#hrghh we should have started a tag for thus

[mychlapci]

Forcefemming Sentinel saga… in the few weeks before Sentinel cracks and finally starts playing with his needy pussy, his valve is swollen and hypersensitive to the touch. At first he manages to keep his panels closed, but eventually the press of his swollen pussy lips and throbbing node become painful instead of a pleasant distraction. He can’t help crying from humiliation when his panels pop open in the middle of the break room, leaning into Jazz’s kind embrace.

“It’s only natural, sweetspark,” someone croons soothingly. It helps some; Sentinel’s datapad has been pushing the idea that his feelings and arousal and the “heat” are all natural for weeks. That this is all normal, that nothing is wrong. The sentiment being expressed aloud is almost a hypnotic trigger for him. He keeps crying, but it’s all the hormones. Jazz is so kind and understanding as he has someone bring Sentinel a skirt that patches his pretty blue and gold paint. It’s natural. He can’t help his swollen, greedy valve wanting to come say hello. He’s in heat, it’s a medical issue, it’s not Sentinel’s fault.

Everyone is so quick to praise Sentinel’s new uniform. They seem to like pinching his aft and flipping the fabric to reveal the plush, dripping mound. So pretty, they assure him. It’s normal, it’s natural, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Pretty girls like Sentinel have needy little pussies. And Sentinel wants to argue that he’s not a girl, but any time he tries the mech will stroke his node beneath his skirt and turn his protest into a whine of arousal. Sometimes they’ll gather his slick and push their fingers between his plump lips to let him taste his own juices while they coo over how pretty “her” skirt is.

Sentinel’s cute little titties have swollen into a tender handful, leaving him a wreck whenever the sensitive nozzles brush the inside of his chestplate. First Aid graciously massages them over their lunch breaks, but the attention only ever seems to make them more and more of an erogenous zone. Sentinel’s hypnopad makes him feel curious about his cute, budding titties. Until he can’t help groping and teasing them at home as he grinds his limp little cocklet into a pillow. Trying to ignore how much better it feels when the case drags across his node as Sentinel tugs his nipples and humps like a good girl should. No more feverish rutting, just sweet little attempts at grinding. Fat node tingling. Thighs sticky.

Soon, much like his valve, his cute little pouches are too swollen to close his chestplate over. Sentinel is so grateful for his team’s dedication to helping him adjust and remain dignified: all of the bras they gift him seem to perfectly match his skirts! And they can’t seem to stop staring and praising and reaching out to tweak a nipple if one sneaks free of the tiny little bralettes. Smiling and praising his cute little titties and precious noises. Sentinel is such a treat to work with, these days. So beautifully responsive, so bashful but needy. Not quite a slut but sensitive and eager.

The “suppressants” clearly aren’t working, but Sentinel’s afraid of how much worse it would be without them. Staring at his changed frame in the mirror and trying not to moan. His datapad has made sure he stays in love with the changes. They’re natural, they’re sexy, his coworkers love them. And the attention and praise feels so good, the hands exploring Sentinel’s juicy aft and curvy waist feel so good. Sentinel deserves to feel good, and his curvy body and budding titties get him lots of nice attention. And attention feels good, so Sentinel’s body must be good. Lots of yummy little logic loops keep him docile if a little embarrassed. It just feels so good and right to slip a slutty little skirt on to accentuate his hips and sticky aft.

Eventually Sentinel has to acknowledge that his heat just can’t be stopped. His pussy is so swollen and needy, his breasts undeniably a pair of pouches forming. Spike soft and useless. He’s a little afraid, but his strong, handsome coworkers have been so good to him while all this has been going on. Surely at least one person will be willing to help?

They avoid fistfighting for the right to take Sentinel’s valve for the first time but only because they’d agreed months in advance on who it would be. Jazz has spent the longest amount of time and in the most direct contact with Sentinel Prime. If anyone deserves to help make her into a good girl, it’d be him. When Sentinel approaches him, bashful in his skirt and lacy bralette, Jazz is all too understanding.

“Of course I’ll help, SP,” he says earnestly, already bending him over his own desk, “you’re our best girl.” And before Sentinel can protest, he’s sliding into “her” slick valve for the first time. The datapad is still flickering in front of him., clutched in his hands as Jazz grinds their arrays together. It shocks a long moan from Sentinel’s vocalizer, especially when Jazz tweaks a nipple and spanks at his jiggling aft.

“I’m noooot a girl,” Sentinel managed to whine, tilting his aft up to take the spike even deeper when Jazz begins to thrust. But between his raging hormones and his pretty datapad overlay, suddenly he isn’t so sure. Jazz just laughs stroking at Sentinel’s node until the protests dissolve into begging for more.

“SP, baby girl,” he says with condescending warmth, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re wearing a skirt and taking my spike like you’re meant for it.” And Sentinel flushes, even as he can’t help moaning at another expert thrust. Because he’d been preening over how pretty his skirts were for weeks now, primping and polishing for his coworkers’ approval for even longer. Giggling and moaning over their wandering hands, and pressing sweet kisses to their cheeks and lips as a reward. When was the last time he’d touched his spike, again? Had he even protested wearing the skirt, the bra, the makeup, the *glitter* all the way back at the beginning of this mess?

“B-but,” he stutters, vulnerable and suddenly teary eyed, “you said it was natural.” Because it had all happened so slowly he hadn’t even noticed it. Only that everything felt so right and good. Jazz just croons at him pulling out to turn Sentinel over so they can make optic contact. Wiping a little tear away with his thumb, even as he slips his spike back into the vice grip of Sentinel’s no-longer-virgin valve.

“It’s perfectly natural for a good girl like you,” Jazz purrs, grinding their arrays together, “all of this is just your body’s way of helping you be what you’re meant to be.” Sentinel’s node glows between them, the tip of his barely pressurized spike peeking out of its housing. Jazz strokes them both in tantalizing circles.

“I’m a girl?” Sentinel asks desperately, charge mounting as Jazz begins to slowly roll his hips again.

“Our best girl, SP,” Jazz confirms, trying not to grin triumphantly. Sentinel’s overload takes them both by surprise, but the aphrodisiacs ensure that ehe’s ready for round two in no time flat. Of course her “heat” wouldn’t be so easily defeated. First Aid will be happy to tell her that in rare cases a protracted heat can’t be quenched until the mechanism has kindled.

Sentinel is just so grateful that her wonderful coworkers are so understanding! …and willing to pound her valve over a desk or conference table.

ough... Sentinel accepts it so quickly :) Yes, yes, she's a girl, she's a good girl for her generous, beloved coworkers... Being a girl feels so good, she's all cute and dolled up and all the mechs are paying attention to her, not like when she was still a boy and everything was so stressful and difficult...