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"Told you we could fit in two bags; look at how good you're taking it, you little slut."
Arcee's praise (even with the degrading "endearment") was almost enough to cancel out Prowl's current discomfort.
Two large bags of saline solution hung from a portable intravenous pole, connected together by one drip tube, that was presently inserted into each one of his balls.
Each one which had grown to… alarming proportions.
To say that they had gotten "big" would be…an understatement.
They were huge.
Bloated and bulbous, his balls had expanded to an absolutely grotesque size, their individual shapes distorted into a single lumpish mass.
The once pearly white protomesh was now a pale bluish-gray, stretched thin like a balloon, tiny blue life energon lines pushed to the surface by the glut of fluids.
The entry point where the needle had pierced his delicate protomesh throbbed. His tumefied orbs hung like heavy weights, a constant dull ache from the stretch and pull of the mesh.
Would they tear off , he wondered with a tinge of hysteria, would they burst?
Fear danced at the edge of excitement, the vying sensations of pleasure-pain-panic overwhelming his processor, fogging out his thoughts and higher functions and leaving him floating in a sea of the purely physical.
His spike was hard, but whether it was from arousal, or just from the sheer pressure around it, Prowl honestly couldn't say. Already, it was dribbling pre-fluid as if it was being forced from his tanks.
Prowl groaned behind the gag in his mouth, swallowing around the rubber ball, the acrid taste of the plastic filling his throat and seeping into the inside of his nasal plate. Excess saliva weeped around the gag, mixing with the tears dripping from his optics and dribbling down his chin, his chestplate, down between his spread legs and bared array.
" Primus , Prowl," marveled Arcee, bending down on one knee for a closer look, "I think each one is bigger than both my fists together." The delight in her voice bordered on something malevolent, and the wide grin on her face reminded Prowl of the way cybercats looked just before they pounced on a glitchmouse.
It made him shudder, but it wasn't from fear.
Arcee reached forward and gave Prowl's engorged balls a surprisingly gentle tug; but even this soft touch was enough to earn her a squeal and his whole body to spasm. More pre-fluid leaked out of the head of his spike, the organ nearly lost in the depths of his engorged protomesh.
Arcee, predictably, ignored it.
She reached forward with both hands this time, stroking Prowl's balls gently. Massaging them, cupping them, rolling them around, feeling the weight of them in her hands.
Prowl's vents hitched; he whined. He wiggled.
Arcee smiled as she felt Prowl squirm.
And then she reeled back and slapped him as hard as she could, right in the center of his balls.
Behind his gag, Prowl shrieked .
Transfluid gushed out of his spike from where it was hidden in the folds of his protomesh like a geyser, thick pink ropes painting his thighs and abdomen.
She held the pressure on his balls, working them, watching his spike twitch and spill, milking him dry. Only letting up when it was clear he was empty, and Prowl himself had been reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess of a mech.
"Good boy," she crooned, one last squeeze earning her another weak spurt of transfluid and a strangled sob, "good, good boy."