Page 64 of Smart Ass

Ben was eyeing the colorful display of dildos and sex toys now, with manufactured dismay. “I hope you didn’t take the floor models…”

“Everything’s new, brat. And washed.” There was even a mop sink in the room, and Max had assigned one of the bots to spend several hours opening packages and sanitizing everything, including the bots themselves.

Ben spun around with a grin. He was waving a thick, purple dildo in one hand. “So you’re saying you stole all this stuff?”

Max was more thinking of it as his salary. “I’m saying that brats who act up get punished.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ben’s eyes were shining.

Then he made a dash for the door.

It took Maxamillion longer than it should have to respond. But this was something he’d prepared for. Just not so soon.

It took him several seconds to activate the two tall mechanic robots that he’d left in the room and send them after Ben. He’d learned that the more he tried to control other bots, the less effective he was, so he just sent the command he’d pre-programmed to catch Ben by the arms and secure him.

One bot scampered out on wide-spaced tripod feet, moving like a spider with its other arms and extensions spread out from its central body. The second zoomed over on caterpillar treads, its heavier body stable with thick arms outstretched. The first bot snagged Ben’s wrist in one pincer claw for just long enough that the second could grip both of his upper arms.

Ben was panting and struggling, with a wide grin on his face, as he was sandwiched between the two bots.

For a moment, Max couldn’t get over just how much he loved him. Ben’s navy blazer and teal tie were such an enticing contrast to his gasping breaths and helpless struggles. He was so many things, all at once, and that made him perfect.

“What are you doing to me?” Ben shouted. His voice bordered on fear, but he was panting too. His cheeks were flushed with every sign of arousal.

Ben had checked off a lot of things on his list of limits and interests. Whips and spankings and a lot of the usual stuff. But Max had reviewed his past conversations and there was a pattern to what he truly loved. Primal play. Consensual non-consent. Psychological mind fucking, and the delectable fear it inspired. Being a cocky little brat, until the bravado was ripped away from him.

The beautiful tension that had been building in Max swelled higher. “Giving you your punishment.”

Between the two bots, there were twelve available arms, and Max had them work on Ben’s jacket first. He’d downloaded all sorts of mods, and the two bots operated smoothly now, disrobing Ben without ever letting him go.

Ben’s body was moving sensuously now, with less struggle and more arching toward the bot in front of him. “You don’t have to do this,” he challenged.

Was that more brattiness, or a real concern? Max still worried that Ben might not understand just how vital, how gorgeous, how necessary this was for him.

Ben seemed to flee from intimacy, but words spoken during a scene felt like they could slip under his shell. “Oh, but I do, baby,” Max crooned. “I need to give you everything you deserve. You’re mine, Ben.”

Ben’s eyelashes flickered, and some new expression passed across his face. Disbelief, or maybe even longing.

“Safewords?” Max asked.

“Red and yellow, blah, blah, blah.”

Perfect. Max set one robotic arm to open Ben’s tie, another for his shirt buttons, a third for his pants.

“Guess you figured out buttons,” Ben snarked.

“Guess I did,” Max agreed.

The bots continued, relentless in baring Ben’s pale skin, with his dark smattering of hair.

Max realized that he’d forgotten to give the bots directions for removing shoes and quickly found a mod that he pushed to both of them.

But most of his attention was on Ben. The way he was so defiant and vulnerable. How small he looked beside the two hulking metal robots, and how strong he was as his muscles bulged on his slender arms.

Max had one of the robots stroke down Ben’s arm, the other down his chest. Ben shivered, little gasping whimpers falling from his mouth.

Watching Ben was intoxicating. His mouth fell open, all the fight gone from him as more and more of the pincer claws, brushes, and hand-like grips moved over him.

Ben could be a piece of art like this, wanton flesh at the mercy of the machines.