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Skeppy doesn’t know very much about redstone. When he saw the things Sam or Techno could build, it simply boggled his mind. They tried to show him how the circuits ran and explain the different levels of power, but it went right over his head. He just wasn’t cut out to build with redstone, and he was fine with that.
Though, there was one thing he knew how to make.
He hadn’t done it in a while. Not since he was a dumb, horny teenager who wanted a quick laugh with his bros. And he certainly hadn’t tried to use it like this. But he did remember how to make it.
A sticky piston, connected with a short line of redstone to a switch.
He flicked it on and watched the piston move back and forth, making that familiar shuff-shuff-shuff sound. He gulped, watching the hard rod of wood thrust into the air, and felt his pants grow tight.
It had been so long since anyone had touched him. Bad was all wrapped up in this stupid Egg business, and after everything he’d put him through, well. Skeppy wasn’t sure he wanted Bad to touch him anymore.
(Except. He did. He just knew he shouldn’t.)
Skeppy turned the piston off. If he was going to do this, he needed to make a few adjustments. That wooden rod was way too thick, for starters, and wood definitely wasn’t a good material to use. He needed something softer, but not too soft. Malleable enough not to hurt him, but firm enough to push all the right buttons.
That’s what the vine was for. He’d cut one that morning, a tendril of crimson vine that looked just the right length and girth to remind him of the very thing he was missing, even down the angle of the tapered tip. He thought about just using it as is, shoving it inside or sticking it to the ground and riding it, but then he remembered the old piston joke and, well…
Here he was gluing a vine to a piston, the whole contraption set up in front of his bed, the perfect spot to bend over and let it pound into him.
He was perhaps a little hasty with prepping himself. He used plenty of lube, but his cock was leaking by the time he got it out of his pants, so he shoved his fingers into his hole with reckless speed in an effort to get himself open as quickly as possible. It used to be easier, when Bad would do this to him so regularly, he hardly has time to tighten up again. But it sort of felt good, now, for it to hurt. The burn was a warning he didn’t plan to heed. Instead, his broken mind only craved more, bigger, harder.
He lined himself up with the vine, laying bent over on the edge of the mattress, just the tip of it peeking its way inside, then reached back with a foot to hit the switch. It took a few tries, since he couldn’t see where it was, but once he hit it, he felt it immediately.
“Oh my god!” he screamed, the vine pushing all the way inside and then snapping back out in an instant. Shock rocketed through his system, quickly followed by sharp pain and a low, simmering pleasure in his gut.
The machine was relentless. Unlike Bad who would start slow, sweet-talk in Skeppy’s ear and rub his hips, telling him to get used to the feeling before he started to move, the piston was all or nothing. No devilish circling of the hips, no edging and teasing, just fucking him stupid from the get-go.
Skeppy moaned, his body collapsed into the mattress, hands gripping at the sheets. The tapered end of the tentacle reached deep inside him with each thrust, and the thicker base pushed up hard against his prostate when it was fully inside. He felt lube dribbling down his thighs, the speed of the machine making it bubble and pop around his rim. The sound was disgusting, and yet arousing. He pressed his hard cock against the mattress, rutted his hips in small, shallow thrusts against the sheets. He couldn’t move much, too scared the tentacle would slip out and everything would be ruined, so he ended up teasing himself with just enough friction on his cock to feel something, but not enough to cum.
It was already so much, and yet he needed more.
Skeppy lifted his hips off the bed and slowly, carefully, pushed himself back so the vine was thrusting even deeper inside him. He saw stars when it rammed inside, filling him to the brim. He cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks at the feeling, it was so intense. He could hardly breathe, but he didn’t want to. He let his lips fall open and reached one hand up to cup his throat, imagining it was Bad, holding him up and cutting off his airway.
He wished Bad would just be selfish like that. Take whatever he wanted from Skeppy and leave him bruised and gasping. Even a painful touch was better than no touch at all.
His cock throbbed, the head brushing against his stomach as it bobbed, leaking thick globs of precum like the drool now trickling down from the corners of his mouth. Skeppy was a mess, covered in all manner of fluids, but he didn’t care. He shivered at the air on his bare skin, trailed his hand down from his throat to pinch his hard nipples. And the machine kept pounding.
“Bad,” he moaned, twisting the sheets in his left hand as his right traveled down, pressing over his stomach, teasing the shaft of his cock. “Bad, please. Please, Bad I need you!”
He imagined he was there, that he heard his cries and shushed him, kissed the tears from his cheeks. When his hand wrapped around his cock, it felt bigger, somehow. It felt like it was not his own, but Bad’s, stroking up and down, pausing to tease the head and gather pre before continuing.
Skeppy’s whole body shivered. He was lost for a moment in the fantasy, his nerves ablaze with pleasure, his stomach rolling with heat, the fire burning hot enough to break.
He pushed his hips back further still, and the vine hit something deep inside him, made his vision flash white for a moment as his fist jerked around his cock so quickly, so roughly, he couldn’t take it anymore. Cum spilled from him in ropes, splashing onto the sheets, a little shooting up and sticking to his stomach. Soon it caught up to him, overstimulation making his thighs shake uncontrollably, but he couldn’t stop. He kept fisting his cock even as it screamed for release, kept himself glued to the machine, the vine brutally pounding him.
A weaker, second orgasm built up in him, and when he spilled again, it was just a pathetic dribble that quickly began to dry and made his hand too sticky to keep moving on his cock.
He fell into the soiled sheets, whimpering pathetically as the piston kept pounding, that shuff-shuff-shuff accompanied by the splotchy splat-splat-splat of the vine hitting the mess of lube around his rim.
He felt cold, suddenly. Cold and alone and disgusting. His body was weak, but he reached back with his foot again, searching cautiously for the switch. When at last he hit it, the machine hissed, giving one final, weak thrust before it pulled out and went still.
Skeppy sobbed. He was pathetic. Used-up and wrung-out. He wished Bad was there to carry him to the tub and kiss his cheeks as he washed him, telling him what a good little muffin he’d been. But he wasn’t there. Skeppy was all on his own, like he always was.
A good pounding didn’t change anything.