https://x.com/AwfulButGreat/status/1907796539981840600?s=19

This arrives as an anonymous package at the kings castle

Is it just me or those the searching system doesn't work anymore on here?

can I interest you in some cursed breastmilk to go along with the cursed pussy (this is also a resend)

Imagine a Unicronian Prowl, fresh off his bonding ceremony on Earth with a pair of swollen tits. First thing he does is organise another one of Sentinel's cronies' orgies, but instead of outsourcing to the usual pleasurebot services, he offers himself up this time.

And so you get Prowl working over the pole in the middle of Sentinel's "party room", effortlessly captivating the small audience of degenerate politicians and scumbag nobles with his new and improved slutty body. The way the light falls onto his curves and edges makes it almost impossible to look away from him… And when he finally pops his hood and parts his chest plates aside, everyone in that room? They're fucking done for.

Under that voluptuous bumper lie his plump and turgid tits, glowing like a blacklight from the dark energon-laced milk sloshing around inside. He'd spin and twirl around the pole a bit more, slowing down his movements as those tits sway, mesmerising the lecherous old mechs caught in his trap. And when they start openly drooling like animals, Prowl lowers himself into a split, powerful thighs sliding along the bezel of the little stage, relying on the weight distribution from his decorated extended wings for balance as he leans over the edge. Chest presented outwards, hanging over the guests' heads.

Sentinel and Proteus get the privilege of the first taste, of course. Standing up and cupping a breast with a reverent grip, they moan simultaneously in ecstasy as the divine flavour of that unholy condensed fuel floods their intakes.

"Good boys." Prowl would purr, grinding his exposed valve against the stage and arching his head back, thighs still holding the split position. Sliding his hands back up the pole, he raises himself away from the edge, away from those yearning lips, wings sweeping in a low arc as he cartwheels about the pole, crossing to the other end of the platform in a single, effortless motion. Where more thirsty mouths await him.

"Mommy has a lot more where that came from, boys." He beckons them forward one by one in a sing-song tone. Never mind that he's never carried before, let alone their race's lack of sexual dimorphism. Something about those organic phrases that he'd heard from his time on Earth, where he'd found his new purpose.. they just sounded so right, somehow. It makes his panels soaking wet and dripping when his good boys call him mommy.

At the end of the night, every attendee would be thoroughly intoxicated by his master's poison, hooked on the greatest drug they've tasted yet. One that cannot be obtained anywhere else except from the tap itself. Prowl and Sentinel would return to their shared suite when the party ends, where Sentinel would spend the rest of the night, as well as every subsequent night after that, nursing from those delicious fountains of drugged fuel. Usually with the very mech they're attached to perched on his lap, warming his throbbing cock.

And just like that, the fate of their society is sealed. All Prowl has to do after spreading his seed of corruption is flash his titties a little, and the most influential bastards on Cybertron would be tripping over themselves to please him, just to maybe get another morsel of that sweet, sweet ambrosia. Absolutely addicted to the taste of that poisoned breastmilk.

In no time, Sentinel and his lackeys are unknowingly priming their world for war. They sign off on trade tariffs that would inevitably anger the adjacent citystates and colonies. They pass legislations that doom countless mecha to inane but deadly bureaucratic walls, especially where things such as welfare and infrastructure are concerned. They start bolstering their military might, even if they don't know what for. They're losing manpower and brainpower across the board too, because Prowl doesn't leave loose ends, you see.

Those lost resources? They're going to the Decepticons, as are a large chunk of the nobles' treasuries. Each experienced military general that resigns, of course, joins Megatron's side after tasting Prowl's milk as the Unmaker's herald works up their righteousness and prides with poisonous whispers that mask themselves as logic. If mommy says that the senate is corrupt, mecha are suffering, and that they have to do something about it, they'd damn well do something about it. There is no better pawn than those who truly believe in their roles as one.

It's not as if he's doing anything that the rest of their society isn't already doing. He's just… helping them along, expediting the inevitable by a little bit. If Cybertron was already in a terrible state socioeconomically, it really wouldn't take much more to make it completely catastrophic and dystopian, you see?

Prowl, with his connection to the Unmaker burning strong within him, of course has the uncanny ability to suss out any doubters amongst his good boys. And when someone tries to resist his suggestions, he orchestrates a scheme to get them into a private room together before they catch on. Putting them under Unicron's spell again the moment they absentmindedly suckle from mommy's titties as he resolidifies his hold over their fragile little minds.

"You've been quite naughty lately, Decimus." He'd purr into the crest of the senator's helm, cradling the other into his warm bosom with one hand as his other strokes that leaky spike standing up between his white thighs. Decimus only moans brokenly, voice muffled by that cleavage. He wants his milky so desperately, but he also knows that he can't suck on those tantalising nozzles until given permission. He's being punished for being such a shameful and disobedient little boy, after all.

"Hoarding all those freshly built firearms when I asked you to sell them. What a greedy little boy you are." Clawed tips on slender black fingers dig into rapidly jittering biolights, wrenching strangled gasps from a sore vocaliser, hoarse from hours of torturous edging.

"Did you think that Swindle would fall for your blatant price manipulation tactics? You just couldn't help yourself, hmm?" A twist, followed by a series of sobs and muffled denials. Delaying that deal any longer would cost the Decepticons their foothold in Uraya. That just wouldn't do. In order to maximise the casualty count and prolong the wa as much as possible, the power balance in the greatest conflict in the history of their race has to be carefully curated to prevent either side from winning or losing before all hope is lost.

Once he deems him sorry enough, Prowl shushes the senator, gripping him by the chin to lift his head, finally guiding those lips to his stiff, aching nozzles. As the old mech suckles obediently, Prowl lifts himself up, and sits on that painfully erect spike, rippling cunt engulfing that pitifully neglected rod with an easy slurp. Decimus would never defy his mommy's orders ever again, especially after Prowl calls him a very good boy for filling that needy pussy with so much cummies.

And he would've gotten away with his schemes too, were it not for the damned Autobots, led by one Optimus Prime, a true Matrix bearer who immediately sniffs out Unicron's corruption upon meeting Prowl in person. Curse Sentinel for dying like an idiot ahead of schedule in Kaon.

Though by that point in the war, Prowl wouldn't even need to do much anymore. With him out of the equation, the Autobots, after having so many mecha compromised by his cursed mounds, began rapidly losing ground. All Prowl has to do now is lie and wait as a new form of temptation takes its form amongst high command. Soon, he tells his master while fingering his valve from his cell within the sanctified confines of the Primal Basilica.

Because when caught between immediate certain death at the hands of the Decepticons and oblivion at the hands of the Unmaker, once desperate enough, he knows the new Matrix Bearer would come to him too. Prowl overloads to the thought of Optimus' inevitable despair. What a good boy he'd make, Unicron's slut imagines as he giggles to himself.-🔌

Sorryim like insane abouit this but I NEED thunderclash to turn bad end roddy into his whining little birthwarmer. He doesn’t mean to, promise! It’s just, he misses his hot tempered, fiery captian. Rodimus was always so full of life, so ready for adventure. He tried inviting him to travel with him, to take him on new adventures, but he almost seemed to get worse.

After one drunken night though, he finally finds something rodimus enjoys, finally finds something that makes him happy!

And, okay, maybe he’s also really happy that the one thing that seemed to work was getting to have sex with him. Thunderclash would prefer to take it slow, but he can work with anything really! If rodimus wants him to fuck him until he’s crying he will! He doesn’t mean to get him addicted to his huge cock (though it’s not the first time something like this happened) but… but rodimus just seems so much happier like this! Any time he’s not being bent over and fucked by thunderclash he almost always slips back into being miserable. It’s normal for thunders to want to make sure he’s happy, and not at all effected by this crush on rodimus… right?

He starts working rodimus into a steady schedule, one that can keep him happy while also helpping with his new cravings for his fat spike. But after one day of long meetings and finding his captain letting another one of his crew mates fuck him, thunderclash decides that every now and then isn’t enough. Now after everytime he fucks him, thunderclash makes sure to keep his spike in rodimus for as long as he can. Slowly training his captains valve to be a good spike warmer. Rodimus complains, literally kicks him off of him after one night of having that monster spike stretching his cunt open. He bitches and whines, using his hand to feel out his valve and how it’s just gaping opening, fluttering weakly around almost his whole hand from what he can fit.

Thunderclash swears he doesn’t know what comes over him, one second he’s watching his prime tear up, starting to cry about how pathetic he must be for his valve to be like this, the next thunderclash is on top of him, pushing his legs back until his knees hit his shoulders while he desperately pounds into that dripping, wet pussy. Rodimus is squealing and crying under him, batting at his shoulders and scratching at his back as thunderclash fucks his forge wide open.

Thunderclash cant even think properly, too caught up in the heavenly valve and forge suction cupping themselves to his spike. He pants and wails about how much he loves rodimus, he perfect he is, how his valve and forge feel like they were made just for him! And after an insanely long time of getting his poor pussy absolutely demolished rodimus can’t help but start to agree! His little pusssy just feels so good wrapped around his big spike, he always feels so awful with out it! He couldn’t even imagine having to live like that again without that fat spike head bulging out his forge, dragging it back with every thrust, it sounded awful!

It’s not until rodimuss wailing turns from begging for mercy to begging for more that thunderclash finally loses it and fills the little bot under him FULL of transfluid. He lets his tank just pour out into his little prime, who’s broken down into wordless begging and twitching as he’s filled to the point that some of it manages to escape the tight seal formed around the base of his spike.

Thunders smiles as he pulls out, rodimuss eyes are glassy and far away, and he’s crying, but he’s got a big dopey grin on his face. He’s even drooling He’s so happy! Thunderclash decides there and then that this is what’s best for rodimus, to stay here in his hab, throughly fucked out of his mind at all times. It helps of course that his beloved little rodimus is sparked now! The size difference means he has trouble laying comfortably, and he can’t move much but that’s okay! Thunderclash can still pick him up and use him like a happy little spike sheath! Uh, or ah, ahah, pleasure his partner while giving him a transfluid sample… yeah… he even helps him around the ship! taking rodimus with him while he does his duties, strapping him up nice and snug against his chest while rodimus crys and begs, bouncing on his cock with every step <33

Don’t know why but I had the sudden idea to send Tfone Sentinel to the lost light. Like give him to Swerve. Sentinel hates monologues so give him to the most talkative mech in the galaxy. Swerve will make him wear frilly outfits and make him serve his customers at first as behind closed doors he’s turning him into the perfect little house husband. Only letting him get pleasure from his valve as he grabs into it. Telling him how beautiful and gorgeous he is. How amazing he feels on his spike how amazing his moans sounds. Of course intent on knocking him up he’ll tell him what a beautiful mother he’ll make. By the time he actually gets him sparked up Sentinel’s processors has snapped by all the talking and now relates it to good feelings and praise. He no longer has to keep serving at the bar as he’s now a sweet and submissive thing to his tiny husband. He’s still a brat to literally everyone else on board but Swerve still has a baddie lol.