Page 140 of Smart Ass

He heard shuffling and a metallic screech from the left and swerved away from it, only to have something grab at his ankle from the right.

Other little sounds broke the night. A whimper of fear. A dog’s snarl. Clanks and clangs. Footsteps that kept growing louder.

That fucker was using the sound system to trick him. He wasn’t going to be able to trust anything he heard.

He looked up at the warm, familiar house. There were bots in every room. Bots who’d already done all sorts of dirty things to him, and would definitely be waiting for him at the door. There would also be soft couches and beds for them to throw him down onto…

Every nerve sang. Sweat started to drip down his forehead, and his hole warmed and fluttered with need.

He made a sharp right. Outside, at least he could run free and hope to avoid too many of them ganging up on him at once.

The problem was that he couldn’t see. Tonight’s sliver of moon was hidden behind clouds. He thought he could make out the garden shed, which gave him a bit of direction.

There seemed to be something gaining on him. He could hear the rustling and clinking right behind him.

But was that a trick or an actual bot?

He looked over his shoulder, but it was impossible to make out anything against the inky darkness.

His toe hit something, and then he was pitching forward… only to be caught by strong metal hoses and claws that pinched tight around his arms.

“Better take off those clothes, boy, if you don’t want them cut off you.”

Ben shivered. He did love these jeans, but the idea of the bots cutting and tearing them off him swept through him like a wildfire.

He compromised by kicking off his shoes, and unbuttoning his jeans to shove them down his hips. Oliver could have the shirt.

More arms reached around him to push down his jeans, while hard pincers rubbed roughly at his cock, waking it up with a thrill of delicious fear. He didn’t even know which bots these were. There were too many that had come with the house, and it was too dark to see more than some ominous forms and the disturbing, tiny lights whose colorful brightness only made his vision worse.

More pincers bit at Ben’s nipples through his shirt, tugging on them until he let out a scream of pain mixed with heady pleasure.

Oliver knew his body now, and he didn’t hold back. By comparison, their scenes in the maintenance room now seemed like child’s play.

“Be very, very still,” Oliver warned.

Something cold and sharp pressed against the back of Ben’s neck.

A knife?

Was Oliver really using a knife on him?

Ben froze, his pulse hammering.

Oliver echoed the lub-dub beat back from the trees, like a bass soundtrack to his fear. Dub-dub. Dub-dub.

The knife slid down his back, parting his shirt.

Dub-dub. Dub-dub.

His own heavy breathing echoed back to him, too. Like he was surrounded by his own terror.

The knife kept going, slipping under the band of his underwear to slash through it, then continuing down the cleft of his ass.

Ben took panting little breaths, scared to clench up and be cut, but unable to relax with that sharp metal so close to his vulnerable parts.

“Good boy,” Oliver told him, as the scraps of fabric parted and the knife slashed through the side. A tangle of arms ripped away his clothes. “Now get on your knees.”

God, that voice. Ben would do anything for that voice.