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Lost to Fame

For Moxas

By Draconicon

"You'd think I'd have learned after that stupid agent..."

Ratchet stared at himself in the mirror, shaking his head as he could already feel the buzzing begin. He'd learned, alright, but too late. Jumping through rifts, chasing after the chance to be famous, the lombax had ended up somewhere completely different from the world he'd left behind. Populated by cyborgs and robots, seemingly surrounded on all sides by easy marks, he'd thrown himself into the world of machines, hoping to show them that they just needed a hero to be free from the grips of the monsters at the top of the heap. It'd be easy, he told himself, once he built up the money to get the tools he needed to make the gear to fight back.

Of course, that was part of the problem. No racing, no chance to do tricks, but there were other ways to make money, other ways to get famous. He let himself get signed up for it by a slick bot that had no compunctions about whether it was a good or bad deal, just that it was a deal, and now...

Well, he hadn't seen Clank for a long time, and he didn't know where his buddy had gotten to. And worse, he was locked into a contract that he couldn't find any way out of, a contract that was so embedded in him that he might as well have had it wrapped around his dick rather than the holo-thong that currently was.

He groaned as it buzzed again, the emitter ring at the base of his cock already sending the signal through the nanites that coursed through his veins and waking them up. Soon enough, the programming would kick in, and he'd be dragged out onto the main stage, putting his body on display for the cyborgs that liked the thought of a 'squishy' dancing for them. As far as they were concerned, he was the last one in their universe. All the others had already been augmented, added to or subtracted from, but he was still mostly bio, more than half as much again as anyone else.

And that meant that he was 'exotic', particularly as his 'parts' were still very living.

"Nnngh..."

Ratchet moaned under his breath as he felt the nanites kicking in, sending micro-shocks through his cock, forcing it to grow harder and harder, but not quite more than half-hard. It was supposed to be visible, but not quite stiff, not yet. They wanted it to be big, visible, but not so large that it looked like he was ready to fuck. After all, he was a dancer, someone that put on a show, not someone that was going to actually get off for the audience. They wanted something that flopped, not something that stood as stiff and hard as the machine cocks that they normally saw.

"Two minutes, squishy," came the boss's voice over the intercom.

It was a signal to the nanites as well as him. Even as Ratchet groaned, his body went from tingling to throbbing, a warmth spreading through his veins that went up and down his body. It was like a full-body scan, except that as it reached his extremities, his ability to control himself utterly disappeared. He could not so much as flick a finger, let alone actually do anything that he wanted to do. The lombax groaned under his breath, the last of his control fading with the sound as he turned around, his legs marching him out of his dressing room.

All around him were robots that were under control of the cyborg manager of the establishment. It was something in binary, something that he didn't entirely understand, but the name of the business was something like 'The Oil Pit', though he was told that it was less crude than that. Whatever it was called, crude or not, it attracted jerks from all corners of the galaxy, and they were all there to see him shake his ass around on the stage. And sometimes his cock. It tended to be his ass, though; they didn't have that much need for something that could penetrate.

He reached the lead-lined curtains that kept the x-ray vision of the cyborgs and robots on the other side. The robots that worked for The Oil Pit moved around him, pushing feelers under his holo-thong. One applied a layer of lotion and lube to his asshole, which meant that there was probably going to be a toy added to the stage partway through the performance, while the other one added a few more moisturizing sprays to his cock.

He honestly appreciated that. The damn thing was kept hard and half-hard so often that it honestly started to hurt and dry out after a while, and he didn't know how other dancers dealt with it.

They pulled away and the curtains went up. He felt the pull in his face, the muscles around his mouth making him smile, throwing a 'challenge' at the robots and cyborgs that would never be taken up. He couldn't even back up the challenge with the real thing anymore; it was all an act, something that the nanites made him do.

As he slid forward, two-toed feet sliding along the stage, the cyborgs turned their attention to him. Some grinned, others tapped their heads to zoom in with their cybernetic enhancements, while others still grinned and leaned closer to the stage. Most had gathered close, grinning stupidly.

He knew for a fact that most of them could see through the holo-thong projected over his cock. The boss had gotten the cheapest crap for that, and it meant that his cock was probably as exposed as if he were naked to the majority of the audience. He could feel it flowing back and forth as he swayed his hips, brushing against his thighs, but to organic or cheap eyes, his cock was covered with a red thong that seemed to move and sway with him, barely containing his dick.

The stripper pole came down behind him, and Ratchet reached behind him, gripping the pole tightly as he swayed his hips from side to side, all but thrusting in the air. Every move was something completely calculated by computers in the backroom, fed through the signals to the nanites and given to him as something to do. The computers studied the cameras that watched the audience, then figured out what they wanted to see, and then made him do it.

It was a system, and it completely cut out any thoughts that he might have had on the matter. What if he thought an upside-down split might have caught their attention? What if he saw that the audience was extra-focused on his ass for a change, rather than his body as a whole? What if he saw that there was someone interested in him just grinding and riding the pole rather than strutting his stuff up and down the stage?

Didn't matter. The machines in his blood picked what he was going to do, and made him do it. And they made him like it, too.

"Ah...ah...ah..."

Ratchet felt the pulses running through the cock ring pick up speed as he started thrusting harder, the pleasure coming from each getting stronger. It was the feedback loop that they hit him with every time that they made him dance, a 'reward' for being such a good employee. They said they wanted him to like this, to dance like he enjoyed being a squishy-slut. Every time, they made him like it, not giving him a choice as the nanites pulsed, throbbed, and vibrated through his cock and balls.

"Ah...ah..."

Ratchet wanted to close his eyes, but the program meant that he was made to keep them open, watching the audience, taking in everything that they did, said, wanted. The nanites in his blood had him moving in response to their desires, a constant application of the employer's demands making sure that he never disappointed them.

The lombax stopped his hip-thrusts, his legs kicking off the stage as his hands clenched tighter on the pole. He brought his feet up, pressing the arches against the side of the pole and pressing them tight, squeezing and holding him in place. He had his back to the crowd, now, and they were cheering for his ass. Muscular it might be, but it was squishier and softer than anything that they had experience with. They roared for him to take it off, shouting for the squishy-slut to give them what they came for.

And just like clockwork, the thong disappeared. His ass cheeks were fully on display, and the nanites had him rolling his hips, thrusting his ass cheeks back as he hung onto the pole by his hands and feet, barely able to keep his grip despite all the exercises that they'd put him through. He panted for breath, something that he couldn't quite stop despite the control the nanites had over him. He was forced to obey, yes, but that didn't mean that his body didn't still have limits.

"On your knees!"

"Nah, nah, squatting pose! Show off that dick again!"

"Squishy, ride something for real!"

Click.

The soft hum of a new toy rising up from beneath the stage was the boss's answer to the requests coming from the crowd. Ratchet had called it; it was a new dildo, one that looked like it had been modeled off of some tentacle or other, and bound to some sort of fucking machine. Cheap little sucker, too, one that had probably been bought off a scrap-yard for a bargain price, and probably ready to rip his ass up as soon as he spread his legs.

Yet, there was no stopping it. He let go of the bar - or at least, was made to let go - and fell to his hands and knees. The lombax rolled his hips back, turning his fall into a roll and ended up straddling the tentacle dildo. It pressed right between his ass cheeks, his lips turning up in another cocky grin. Studies had found that the audience loved that, no matter how forced it actually was.

"Take it!"

"Take it!"

"Take it!"

He didn't want to, but again, Ratchet had no choice. He'd come here for fame, for money, for the chance to get some attention and make a hero of himself. Instead, he'd been made into a slut, and there was no getting away from it. The nanites coursed through him with total control over his muscles, and he couldn't fight them. Not when they were this advanced, and not when they were able to make him feel so good.

He panted, his half-hard cock dripping like mad between his legs even as he felt his legs moving without his permission. They waddled him closer to the tip, rolling his ass down against it, and then slowly, bit by bit, he was lowered further still.

The dildo was thick enough that he wanted to stop, but the pleasure forced through him made it look like he enjoyed it. No matter how many times they made him ride a dildo, they always tightened him up after, so he never got used to it. Lower, lower, lower he went, until six inches of the fifteen-inch thing were lodged right in his ass.

And then, just as he was sure that the sheer size of it would defeat the nanite control pinning him in place, it started thrusting. Ratchet couldn't stop the moan the nanites commanded, and nor could he stop the orgasm that followed.

"HAHAHA! Stage-paint, stage-paint!"

"Make the squishy explode!"

"Cum, cum, cum, as fast as you can! You can't stop him, he's the squishy man!"

And so it went as Ratchet, for the seventh time that week, had his mind milked out through his cock.

The End

Summary: Ratchet ends up getting caught by a rather horny strip club in another universe.

Tags: M/solo, Robots, Ratchet and Clank, Ratchet, Lombax, Nanites, Body Control, Orgasm, Cum, Forced Pleasure, Dildo, Dancing, Stripping, Cyborgs, Owned, Anal, Exhibitionism,