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“Oh fuck,” you exclaim, your fingers digging into the grooves of the large digit you were riding on, your thighs digging into the sides of it as you tried to find purchase.
This had to be the craziest idea you’ve ever had, naked and parts of your fleshy body slathered in lubrication, shifting your hips against the top of the warm metal digit belonging to the 3-story tall genocidal warlord Cybertronian who had his curled hand close to his face, examining you with amused, dark red optics. Even though he was seated lazily in a Megatron-sized throne, you could fall from this height and injure yourself - but, despite your better instincts, you trusted him not to let this happen.
Instead, you let your base instincts take over as you hump his slickened middle digit, unable to hold in your whimpers and cries, much to Megatron’s delight. His smirk grows wide as a thought crosses his mind and you can feel your heart racing, because knowing him, it was a particularly devious thought.
You quickly find out as he gently bucks his finger, even the slightest of movements sliding you across its surface, scrambling for purchase as he ruthlessly assaults your sex in what you can only describe as the mechanical bull ride of a lifetime. With no horns to grab, you’re left at Megatron’s mercy. You sputter his name, shuddering as the jostling has rubbed you in just the right way, the friction so delicious you’re sobbing when your orgasm finally washes over you.
Trying to stop the world from spinning, you hug his digit tightly, but Megatron has other plans. He’s easily able to plop you into his other servo, the lubrication causing you to slide into his cupped palm. You lay there, out of breath and blissed out, Megatron regarding you, obviously entertained by the state he’s left you in, his dark chuckle vibrating through you.
You’re about to ask him to set you down when he starts to run his still slickened middle digit up and down your body. You gasp, the friction and heavy petting making you writhe. He makes sure to put just enough pressure between your legs with each pass, attempting to arch your back until his digit presses you down again.
It’s so overwhelming that you feel tears spilling out of your eyes, and, based on Megatron’s happy rumble, he had noticed it. You were so small, and wet, and pathetic in his palm, and you loved it, every moment of it. And now you’re cumming, again, and you’re gripping the finger that caused it, until you finally go boneless, a useless heap in Megatron’s hand.
“My sweet little pet,” he whispers, the last thing you hear before you blissfully pass out.