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Tarn had happily fastened the blindfold over his eyes and lifted his chin so that Pharma could buckle the MEGATRON'S collar onto his neck. "What do you wish of me tonight, my lord?"
"Hmm. I think I'd like to relax in the big armchair for a while. I'll need a proper footrest, though."
Tarn turned hesitantly toward the sitting area with its two couches - a large one for Helex and Tesarus and a smaller one for Vos and Kaon - and its single plush armchair that was normally for Tarn alone. With all of his main sensors deadened by the blindfold, he had to navigate toward the cluster of furniture mainly by touch. Pharma stood by and waited patiently until Tarn lowered himself to all fours in front of the armchair.
As Pharma approached, he hummed to himself in thought. "My, I've picked up an awful lot of dust on my feet. I'll have to take care of that." He set one foot on Tarn's flank as he pulled out a polishing cloth to wipe it down, rubbing the sole against the purple armor to leave a dusty footprint there. He rubbed even more dirt onto the tank with the second foot, taking his time as he cleaned it, and as he ground his foot against the plating, Tarn's panels snapped open. Pharma pretended not to notice as he dragged his foot along Tarn's side, leaving a streak of grey-brown Messatine soil. Tarn's petals were beginning to swell and his long spike extended, hanging limp below him.
Finally, Pharma settled into the comfortable chair and crossed his ankles atop Tarn's back as he pulled out a datapad and began to read. Periodically, he recrossed his legs, and Tarn remained perfectly still the entire time.
It was difficult for Pharma to pretend disinterest for so long. He was thoroughly affected by the sight of his enslaved Decepticon on his hands and knees, giving himself to his master as furniture. He held up Pharma's feet so nicely, never moving, serving loyally. Pharma forced himself to hold off for quite some time just for the sake of giving the slave a properly long stretch of use. Then he sighed and let himself snuggle down farther in his seat. "What a comfortable chair this is," he commented. "I think I'd like to relax a little more." He opened his panels and let his spike extend, nearly hard from the sight of his aroused footrest. He braced his feet wide across Tarn's back and began to enthusiastically stroke himself. Tarn remained motionless, but something in his field made it clear that he had picked up the sound of Pharma's hand across the thin plating of his spike. The layers of his petals unfolded further and his dangling length began to harden.
Pharma let himself linger over his pleasure, enjoying the way that Tarn responded to the sounds that he made. Finally, he stroked harder, driving toward his peak, and then he finished with a sharp cry. Jets of transfluid streaked out over the edge of the chair's cushion and striped Tarn's flank with hot silver. The tank remained motionless except for the sudden, rhythmic clenching of his valve and the transfluid that burst from his spike in response to the feeling of his master's seed on his armor. His outpouring made a broad puddle between his knees.
The jet watched him, appreciating the way that Tarn's spike remained almost fully hard and his valve almost fully spread even after his double orgasm. He was running his fingers casually across his own spike, feeling himself beginning to firm again as he contemplated his furniture. "What a fine footrest this is," he commented. "I suppose, since it's my furniture, I can do whatever I want with it. It's inanimate, after all."
Tarn remained faithfully inanimate when Pharma slid off the chair and mounted him, purring as he buried himself in the footrest's dripping opening. "A very convenient feature," Pharma gasped as he bent low over the footrest's back and began to mate in earnest, savoring the slide of the tight inner ring of petals across his spike. The footrest's valve began to clench around him as it came again and he heard the hard spray of more transfluid against the carpet. The hole's firm massage brought him over along with the footrest and he ground his hips hard against the furniture as he pushed in deep and released himself into the wet depths, delighting in every long spurt that escaped him. He pulled free after several long moments spent draped over the footrest's broad, steady back.
Pharma flopped into the armchair and swung his legs back onto the footrest, grinning. "Quite multifunctional," he said. "Although I can't say that it's helping me concentrate on my work."
The footrest said nothing, since it was only an object.