“Please…  Please…”

She wept.  She wheezed.  She pleaded and begged.  Her pathetic attempts to sway him only caused his servos to clench tighter around her neck.  So pretty.  So fragile.  If he wanted to, he could squeeze that head right off her shoulders.  It was tempting, but the sound of her suffering was music to his ears.  He wanted to drag this out a little longer.

The dim, flickering lights reflected off the tears that streamed down her cheeks.  Her tiny hands wrapped and his wrist in a futile effort to pry him away.  It was amusing to no end.  She was nothing compared to him.  Her weak little body was inferior in every way.  Her flesh was so delicate, already bruising when he’d barely touched her.

The hand grabbing his wrist loosened, then fell limp by her side.  Eyes rolled back and closed.  The struggle ended.  Disappointed, Springtrap dropped her, letting her fall to the cracked tile beneath them.  A raspy gasp was heard as her desperate lungs sought the air that he’d deprived her of.  Good.  She wasn’t dead yet.  He could keep at this little game.

“Get up.”

She scrambled to obey the glitched and staticky command.  Her flimsy little arms attempted to push her off the ground, but were so shaky and unsteady that they gave and she collapsed.  Impatient and in no mood to watch his prey flounder, he reached down.  His mechanical grip tightened around her messy ponytail and yanked her up to her feet.  Both hands darted up to hold her scalp as she yelped in pain.  The sniveling and whimpering continued as her eyes met that haunting, silver gaze of his.

“Just… kill me…”

“I don’t think I will…”  The digitized sound of his laughter sent a chill down her spine and her heart to drop to her guts.  He tugged her hair again, making her wince.  “You know, you look so much better when you’re choking.  Let’s fix that.”

Her brows furrowed, but she didn’t have much time to process his words before he forced her to her knees by her hair.  In an attempt to brace herself, her hands fell to his thighs.  Aged, cracked plastic and rusted metal from his exposed frame dug into her palms.  He held her there, letting the horrifying implication sink in.

“No…”  Her eyes were wide as saucers as they glanced upwards.  She shook her head.  “No…  No.  Please no—”

A yank of her hair ended that incessant groveling long enough for the pop of a panel opening to echo in the room.  The hands that had once held her steady clasped her mouth and nose when the smell of rotting flesh became more prominent.  Her weak stomach betrayed her, and vomit spewed from between her fingers even as she tried to keep it in.  That disgusting little display of hers wouldn’t get her out of giving him what he wanted.  He shoved her face towards the offending member.  It was flaccid, too decomposed at this point to even rise to the occasion, but intimidating in size and just stiff enough to torment her.  Some gooey black substance that seeped from the tip smeared across her cheek, ushering a second powerful wave of nausea.

“Quit being such a tease or I’ll keep you at the brink of death for as long as I function.”

With a choked sob, she dropped her hands and accepted her fate.  The moment her lips parted, his bloated, decaying excuse of an erection breached her mouth.  The only thing worse than the smell of his rancid cock was the taste.  Bile rose up in her throat again to combat the pungent, slightly metallic taste of rotten meat, only to be plugged by it.  She gagged around it, wishing she could stop her instincts from working against her and fighting for life and breath.  The servos tightened around her hair again, and fresh new fat tears streamed from her eyes.  Springtrap pulled her back, letting the tip of his member brush her lips before pistoning down her throat again.

He didn’t have much feeling down there.  Hell, he didn’t have much feeling anywhere.  The satisfaction came from watching the turmoil she faced, and the pleasure of knowing that even though she complied, he still intended to keep her on the brink for as long as she’d last.