[[WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT]]

The pain was indescribable. Dusty tried to get a grip on something vital, something that would distract him and take his mind off of the unspeakable, but failed over and over again. He had already given up struggling to get free apart from the occasional, fretful writhing whenever his pain tolerance would reach it's peak, as if the action would somehow alleviate it, if even for a little bit. At least that's what he kept telling himself would happen. It just wasn't going away. It showed no signs of eventually just dying down into discomfort, remaining a constant, wrenching agony as relentless as the thrusting of the P-51 holding him down.

Ripslinger, for his part, didn't even really seem to be enjoying himself that much. He'd become very buttoned up once forcing himself inside the smaller racer, only the barest traces of pleasure flitting across his face every so often as he breathed forceful puffs of pants in time with his regular, just seeming-to-go-through-the-motions thrusting, his eyes focused somewhere on the horizon. Dusty's lip started to curl in a small, bitter sneer, his eyes narrowing. Here this bastard was raping him and he wasn't even getting anything out of it!

The smaller plane felt his frame begin to tighten up like a coiling spring in anger at the thought, including the part of him that was currently commandeered. Dusty gave gave a faltering cry of pain as he realized his mistake and once again attempted detachment. Before he could calm himself down a new, strange feeling began to creep into his being. Some cold, intangible thing permeating through his plating; searching. He shuddered with a disgusted, tormented sob as it slithered and split off like live things feeling up his insides to add insult to injury. But that was only the beginning as the tendrils apparently found what they were looking for, latching onto it as a burning, corrosive pain went ripping through the left side of his body.

Dusty screamed in agony as he began thrashing once again in earnest, nearly dislodging Ripslinger and breaking him from the trance-like state he'd fallen into. Suddenly seeming to remember the actual task at hand, he snarled down at the former-crop duster writhing underneath him.

"You stop you're fucking screaming!"

"RIPSLINGER, STOP!"

The green and black plane paused, but not before pulling Dusty back into him as far as he could, eliciting another agonized scream to come tearing from the smaller plane's throat, fresh tears beginning to fall.

"You want more? I'll fucking give you another reason to keep on screaming you little bitch!"

"IT HURTS! STOP HURTING ME!"

Riplinger's engine snorted in cruel mockery.

"Why should I?"

He placed a wheel on each of Dusty's wings, pushing unmercifully onto the one he'd nearly ripped off earlier, boring down on him and crushing him deeper into the forest floor. It was too much. Too many different kinds of torturous pain assaulting different parts of him all at once, along with an odd, yet innate feeling of distress. That something important deep inside were being bent toward its breaking point. Dusty's faculties were beginning to fail him. All the color was leeching out of the environment, turning everything into pale silhouettes of itself. Monster... He was nothing but a...

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XXxx

"...Monster!"

A snapping pain popped against one of his propeller blades, checking him hard as he struggled against his bindings. His engine going full-bore now, he turned as far as he could and snapped at the man holding what looked like some sort of enhanced cattle-prod.

"I said get the fuck off me!" the checker-marked plane snarled, trying with all his might to get lose and tear the humans scuttling around his body to pieces.

"You'll sit still or I'm gonna let you have it again!"

"Fuck you, you gelatinous mutant motherfucker! I'm going splatter every single one of you all over the walls of this place when I get out of these!"

They went about affixing strange wires to a spot just behind his left wing. He growled and squirmed at the feeling of their soft, alien hands against him. That blonde bastard with the glasses was there, overseeing the activities. Ripslinger had made the connection that he was the head honcho in this god-forsaken place early on, the other planes only referring to him in particular as "the Doctor". He felt anger flare up in him. Motherfucker probably wasn't even a real doctor. Science, his left tail-fin; there was nothing scientific about what they were doing here. That man was a sadist.

The wires ran from where they were fastened to the many nodes centered behind his wing to an odd-looking machine. It seemed unreasonably huge, taking up a large part of the wall that it was against, looking like some devilish pipe-organ. The Doctor stood at the controls, and everybody cleared from around the racer at his signal. He twisted something and almost at once Ripslinger was hit with a bad chill as an introduced warmth started to pervade over and through the spot where all the wires were fastened.

It started out as just a mild, tingling discomfort, but soon began to grow in intensity as he felt a quickening throughout his body, like something was squirming and cringing away from the strange electric current forcing its way into him. Then he was suddenly struck by a deep, innate fear. A gritty, black feeling began to creep up and seize a hold of him and he was struck by a tetter of dread and panic that somehow he felt were not entirely his own.

The doctor then turned the dial up, transferring all power to the machine, grinning up at the P-51 as he continued to try and yank himself free. Pain then exploded throughout his entire body, as if every hose, fluid line and the like had suddenly had a charlie horse. His body arched up, his flaps raising and trembling as the energy went coursing and tearing through his frame. His teeth were gritted, eyes shut tight as he fought with all his might to keep from screaming.

Ripslinger hated begging; more than anything. He knew he was stuck, that he was in pain, and had a chilling, inherent sense of trepidation and impending doom. With shame he suddenly realized he wanted someone to come and save him. Wanted someone to take the hurt away. To hold him until he stopped crying. When had he started crying? He couldn't hold himself back anymore; the pain and heat were becoming overwhelming, and he could feel a deeper, invasive anguish in the heart of him. As if something were threatening to give way. In all his pain, anxiety, and urgent feelings of inevitability, he began to scream.

"No! Stop it!" he cried out desperately as he felt his strength and integrity start to leave him. He dropped down, his left landing gear giving way as he struggled to keep himself up with his right, but it, too, failed him and he fell to the ground in his bindings. Still scrabbling feebly, he continued to cry out in anguish.

"Stop, please! Just..."

XXxx

"...STOP IT NOW!" Dusty heard himself scream.

And he did. Ripslinger was frozen on top of him, an expression of tormented, sorrowful lassitude fallen over his face. He knew. He knew what Dusty had somehow seen, and that he'd somehow felt what the little orange plane underneath him was thinking in the last few moments. The memory had been triggered too quickly for it to be simply overlooked and go unnoticed in favor of the current activities.

Slowly, Ripslinger slid off of him, Dusty sucking in a sharp, pained gasp as he pulled out. The young plane quickly scrambled away as he was let up, but only got so far as his beaten and battered frame began to protest. So against his better judgment he turned back to Ripslinger. The green and black Mustang stared at him. Watched as the little plane shook, panting and bleeding from the many savage bite wounds he'd inflicted earlier, sunk into his landing gear in coldly bemused shock.

"Go away..." Ripslinger tried to put authority in his voice as he turned away from him, the rather pitiful look of bitter embarrassment taking away from the effect, "Leave me alone."

Of course he gladly would have, if even just given the choice, and yet... Dusty's demeanor changed; he seemed to deflate a bit, the tense, adrenalized trembling gone from his body as he looked at the larger plane, his face melting into questioning sympathy with eyes that seemed just a bit duller now than Ripslinger was used to. He hated pity, and he certainly couldn't have Dusty Crophopper of all people pitying him, and despite everything, try as he might, Dusty just could not help feeling sorry for the poor bastard after what he'd seen and was now quickly catching onto.

Dusty cautiously approached him, and to his surprise he backed away. Emboldened by his otherwise lack of response, Dusty pushed forward, but was immediately checked as Ripslinger reared up, lifting off his front landing gear slightly before making a mock lunge at him, his wheels slamming back down as his engine blew with a short, harsh flutter, leaves, dirt and pine needles being thrown up at the impact.

"Don't do it!" he snarled at the orange and white racer through clenched teeth.

It was a typical defensive threat display, and it nearly did the trick in the abrupt movement coupled with the noise of the P-51's engine and the weight of him hitting the forest floor, emaciated as he was. It was all Dusty could do not to turn tail and flee at such an action, but he remained steadfast. What was his problem? Did he think he was going to attack him? Ripslinger relaxed minutely when Dusty came to a halt, but then the larger plane felt a trembling in his landing gear. No... Not now...

Dusty noticed the tell-tale tremors as well and watched Ripslinger's expression darken down further into defensiveness as he backed further away. Looking him in the eye, as if to portray a sense that he meant him no harm, Dusty began to move forward again, not unlike a moth entranced by a flame.

"Don't come any closer," the checker-marked plane warned, but his tail was at the treeline now.

Mercifully, Dusty stopped again, only mere inches from the larger plane. They stared at one another for a time, each seeming to wait for the other to move first. Then Dusty surprised them both, surging up to press his lips intently against the green and black Mustang's. He felt Ripslinger suck in a startled breath through his intakes, but he immediately let it back out in a fervent groan and opened his mouth to the smaller plane's. There it was again. That strange, urgent tug that he felt the other night through Dusty's desperate attempts to comfort him. The shaking had stopped, the cycling suddenly paused, a strange feeling telling him he needed to pay attention.

Having no clue of what he was even doing, Dusty's tongue slipped between his teeth and lips, delving into Ripslinger's mouth, dragging along and exploring some of the larger, pointed rear teeth before slobbing over the flat plane of the P-51's tongue. The former crop-duster could feel the same tug deep down inside of himself, giving him a sense of persistence. An odd feeling telling him he needed to give it another chance. He felt arousal stir in his belly in spite of himself at the soft rumbling of Ripslinger's engine as the larger plane released an aw-ing sigh into his mouth. Still in disbelief at his own actions, Dusty, broke the kiss. They stared, both panting in heated uncertainty.

"What?" Ripslinger breathed, finding himself unable to say anything more intelligent.

[[WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT]]

Dusty, giving him a look that could only be described as demure, moved around to his left side, and Ripslinger flinched up and away as he felt the warmth and wetness of the orange and white plane's tongue lick him in the spot near where the aft of his wing joined his body. As he tilted over, Dusty nosed and nudged himself underneath him. He felt and heard Ripslinger give a choked gasp as he clambered over the top the smaller plane.

"Wha- What are you doing?"he asked, his voice almost sounding like he were close to panic.

After some maneuvering Dusty felt the tip of Ripslinger's still hard and ready cock at his entrance. Ignoring the pain, he backed up into him, forcing his entire length inside of him. He felt it slip into areas of him that he knew probably shouldn't be played with. Giving a quiet whimper, he pulled forward, then back as his tail rolled up, arching him back inside of him. Ripslinger's face was flitting between confusion and utter horror.

"Stop! What the hell are you doing?!"

The hell of it was is that Dusty had about as much a clue as he did. Maybe he was taking the chance to turn the tables and use him while he was still vulnerable. Maybe some part of him thought it would make him feel better. Or maybe he'd just snapped through all the trepidation and stress since this whole ordeal started and finally lost his mind. He moved back against the larger plane on top of him again... and again... Faint sensations of pleasure began to slowly bubble up to the surface, and Dusty began to actually enjoy himself, despite who he was with. He could feel Ripslinger shaking over the top of him, only this time not in warning of another psychotic episode. Although he seemed to be on the verge of falling apart all the same.

"Get off me..." he murmured, "...Going to fucking kill you... Do you understand m- oh..."

He was instinctually prompted to start thrusting again at the feel of the younger plane's silky walls enveloping him and sliding over the many ribs and ridges that lined the underside of his throbbing phallus, gradually going around the circumference about three quarters of the way down. Whereas before he had been totally measured, each breath, each thrust, each little noise he allowed himself to make being steady as a metronome, he was now quickly dissolving into panting, heavy breathing, and incoherent whimpering. His body slunk down into the smaller plane beneath him as they both tried to keep up the rhythm. He was groaning feverishly, trying to keep his eyes open as Dusty writhed against the weight, enjoying the feeling of Ripslinger just covering him.

A voice was speaking, but there were no words. No sound. It was almost as if it were made up of pure emotion, intention, and understanding. Something that could only be found in dreams, and could only be truly understood in dreams. Dusty felt the little slivers and wisps of tendrils enter his body once again, only this time there was no pain. They were soft, caressing as they were drawn toward the heart of him, as if apologizing. Desperate. Pleading.

Ripslinger could feel it too. A flash of passion, and both planes had the distinct sense that they were linked for the moment at their most basic, vital levels. The odd presence from Dusty's body sending feelings of recognition, of announcement that it was there, and understanding to the apologizing source. Most importantly, letting it know that it forgave it.

Ripslinger was pressing Dusty down into the ground again. His face was now contorted, flaps and ailerons tense and shaking with the strain as he frantically bucked against the orange and white racer. Dusty bit his lip against the onslaught, little hints of pain making themselves known again amongst the ever blossoming pleasure, heightening it. Then abruptly, the connection broke, and a moment later Ripslinger's breathing suddenly quickened, and then his engine growled into his moans as he hit his peak, not slowing in his thrusting in the least as he rode out his orgasm.

Dusty could feel his own orgasm upon him, the warning, fluttering sensation about to break with the sound and vibration of Ripslinger's engine as he came. As he felt himself being filled, the feelings of euphoria finally washed over the dam and he let out a screaming wail, the farthest thing from pain.

Even at this point he still couldn't believe it. Almost like he were watching it happen to someone else. That couldn't be him making all that noise. Those couldn't be his wings that Ripslinger was using his landing gear to pull him back into him even deeper, hard enough to threaten them to start to snap. Couldn't be. He absently wondered as he felt Ripslinger slow to a stop above him, breathing so hard that his overheated engine became involved, fluttering with every exhale, how exactly he was going to explain his injuries away to the rest of the group.

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XXxx

"Oh Rip, you're always so quiet."

He smiled over at her.

"Is that bad?"

"Not at all!" she giggled.

It was a time and a moment that he had almost effectively purged from his memory. Made it so that it was almost like it had never happened. There had been no good times. Things always were the way they were now. This long-forgotten, kindly place wouldn't last. It was never meant to last anyway. It was typical really. You'd think people could surprise you, but in the end, she never stayed. They never stayed.

Why didn't anyone ever stay?