#idw vortex

While this dark and scary version of his own beloved First Aid straddled his lap and forced him through an agonizing cycle of teetering on the edge of release and wondering just when his tanks might finally burst, Vortex lay prone and helpless beneath him, his limbs tied down and his frame strapped in place. He couldn’t move, he could barely breathe, and with every new dish First Aid lifted up to feed him, Vortex wondered just how long this new brand of delicious suffering would last.

His belly had grown taut after nearly an hour of slowly being fed, and his tanks were well beyond their capacity for the amount of food and fuel they could safely contain. He had long since passed the stages of painful discomfort and sickly pressure. Now he was just struggling to break free and panting for a big enough breath past his big, bloated belly, though every attempt he made to tug against his ties and tilt his helm far enough back for the straps around his neck to stop digging into his tender mesh were never quite enough to satisfy him.

Every time he moved, it was another teasing coo from his captor as the imposter of a medic reached down to stroke the swollen sides of his frame. When he dared open his mouth to speak, it was another bite of food forced down his throat for him to eat. He couldn’t win against this mech, and he couldn’t escape or come out on top. He had thought he could, and he had thought he might, but now, as his belly grew bigger and his tanks cried out in protest, he realized he had really met his match.

Vortex had had some high hopes about this opportunity. The where, why, and how had confused him, just like it confused the rest of the bots on Cybertron currently struggling to make sense of the new wave of their seemingly duplicated selves turned good or evil running around, but him? He didn’t care all that much after catching sight of the other world’s First Aid prowling the streets and staring down whoever was foolish enough to block his path.

From the moment Vortex had saw him, he knew he wanted to get something out of this multiverse disaster before it all ended… but slag, was he in over his own head.

Dark painting colored black was streaked with blood red armor in all the wrong places compared to his own First Aid, and the steady skill to those servos as they tightened the ropes around Vortex’s frame left him begging for more.

When this First Aid proved to be crueler, bolder, and so, so much nastier, Vortex knew he had gotten himself into some fee trouble. It was agonizing and torturous in ways his own Aid always could be, but never dared to be unless pushed. This First Aid, in comparison, was excited, eager, and cared little about the consequences of his self-indulgence as he watched Vortex shiver and squirm beneath him. This First Aid was heartless as he gorged Vortex on more food than Vortex could ever hold, and this First Aid was giddy as he forced Vortex’s spike in and out of him—slowly, surely, but never enough in either direction to ever matter. It was the best kind of edging and the worst kind of spike-warming, because every time Vortex came close, this First Aid was there coming down on him again and stopping him in his tracks before restarting the wicked cycle all over again.

This First Aid was heavy on the teasing as he worked, his servos roaming and his fingers constantly slipping under the tight spaces between the ropes covering Vortex’s frame and his hot, steaming plating.

“You’re not so feisty anymore,” the dark First Aid said, his helm tilted to the side as though he were studying something foreign to him as he slipped his fingers beneath the knots he’d tied and watched Vortex shiver. “You’re cute, though… like a pretty little bug before I crush you underfoot.”

He moved forward again, sliding lower and filling himself up with the rest of Vortex’s throbbing spike as he leaned in to feed his captive another bite.

“Eat up, little bug,” he said, a servo patting Vortex’s tight belly as he leaned in, painfully crushing the swollen curve beneath his weight. “You’ve got a long way to go before I even start thinking about letting you pop.”

Vortex groaned as the new medic shoveled a massive forkful of something rich, sweet, and creamy into his mouth, but First Aid was quick to cup a servo over his mouth and force him to stay silent with a gentle shush.

“Chew,” he said, his fingers curling around Vortex’s face as he waited for the mech to obey, “and swallow.”

Vortex tried to turn his helm away. He tried to thrust forward, desperate for friction, then he tried to shift back, hopeful that this First Aid would follow. He tried to break free of his bonds and take control of the situation, but to no avail, because Primus, was this First Aid good. He was damn good, and slag… he clearly knew his way around ropes, restraints, and chains.

Vortex’s frame was tied down expertly, the knots elaborate and the tension just right. It was the work he himself would have performed on an Autobot during an interrogation, and it was the type of skill he would have expected to find in a partner who was looking for some kinky action and hungry for a bot to tie.

It was even better than the finest of the work he had ever done, really—the loops were tight in all the right places, and the straps were stiff as they held his legs apart. His belly plating was stripped, and his abdomen was exposed. The mesh on his frame was left bare and free to grow as Aid filled him up more and more and more, and the ropes holding him down only grew stronger the bigger he became and the more he struggled.

Vortex couldn’t move at all. He couldn’t move around the heat warming his spike. He couldn’t move whenever the dark First Aid fell onto him and filled himself up with Vortex’s spike as he filled Vortex up with food. He couldn’t chase that warm, slick heat when it drew back and left him desperate for something to hold him, and he couldn’t pull away when the pressure became too much, the weight on his stuffed belly too heavy, and the bites he was forced to take too big.

His spike twitched, the outer rim of this First Aid’s valve teasing its tip as First Aid shifted atop him and reached for another dish. He tried hard to chase it, to follow it as it left and to find his release in its walls, but it was all the stimulation he would get from there on out. This First Aid was in charge now, and until this First Aid decided to be done with him, he was simply at the mercy of this First Aid’s dark and twisted desires.

It was a little pleasure with the pain, the satisfaction of feeling First Aid fill up on him before he was forced to swallow down another bite, only to feel the cold, biting air follow as he was left to tremble helplessly against the empty space between them when First Aid pulled back to admire his handiwork.

Vortex was massive, his belly stuffed full and the mesh stretched to its limits. His face was contorted into a mixture of pain and pleasure like the mixture he felt beneath this First Aid, and he gasped in surprise as the medic’s servos returned to stroking his sides and teasing the swell in his center.

“You really are a cute little thing, First Aid said through a croon. “You’re so much cuter than any of the other copters who’ve fallen under my hand. You hold out for so long, and you take me so well…”

He moved forward again slowly, allowing Vortex a long, strangled moan against the restraints across his throat that held his helm down. Not even a moment later, he lifted up another big pastry and forced it into Vortex’s mouth, laughing all the while.

“I like it when you copters finally give in.”

His mask retracted, exposing the ravenous grin underneath, and his visor glinted with a bright, hungry light as he watched Vortex struggle.

• “He’s right, you know,” you say, head tipping as you study your bonding gift and his fellow Combaticons leave. Knows he’s not done it quite right, that he should bond you before giving you your gift, but how could you play with him without a way to cut him? Watches you strip slowly, bending to slide the flat of the blade against his inner thigh, the tip brushing his inner thigh to make him release his spike for you. And you ignore it to sit on his chassis, leaning over him. That blade nestling against the soft mesh of his neck in threat. “If I wanted to, you’d bleed out before they could stop me.”

• “Do you want to?” He asks, staring up at you hungrily. Know how unhinged he can be, that he likes a little pain with sex, his or yours. Finding out you like inflicting it, had been a shock. Something you hadn’t known about yourself and feel like you should be ashamed of. The fact that he encourages it probably isn’t healthy. “Energon, blood. They’re both so pretty aren’t they? I’m your prisoner, you get to do whatever you want with me, remember?”

• Running the tip of the blade along the line of his jaw, you’re so serious as you decide what to do with him. The wait stringing him tight. You’ll cut him, you both know it, it’s just a matter of where. Maybe you’ll accidentally cut yourself getting him, your pretty red blood mingling with his energon. Hips jerking as his spike and biolights pulse for you, he retracts his battle mask and sinks his denta into his bottom lip until he tastes his own energon and you notice. The blade notching against a gap in his plating at his shoulder as you lean down and your weight pushes the blade in a bit, feels that bright pain as your mouth covers his. And he shudders, overloading against your back and hip. Making you bite his lip hard before pulling away, pretty mouth smudged with energon. “Brat,” you mutter, jerking the knife free to make him hiss. “It’s in my hair.”

• And he’s laughing, flashing those energon stained denta at you as you swipe energon off your bottom lip and lick it off. Knowing it’s poisonous to you and that his nanites can handle small amounts of it, keep it from killing you. That something’s very wrong with you for liking the taste as you shift against him, gripping and squeezing his spike to make him groan before impaling yourself on him. Riding him as he groans and swears. “Oh, Primus,” he snarls, hips lifting as much as he can with his limbs bound. “Going to fragging bite you, sink my denta in and devour you. Eat you alive.” Threats spilling past his lips as you rock yourself lazily against him. No longer afraid of his violent urges, knowing that no matter what he says, he never actually hurts you. A little blood, yours or his. But never real pain. His fucked up matching yours as you ride him and listen to his snarled words about what he’s going to do to you once he’s free.

• Humming to himself, he ignores your question. Letting you fret and work yourself up just to see what you’ll do. Wanting to know if you’ll cower or bare your teeth at him. You’d blown away his expectations by trying to hurt him, shocking him with behavior he hadn’t expected. He’d been sure you were submissive and soft. So that violence? Such a lovely treat.

• He’s not answering so you try to figure out where he’s taking you and come up with nothing. But maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s carting you off to the middle of nowhere to just dump you and watch you try to make it back to civilization. Because if he was human, he’d be that shitty little kid with a magnifying glass laughing as he burns ants. Startling when the world dims around you, there’s no time to figure out what happened before he’s transforming again. And it’s every bit as awful as the first time.

• Grinning as you scream, he salutes Brawl and Swindle with you in his hand. ‘Got a fragging human for?’ Brawl mutters as Swindle makes a face. “For fragging,” Vortex says just to make both of his fellow Combaticons recoil slightly in disgust. Though the thought has crossed his processor. Multiple times. Making him wonder how easy it’d be to train you. Though since you enjoy dealing out pain, you’re already ahead of the curve. “Be nice and I might share.”

• ‘Frag off,’ snarls the giant your psychopath is talking to as you try to get your bearings. Where are you? Because this place looks disturbingly alien. And you’re swung up in his hand again, your stomach dropping sickeningly. It’s like being on a rollercoaster with the added possibility of dismemberment and you’re not enjoying it. But you’re scared if you hurl on him, he might drop you. Then again he might drop you at any time just because. He’s crazy. “And frag off to you, too,” Vortex says, laughing as he carries you who knows where.

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All these cool Jeeps and Soundwave over here looking so plain 🤣