Chapter Text
Stone should not have been surprised at the ensuing normalcy of the coming days. They worked together, day in, day out, collar and cage on, collar and cage off. He knew that this had been their ongoing routine. Something inappropriate or scandalous happened (by regular workplace standards) and they carried on as usual. He thought that, if anything, their first time having penetrative sex might warrant a small lecture or some additional ground rules.
I guess that means I did pretty well, he thought, at least, well enough to not earn another lecture?
His next task, though, was a firm reminder of his perceived room for improvement. He was added to a virtual meeting, scheduled for Wednesday afternoon, and was instructed to report to the lab twenty minutes early. Stone found this unusual, as this was not a recurring meeting that he typically attended and took notes during. He was also perplexed by the unusually long lead time of twenty minutes. Thankfully, the calendar invite had only been forwarded the day before, leaving him just the afternoon and evening to wonder.
What are you up to, he thought as he washed the dinner dishes, and why do you need me twenty minutes early?
The following afternoon, after what had been a thankfully busy morning, Stone walked into the lab to find Robotnik standing, waiting for him. Stone had brought with him a peace offering, having sensed some sort ruse, arriving with a matcha latte in each hand. He knew how Robotnik liked them – so strong he could taste the chlorophyll and very nearly the distinct shade of British Racing Green. He’d paid careful attention to get it just so.
“Hello, Doctor,” he said brightly, hoping his eagerness might mitigate some of whatever was headed his way.
“Good afternoon, Agent Stone,” Robotnik said.
His tone was aloof. He didn’t move to take one of the beverages from him. He stood still, hands behind his back, grinning, a familiar brightness in his eyes that told Stone that nothing could change his decided course of action at this point. He steeled himself, still wearing a subtle smile. Robotnik’s eyes wandered to Stone’s laptop, folded closed and clenched resolutely beneath one arm.
“You won’t be needing that,” he said.
“Oh,” Stone said, looking down at the laptop.
He was unable to set it down, a latte still in each hand and Robotnik resolutely blocking the way to the console.
“Instead of taking notes, you’ll be working on your self-control today,” Robotnik said, “though, your preparedness is appreciated.”
He stepped to one side and took hold of his chair, rolling it with him. Stone’s jaw dropped. Robotnik’s chair had been strategically staged to block yet another deliberate assemblage. It was a low end table with a round glass top that was shaded smoke-grey like an immense sunglasses lens. The glass was held up by a minimal tubular chrome frame, sleek and streamlined. The familiar vise grip was clamped to it, a thick towel ensuring the safety of the glass and chrome. The vise was mounted upside-down, the body of it nestled underneath the glass pane. In its jaws waited the stroker, wrapped in a black towel. On the table top, there were two neat lengths of red rope, spiraling around themselves in tidy coils. One was notably larger than the other.
“Put those on the console,” Robotnik instructed.
Stone set the lattes and his laptop down, staring at the table and vise in close quarters. He turned back toward Robotnik, thumbs already tucked beneath his belt, knowing the cage would have to come off to proceed. Robotnik nodded approvingly. Stone dropped his pants and Robotnik produced the keys from his pocket, freeing him and setting the cage on the console. It only occurred to Stone now how commonplace this exchange had become, quick and businesslike, part of his everyday routine.
“Leave your pants down,” Robotnik said, “Get on your knees.”
Stone did as he was told, situating himself in front of the stroker before dropping slowly to his knees. He was surprised when Robotnik knelt next to him and took up the larger length of rope, unwinding it from its snug coils. He began to weave the length of rope with intricacy, circling Stone’s ankles, then his knees, binding them together before passing the rope around the single support that held up the table, bridging the circular top to the circular footprint.
Holy shit, Stone thought, since when do you know how to do this?
Stone watched, eyes wide, as he was tied up with style, the coils and knots around his thighs becoming decorative, a spider’s web of red rope forming beneath the glass surface of the table as Robotnik anchored him to it. Stone was familiar with knot tying, but a clove hitch was very different from what he recognized to be shibari. He wondered if Robotnik had prior knowledge of the craft, or if this was something he’d picked up over the weekend.
He was, as always, amazed with the finesse that Robotnik seemed to naturally employ in everything he did. The knots were tight, leaving him little wiggle room, but felt snug rather than claustrophobic. Something about the beauty and symmetry of his designs captivated him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gloved hands and the red rope that seemed to be gradually consuming him like a constrictor.
“Before I go any further, you’ll need to put your cock in the stroker,” Robotnik said clinically.
Stone nodded, taking hold of himself around the base, already resolutely hard, and guiding his cockhead into the tight, lubricated grip of the stroker, the textured surface nearly hair-raising as it made contact with his sensitive skin. When he was as deep as he could go, a pent-up grunt escaped him. Immediately, Robotnik started wrapping the rope around his hips, passing it between his legs, capturing him more or less in place. He knew that if he were permitted to move, his thrusts would be short and restrained
“During our internal meeting, you exhibited certain issues of control,” he said as he tied off the first length of rope at the back of Stone’s waist, finishing it in an interesting knot that he would never see, “Today, we’ll begin working to remedy that.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Stone said, eyes following his gloved hands as he picked up the much shorter length of rope.
The new knots that encircled his hips and waist felt wonderfully intrusive, tight enough to feel even through his shirt and suit jacket. He could feel the protrusion of the final knot that Robotnik had tied just above the small of his back, digging into him enough to hold his attention. He thought of being under the console, his heels pressing into almost the exact same spot.
I’m not gonna survive, he thought gravely, already stifling the urge to pull his hips back and ease back into the stroker, to test his new impeded range of motion.
Next, Robotnik bound Stone’s forearms together in a precise rigger’s gauntlet through a series of perfectly even half-hitch knots, all in a straight line. Stone watched, already biting his lip, cock throbbing in the stroker. He knew this would be a very difficult trial, already feeling his reserve beginning to waver. Robotnik secured his forearm to the leg of the table, leaving his entire body bound in place on his knees, shoulders hunched, forearms flat against the glass top.
“Not too tight?” Robotnik asked.
His fingers wormed their way under the knots at his wrists and just below his elbows. Robotnik circled back behind him, slipping two fingers beneath the doubled-up rope around his waist, giving it a tug.
“No, sir,” Stone said, “It’s actually… Kind of cozy.”
“Cozy,” Robotnik grumbled.
He walked around Stone in a circle, surveying him from every possible angle, admiring his own handiwork. Admittedly, the knots were a thing of beauty, as precise as his circuitry, the red bright and livid against his black suit.
“I must admit,” he said, “Red suits you.”
Stone flushed.
“Thank you, sir,” he replied softly.
“Oh, one more thing-” Robotnik said, turning away and reaching into a drawer, “Hold this.”
Stone cupped his bound hands and felt something smooth and matte come to rest in his palms. It was cool and light, and without seeing it, he couldn’t imagine what it could possibly be. When Robotnik’s hand withdrew, he looked at the object with confusion.
“An egg?” he asked, utterly bewildered.
Robotnik eyed him with a serious sort of knowing. He turned away from him, pulling his coat away from his body with his left hand. With his right, he reached across his torso and lifted the hem of his shirt to show the bruises Stone’s hands had left. While not severe, his fingerprints were visible at his waist, creeping up from the waistband of his trousers, pinkish-purple and defined. Stone felt as though his heart briefly stopped at the sight of it, his tender skin brutalized. Robotnik dropped his shirt and coat, offering only a brief, lurid glimpse before smoothing the fabric and fixing Stone with the same stern look as before. Stone winced, half from embarrassment, half from arousal.
“You’re going to learn to control those rough hands of yours,” Robotnik said, “and you won’t be allowed to touch me until you do.”
“Yes, sir,” Stone replied, hanging his head in shame.
“So,” Robonik said with a flourish, coat fanning out behind him as he pivoted to the console, “I will be taking my meeting and you will be working on your self-restraint.”
He picked up his matcha and took a sip with a look of approval before removing the lid, setting it aside. He set the cup down on the table, to one side of Stone’s fixed forearms. There wasn’t much room between the cup and the slightly raised chrome frame that held the glass pane in place. He leaned down into Stone’s limited frame of view, his voice low and dangerous.
“I had better not see one ripple,” he growled, “or hear a singular rattle from that table. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Stone said.
“No hip movements. Complete and utter stillness,” Robotnik went on before adding pointedly, “and don’t scramble that egg.”
“Yes, sir,” Stone repeated, voice weak, all of his energy already going toward keeping his body from moving.
“Consider the issue of our internal meetings tabled indefinitely,” Robotnik said, a subtle smirk playing upon his lips, “until you prove to me that you’re capable of controlling yourself and following instructions.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Stone replied.
Robotnik pulled out his chair and sat down within arm’s reach of the table. He flicked a holoscreen into existence and entered the meeting’s lobby, waiting to be let in.
“I’m feeling merciful today,” he said, “You will be completely off camera.”
“Thank you,” Stone said, sounding more relieved than he’d aimed to.
He pictured it, Robotnik carrying on as usual, high and mighty, disdainful, while he lurked in the periphery of the frame, tied up, throbbing, balls-deep in a sex toy. He wondered what the other attendees might say, or, having been subjected to some of their antics already, if they’d acknowledge him at all. He wasn’t sure which idea he found more titillating - being called out for his mortifying position, or being completely ignored, treated like furniture. He shuddered, but did his best to contain it, not wanting to upset the table or the matcha. He was certain his face was now severely flushed.
“I will not be muted, though,” Robotnik said, eyes trained on the screen, “Bear that in mind.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Stone replied.
Robotnik was admitted to the meeting a moment later. Stone sat up straighter as a chorus of reluctant greetings filtered through unseen speakers. He craned his neck to see Robotnik’s mirrored visage on the looming holoscreen, larger than life, relieved to find that his camera angle was particularly tight today, showing nothing below or beyond the shoulders.
Oh, thank god, Stone thought, No chance of me turning up in frame.
He half-listened to the beginning of the meeting over the pounding of his own heart. As he’d predicted, the topics discussed had nothing to do with him, so he made no effort to commit them to memory in his current state of duress. The ropes were snug in a way that was comforting, but very different than anything he’d ever experienced. His limbs felt warm, every part of his body from the shoulders down wrapped or constricted in some way. His cock pulsed in the stroker, which felt as though it were growing tighter and hotter by the minute. The egg grew warm in his palms, which were beginning to sweat. For a few moments, he passed it back and forth between his still-cupped hands before thinking better of it, realizing that he was thoughtlessly playing a dangerous game.
And don’t scramble that egg.
Right, he thought, Yes, Doctor.
As the meeting drew on, Stone slowly lowered his head, finding that he couldn’t rest it on his forearms in his current state. It might have been his imagination, but he was growing sleepy, not tired, as though the ropes had a similar effect to a weighted blanket. He raised his head again, not wanting to lose focus or to appear that he was bored. He tuned back into the meeting and what was being said. Disappointingly, Robotnik said very little throughout. It seemed he was only there as a formality.
He reached over to pick up his matcha, briefly meeting Stone’s gaze as he picked it up. Stone felt a rush of butterflies. Robotnik took a dainty sip, careful not to stain his mustache green. He sat back, crossing one leg over the other, nodding at the attendees on the screen in a cursory fashion. He set the tea back down without looking at Stone.
Fuck, this is so hot, Stone thought.
Again, he allowed his head to hang forward slightly, eyes focused on his forearms, counting the half-hitches that bound them together. He couldn’t look at Robotnik. It was too much. Just that one flicker of acknowledgement before being ignored again had stoked his fire. He could feel himself beginning to sweat, his body yearning to move.
Four, he counted, eyes moving from knot to knot.
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Robotnik said, causing him to glance up before looking back down.
Five, he continued, actively listening now, Six.
“That level of oversight is unnecessary, infantilizing, and to be frank, offensive to my sensibilities,” Robotnik said firmly, but still calmly, “After all, you’ve already installed a government agent here to watch over my every move.”
That’s me. Fuck, Stone thought, eyes squinting at the rope now, Seven.
He wished he’d paid closer attention now, wondering about exactly what chain of events had led up to this moment and his mention. He listened carefully while appearing not to, now feeling distinctly as though he were eavesdropping.
“Well, he’s clearly been compromised-” came the familiar voice of Commander Osborn, “I think an additional layer of oversight – a contract agent, or a small team to rotate through the lab – is strictly necessary.”
Compromised, Stone thought, jaw locking, Fuck me. Oh my god. Eight.
Without thinking, his hips pulled back the short distance they were allowed by the careful tension Robotnik had set in the ropes, and then pushed forward into the stroker. His eyes darted to the matcha, watching a faint concentric ripple disturb the surface. He looked up at Robotnik, who hadn’t noticed, and then back down at his forearms.
“Now, now, Commander,” Robotnik said, condescending, sitting up straighter, hands slowly gripping the armrests of his chair, “Don’t you think it’s a bit classless to discuss someone when they’re not in the room to speak for themselves?”
“Speak for himself?!” Osborn barked, “The last time I saw Agent Stone, you wouldn’t let him!”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Stone thought, mind casting back to the conference, wearing his collar openly, Osborn pulling him aside for a selfish wellness check.
His body reacted again, hips pulling back and pushing forward excruciatingly slowly into the grip of the stroker, careful to remain stealthy and silent. Stone’s eyes rolled back. He tensed his jaw. His hands tightened around the egg before he forced them to relax. He was suddenly unbearably hot, wishing he could slip a finger beneath his shirt collar or shock collar to let a little air in.
Nine, he thought pointedly, still counting the knots.
“The parameters of Agent Stone’s employment contract are none of your business, Commander,” Robotnik said firmly, “and I don’t see why they’ve been such a concern to you. Have you had a single complaint from him, formal or otherwise?”
“No, but-” he attempted.
Stone’s body was just barely fucking the stroker now, easing himself in and out, the same half-inch of his shaft over and over, slow and careful to remain silent. He watched the slight vibrations on the surface of the matcha, stifling a gasp when a gloved hand moved into view, picking it up.
“Any incident reports?” Robotnik asked, pausing to drink.
“Well, no-” Osborn said, clearly frustrated.
“No request for on- or off-record mediation with third-party individuals present?” Robotnik asked, eyes dancing with cleverness despite the straight line of his mouth.
It was like watching a trained dog with its cornered prey, dodging and feinting, having a little fun before striking the final blow. Stone’s chest felt tight. He inhaled as deeply as he could, his breastbone pressing against the curved edge of the table. He’d held excruciatingly still since Robotnik had picked up his matcha, knowing himself to be prey, too, painfully aware that any errant sound or motion would draw immediate attention to himself.
Nine, Stone thought, watching the matcha reappear on the table, Wait, no. Ten.
“No, but clearly-” Osborn said.
“Clearly nothing. You have no evidence to stand on,” Robotnik said, “I’d advise you to control this obsession with my Agent before it becomes unseemly.”
His smile faded to a look of pointed judgement. Stone’s stomach churned.
“What?!” Osborn barked.
“Unless these presumptions are the first signs of senility creeping in?” Robotnik continued, eyes narrowing, “I might suggest to the committee the concept of term limits for certain decision-making positions, but that’s a discussion for another day, in different company.”
Stone ached all over, being discussed as though he weren’t in the room. He would’ve given anything to see the faces on the screen just then, but they were so small, his vision so blurry. He squirmed. The table rattled quietly. Without looking at him, Robotnik extended his arm out of the camera’s field of vision and wagged his finger at him. He stilled.
Eleven, he thought, My Agent. Oh, fuck. His. His Agent. Possessive. His. Oh my god. In front of others.
“Oh, dear. The Commander must be having connectivity issues. I see he’s disconnected from the call,” Robotnik said with a cruel lightness, very clear that he didn’t mean a word he’d said, “What a pity. Now, if we may return to the original subject.”
A quiet chorus of agreements broke the clearly uncomfortable silence. Stone pushed himself forward as hard as he could, the firm, round face of the stroker digging into him. Again, his hands tightened around the egg, reminding him that he was holding something fragile. He relaxed his grip, careful to keep it secure in his palms.
“If you are determined to enact another layer of oversight, I will not take on this project,” Robotnik said, voice dangerously light, letting his colleagues know that playtime was most certainly over, “Feel free to outsource this to one of your contract partners, provided you have one with the necessary levels of experience and internal security clearance. You can’t win them all.”
Stone knew the last sentence was referring to their colleagues, not Robotnik referring to himself. His jaw tightened in the ensuing silence. His whole body was consumed by intense tension, every muscle hot in its effort to keep still, feeling like he’d die if he couldn’t fuck something soon. Even breathing felt like an ordeal, his body naturally wanting to pant like a dog.
I will not be muted, though. Bear that in mind.
Fuck, I need to cum, Stone thought, feeling a drop of sweat trail down his temple, onto his cheek, then into his beard.
“Let us… Let us just convene a second, will you?” came an unsure voice.
“You have seven more minutes of my time,” Robotnik said, glancing down at his watch.
“Understood,” said another voice, “We’ll be quick.”
Stone finally hazarded a glance up at the screen. All of the video feeds had gone dark and muted, including Robotnik’s. He turned to Stone, appraising him carefully. His face was glistening with sweat, his eyes pleading, body tense and still. Stone ached for any word from him – compliment or criticism – but none came.
Please, he begged silently, Please-
Robotnik reached for his matcha again, taking another sip, his eyes traveling down Stone’s knotted forearms, down to his hands that still cradled the egg. In response, Stone carefully loosened his grasp, showing that the egg was safe and intact. Robotnik set his cup back down, turned toward the screen, and waited.
Stone drew a slow breath, attempting to curtail his body’s own tense shaking. His hips moved slowly backward, more than their permitted half-inch, freeing half of his length before slowly pressing back in. Stone held his breath.
Please don’t look. Twelve, he thought, forcing his bleary eyes back to the knots on his forearms, rich red rope against his fine black suit, Twelve. Fuck. I’m out of knots.
Thankfully, the screens blinked back to life, including Robotnik’s. He straightened back up as though he were on camera, too.
“Doctor, we’ve decided to withdraw the additional oversight contingency,” said a voice.
Robotnik nodded.
“Be sure that Agent Stone will keep a close eye on me,” he said, “if that assuages any of your worry.”
“It does,” said another voice, “We’d actually like him to be present while all the work on this project gets done.”
Fuck, Stone thought desperately, balls tightening at the thought.
His hips were hard at work again, discreetly fucking the stroker in careful silence, back to his discreet half-inch. His knees were pressed against the round chrome footprint of the table in an attempt to steady it against his subtle movements.
“Actively participating or in the room?” Robotnik asked.
“In the room,” the same voice replied, “and providing brief daily status updates.”
The idea struck him like a bolt of electricity. He would be required by the government to provide constant oversight to Robotnik over the course of this new high security project. He’d need to be in the room with him at all times. His stomach flipped. His throat tightened, barely containing a moan. He dug his knees harder into chrome. The thought of being consistently in such close quarters with Robotnik so soon after having sex with him was enough to make him lightheaded.
No, he urged himself, If I go over, the table goes with me.
“This is feasible,” Robotnik said, “Agent Stone is a very busy man.”
Something about his tone of voice – confident and mollifying, with a loaded aspect that only the two of them understood – made Stone spasm. The table rattled, sounding much louder to Stone than it did in the room. Without thinking, his hands clenched, the fragile shell of the egg giving way. He felt the thin, jagged edge of the crushed shell pressing into his palms, the unpleasantly warm and slimy sensation of the albumen passing through his fingers. He watched, vision obstructed by his confinement, as strands of yolk dripped from between his fingers.
Oh, no, he thought, Oh, fuck. I’m done for.
“He has his hands full,” Robotnik said in that same casual tone, “but I’ll see to it that he makes the time.”
He wasn’t looking at Stone, but he clearly knew exactly what had occurred. Stone’s breath caught as he watched him lift his hand just slightly from the armrest, fingers poised for a second in the palm of his glove before delivering a lingering shock of medium intensity. Stone locked his body in an attempt to stay silent and still, biting down on the tip of his tongue.
Robotnik rubbed his fingertips up and down over the sensor, creating sharp peaks to interrupt the baseline shock. Stone’s hips jerked a few times, jamming himself in and out of the stroker too hard and too fast. He bowed his head, feeling every muscle in his body tense, his ears ringing. When Robotnik’s fingers left the sensor, Stone’s body went limp, leaving him in an unfamiliar feeling of suspension, almost cradled by the knots that kept him anchored to the table, the table holding his dead weight. He hung his head in shame and an attempt to silence the shaking breaths he was drawing through his nose, careful to keep his mouth shut.
“We appreciate your flexibility, Doctor,” a voice replied.
The final moments of the meeting were used to discuss general terms. Stone lost focus, focusing dejectedly on his poor performance and nothing else. His heart sank despite the pleasant tingling in his limbs. His hands still cradled the broken shell, slick and cooling to the ambient temperature of the lab.
I’m so fucked, he thought, I am so very fucked.
When everyone signed off, Robotnik giving his usual wordless acknowledgement before closing the program, Stone was still sat with his head bowed in shame. He heard Robotnik’s chair swivel toward him and looked up at him, eyes wide and pitiful. Robotnik shook his head, wearing a look at was an unconvincing mask of sympathy.
“And you were doing so well,” he said.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Stone said quietly.
Robotnik looked from him, his body trembling, aching for release, to the mess on the floor. He shook his head again, dropping the act quickly.
“Thoroughly scrambled,” he said of both Stone and the egg.
Stone sighed miserably, the base of his throat tight. Robotnik stood, picking up his matcha and stepping back, allowing himself a better view of the situation. With a cursory flick of his hand, he pulled up the virtual metronome again, leaving it to float above the console.
“Well, that was only half of the exercise,” he said, snapping his fingers, setting the slow, easy click track into motion, “Seventy BPM, Agent. Think you can handle that?”
Stone looked up with hopeful eyes, glad of this unexpected second chance. He nodded, eager and in awe.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and zeroed in on the rhythm. He recognized it from Friday afternoon, too slow for his liking, forcing him into a state of concentration. Still, he found it easier now, kneecaps growing sore, raw egg going cold and tacky between his fingers, than he did when he was buried deep inside Robotnik.
C’mon, he told himself, Gotta get something right today.
Robotnik stood over him, vigilant, watching his form and body language. He could tell this was difficult for him. His neck strained against the collar, hands clawed around the shattered egg, hips moving rigidly.
He is doing it, though, he reminded himself, paying close attention to the rhythm of his body.
Practice did indeed make progress. Stone shifted his weight, pressing his forearms harder against the glass tabletop, allowing his thrusts a little downward momentum. He hunched his shoulders, his jaw clenched tight. He’d already spent thirty minutes in this erotic purgatory, waiting, constricted, unable to relieve himself. He looked down at the vise through the tabletop, watching the glass vibrate with his every movement. He pictured Robotnik’s long naked back before him, then saw him towering over him from his lap. He shook his head to dispel the images, remaining focused on the metronome.
Unseen, Robotnik tapped tips of his index finger and thumb together several times, raising the speed once again to eighty beats per minute. He watched as Stone shifted worked up to the new rhythm. He held there for over a minute before raising it to ninety, then to one hundred, ten more beats added with each passing minute. One hundred beats per minute had a nice clip to it, and he could tell Stone was having an easier time with it.
Fuck, Stone thought, That’s good.
After another minute, Robotnik increased the metronome to one hundred and ten beats per minute, the pleasant clicking beginning to feel rushed. He watched Stone closely, noticing clear signs of fatigue. Sweat trickled down from his hairline. His jaw was locked, lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl that made his stomach turn over unexpectedly. His fingers had closed tighter around the eggshell without crumpling it further.
Impressive, Robotnik thought.
He increased the tempo one last time, leaving it at one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Stone was panting now, breathing through his teeth. His eyes were three-quarters closed and staring dully ahead, clearly focused only on the rhythm. His hips worked back and forth like a well-timed piston, smooth and even despite the obvious stress throughout his body.
Robotnik allowed himself to imagine it, Stone fucking him like that, hard and fast. He thought of Stone’s heaving breaths in close proximity, of the heat that would likely be radiating from his body. Surprisingly, he didn’t find the notion of either to be unpleasant. His eyes moved to Stone’s hands, glistening, still dripping with viscous raw egg white. He swallowed with difficulty, his face suddenly hot. He felt the first stirrings of physical arousal and put the thought out of his mind, actively filing it away for later.
Now is not the time, he reminded himself briskly.
He had never considered the idea of clothed sex to be attractive before, but now, watching Stone in his full suit, trussed up in red rope, the fabric creasing, folding with each powerful movement, he understood a certain appeal. He was tempted to increase the tempo again, but resisted for the welfare of his beloved table. He could hear the frame rattling with each of Stone’s thrusts.
Just then, Stone threw his head back with a shaky moan, eyes closed, lips parted. Robotnik’s eyes darted between his watch and Stone for the next thirty seconds, after which, he abruptly stopped the metronome. Stone stopped after two thrusts, cock buried deep in the stroker. His whole body tightened at the abrupt cessation of movement. Each breath he drew was nearly painful. He closed his eyes tight, wincing his way through the denial.
Robotnik walked around Stone once, a simple orbit, assessing him again from every angle. He passed his hand back through Stone’s hair, watching his body jump and tense before going half-limp again, still panting. He placed his unfinished matcha on the console before he began silently untying the knots systematically, starting with his forearms and moving downward. Stone held perfectly still, forearms still pressed to the glass tabletop, hands still holding the empty, fractured shell. Robotnik stood over him, coiling each rope around the crook of his elbow before wrapping a long length of it around itself, sipping the tail through the loop to loosely secure it.
“Pull out,” Robotnik eventually said.
Stone attempted to do so slowly, but his body pulled back abruptly, yanking his cock free, causing him to hiss quietly, wincing. Robotnik looked down at him, at the strands of precum and lube that still connected his cock to the stroker, the way his flushed shaft bobbed for attention.
“Well,” he said with a shrug, “at least you didn’t cum.”
Stone breathed a ragged sigh of relief, body going half-limp against the table again, head finally able to sink down onto his forearms, everything going blessedly dark. His insides were a cacophony of mixed pleasure and pain, much easier to bear without the piercing lights of the lab.
“And you won’t,” Robotnik said, “Clean up my this mess, then, thirty-minute cooldown.”
He didn’t mean to, but Stone groaned audibly, a tortured sound muffled by his own forearms.
“Yes, sir,” Stone said, voice muffled by how low his head was hanging between his shoulders, chin nearly touching his chest.
He stood, unsure what to do with the eggshell before ultimately deciding to set it down next to the mixed white and yolk on the floor. Robotnik set a bottle of spray cleaner and a roll of paper towels on the table top. With his foot, he scooted the small garbage can out from under the console. He sat back down and continued working.
First, Stone wiped his hands extensively before ultimately deciding to spray a small amount of the all-purpose cleaner into his palms, rubbing them together in an attempt to remove the clammy sensation of drying raw egg from his skin. He toweled them off, relieved to feel that it had mostly worked.
With extreme care, he pulled up his underwear, flinching as the elastic waistband grazed the underside of his oversensitive cock. He pulled up his slacks and tucked in his shirt, adjusting himself subtly before getting back to work. He moved the table back by a few inches and knelt on the floor, looking down at the mix of clear albumen streaked with broken yellow yolk. The eggshell, collapsed in on itself, sat nearby.
He cleaned everything up meticulously, scooping, wiping, spraying, wiping again. He gave his hands one more cursory spray and dry-off before he pushed the garbage can back under the console and placed the cleaning supplies back onto the smoked grey glass of the tabletop. He took his place at his little desk facing the wall, where he hadn’t sat in what felt like ages, and folded his hands, staring straight ahead, knowing that Robotnik would alert him when his time was up.
The whole time, his body throbbed, his head aching from the exertion and eventual denial of pleasure. Stone replayed the call in his head, shifting in his seat at the thought of Robotnik talking about him as though he hadn’t been in the room. He moved his hands slowly, silently, to pull back the cuff of his sleeve, peering at the soft flushed indent on the underside of his forearm, made by the rope. He yearned to slip off his jacket and roll the sleeve up, to admire the perfect lines that the ropes must’ve left. He abruptly stared back at the wall when it occurred to him that the marks would’ve much more intense if they’d been on his bare skin, likely leaving behind the impression of the individual fibers of the rope. Again, he was lightheaded. When his cooldown was over, he turned toward the console.
“Are you ready to resume your work?” Robotnik asked.
“Yes, Doctor,” Stone replied.
Robotnik beckoned him over with one finger. Stone came obediently. He bit his lip when Robotnik motioned for him to unbuckle his belt, but he did so without question. His cock was soft, but it ached. Every part of him ached. Robotnik took up the cage once again. Stone knew it had to be done. The temptation would be too great if he’d been left on his own without it.
Robotnik seemed to handle him more gently than usual, something that Stone was quietly very grateful for. He watched as he slipped on the ring, then the cage, then the lock, clicking the shackle into place.
“You understand,” Robotnik said simply, looking up at him.
Stone nodded.
“I wouldn’t be able to resist temptation, sir,” he replied honestly.
Stone picked up his laptop and now-tepid matcha latte and returned to his office. He placed his things down and went to the staff bathroom for an extremely thorough hand wash, still able to vividly recall the unpleasant sensation of raw egg dripping between his fingers. He returned to his office, but didn’t resume work for another fifteen minutes, unable to focus, still feeling internally too shaken to concentrate.
At the end of the day, he returned to the lab, removing his collar and walking up to the console, ready to be relieved of his chastity cage. He looked hopefully, expectantly at Robotnik, sure it must have been a pathetic sight. Robotnik looked at the fly of his slacks and then back up to his face.
“You’re to wear it home,” he said.
Stone’s knees buckled. He kept a brave face, but the devastation was clear in his eyes. Robotnik held his gaze for a beat before grinning, shaking his head.
“I’ll allow you to go home without it,” he said, “Even though today’s exercise wasn’t a complete success, I’ll allow it. It would certainly impede your focus.”
“Thank you, sir,” Stone said emphatically, wishing he could reach out and touch him, take one of his hands in both of his in a display of gratitude.
“Saves me a midnight distress call,” Robotnik said.
Stone was already unzipping his fly, eager to be given his freedom for the evening even more so than before. Robotnik methodically removed everything - lock, cage, ring - setting them on the console. He gave Stone’s soft cock a parting squeeze, watching him fold, forcing an unsteady, quiet groan out of him before unhanding him.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Stone repeated breathlessly, hastily pulling his pants back up.
He drove home in a half-dazed state, taking sips of ice cold water from his water bottle to remain focused on the road. When he arrived home, he knew he had no other choice than to immediately give into the urges of his body and masturbate. He dropped his bag by the door and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, spreading it out under his coffee table. He unzipped his pants and got on his knees, spitting in his palm. He bent over the table, feeling the edge of it press hard into his hips. With his free arm, he reached across to the far edge, creating tension in his sore muscles.
He masturbated like that, fucking his fist like it was the stroker, locking his free arm, pretending he was tied up again in Robotnik’s red web of rope. Everything came back in flashes.
Robotnik tying him up with precision.
Robotnik arguing with Osborn on his behalf.
Robotnik regarding him during the call with a stern look, a wag of his finger.
Stone was already gasping for breath, lower body moving at an impressive rhythm. He heard the metronome clicking in his ears. He thought of his assignment to watch over Robotnik on whatever this new project was, hoping he wouldn’t be quizzed on the details. He’d been too busy counting the knots that bound his forearms together. In his head, he saw them clearly, saturated red against black.
One, two, three-
Robotnik watching him fiercely as he gradually increased the speed of the metronome.
Four, five, six-
Robotnik’s gentle hands as he untied him.
Seven, eight, nine-
Robotnik running his hand through his hair.
Ten-
Robotnik carefully putting the cage back on him.
Eleven-
Robotnik seeming to joke - was he joking? - with him about being made to wear the cage overnight.
Twelve-
Robotnik squeezing his over-sensitized cock for no reason other than to do it, for no other reason than he could.
Stone mimicked the motion, squeezing his shaft. He saw stars, cumming so hard that he ran out of breath halfway through, leaving him bucking and wheezing, the power of his hips scooting his coffee table across the rug. He burned all over afterward, once again hiding his face against his forearm, needing the darkness to gather himself and recuperate, the strength of his climax seemingly doubled from its earlier denial. He briefly fell asleep like that, facedown on his table, on his knees, soft cock hanging out of his fly.
He woke with a groggy, croaking groan, shifting himself onto his side on the floor, curling up with his back against the foot of the sofa. He slept for an hour and a half, dead to the world. The rest of the evening, he felt as though he were moving in slow motion, plodding his way through a shower and dinner before collapsing into bed, completely drained, falling asleep immediately, his only coherent thought being one of gratitude that he was allowed to come home without the chastity cage.
The next morning, he received a calendar invitation for the following day, Friday afternoon, ninety minutes in length, titled “Performance Review.” Initially, he didn’t make the connection, owing to the fact that it wasn’t the correct time of year of any of his periodic reviews, some of which were government-mandated, some not. When he opened the appointment and looked at the note (“As discussed last Friday, bring all of your necessary work aides.”), he felt himself pale.
“Oh,” he said quietly in his office, eyes wide as he stared at the screen, “Okay.”
He accepted the invitation and attempted to go about his day, clinging to any shred of normalcy he could find. Much to his surprise, he was sent home without the chastity cage. That night, he gathered his things once they were all charged, laying them out on the bed as a sort of checklist. He placed each item into a canvas tote – both TENS units, the plug, the collar, and the bottle of lube. He placed that tote bag into his work bag.
“I can’t believe this,” he said, remembering how easily he’d told Robotnik everything about his masturbation habits.
He covered his face with both hands, hiding his blush from no one but himself. He’d never broken during an interrogation so easily. As he recalled the details, though - Robotnik in his lap, wrapped around him tight, staring down at him with fiery eyes - he couldn’t bring himself to feel much shame.
The following day, his bag weighed heavy on his shoulder. They both knew the contents, but it only seemed to affect Stone. All through the morning, he kept glancing at it beneath his desk, distracted. In the afternoon, he finally took the tote bag out, setting it on his desk, as though acclimating himself to the idea of what was to come. When he received the automated reminder for his performance review, he hurried down to the lab.
Being early makes a good impression, he thought wryly.
In actuality, he knew that there were necessary preparations to be taken. When he entered the lab, Robotnik stood wordlessly and began walking toward the doors to his quarters, having been expecting him. Stone followed him inside, bristling as the doors swooped shut behind him, feeling the gust of wind they created. Again, he walked through Robotnik’s living space, catching glimpses of things here and there. He recognized the round glass-topped side table, one of a pair that flanked the sofa, from Wednesday’s ordeal. He swallowed hard. Robotnik led the way to the bedroom, walking inside first, swiping on the lights with a midair motion.
Stone beheld his bedroom again with the same awe as the first time. As he took in the semi-familiar surroundings, he noticed a thick black towel laid across the bed for him. He flushed slightly, at both Robotnik’s preparation and the unknowing similarity to his own habits.
“Lay out your implements,” Robotnik said, “I’d like to have a preliminary inspection.”
Stone nodded. He set his tote bag down on the bed and lined everything up – TENS units, plug, collar, lube. He took a step back, allowing Robotnik to have a closer look. Robotnik stepped in closer. To Stone’s dismay, he was focused instead on the tote bag, which had folded over itself in his haste, obscuring the design on it. With the tip of his finger, and as though touching something very foreign that he was unsure of, Robotnik flicked the fabric back, leaving it mostly flat. Stone had purchased it from a local bookshop; it was emblazoned with a quote from John Waters, framed by an overly-dainty wreath of flowers.
If you go home with somebody, and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ‘em!
Stone watched as Robotnik narrowed his eyes slightly, appearing to study it.
Of all the tote bags I could’ve fucking grabbed, he thought, quietly mortified.
Thankfully, Robotnik moved on. He picked up one TENS unit, then the next, inspecting them. He turned both on, checking the settings on the illuminated blue screens before turning them off. He gave the faintest nod of approval when he discovered that all the electrodes were fresh for the occasion. The plug, he didn’t touch, picking up the remote instead. He cycled through all of the vibration patterns, familiarizing himself by listening.
“That one’s my favorite,” Stone said in an effort to break the silence that had become, to him, uncomfortable.
Robotnik listened a moment, honing in on the sound of the pattern.
“The bell curve?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Stone replied.
He cycled through the last few options before turning it off. He picked up the collar next, turning it over in his hands. Stone had purchased a very nice one, having carefully vetted the quality of the leather, the sizing, and the customer reviews. He knew, though, that it would never measure up to Robotnik’s in either of their eyes. Robotnik set it down, passing over the bottle of lube. He turned his attention to Stone once again.
“Undress,” he said, “Leave your clothes and collar on the chair.”
“Yes, sir,” Stone said.
He did as he was told, quickly undressing down to nothing. With each glance over his shoulder, he found that Robotnik was sitting on a chair by the bed, engrossed in the screen of his tablet. Stone hoped he’d catch him glancing his way, but he was too absorbed in whatever he was doing. He felt a note of sadness when he removed his collar, setting it on the cushion atop his loosely-folded slacks.
He returned to where he’d started. Robotnik set his tablet aside in favor of unlocking his chastity cage, setting it on the bedside table as he’d done last time. Finally, he looked up at Stone, who now stood naked before him, doing his best to project an air of confidence.
“Go about this as you usually would,” Robotnik said, “I’ll provide very little instruction.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Stone said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Pretend I’m not here,” Robotnik said.
Stone nodded, knowing that would be impossible. First, he reached for his collar, buckling it around his neck. Next, he picked up one TENS unit, affixing the electrodes to his back. With the second unit, he affixed them to his stomach and thighs, as usual. He looked up briefly to see that Robotnik was watching him. Both of their eyes darted away simultaneously.
Stone climbed onto the bed and got on top of the towel, eyelids fluttering closed when he realized his head was resting on Robotnik’s pillows. He turned on the first TENS unit, setting it to constant stimulation at low intensity. The second, he dialed to a steady pulse, also at low intensity.
“Which settings have you chosen?” Robotnik asked.
“Constant on my back, pulse on my front,” Stone said, “Very low intensity to start.”
Robotnik nodded, making note of his selections. Stone reached for the lube, pawing around on the bed until he found it, somewhat unwilling to open his eyes.
“Sir,” he began shyly, “could you please turn down the lights? Just a little?”
He didn’t receive a verbal response. Instead, he noticed the dimming through his closed eyelids. His body immediately relaxed a bit, bent knees easing out straight slowly. He sighed.
“Thank you, sir,” he replied.
He lubricated his pointer and middle fingers. He bent his knees and spread his legs, rubbing lube over his hole. He pushed his middle finger inside slowly. Robotnik watched his body tense and relax over the top edge of his tablet. As he watched, he took notes.
Stone prefers the light level to be lowered. While preparing himself for insertion, he’s closed his eyes, perhaps for modesty?
Stone lifted his hips, already pressing in his index finger. He’d used more lube than usual, wanting to speed through this part as much as possible. He drew a quiet hiss through his clenched teeth.
“Don’t rush,” Robotnik said.
“Okay, sir,” Stone said.
He slowed his pace, moving his fingers slowly, scissoring very gently. His body relaxed onto the towel beneath it. He sighed. Robotnik watched as he lubricated the plug, hands disappearing between his thighs. He watched Stone’s face instead, a brief tension passing over it before a pleasured expression took hold. Stone wiped his non-dominant hand on the towel and took up the small remote, making his way through the vibration patterns until he selected his favorite.
“It’s the bell curve,” he said preemptively.
Robotnik nodded, typing.
Self-noted proclivity for intermittent stimulation (e.g., bell curve, pulse settings).
Stone took this opportunity to increase the intensity of both TENS units to approximately medium. His body tensed, arched like a bow, before relaxing back down onto the mattress. Robotnik’s tongue darted out to wet his lips.
“Medium intensity,” Stone reported.
Robotnik took note.
Intensity raised to medium before activity begins in earnest.
Stone was ready to start stroking when he heard Robotnik stand. He turned his head toward him with a puzzled look.
“You have one instruction during this performance review, Stone,” Robotnik said.
He reached into his coat pocket and once again placed an egg in Stone’s open palm. Stone looked at it and then looked up at Robotnik.
“Prove to me you can control your grip strength,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Stone said, feeling a twinge of nervousness.
Robotnik said back down.
“You may continue,” he said.
Stone poured a small amount of additional lube into his palm and reached down, finally taking hold of his cock. He sighed, starting at the base and working to the tip, slicking himself, feeling the hot pulse of his own arousal within his palm. He had been instructed to go about his business as usual. He was relieved that he mostly masturbated with his eyes closed, with no visual stimulation, decreasing the likelihood that he’d turn his head, resting his cheek on the pillow to stare at Robotnik.
In that moment, he did give in to his urges and stole one singular glance. Robotnik was seated, one leg crossed over the other, tablet resting on his knee. He typed, eyes focused on the screen, expression serious. Stone smiled before closing his eyes, imagining this to be some sort of bizarre therapist’s appointment.
I wonder what you’re typing, he thought, turning his head away.
He found quickly that he didn’t need to think of anything but his present reality to get off. He’d never imagined this exact scenario, but he knew it would be in heavy rotation from here on out.
I’m in Robotnik’s bed. He’s watching me masturbate, Stone thought, a quiet moan escaping him, This is – fuck – this is where we had sex. Fuck. Oh my god.
His hand tightened around the egg before he hastily loosened his grip. He wondered if Robotnik had noticed, but he didn’t dare to look. He was already stroking himself relatively quickly, his hips rising with each stroke to complete the motion before grinding back down against the bed, purposefully shifting the vibrating plug inside him. Robotnik watched and typed, his mouth gone dry.
Stone uses a series of coordinated motions to stimulate himself internally and externally.
He was already thinking of the augmentations he could make to Stone’s sex toys, how he could create better ones, more suited to his needs. He typed ideas in shorthand bullets, continually glancing up to watch Stone fuck himself. He shifted in his seat, legs still crossed, creating the barest friction on his own hard cock.
Robotnik hadn’t intended for this to be an exercise in arousal on his own part. He had been genuinely curious about Stone’s masturbation habits after their mid-coital interrogation. Now as he watched, though, Stone gently bucking, the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing from the pulses of electricity being carried through his skin, it seemed less and less possible to disentangle the mental from the physical.
He watched Stone’s hands. His grip on his cock was hard, almost white-knuckling, tightening sometimes around his cockhead or the base of his shaft, making his body spasm slightly, causing his legs to quiver or his chest to raise. His other hand held the egg. Every time he held it a little tighter, it stole Robotnik’s breath. He’d offered him this task for multiple reasons – to learn more about his pleasure-seeking and to offer a do-over of Wednesday’s task, which had not been a complete success. In this moment, watching his grip tighten and loosen around the delicate egg in his palm, he was certain he’d never wanted to see Stone succeed at anything so badly since he’d first met him.
Come on, now, he thought tensely, slowly creeping toward the edge of his seat, Careful.
Stone’s breaths were growing ragged, his motions faster, more involved. It was clear to Robotnik that his pleasure had superseded his initial apparent nervousness in the way that he moved alone. He fucked his fist, his cock glistening with lube. His neck strained against the collar. Every few breaths, he uttered some sort of moan, some soft and quiet, others less restrained. His brows were knitted with effort. Every muscle, left bare to him, tensed and flexed hypnotically.
“Normally, this is where I would increase the power on both TENS units, sir,” Stone said, pausing to breathe, “but my hands are full.”
He heard the sound of wood scraping against the floor. Robotnik moved his chair closer to the edge of the bed. He took up both units, slowly increasing the intensity simultaneously. Midway between medium and full power, Stone gasped.
“Stop there, please,” he begged, voice breaking.
Robotnik set both TENS units down, well within his reach. He took to his tablet again.
Stone requires gradually-increasing stimulation throughout.
He made a mental note to research Stone’s specific TENS units afterward to determine their voltage thresholds. He scrolled up and down his live document, realizing then how empty it was. He’d spent more time looking at Stone than he had writing. He shrugged, looking back toward the bed.
This will be easy to commit to memory, he told himself.
“Things tend to happen – fuck – oh, god, I’m sorry, sir,” Stone said, eyes shut tight, “Things tend to happen quickly now. I’m – I’m starting to get close.”
Robotnik opened his mouth and then closed it, making a point to clear his throat as quietly as he could before speaking.
“This is not a timed trial,” he reassured.
“Okay,” Stone breathed, “Good. Thank you, sir.”
His toes curled, lower back arching off the bed, face contorting with the intensity of everything he was feeling. He learned quickly that while he’d dialed everything in for a reliably excellent masturbation experience, there was nothing quite so arousing as knowing that he was being watched by Robotnik himself.
Fuck, keep watching me. Don’t take your eyes off me, Stone thought, Please, please keep talking to me. Say something. Anything.
He realized that he would have to be the one to break the silence. He steeled himself with the deepest breath he was able to take, pleasure seeming to constrict his entire form now.
“Sir, can you-” he began, “would you please turn up both units?”
“How high?” Robotnik asked.
“Max power,” Stone said sheepishly, “I need it to cum.”
Something about the admission squeezed a single tear from his eye. Robotnik saw how it caught the light, watching it leave a crystal trail down his cheek. The intensity of Stone’s pleasure briefly took hold of him. He uncrossed his legs, reached down, and give his own clothed erection a rough rub. He reached for both units, first increasing the voltage of the electrodes attached to his back, watching his form straighten and go rigid before returning to his prior fluid movements.
“Thank you, sir,” Stone whined, “Oh god. Thank you.”
Robotnik bit his lip, slowly turning up the intensity on the unit attached to Stone’s thighs and stomach. He watched him spasm, go still, spasm again, a loud, pained groan escaping him as he threw his head back into the pillows. Stone’s body moved now as though he were being fucked, writhing and grinding, stroking himself, all in a rhythmic synergy that needed no metronome or click track to synchronize.
“Thank you, Doctor!” he gasped, “Fuck! I’m really – I’m gonna cum soon. Okay?”
Robotnik was arrested by the sight of him, the fingertip sensors of his gloves digging into the chair’s armrests. Stone turned his head toward him, looking at him with shimmering, pleading eyes. He realized that Stone, without being told to do so, was asking permission.
Robotnik roughly set his tablet on the edge of the nightstand, slamming it down loudly before tugging off one of his gloves. He stood so quickly that the chair fell onto its side with a startling clatter. Stone looked up, shocked by the sound, just in time to see Robotnik climb onto the bed, towering over him on his knees. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly hastily, pulling his hard cock from his underwear.
He leaned over Stone to snatch up the bottle of lube, his mind completely devoid of coherent thought, his body full of unrestrained need. Stone arched up off the bed when Robotnik started stroking himself, looking up at him with reverence and want. Robotnik was breathing forcefully, stroking himself hard and fast, looking down at Stone, eyes traveling over his body, devouring him, drinking him in.
“Sir, please,” Stone begged, voice thin, “Please, please, I’m so close.”
Robotnik couldn’t unclench his teeth to speak. His eyes met Stone’s but his thoughts didn’t reach him.
“I won’t cum until – oh, fuck – you tell me I can,” Stone said, looking pained.
“Go,” Robotnik said hoarsely, unable to muster more than a single syllable.
He watched intently as Stone’s eyes briefly closed, looking from his face to his cock. He was close, too, and it had happened so quickly that the room had a bending quality to it, leaving him lightheaded.
“Fuck,” Robotnik growled.
That singular word made Stone’s hips lift from the mattress, a cry breaking from his lips. Robotnik watched him cum, spilling over his own torso, muscles clenching in time with the TENS units pumping him full of electricity. He looked to his face, committing to memory the look of shameless need there, watching him drown in pleasure, listening to each aching sound he made as he stroked himself through his own climax.
It was too much. Robotnik folded forward, perched over Stone, his gloved hand pressing into his bare chest for support. In an uncharacteristic move, his hips jerked back and forth, hard and fast, fucking his fist mercilessly. It only took several of these forceful strokes to make Robotnik cum. He threw his head back with a hoarse, desperate roar, riding out the highest intensity part of his climax with marked difficulty, unused to this sort of stimulation.
When he looked back down, Stone was painted with his cum, droplets on his chest and neck, streaks on his face. Robotnik’s hand tightened reflexively, squeezing his chest. He was panting so hard, left so suddenly depleted, that he had to get onto the floor, lest he fall off the bed in this spell of disorientation. He wanted to speak, but couldn’t, feeling starved for air.
Slowly, he eased himself back off of Stone. He found his way to the floor, letting his legs stretch out in front of him, back supported against the side of the bed. His head fell back against the mattress, eyes closed to keep the room from bending and stretching around him. Stone reached automatically for his remotes, turning everything off completely rather than slowly turning them down, wrenching one last broken moan from him as he went limp.
He, too, had been completely obliterated by his orgasm, leaving him breathless. It would’ve been more than enough for Robotnik to watch him masturbate. Instead, Robotnik suddenly joining him, radiating his usual intensity and then some, had thrown Stone over the edge. He, too, closed his eyes, breathing through the waves of pleasure, tongue darting out to taste Robotnik’s cum, stealing a droplet from his mustache.
“Tissues on the nightstand,” Robotnik said, voice sounding hoarse and far away.
Stone couldn’t bring himself to reply. Instead, he reached with his free hand, grabbing the box by the corner and dragging it toward him. First, he cleaned his own cum off of himself, then Robotnik’s, carefully wiping his face, neck, and chest. He wadded up the tissues and laid them on the towel.
That was so fuckin’ hot, Stone thought.
For a long time, neither moved, spoke, or thought. Stone shifted his prone hand, still loosely grasping the unbroken egg. He felt something soft, slowly registering that it was Robotnik’s hair. Without thinking, he idly extended his index finger, briefly running it back and forth through the short hair at the side of his head before drawing his hand back, closer in toward his body.
When Robotnik’s watch vibrated, he lifted his head with difficulty, feeling exhausted. He shook his wrist to clear the notification and pushed himself up. He sat on his knees for a moment at the edge of the bed, looking at Stone, who was still lying naked, electrodes still stuck to his skin, plug still in his hole. His eyes travelled to his hand, staring at the unbroken egg he hadn’t yet let go of.
Of course, Robotnik thought, I haven’t told him to.
He took it from Stone with his ungloved hand, fingers brushing only very briefly. Stone looked up at him, eyes focusing quickly.
“Pass?” he asked.
Robotnik inspected the egg briefly, able to tell even in the dimmed bedroom light that it had sustained no damage.
“Pass,” Robotnik replied, “Go take a shower.”
“Thank you, sir,” Stone replied.
For a few minutes, the two of them wordlessly tidied up, both moving slower than usual. Stone removed his electrodes and placed them on their clear plastic films. He wrapped his plug in a tissue, setting it alongside his clothes. He gathered everything up and slipped it into his tote. Robotnik threw away the soiled tissues and folded the towel over itself, taking it from the bedroom.
That’s where they parted ways. Stone moved to the hangar, clothes bundled in his arms. He removed his home collar, putting it into his tote, eager to wear the one he considered to be his “real” collar again. He washed his plug thoroughly in the sink and dried it, putting it away with the rest of his toys. He showered thoroughly, letting the hot water slowly bring him back to reality.
I can’t believe that just happened, he thought, picturing Robotnik climbing onto the bed again, mattress dipping unexpectedly with his added weight.
After he’d dried himself, he tied his necktie in front of the mirror, making sure the knot wasn’t askew. His considered his own reflection and what he must’ve looked like with Robotnik’s cum on his face. He could still recall the warm viscosity of it on his cheek, near his mouth, across the bridge of his nose.
Well, whatever you saw, Stone thought proudly, you obviously liked it.
Robotnik didn’t commit to a full shower, instead opting for a spot-wash and a fresh pair of underwear. He dropped the towel into the chute that led to the laundry room, unable to countenance the idea of it sitting in his hamper. He placed the surviving egg back into the fridge and reordered the bedroom, righting the chair he’d knocked over, straightening the bed linens, and inspecting his tablet for damage before he returned to the lab.
Stone arrived a short time later, coffee in hand. The afternoon proceeded quietly and without further incident. At the end of the day, Stone returned to have his collar removed. Again, Robotnik thought of his substitute collar, the one he wore at home, and all the implications that went with it.
“Do you only wear your collar when you masturbate?” he asked.
Stone was taken off-guard by the question, but collected himself quickly.
“Mostly,” he answered honestly.
He wished Robotnik had asked for further details, but all he got was a simple nod in reply. He went home and spent the evening replaying the events of the afternoon in his head, positively giddy and in disbelief.
I passed, he told himself, pleased that all of his masturbation efforts over the last several months had amounted to something.
After a few more hours of work, Robotnik decided to retire early for the evening. He hadn’t anticipated his participation in the performance review and it had left him worse for wear. He stood in the kitchen, contemplating a quick and easy meal. He took off his coat and gloves, sighing, realizing now how truly tired he was. His throat went dry at the thought of the afternoon’s final act, when all reason left his body and he practically leapt onto the mattress with Stone.
He put two slices of bread in the toaster, but didn’t press down the lever. He placed the stick of butter on the spotless glass surface of the stove to soften. He cut a square of it off, running the knife along the edge of the small skillet, leaving the cold butter at the bottom. He turned the heat to medium low. Finally, he reached into the fridge and took out the solitary egg, separated from the rest in the carton. He held it in his hand a moment, considering it anew.
He turned it in the light, looking at the shell carefully for any hairline cracks he might have missed in his earlier state. The egg was, without a doubt, completely intact. He recalled Stone’s hand as it tightened around it before he caught himself and loosened his own grip. The butter had melted in the pan. Robotnik tapped the egg against the counter twice before elegantly splitting the shell close to the cooking surface, pleased to see that the yolk, too, was intact.
“A shame to do it, really,” he said.
He looked down at the purposefully-broken eggshell in his hand, recalling Wednesday afternoon’s scene - Stone ornately tied to his beautiful side table, dick buried forcibly in his stroker, mingled egg white and yolk dripping from between his glistening fingers, accidentally fractured eggshell in his cupped hands. Robotnik detected an internal feeling separate from, but not dissimilar to hunger. He tossed the eggshell in the sink, pausing to wash his hands thoroughly with warm water.
He watched the egg closely while it cooked, the white gradually changing from translucent to opaque. He shook the pan gently to ensure it wasn’t sticking anywhere unseen. Timing was pivotal. He pressed down the lever on the toaster, bread disappearing into the slots.
He pictured Stone from that afternoon, lying in his bed, naked, chasing his own pleasure through such elaborate means. Again, it dawned on him that Stone’s pleasure-seeking habits had been shaped by his own behaviors. He wondered what he did before to achieve orgasm. Did he need any aides at all? Stone had admitted the week prior, during their mid-tryst interrogation, that he needed them now, the TENS units, the collar. He felt an internal pang, realizing he’d changed Stone in ways he hadn’t intended. He braced himself with his hand on the countertop, recalling Stone’s obvious delay of his own orgasm until he was granted explicit permission, then how he’d held onto the egg until Robotnik had taken it from him.
This warrants further study, he thought, lifting the edge of his fried egg with a spatula, looking underneath.
When he finally sat down at the table, he had two golden pieces of toast, each buttered on one side. One sat beneath the perfectly fried egg, which had been sprinkled with salt and freshly ground black pepper. The second piece of toast, he’d cut into triangular quarters. It was a good quick dinner, if a little close to home. Still, all the associations didn’t dampen Robotnik’s appetite.
He immediately used one toast triangle to pierce the yolk, watching it run in a controlled flow. Memories of the afternoon flashed before his mind at a rapid pace. Stone’s hand tightening around the egg. Stone beneath him, staring up at him with desperation. Stone's stomach, tense from the pulsing electricity, his cum shining against his skin in the dim light. Stone’s face covered in streaks of his own cum, viscous and glossy white. He paused, the saturated toast triangle halfway between the plate and his mouth, yolk slowly dripping off the point. He blinked a few times.
“I need to schedule another internal meeting,” he said quietly, staring down at his plate.