Jazz didn’t know which was worse: the ring snuggled around the base of his spike, the thick vibrator buzzing merrily in his valve, or the relentless onslaught of Master’s mouth on his exterior node.
Jazz moaned and thrashed in the chains which kept him bound to the berth. He couldn’t lower his arms, couldn’t bring his thighs together, couldn’t do anything but whine as pleasure assaulted him from all directions.
Master pressed Jazz’s nub between his denta, biting hard enough for a jagged lance of pain to radiate beautifully through Jazz’s sensornet.
Jazz’s backstrut arched. “S-s-sir!”
Master chuckled, vibrations and heat rolling over the swollen fold of Jazz’s valve, making him quiver.
“Remember, pet. You are not to overload.”
A whine rose in Jazz’s intake. He trembled, his vents wheezing from the effort of holding back. The vibrator continued buzzing, exciting all of his internal nodes.
“Yesssss, s-s-sir.” His vocalizer glitched.
Master’s glossa swept over him, from the caudal lip of his valve, and ending with a flick to his node.
Jazz writhed, his head tossing back in a soundless scream. Fire surged through his frame, an inferno taking residence in his array. He burned and it took all he had to not give in to the overload.
His spike pulsed, throbbing around the ring. Lubricant gushed from his valve, and Master made a humming noise of delight. Of approval.
Master was… Master was happy.
Jazz whimpered. His vents roared. His valve yearned. He wanted Master inside him now.
“Not yet.” Master nuzzled his valve, lips caressing the swollen pleat lovingly. “I intend to savor you all night.”
But not once did he ask Bluestreak to stop.