Tall cliffs hid this place well even from the sky while keeping the temperature warm at the same time. Greenery covered the sharp incline surrounding them, including the mouth of the cave they came out of seconds before. Right in the middle was a spring with steam lingering on the surface. Surrounding it were a mix of flat grass, fruit bearing trees, and rocks large enough for a small airplane to sit and sun itself on. Ripslinger had enough time after the race to pick out a plump looking brown fruit that he was tucking into at the base of the tree it came from. He leaned against it casually, his weight bending it, before looking back to the mouth of the cave. The Mustang couldn't hide the grin that overtook him when Dusty had finally made his way out. Where should he start? He had so many witty comebacks lined up in his mind, he couldn't pick just one! His indecisiveness ultimately led to an awkward moment of silence.
"Well Champ... Have anything to say for yourself?"
Dusty circled and gradually came in to land, for a moment too out of breath to say anything; another embarrassing display he hadn't meant to show. He looked in considerable distress after all that hard effort and with nothing to show for it. He gave the other a mean look, spite and fury glistening through darkened blue eyes.
"You didn't tell me the right way." Dusty breathed, knowing it was useless, but intent on arguing his case if not just to delay Ripslinger's victory prize.
It really pissed him off to admit otherwise. His flaps ailerons were raising up before he knew it at the look on the others face and the fruit he was eating, as if he had to wait there forever. That made him boil.
Ripslinger thought it was pretty damn amusing that Dusty would even attempt to pick a fight with him about the race when it was pretty obvious he was the one who fucked it up. That much showed on his expression as he took the other plane in with his icy, olive-colored eyes. The look he was giving him, accessing Dusty's worn body, wouldn't have made the idea that those words went in one ear and out the other too far fetched. His retort came when Dusty moved close enough to him to hear his voice without raising it.
"It was easier to tell you how to find it than where to go. You wouldn't have much time to look for the right place if you were going at full speed." Picking out another fruit caused the next words to come out muffled. Yep; he didn't even stop to chew his food properly. "I hope you're not gonna bitch over that loss, babe. You don't want to be a bad sport about it, right?"
Ah yes... this was a lot better than throwing the first blow in a verbal altercation. Trying to flip the script in an attempt to make the hero look like a jerk was bound to cut into the other plane's pride. It'd be a miracle if he had any shred of dignity left by the time this was over with. Dusty had never found himself in so many situations where he was left gaping and baffled with what to say. His emotions had taken a toll on him numerous occasions already, leaving him overly stressed in such a short time span. This time was no different and he wasn't looking forward to a painful fuck despite how his body seemed to react so much more favorably toward him as of late. He didn't seem to be getting any amount of peace or time to just recover.
"Fuck you." Dusty growled, embarrassed even more.
He turned his back to him, sulking. He didn't want to. He was tempted to just fly away right then and there if he wasn't so exhausted from the race already. He should have known the bastard wouldn't play fair. He wasn't sure what Ripslinger was thinking now that it was all said and done but he really wished he had a shot at a second chance. Tomorrow Ripslinger would give it to him, but as-per their agreement he was going to pick the challenge. No doubt it would be difficult.
Ripslinger's grin faltered when the other turned away from him, obviously fuming, but he wouldn't let the others pouting get in the way of his good time. The fruit was discarded half eaten when he pushed off the tree, starting to stalk him, yet offering up some words of assurance.
"That was the idea, yeah." Who's assurance? His of course, but his gut was urging him to do something more to console the angry racer. He put a wing over him. "Maybe you can release some pent up anger by pounding the hell outta me. Making me scream. Roughin' me up a little ..." His voice trailed because he thought it a good idea to lick Dusty's cheek before planting a trail of kisses down his fuselage to the crook of his wing. "Although I kind of doubt you can, but you're sure gonna try."
Ripslinger didn't care if he answered favorably or not. The fruit that he discarded was sweet, but he found a much sweeter prize in his rival's plating. Dusty's mind seemed to have gotten sidetracked at the new gain Ripslinger seemed to want after all of this, which was Dusty's original prize if he had won in the first place. He looked confused, and felt perhaps a little tempted at the alluring tongue on his cheek and then - "Ah!" - down the rest of him.
"Why?" His voice sounded oddly weak and he cleared his throat so it wouldn't happen again. Dusty looked at him funny, wondering whether or not this would be as bad as he originally considered. "I thought... I mean..."
The controlling power freak wanted him on top? It just seemed hard to swallow at first but if he wanted it... When Dusty relaxed under his touch, Ripslinger decided to go for the kill.
"I'm curious." Was the simple answer spoken in between nibbles; few licks were thrown in the mix to spice things up a bit. "I got to get a feel of most of it already. Sucked your cock, ate you out, pounded your puss and so and all that good slag." Having gotten his fill of tasting he opted to roughly nuzzle in the place moistened by his own saliva. "Normally I'm on top because that's what I like. But I have to admit it does get boring sometimes." Always calm when talking about one of the most emotional acts there was, he allowed his mind to wander about the subject. "Guys are different, though. Since you got a cock you can do a lot more then a chick can. I want to feel it just to try it, you know? Come on, Dusty, haven't you ever wondered about anything?"
The way Dusty looked away might have raised suspicion on the account that he had. Then again, it could be those lips and tongue making him flustered as he fidgeted against the others cool demeanor. Redness was placed neatly on his face as he went over what this may mean in his head. He wasn't so sure he was eager, like before, when he was faced with this decision, but it was better, he decided, than being fucked. He'd get Ripslinger back, in a way that he couldn't have before. And if the other plane got off on it... well hopefully that was the only failure he had to look forward to. He wanted Ripslinger to feel the anguish and pain he felt the first time he did it to him. He wasn't going to be easy, sensual, or fun, he'd let his instincts take over and give him the hardest pounding he could ever ask for. So that was the plan then. He'd take after another trait of Ripslinger's and be utterly selfish.
"Well," Dusty huffed, an attempt to change the subject - sort of, "ready when you are."
He just waited for him to get into position on the ground. A good job might keep the horny P-51 off him for a few hours at least. Anything less and he might have enough stamina left to turn on the weakened racer and return the favor prematurely. Those were the stakes.
"No. Noooo..." Ripslinger scoffed at him almost immediately, circling around in front of Dusty. "None of that nice guy slag. I didn't act like that when I did it to you, did I?" Green stared right into Orange's eyes as he explained the general concept behind his desires. "I know there's a bad motherfucker in there. I've seen it, and I wanna see it again." They were nose to nose now. "Try and really get into it. Surprise me." Ripsinger's sultry gaze hardend up. "You'd better..."
He was obviously asking for trouble egging him on like this. If the hero didn't get it then the villain was going to paint a crude picture for him; he wanted Dusty to snap. Considering how far Ripslinger had pushed him up to this point, it wasn't hard to say the other hadn't already. It was surprisingly easy to be like Ripslinger, a moment that, if he had realized, Dusty would have feared himself for. That was the last person he wanted to be, a point he's made clear plenty of times, but failed to show consistency in during this period. With Ripslinger's tongue and teeth nagging him on and that obnoxiously taunting voice, Dusty casually went around, sidling up behind and to the left side of him, lining himself up; an action that gave way to a deceitful twinkle in his eye before he put it into motion.
"Or what?" He heaved himself up, straddling him in an instant. His wheels came to rest on Ripslinger's wings as darkness lurked in sky-blue eyes, a menacing grin twitching at his lips, but never really emerging. "You want me to act like you when you did it to me?" Dusty looked skeptical but had no intention of backing down at this point.
All it took was one bad day, one bad decision, to throw a lifetime of work out the window. There was something in his rival's eyes that definitely wasn't there before. It was not enough to intimidate Ripslinger out of his desire. Quite the contrary; the curiosity quelling inside of him peaked when he saw that spark in Dusty's eyes. This all started on a stretch of a theory. To think it was true? It was enough to get his engine racing, his fluids pumping, and a steady stream of it was flowing down toward his tail.
"I want you to -" Ripslinger started to squirm a bit under Dusty's weight. "... fuck me harder than I fucked you. You want to, ah, show me you're better? Do it."
Ripslinger always seemed to have a hidden motive. A reasoning behind everything he does. Whereas Dusty always seemed to be one step ahead with his attitude alone, the green P-51 seemed to be genuinely counteracting everything the former crop-duster thought he was getting away with or simply enduring.
For instance, at the back of Dusty's mind, he knew he shouldn't go through with this. Whereas he thought before, being nailed would have been much worse, acting out so viciously on another would have been just as bad, if not more so. Perhaps it wasn't Ripslinger's intent this time but he knew if he went through with this it would be that much harder to live with himself. Ripslinger was egging him on, and he was acting out just like him. Dusty was losing himself and though he realized it, somewhere in the back of his mind, he didn't stop.
He hopped back down and started to work on Ripslinger's body. Teeth and prop blades raked over the gaudy green and black paint job roughly, but failing to leave any marks yet. Dusty kept it up, stopping just before that hidden panel toward Ripslinger's tail, then using his tongue to trail a circle around the sensitive opening, teasing, but avoiding direct contact as he waited for it to slide open.
"I already know I am, but sure, why not?" Dusty mumbled with a toothy smile, surprising himself when he realized just how easy it was to get his own dick to spring free of it's compartment as his own ventral access panel slid back, beginning to extend, inch by inch, while he continued to tease Ripslinger.
He allowed his tongue to dart over Ripslinger's panel directly before casually running it up and down, firmly, but not nearly enough pressure. He finally slid it open, and just a little pressure applied above that hidden slit was enough to cause the plump tip to push through that slightly swollen opening. Ripslinger drew in a deep breath in response, deciding it was better to push the rest out than try to hold it in. Not shy in the least, he had no qualms or embarrassment about showing the other what he had to offer. The chance in Dusty's tone wasn't enough to make him feel like he was endangered walking the line. This was just an act, right, so he didn't see any harm in playing along. Planting his wheels more firmly on the ground aided him greatly in pushing up into that teasing mouth, only an inch or two at a time. Yeah, he was still in pretty good shape even after that race. Ripslinger had enough strength in his landing gear to keep his belly off the ground while he ground himself against Dusty's face.
"That ain't what I'm seeing, babe."
Ripslinger's breathing pulled air in deep, moving it over an engine that was quickly heating up, and Dusty hadn't even started yet. The idea of Mr. Nice guy going feral just turned him on. Dusty drew back a little at the pressure, not wanting to appease him so easily. He maintained contact but not nearly enough. The tip of his tongue ran up the underside of Ripslinger's cock to the head where he gave it a sharp nip swiftly after the others remark. Dusty scoffed, a grin hinting on his lips.
"Don't speak so soon." Dusty's mouth closed around Ripslinger's shaft, tongued curled around it squeezing once, twice, a little harder, and then he sucked down the rest of him painfully hard.
"Argh!" Ripslinger struggled a bit, twisting, but could not free the most sensitive part of himself from that cruel mouth as he had inadvertently put his tail toward the rocks.
In response to that first nip his cock released a pearl of creamy white. He made the mistake of looking over and down rather than anywhere else as he saw his poor rod being sucked for all it was worth. That first squeeze with Dusty's tongue made Ripslinger's body tense up, mouth hanging open, leaving his ragged breath to rumble through his engine into the secluded grove's air.
"Fuck..." No doubt Dusty could feel the older Mustang shaking. The second one had him involuntarily bucking up into him. "... O-oh ... fu-uck!" His body jerked. "I nev-ever did tha-ahh-t!" Dusty let him go, his eyes opening part-way to unabashedly watch him slide out wetly from his mouth. He returned back behind Ripslinger, jumping up to lay his body down more firmly against him to try to press him down against the ground. His mouth rested near the side of his face and in an instant his teeth, perhaps not as sharp as Ripslinger's, sunk into the aft of his wing, adding just as much discomfort as if they were. No verbal response. Less talk, more action.
Dusty ate up every bit of it. He simply loved the way the other fought and writhed against him. The sounds he made- he wanted to hear more. He was actually aroused by this, as twisted as it was, but revenge had never tasted so sweet. He nipped sharply, breaking into the fluid hoses underneath, body swiveling and moving as he went over to leave dents and deep teeth marks elsewhere, his long, thick rod rubbing against Ripslinger's belly. Dusty wanted to leave his presence all over him; he hadn't intended long foreplay though. He wasn't going to do everything exactly the way Ripslinger did it. But the resulting end to it would definitely be.
Dusty bucked forward, riding up more so that this time his dripping cock was pressing and teasing against Ripslinger's slit, who was realizing that he was getting way more than he'd originally bargained for in this little game. Acting the role of a bitch was not his intention when he suggested this. Be rough on him, fine, go as hard as you could, sure, but this was just plain domination. He was the one doing the underestimating this time; he didn't expect this little plane to be so skilled. When did this happen!? That cock knocking at his back door made the answer clear.
His eyes fluttered and was accompanied by a shaken, nervous, breath. Then, with a hint of hesitation, his tensed body relaxed, in a matter of speaking, under Dusty's weight. He tilted down a bit more, opening himself up better, but he had every reason to have that cautious look in his eyes. Then Dusty straightened out on him, resting his chin on top of Ripslinger's canopy. He looked down at him the best he could as his eyes lazed over the wounds left by his teeth.
"What's wrong?" He cooed, preparing himself for something. "You seem tense."
Well, he had felt Ripslinger relax a little before, but then he gave his wing another painful little nip. Ripslinger didn't respond, settling for a narrowing his eyes; the type of look that he hoped would warn the other plane that he would definitely pay for this another time. He didn't know when or where, but he was damn sure plotting some evil deeds in the back of his mind. Dusty at least gave him time to settle down from it some. The orange racer was always an impatient one, right? Well, as far as he was concerned, play time was over.
Positioning himself just right, Dusty threw all he could behind one mighty thrust, sending his rock hard member through an unprepared, un-lubed ring of agonizingly tight, rubbery foam-like tissue. Ripslinger couldn't breathe. A little over two feet was squeezed in and he struggled the rest of the way to worm himself inside of him, having much of the same problems Ripslinger had the first time he attacked. Dusty was close enough to hear the sharp sound Ripslinger tried to suppress in his throat when another two feet of his throbbing girth invaded his hole. The surrounding tissues tensed, then relaxed, before locking back up again. Good Chrysler, he was conflicted! Like a trooper, Dusty didn't stop until he had himself fully hilted. His wheels pressed harder into Ripslinger's wings as he jerked him roughly back into him, refusing to give in to the unrelenting pressure.
It was so tight, it was painful, but that pain had a familiar ring to it that resounded in the form of mixed pleasure that had him shuddering on top of the larger plane. He breathed slowly, trying to calm down and not spend himself right away. He'd never been in anything so tight; and it felt wonderfully delicious.
"Damn.." Dusty huffed, ailerons and flaps risen up in tensed effort.
He started scooting back a couple of feet before launching forward again, trying to force those spasming inner walls to stretch and accept his wide girth. In order to keep himself quiet and not be too loud, he muffled himself by leaning down and clamping into Ripslinger's poor, abused wing again, holding tight as he finally got to express some dominance in this horrendous ordeal. Afraid of waking the neighbors? He didn't have to be. No one lived in miles of this place, and even if they did they had no way of getting into the well hidden grove to confront them. Maybe Mr. Nice Guy was forgetting who he was. It sure looked like it from Ripsinger's perspective; one where the world dissolved into nothing more than random shades of blue and green thanks to an overabundance of rapidly forming tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but like the champion he was he sucked it up and took in the searing pain.
After that first surprised cry, Ripslinger settled into a series of deep pants that made his body quiver on exhale. That wasn't all. Every time he released one of those breaths, Dusty would find it easier to push into him, those clenched ropes of dense foam material relaxing, before tightening again a second later; a little trick that Ripslinger had picked up from Ishani during their short time together. It was a lot easier than trying to remember to relax through the whole ordeal. Ripslinger moaned quite audibly once stuffed, the sharper teeth toward the back of his jaws clearly visible, only to clench those teeth once Dusty started to move again.
It hurt. No denying that it did, but at the same time he was fascinated with the feeling of that pulsating cock in him. It made him squirm all over again. This time it wasn't in an attempt to remove what was causing him so much pain. No, he wanted to feel his swelling tip rub against his walls, which had grown silky with the addition of the thick, almost gel-like pre-cum from Dusty. The result was something he couldn't even begin to describe verbally. Dusty felt no sign of remorse during any discomfort Ripslinger would undoubtedly be feeling during the first few minutes. A rare and scary experience he probably wouldn't realize until after it was over. At this point, it was all about him, not the green Mustang beneath him. His punishment was his own pleasure. He kept his grip on Ripslinger's wing, helping him glide more smoothly in and out until he finally started to loosen up. At that point, Dusty swiftly found a steady, hard pace that kept their bodies banging mercilessly against each other.
A familiar array of sounds were hitting the air - this time created from his own self. Dusty didn't want to scream to show any weakness; to show that he was enjoying himself so much and that Ripslinger could still make him scream without even trying. He didn't keep biting him the entire time either, however. Once Dusty found his self control, he let go of his wing to pant heavily near his canopy. The way things looked visually, Ripslinger may as well have lost that race. That wasn't to say that he wasn't taking any hint of pleasure from the others savage thrusting. His poor, neglected, dick was wedged over as Dusty's own phallus had taken over the cavity it came from, but his member still had the added bonus of being inadvertently stroked with every forceful thrust. Unlike Dusty he did not lose his erection when the pain nearly overtook his senses because he loved sex even more than racing or even sleeping. Top, bottom, male, female, sucking, thrusting, the details behind each sensual romp were almost irrelevant.
Still Ripslinger didn't think he could ever forget the face that was giving him his first invasion, ever. Dots of red littered the area where his rival's teeth dug too deep for comfort. The trade off was quite unexpected. Dusty could gauge Ripslinger's reaction by the sudden disruption in his breathing, a surprised gasp, followed by a whimper only muted because he had to swallow the pool of saliva that accumulated in his mouth from the younger plane's actions. When Ripslinger had first tipped down, the new position made his sweet spot all the more accessible. His body shied away the first time Dusty hit it, shivering. Well, since they both knew where it was now, there was no need in hiding it. Finally, after nearly a minute of the others merciless assault, Ripslinger pushed his tail up to meet Dusty's thrusts, and it did not take him long to match his rhythm. When he did, his tanks churned, but not in the disgusted fashion that Dusty's did when he first caved.
Dusty was surprised when he realized that Ripsinger was actually meeting his thrusts. He didn't expect much from the other plane. He figured he'd be too busy writhing in his own agony but Ripslinger was a lot tougher than he thought. He had paid no mind, no expenses, to the others pleasure, and here the dirty bastard was getting off on this whole twisted scene.
His engine snorting, he didn't stop. He didn't care. He was going to ride himself to release regardless of how the other felt on the matter. He put up his wheels and dug them into Ripslinger's wings again, driving in harder, in and out. His actions were just as fast as Ripslinger's had been. The constant thumping and juicy smacking all contributed to the one moment that would end it all. With a sudden deep intake of air, Dusty forced himself all the way in. He finally let out a loud, desperate sounding cry as his nose tipped back, spilling his load of creamy cum deep in the others insides.
He nearly collapsed on him thereafter, letting himself fall a bit more casually on top of him instead instead; laying his chin once more on Ripslinger's canopy. Dusty's let his landing gear dangle and his ailerons and flaps lowered down, overly relaxed, as he basked in the aftermath of his state, uncaring whether or not Ripslinger had gotten off as well. The pain had mostly subsided on Ripslinger's end though the smell of sex was still ever present in the air. He was so enthralled with the experience that he didn't even notice his rival reaching his peak until it happened. Getting filled with hot seed was more than enough to make him gasp regardless of whatever pain he might be feeling.
His body ached at the thought that it was over, his own seed withheld, but he couldn't blame the smaller plane for working on his own self gratification. This was probably the most sex he's ever had. It was a shame. He managed to look over at the exhausted orange racer out the corner of his eye. The body Dusty laid on spasmed when Ripslinger released a mute chuckle. Add a smug grin in there and he'd be seeing one happy airplane.
Dusty's landing gear slipped along to attempt to push himself up from Ripslinger's wings, but immediately abandoned the idea. He felt that familiar exhaustion he was struggling to shake out of now. Then suddenly his face twisted into something of disgust. As his fogged up mind gradually started to clear and once he got a good look at that face on the other plane, he realized all too well what he had done, and the repercussions of it. Dusty swallowed hard and looked away, panic coursing through his head, making his insides wrench at the disaster he openly helped create. What did he do? How could he? What happened? Those were just a few questions out of several running rampant inside his mind, making him regret everything he did. He played right into Ripslinger's plan when he thought he'd be doing payback. He had completely turned against himself and for once in his life forgot who he was. He let himself get lured in by corruption. And he couldn't take it.
Dusty violently jerked himself out of Ripslinger, scrambling off of him as he dashed a few feet away from him. He shut his eyes tight, panting for air as he struggled to get over the sudden rush of emotion and sensations that mostly raced up from his nether regions. He looked as if he were in pure misery. Oh, great, here it comes, Ripslinger thought. Here comes the angst. Might as well dump him in red paint and give him some festive black and white stripes. Face to face, Ripslinger neither grinned nor frowned at the others reaction. Those olive eyes were the first to dart away because the sudden movement lifted the awkward pressure on his still throbbing cock. Was it going to be okay? He wasn't sure. It ached to hell and back for release and it looked like Dusty wasn't going to be any help either.
Ripslinger's eyes followed the orange and white plane's miserable path a few feet away. Soon he followed with that still ready cock swinging pendulously. What should he do? What should he say? Should he just let him sit there and sulk? Not likely. He reached over to try and nuzzle him.
"So what if you liked it?" His voice was hoarse to the point he could barely speak. "That's nothing to feel all pissy about. You should be able to like things without worrying about what your stupid friends would think."
Who would care that Dusty Crophopper liked to get a little rough, even with another dude? Nobody... eventually. Dusty wasn't falling for it though. He figured that Ripslinger was trying to construe his vision and get him to think like him. He just knew it, or that's what he thought. Dusty felt he couldn't be too paranoid at this point. The nuzzling did nothing to relieve that current turmoil either. Dusty just stared, a certain amount of resentment in his eyes again, but mostly surprise and fear.
He just couldn't believe he did that. What else was he capable of? He didn't want to know. Seeing the sight of the others member, Dusty forced himself to sit up and push him away. He put pressure on his landing gear, his own length already starting to slip back into his reproductive cavity, but not all the way. It took some time to get himself relaxed again enough to pull it back in since his orgasm inside Ripslinger.
"Just shut up. You stay away from me."
Ripslinger was utterly baffled by this behavior. He had been genuine when he said that he was sick of the fighting and tension between them in what was supposed to be a pleasurable time for the both of them. Sure Ripslinger could get off on just tying him down again and raping him into the middle of next week, but as he'd said before; why go through the effort when there's a thousand others out there who'd want his seed? It was because... because...
"Fuck you!" Ripslinger snarled at the other, teeth bared, after being shoved so rudely. "This is what I get for trying to help you, huh? This slag? I don't need this!" He spat. "How's any girl gonna want you if you keep backin' off all the time? How's any guy gonna get with you if you keep cryin' after you get off on them? They're not, and it's 'cause of that you're gonna be one of them old men who dies alone." There was a moment's pause as Ripslinger tried to push down the expression on his face.
"It doesn't have to be that way. You're Dusty Fucking Crophopper. Everyone on this god-damned planet loves and respects you. An' what do you do? You spit in their faces. Fuck that." Ripslinger turned his back on a conflicted and surprised Dusty, preparing to take off. "And fuck you ..."