everyone for you to forget that."
Optimus couldn't help but squirm a little at that. She knew she was sometimes guilty of ignoring the more priestly duties associated with her title in order to take care of her military duties. There were ceremonies and observances that didn't always get completed, and she still hadn't taken the time to undergo the deep meditation that would let her search the Matrix for information on previous femme Primes to see if she was missing anything…
Ironhide added her two credits. "Come on, Optimus. If it was anyone else, you'd be giving them a few hours leave to take care of an issue like this." She looked stern. "We talked about this: no treating yourself worse than you would treat another bot."
She stepped further into her leader's EM field, her own reaching out with a blaze of sensual hunger, and lowered her voice to a purr. "If you won't take some time for yourself, take it with us?"
On her other side, Ratchet did the same, her field reaching and caressing.
Optimus Prime knew when she had lost a debate, and this was one of those times. With an almost inaudible groan, she gave in. "Very well, I shall trust your judgement in this." Both of her officers grinned. "Excellent, Optimus!" Ratchet said. I'm glad you're willing to listen. We want you to be healthy and comfortable, and also to not drive us all insane."
"Yeah, what the Doc said." Ironhide chimed in, grinning. Now, why don't you be a good commander and turn around and plant your elbow joints on that table. Wheeljack made you a present."
When her friend and commander followed her instruction, and leaned over the conference table, bracing her servos on its shiny metal surface and presenting her aft to them, Ironhide had barely begun to stroke around the joints of her hips when her panels snapped open.
She could tell this little intervention was more than overdue. They would have to keep a closer optic on their leader for signs of strain.
"Right." Said Ratchet sarcastically. I can see that you're totally keeping up with a reasonable level of self maintenance. Really, Optimus, it's not like most of the Autobots on this planet wouldn't jump at the chance to assist you with this." The medic sauntered over to the conference table, and reached up to grab and expertly stroke one of the Prime's audio sensors. The action was rewarded by a deep purr.
"Yes, Ratchet." She murmured, optics at half power. The fingers petting her antennae gave a quick tweak.
"Optimus, you need to take better care of yourself, or at least let the rest of us take care of you." The medic scolded. "We hate to see you so uncomfortable, and besides, you're not functioning at anywhere near optimal if you're suffering from the Heat without any relief."
"Hmmm, heat? What do you mean, Ratch?" Optimus asked. She squirmed as Ironhide's fingers wriggled their way into her anterior valve. She was embarrassingly wet with lubricant, proof that her processors had not been on her work.
"Mmmmm, oh, YES, Ironhide. Do it deeper…" she murmured softly, her hips undulating back into the thick dark fingers that were burying themselves in her sopping port. It felt SO good to be filled, though the fingers were nowhere near enough. What she really needed was a mech or five, with nice sturdy spikes and plenty of stamina. She spread her legs farther, her other port clenching on nothing.
She wanted to be filled, rust it all! Why couldn't Ratchet and Ironhide have spikes!
"Yes, Optimus, Heat. Which we're going to sit down and discuss after you have a nice maintenance session in Medbay. But first, we're going to prep you a bit. Hide?"
There was a chuckle, and something was being inserted into her anterior port. Something round and hard…it stretched her opening a bit, then was pushed inside, only to be followed immediately by another, and then another. "Ah! Ironhide!" she gasped as the three connected spheres rattled inside her when she arched her spinal struts.
A big hand patted her aft. "Okay Optimus. You can close up, and the three of us are going to take a nice walk down to medical."