Chapter Text
“That’s a fancy new choker, where’d you get it?”
That’s not the first comment Mila expected to hear from Wheeljack upon arriving at the Bots’ base, but she shrugs it off. “I had some specially made for this challenge I found out about.” She tugs gently at the hem of her new crop top which features an arrow pointing up to her neck, the words under it reading ‘Break My Choker’. She grins cheekily, “Wanna give it a try?”
All optics in the base are on her now, but she could care less. All present are Bots she wouldn’t mind participating in her fun little game. “C’mon, they’re specially made to stretch super easily and be almost impossible to break. I knew it wouldn’t be a challenge with a normal choker, so –“
She’s stopped when a finger presses to her soft lips, “Don’t gotta explain, Sweetspark, I’ll play your game.”
She smiles against him, moving her head just enough to speak, “I just wanted to offer a prize to whoever can break the choker.”
Magnus is quick to excuse himself to go on a sudden patrol. Mila shrugs it off and readies herself on her knees.
Wheeljack offered to play this game first, and so first he goes. His spike pressurized pretty quick when she explained her new challenge, but seeing her kneeling in front of him, mouth open and ready has him twitching with anticipation. The tip meets her tongue first, then her lips. She hums happily against him, moving her head just enough that the head now sits fully in her mouth.
He’s no stranger to the warmth of Mila – in more ways than one – but being in her mouth is something else entirely. She teases the head of his spike with her tongue, swirling it around the tip before giving a firm suck. He guesses that’s her way of telling him to keep going.
Tangling his digits of one servo in her hair, he gives a couple of thrusts into her mouth. She swallows him down without issue. Moans and curses slip out of his mouth as he gets bolder, more confident about how well she can take his spike. His unoccupied hand caresses her face for a moment before gripping her face just enough to be able to tilt it up. The new angle makes it much easier to push in.
Mila moans softly around him, massaging the bottom of his shaft with her tongue. She traces every bump and biolight best she can with her mouth so full. He picks up the pace, thoughts of the choker gone. Only thoughts plaguing his processor now are of how wet and warm her mouth is, how good it feels around him. He voices a few of these thoughts to her, earning more lewd moans against his shaft; the vibrations send him reeling, but not enough to make him overload. Not yet. He doesn’t want it to be over so soon.
“Scrap, Mila…” His words sound gruff, a complete contradiction to the pleasure written all over his face. Mila only chuckles, adjusting her position as her knees are beginning to hurt. Wheeljack is quick to accommodate this, pushing into her throat at long last.
The Cupid gags slightly before giving a soft moan. Tears prick her eyes as her vision unfocuses slightly. More curses fall from Wheeljack, but she’s hardly focused on those. Her senses focus solely on the spike she’s drooling on. She can feel how her throat stretches, the choker stretching ever so slightly with it applies more pressure to the area. She gets the feeling her neck may be bruised by the end of all this.
“Scrap…” He’s getting close. She can tell, not only in how his fans roar or how desperate the bucking of his hips get but also in the twitching of his spike and how the amount of fluid leaking from it has increased. It’s surprisingly sweet, she just might get addicted.
The next time Wheeljack thrusts into her throat, she swallows around him, effectively throwing him over the edge. He holds her head down on his spike as he overloads, transfluid spilling past her lips, dripping down her jaw, and falling onto her shirt. He’s a panting mess when he finally pulls out.
Mila takes a moment to lick what she can off of her face, tugging softly at her choker as she does. Still intact. Too bad. She smiles up at the other three Bots present. “So,” she gives a smile, “who’s next?”