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Man's Best Friend	By : Daxx Category: +S through Z > Super Jail! Views: 2413 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Superjail, the Warden, Jailbot, or any related characters, and I do not make a cent from writing this.

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- 1-Man's Best Friend
- 1
Man’s Best Friend

Short one shot smut. Alternate Universe Warden/Jailbot-X.

The clicking of boots against the black tiled floor announced the arrival of a lone figure. Darkness prevailed in the massive, mostly empty dining hall. A portrait hung over the fireplace that dominated the room, a larger than life likeness of the Warden, who had just conquered France.

It had been one of the easier countries, he had to admit, but that didn’t take away the sense of satisfaction one got when watching the firing squads finish off the last of the dissenters. Unfeeling robots in his own likeness picked them off – pop, pop, pop – with unfaltering grins and wide, glowing eyes as the Warden had looked on with smug satisfaction.

He passed the stretching oak table and swung his cape from his shoulders, setting it lightly atop one of the ornate chairs before heading into room beyond. He stepped into the slightly more intimate kitchen and swung open a cupboard. In a few moments he had produced a bottle of red wine and a glass, and was carrying them back into the dining room.

A mirror hung on the opposite wall – the Warden did like mirrors – and the man stopped and looked at his reflection. He made a small, slightly concerned tutting noise and lifted one gloved hand to the collar of his uniform. Uneven crimson spots flecked the material, a few stray ones dark against his pale skin.

“Stood too close,” he said, and as his gloved hand moved upward to wipe the blood from his neck his thoughts went back to the firing squad. Ah, robots. They served their purpose so well. He had really outdone himself with this mechanized army. Pulling the chair away from the head of the table with one hand, he sat and poured himself a glass of red wine.

He swirled the liquid in the glass before taking a sip, his thumb and forefinger leaving faint red smudges behind. Slightly tired from the day’s activities, he removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair with a faint sigh. Of course, he had nothing to complain about. Not with all the help he had. Just as the thought of his most prized creation entered his mind and caused his mouth to twitch into a faint smile, the very robot entered the room as if reading his thoughts. Perfect as always.

Jailbot-X approached him weightlessly and paused before him. One metallic tentacle coiled out and hovered before his blood flecked jacket, questioning. The Warden set down his glass.

“Ah, Jailbot,” he said, and much of the weight and importance left his voice when he addressed his old friend. “I think it’s beyond washing, but I have other uniforms.” He paused for a moment, lifted his glass, and took another sip. “I could use some help relaxing though,” he said, one eyebrow raising slightly. Jailbot’s display light blipped from red to green. The robot moved behind the chair as the Warden continued to sip his wine, reclining slightly. One silver appendage was now two, and shining metal clasps were massaging the dictator’s shoulders.

The moments passed in silence until the knots had been worked out of the man’s shoulders and back. Jailbot could sense his master’s temperature rising, and one inquiring clasp brushed against his neck gently, feeling his quickening pulse. The barely perceptible intake of breath was as good as an order.

The clasp ran along his neck with care and precision beyond a human being. The Warden set down his now empty glass and tilted his head back, eyes closing. “Oh, Jailbot, what would I do without you,” he sighed as the robot’s second arm un-tucked his shirt and slipped inside of it, tracing along his chest, coiling around his torso and finally re-emerging at his collar and un-doing his jacket.

The man slumped backward in his chair as his shirts were unbuttoned with impressive delicacy, and he let them hang open as the clasps and coils explored his upper body, snaking, grasping, and rubbing. His cheeks were tinged with red and his breathing had quickened. He suddenly felt himself lifted and turned in mid-air, and he was placed lying on his back on the table with so much care and grace that he barely felt he had moved.

The slick black machine was now above him, and a third flowing arm was now coiling around his boot, pulling his foot into the air. Another snaked silently out and did the same with the other foot, and the Warden’s legs were moved apart slowly and with absolutely no resistance. One tentacle continued to coil down his leg, flowing up his hip and undoing his belt.

A faint moan escaped the man’s lips as the arm slipped inside of his pants, and the one that had been grasping and playing at his torso followed it, until both were responding to his every desire with only soft sighs and arching hips to guide them. Grasping, gloved fingers found the tablecloth and tugged as the pleasant, cool metal, soft in all the right places, worked him. All the while the other two clasps were lovingly tracing his body, running through hair, delicately grasping at his ears and tracing along his neck. Jailbot gave happy bleep at the way his master’s heartbeat pounded below his adam’s apple.

The robot worked until the Warden was arching involuntarily against him and whimpering helplessly, and he remained arched as if suspended as he climaxed before slumping back to the table with a sigh. His greatest invention’s coils were removed, minus one, which stroked his cheek and fixed his hair as he lay, catching his breath.

When the man had recovered, he stood and started to do his pants back up. “Oh Jailbot, you understand me so well,” he said. Jailbot’s display was blinking a contented green. He lifted the Warden from the table and set him feet first on the floor, holding him upright until he had regained his balance. His hat and cape were put back on for him.

“I think I’ll go shower and turn in,” the man said to the robot. He turned, swinging his cape for effect and giggling girlishly at the dramatic effect it produced. “I hope Germany puts up more of a fight than France did, don’t you?”
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Man's Best Friend