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The couple of months following their “interactions” were some of the best times the Admiral had had in a long while. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed this. While none of them really intended things to go beyond the one night, they couldn’t say no to the side glances they gave one another, arguing for more nights in the company of Flysenhower’s tendrils. Like an addictive drug, they went back in for more. The refresher in releasing sexual tension was one of the best feelings that the navy ship had since his last few boy toys. Who knows where they are now.
But he would be lying if he’d said it wasn’t difficult to keep under wraps. He was sure there were always vehicles aboard questioning whether the ship ever got off on things - it was bound to be bouncing around in their helms someday; even he’d thought of it once upon a time. But thankfully, if anyone else did know, they didn’t say anything. Good, the Flysenhower figured. At least they knew their place.
But the fleet was in for a very special treat that coming week, a visit from their honorary Jolly Wrench. Every vehicle aboard the Admiral was practically buzzing - he could tell - with excitement, having not seen their crop duster turned racer friend since the Wings Around the Globe Rally. Sure enough, in the early hours of that fine Friday morning, the silhouette of a tiny, unarmed civilian plane appeared, while every Jolly Wrench waited eagerly on the flight deck.
Dusty radioed in, and despite the offer to assist him in landing, he waved it off. Surprisingly, the orange and white plane landed securely on the deck of the Flysenhower. It wasn't the smoothest thing ever, but any landing he could roll away from was a good landing, right?
Through the varied groups of Jolly Wrenches eager to greet him, Bravo and Echo stuck out from the crowd waiting for their friend.
"You made it!"
"And you didn't drown this time!" Echo added, to which Dusty stuck out his tongue. His eyes lit up for a second like he had forgotten something, then turned to look up at the larger, fixed pair of eyes gazing down at the three of them.
"Hiya Howie, sir!" He chirped, with a thousand-watt smile. Echo and Bravo glanced at one another, then the Admiral, and then at Dusty, expecting him to get laser beamed into a puff of smoke and charcoal. The Flysenhower regarded him with the slightest tip of his brows, before looking back at the ocean before him. Bravo released a sigh he didn't even know he was holding. How come he was allowed to get away with such informality?
As the initial excitement of Dusty’s arrival began to ebb and fade, Dusty followed the two jets below deck for a tour of the ship. Not that he hadn’t seen the inner workings already, but it was good to get a refresher of the layout for where he’d be for the next couple of days. Along the tour, word was spreading fast, a few jets and pitties still greeting him. Dusty beamed with pride, beyond grateful to be the running favorite of the Jolly Wrenches.
“It’s good to be back again!” Dusty said, “Feels like another home almost!”
“We’re glad you can handle this place,” Echo told him, “At least you’re comfortable!”
While the crew all had work still to do, Dusty was allowed to wander freely - for the most part - between the decks. His favorite place to be was still up on the flight deck visiting with aircraft as they flew in and took off - and totally not also so he could perfect the art of his landing onto the aircraft carrier. In between the sightseeing, he also took time to unload a new favorite hobby that’s been boring his friends back home half to death.
“What did the ocean say to the shore?”
The few pitties and jets standing in front of him carried a mixture of faces, from intrigued, to perplexed, to skeptical.
“Is it “sea” you later?” one ventured.
“Or "shore is nice to sea you"?”
“Nope!” Dusty said. His withholding of a giggle was more than obvious to them.
“Then what did it say?”
“Nothing,” Dusty said innocently. “It just waved.”
A ripple of exasperated groans and sighs grew out from the pack. Some of the pitties seemed rather amused, others rolling their eyes. Suddenly, a sound cut through the lot of them, deep and booming, enough so that the ground seemed to shake under the crop duster. He followed the rest of the group’s gazes upwards, realizing then that the laugh was coming from the Flysenhower.
“Oh, man…I gotta use that.” He said finally. The group stared, awestruck, between the Admiral and Dusty, unsure of what was harder to believe: the fact that their boss had it in him to laugh, or that Dusty brought it out of him with a dad joke.
"He can laugh?" Echo asked in a hushed tone to Bravo, who looked just as bemused as him.
"I'm more surprised by how Dusty was the one to do it…" Bravo replied, while Flysenhower didn't seem all that amused by his crew's reactions.
"Believe it or not, Wrenches, I do have a sense of humor." Flysenhower confirmed, to a quick nod from everyone on deck, not wanting to offend their boss.
Dusty couldn’t wipe the smile off his own face for the rest of the afternoon.
As the beauty of a sunset over the ocean began to fade and dusk began to close in, Dusty was brought below deck to a bunker he’d be sharing with Echo and Bravo. Had he been any other model of plane, he might not have fit in the cramped space, but he was just small enough to squeeze in between the two of them, comfortable between their radiating engines. That is, until Echo shifted.
“Psst.” He hissed, suddenly remembering what they had discussed with Flysenhower earlier that day, about their "appointment."
“Hm?” Bravo asked, with his eyes trying to fall shut.
“Boss wanted us tonight.” He mouthed more than whispered.
Bravo stilled for a moment, thinking, before a quick and shapely “Oh!” came out.
“What does the boss want?” Dusty chirped, popping up between them and making the other two jump. How was he awake still? How did he have that good of hearing??
“Mid-shift.” Echo said, rather quickly. “Totally forgot about it. We’ll be back in a bit!”
“Yep!”
The comfort of sitting snug between two jets quickly dissipated as they scrambled back out of the bunker and up to the flight deck. The doors slid shut behind them, and silence met the blinking crop duster. Dusty sighed, once they were gone. Guess it was just him tonight. Alone. By himself. On a boat, in the middle of the ocean.
Almost immediately, the realization hit him, like a bolt of lightning over his canopy. He curled his landing gear closer to his body, trying to remain calm over the fact that he was out on the ocean, alone. The slight sense of bobbing along on the water would normally slip right past him if he were in good company, but now, every sway felt nauseating and scary.
He tried to hunker into the corner of the room, until his wingtip brushed against the wall. When the swaying continued without any improvement of his anxiety, he finally gave in. He wheeled himself around, heading straight for the door. Even if he didn’t get to find Echo and Bravo, he would be much more at ease moving around - where he was permitted to, of course.
Outside, the empty feeling persisted, if only made somewhat louder by the diminished barriers to the ocean. Long hallways stretched out on either side of him, branching off deeper into the body of the aircraft carrier. Dusty had never felt so small before, especially without his navy companions close by him.
But he couldn't just sit in the room and wait for them, it did him no good, and it hurt his brain to stay in one place by himself for so long. He decided he'd venture out further, perhaps up to the deck? There were bound to be folks up there working, so long as he stayed quiet and didn't disturb anyone with their work, he was sure he would be fine.
He turned to roll out onto the platform, which would bring him back up to the runway, but he stopped, tires scarcely over the dividing plating. He caught a peculiar sound above him, barely audible even from where he stood with the mixture of the wind and the sea. It was dark too, and he couldn't see anything above him, not more than the clouded atmosphere of a night sky.
But the sound persisted, and his brow curled to the oddity. It sounded…impassioned. Maybe a little muffled, but impassioned nonetheless. He thought someone had been injured initially, perhaps the sound of strain from physical damage, but the more he leaned in to listen, the more that they sounded like…well. His plating started to redden a little at the realization that that's definitely what it sounds like. And the tones, that pitch…he couldn't be certain, but he was so sure he knew who they belonged to. Bravo and Echo had not only specific tones, but they were more noticeable when they were comparable to each other.
Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together in the crop duster's mind. Bravo and Echo left in quite a hurry, telling him the "boss needed them" for a mid-shift, which he was pretty sure now was a coverup. But how could they possibly be…? And on the deck of all places? Unless they were-
A soft rumble emitted through the ship, and Dusty shuddered with it. Such noises would have been so typical here, even he wouldn't have second guessed it…had it not been for the strange sounds that followed it. A soft metal scrape under him, like something just slid underneath the floor. He eyed the ground for any trace of an object under him, and nearly missed the glint of a long, thin wire moving along the edge of the deck. It disappeared, as quickly as it came, while the sounds of…"vehicular stimulation" seemed to persist, if not increase.
He sat there at the foot of the platform, dumbfounded by the scene before him. Were they…? No…And with a status like-…? Had there been a spectator on him, they'd have gotten to witness the many faces of shock and disbelief that played on his face like a slide projector. The amount of trouble they could get in must've been astronomical. Well, he didn't really know for certain. But surely, it had to be a lot.
But then the consequence hit him. Now, he knew about it. He knew something he wasn't supposed to know. Bravo and Echo - and possibly even the Flysenhower's - very careers could be at stake, should word slip out. He could tell no one, say nothing, pretend that it wasn't anything. And yet…
Now he was curious.
He realized he'd been standing out here for a long while, grasping the idea that his jet friends were having an affair with a- well, a…a boat? Or maybe not with...potentially. He wasn't even sure, himself. It was something. And it was naughty. He knew that much from the near orgasmic cries that were making his cheeks start to burn. He decided it was better to ask the two of them later, or in the morning perhaps. Maybe they would be able to explain things. Or else, Dusty was going to have a very long rest of his trip confused by the events of the night. He turned back to their shared room, hoping that he wouldn't have to hold this secret all by himself.
When Dusty woke up, Bravo and Echo were right back at his side in their shared quarters, as if nothing happened. It made the former crop duster wonder if it was some sort of vivid dream, actually, since what he witnessed was so out of the ordinary that he couldn't even believe it. Though he knew what he heard…
He didn't say anything about it, though, as he followed them down the hall for breakfast. He figured it was too strange a matter to bring up. Though, that didn't mean he didn't look like he was thinking.
"You good, dude?" Echo asked, glancing over at Dusty, who suddenly broke from his train of thought. "Huh?"
"Don't go spacing out on us, we still have a lot to do today." Bravo told him. Dusty nodded, "No no, I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."
Echo and Bravo exchanged a slightly worried gaze. "Didn't sleep well?" Bravo asked.
Dusty started to dig his tire into the floor. "Yeah, must've. I don't sleep well while there's lots of things going on. Y'know?"
He could have sworn Echo looked at Bravo like he was waiting for confirmation to say something, and Bravo shook his front 'no'.
"Well, I'm sure you'll get accustomed to it after a bit," Echo said, "just takes some adjustment."
"Yeah.." Dusty said, trailing back off into his thoughts. There was something the two of them weren't telling him. He could feel it.
But he remained silent for the rest of that day, following their lead out to the deck. As he rolled off of the platform, he looked back to the naval craft. But he wasn't looking in his direction; rather, he had his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead of them. Dusty slipped past him without a word, heading towards the catapults.
No matter how many times he used it, it didn't make the sudden launching any less scary - or exciting. But he was definitely getting better about getting up into the air. The jets followed close behind.
It was almost comical to him when he was reminded how slowly they had to fly in order to keep with him going full-throttle. But it was a fun experience nonetheless, having a bird's-eye view of the Flysenhower moving along across the ocean. It wasn't every day you could experience such a thing. He was definitely lucky to be in the position he was in.
Even after a day of flying and meeting people - including a few sailors hesitantly asking for his autograph - the thought of last night persisted in the cropduster's brain. He needed a moment to talk to the two of them, privately. Somewhere they wouldn't have to worry about being overheard. That opportunity presented itself again as they turned in for their second night.
"I have a- well…a question?" Dusty asked, as Bravo closed the door.
"You guys had to go…take care of something last night, right?"
Echo's face dropped. "Uhh.."
"Mid-shift." Bravo corrected, a bit fast. "Just a work order. Nothing interesting."
"Huh…" Dusty said, "that's weird. I just thought I had heard…somethin'."
Echo's lip was tight. He looked fidgety.
"Um, well I mean, actually-"
Bravo glared in his direction and shut him up. Dusty's eyebrow went up in alarm.
"I knew I wasn't dreaming when I heard that…"
Now it was Bravo's turn to look scared. Echo's eyes darted between the two of them. Eventually, wrought with anxiety, he broke the silence.
"We've worked out a deal with the boss."
Dusty’s jaw dropped. “So I did hear you guys…”
“What, uhh-” Bravo paused, caught on his question, “What did you…hear, exactly?”
Dusty’s cheeks started burning, and he looked away. Bravo hissed in a breath, and then Echo jumped in.
“You can NOT tell anyone about this,” he said, “nobody is ever supposed to know about it! Period!”
Dusty shook his front, “Your secret’s safe with me, that’s fine. I just…how…how? How do you…like…” he was growing redder by the second, “I mean…you know!?”
The two jets looked at each other, and then back at Dusty.
“Maybe it’s…better seen for yourself than explained?” Echo said, looking back at his partner for confirmation. Bravo hesitated,
“He can’t just go up and ask, we could be in trouble.”
“But shouldn’t he know that he knows?” Echo’s eyes darted back to indicate Dusty.
Bravo's lip tightened, unsure what the best course of action for them would be. Echo moved to side with the Air Tractor.
"We've gotta tell him," he said, "obviously he knows, it's best that we ask the boss what to do about the situation from here. This is his agreement, after all."
For a moment, Bravo could almost catch a glint in the F-14's eye. But he paid no mind to the implication behind it, giving in to the task at hand. "Fine, but…we better go now."
"Wh- now?" Dusty croaked.
He had no idea what he was getting into.
The last of the Admiral’s crew had tucked in below deck, some to sleep and some to keep watch. Parts of the deck were tied down to face the night winds, as he looked out confidently into the unlit seas. A rare moment of peace and tranquility, something he was sure to enjoy while it lasted.
That is, until something captured his attention. It wasn't entirely unusual that Wrenches would come up to deck for things, or to relay important information. The thing that puzzled The Flysenhower tonight, however, was the appearance of three individuals, two of which he wasn't scheduled to see tonight, and one he didn't expect to see at all.
Dusty gulped back his fear, rolling hesitantly into The Admiral's line of sight.
“Evening, sir.” Bravo introduced, nudging the smaller aircraft ahead of him. Already, the Admiral’s brow was raising in alarm. What could these three possibly need right now? Unless something serious happened.
Dusty’s brain went blank. How was he even supposed to approach the subject? His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. All logic promptly died in his throat.
“Well? Out with it, I don’t have all night.” the boss said. Dusty’s attempt to push some form of communication out ended in a choking squeak and a few unintelligible syllables. Echo rolled in front of him.
“We were just wondering,” he began, “if Dusty could…I mean, since he is an Honorary Jolly Wrench, join in on…our…” - he looked to Bravo’s eyes for confirmation - “regularly scheduled…mid-shift?”
The Admiral scowled down at them, rather confused by their request, until the realization suddenly dawned on him. For just a moment, his eyes morphed into a face of bewilderment rather than annoyance. He was careful to keep himself in check, however, reverting to his original, neutral scowl.
“That’s rather classified information, isn’t it?”
Echo’s face resembled a child trying to confess to a parent.
"Well, it's not just that, it's more that he, uhhh…knows."
The scowl deepened.
"You broke your protocols?"
Echo shifted uncomfortably. "Well, y'see-"
"It was me," Dusty said, finally finding his words, "I…I heard - saw - something I shouldn't have. I was outside late last night and I kind of…was…witness to whatever was...uh…h-happening…?"
At this, the Flysenhower seemed to pull back a little on his glare of disapproval. So it wasn't the jets going against their promises. It was simply Dusty being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, they couldn't just leave witnesses to their devices, that was no way to clean up a secret.
He looked down Dusty's frame, puny compared to the jets seated at either side of him. To him, he was hardly any bigger than a pittie, and far more timid than any sailor. He'd never last in the military, he was far too delicate. And yet, just as willing - if not more so - to right his wrongs.
"The two of you are dismissed," The Admiral said, "I will handle this myself..."
The two F-14s exchanged a sudden mixture of confusion and intrigue. Dusty sat cluelessly in between them. Was he really going to..? No…Maybe? They nodded to their orders and moved away, leaving their guest to stand quietly in front of the Admiral.
“Hm…”
Flysenhower was scarily quiet for a few moments as he figured out what to do, unsure if Dusty could really handle what he had to offer. Although he was stern on the outside, he really did care for every one of his Jolly Wrenches, and the only reason he had that arrangement with Bravo and Echo was because he knew the two fighter jets could take it.
“After what you witnessed, you really want to go through with it?” He finally asked, while Dusty shrunk on his landing gear.
“W-Well I wasn’t actually completely sure what I was witnessing, sir…all I know is that there were metal coils on the flight deck, and I heard Bravo…and Echo...” The Air Tractor admitted, unsure about how in detail he should go when he couldn’t read the aircraft carrier’s mood.
The expression above him was unreadable, as he contemplated his next words. Dusty felt so tiny here, without the jets at his side to protect him. As he thought about it, this was the first time he'd ever been on the flight deck alone with the Admiral, making it all the more intimidating.
Then finally, the silence between them was broken, by the soft clink of something metal underneath the deck. Dusty's eyes darted to the ground, where a floor panel opened to reveal a segmented metal tendril.
"I'm sure we can make an exception to the rules," the Flysenhower said, "just this once…"
Dusty's cheeks began to darken, as the metal coil began to creep up his right landing gear. Hesitation and curiosity mixed together in his mind, but the latter won as he leaned down to inspect it. As it undid itself to come closer to his front, he reached forward to boop it with his prop.
The Admiral seemed a bit taken aback. He'd never seen someone so…curious. Surely, aircraft before him had questions, but even they would put their cares aside to fulfill their duties, carry out their deeds. In Dusty's case…well, he had the clear option. If anything he had more reason to hesitate. But he was so willing. He was so enthralled. He glanced back up at the aircraft carrier, eyes glittering with possibility, almost challenging him as he slipped the end of that tendril in between his lips.
He wanted to take him then and there. He wanted nothing more than to push every tentacle into every crevice and hole he could reach, tighten painfully around him and watch him squirm. But he waited, silently. He watched almost admirably, as Dusty flitted the ending around on his tongue, letting him have access, letting him wander wherever he pleased. The sense of newness about his frame was so tantalizing. So delicate, so fragile… The ship felt as curious about Dusty as Dusty was about him.
A shudder ran up the Air Tractor's back, as more long coils wrapped themselves up and around him, slightly chilled metal being touched by something so strangely warm and foreign. He breathed in a soft gasp, as they slowly tightened around his frame.
"You're so…light..." The Flysenhower exclaimed, eyeing Dusty's body in his grasp. The younger male squirmed a little, cheeks deepening a little further as the tentacle in his mouth pressed down into his tongue. His jaw hung open for him, letting him wander freely across teeth and cheek and lip.
Another scraping sound behind him alerted Dusty, and as if instinctively, he pressed his tail up toward the night sky, as something large and warm and damp pushed against his panels. It rubbed against his seams, causing him to quiver in its hold.
"Hmm.."
For the first time in what felt like eons, the ship hesitated. Even these were big, designed to take aircraft the likes of jets and heavy helicopters. Dusty was a small class of plane as it was, made smaller by the fact he was undersized. Angling himself upwards into such a small, unprepared frame could surely hurt him.
But he had an idea.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked.
The little plane nodded, without a moment’s hesitation. "I trust you." He told him. The tentacles wrapped around him hugged him a bit tighter.
"...Thank you. That's all I needed to know…"
Dusty felt his landing gear being pulled across the surface of the deck. His tail was lifted off the ground, and before his nose could scrape, the rest of his tires did too. He squeaked, out of sensation rather than fear. He'd never been hung from straps at an angle like this, and not under his own power. He could feel fluids shifting and moving into new positions in his engine. But he didn't feel unsafe. The tendrils around him were sturdy and tight.
He groaned, his eyes rolling back. When he felt steady again, he was hanging straight down, his nose pointing at the deck. When he looked up, the Admiral stared back, a look on his face that he'd not yet seen before. Like the sparkle in the eyes of a kid seeing their first snow. He was entirely fascinated by the little orange plane.
Dusty opened his mouth to say something - although, he was sure he had nothing thought up to say - when he gasped instead at the contact against his plating. A pair of tendrils poked at his concealed slit, waiting for him to let them in. He wiggled a bit in the Flysenhower's grasp, feeling secure and trapped in the same delicious setup. After letting them toy with him, pushing against his panels, he relented. There was a soft click of metal plating before they began to part. The two seized their opportunity.
"H-ahh-!" Dusty gasped, before a tentacle covered his mouth, shushing him. He moaned into it though, as the tendrils at his nethers pushed his flaps aside, opening him up. He was so strong, too…
But he knew what he was doing. The tentacles at his entrance were only getting him started. Even they were big, though, compared to the planes that Dusty had taken. Though streamlined and somewhat tapered, they widened quickly, and could only get a foot or so of depth comfortably.
And more was to come, he realized. As he sat coiled up in the naval ship's embrace, a third tentacle began to prod. But this one was noticeably different. Unlike the others, which felt sleek and undefined, this one had a distinctly phallic-shaped end to it, flared and wet with intention. It was considerably larger than the others; Dusty feared he might not even be able to take it.
But damn it if he wasn't going to try. He could see the hesitation in the Admiral's face, wanting so badly to have this but equally not wanting to hurt the poor thing in the process. It wouldn't look good on either of them for one thing, but it was his duty and moral obligation to ensure the safety of all his crew, as well. Dusty was included in that equation.
So it puzzled him when he pushed backwards in his grasp, vainly trying to reach the head of their cock from their position. He looked up at him so curiously, so naively, he knew he was asking to press on.
And press on they did.
Dusty tried to relax as much as he could, letting himself give in to the other's mounting pressure. It also helped to get him wet in the process, pushing against his entrance in a sort of dry fucking, trying to get a good rise out of him.
And then the Admiral had an idea.
One of the tendrils from earlier slid down further, reaching the section of plating over Dusty's barely-concealed erection. With the slightest bump, he had the crop duster dropping, a soft groan coming out of him as he did. The Flysenhower turned him a bit for a better angle. He must've been well-endowed for a crop duster his size, but to him, it was rather, well…cute.
He pressed a coil against the length of Dusty's rod, and the crop duster moaned on contact. The friction of being frotted against by such a warm tendril was sending shudders through him, that the other could feel in his grasp. More accompanied the first, and Dusty realized - through the haze of sex - that he was using his own lubricant to rub off onto the others to prep him better. He'd be thanking him in the long run.
After a few long minutes of stroking, leaving Dusty shuddering and ready, the naval ship pressed in again with the effort to try and get some part of the way into him. He was quick to notice that size was still an issue, and not on his part, but Dusty's. His panel could only open so wide; he hoped he wouldn't bend the metal around it too badly.
And it was here, again, that the ship hesitated. Dusty tried to guide him, before recognizing his predicament. But he wasn't so easily swayed by the hurdle. He tipped his brows to the larger machine, assuring him he wanted him to proceed. If worst came to worse, he was the one who consented to do so.
The orange and blue racer tried to remain calm, in both mind and body, but that was a bit challenging when an object more than the width of your front landing wheels was boring its way into your body. With each steady, methodic press, he could just discern the beginning creaks of his exterior metal's plea. He gritted his teeth and flicked his tail flaps up. He could do this.
From across the deck, two pairs of eyes rose from the partially lowered deck, just high enough up to see over the rim of the deck and upon the happenings outside. They sat unblinking, entirely immersed in the spectacle of their racing friend taking on their boss. Echo would have jumped back on the "let's join in and help" train, had Bravo not ushered him to bite his tongue. He was still trying to push the jet back and prevent him from blowing their cover.
Though they were in a perfectly visible spot to the Flysenhower, he either didn't pay attention or didn't care much that they were sitting in on the event. He seemed just as enthralled, if not more because he was trying to focus on not breaking the fragile prop plane, while also totally wanting - if not needing - to rail the absolute hell out of him. They benefited no matter the circumstance; just as long as they didn't bring too much attention to themselves, they figured they wouldn't get a chewing out for watching.
Dusty squirmed in the grasp of the Admiral, scarcely able to hold in anything for sound. Despite keeping a few tendrils either over his lips or in his mouth, it did little to quell his vocal chords. Honestly Flysenhower was hardly paying attention to the noise anymore, in any case. It was another good thing Echo and Bravo were here, stealing the elevator so no one from below deck could roll in on them.
Dusty was practically biting down on the ship's tentacles. Hopefully it didn't hurt, but he hadn't said anything about it. He hung there, chewing ravenously as his body stretched around the other's cock head, the edges of a burning sensation beginning to creep into it. He felt him pause, before the edge of his tip dipped beneath the outer ring.
"Mmmmm…"
Dusty's eyes were starting to tip back. It felt even better than he'd expected. Despite the size, once he was in there was a sudden sensation. Something close to vibration, but softer, like the hum of a distant engine reverberating through the Flysenhower's appendages, the output somewhere in Dusty's core. It was incredibly warm.
And it worked wonders on lubrication. As his shaft inched deeper into Dusty's body, the Admiral's length had grown slicker with anticipation, and now that he was within that sweet, tight prize, it was only getting slicker. Dusty was possibly the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, in more ways than one.
He bored another couple feet, before Dusty's sudden arc backwards halted him. He groaned and mumbled something unintelligible, to which the ship removed his tendrils for him to speak.
"Pleeeeaase…" he whined, wiggling around his flaps and landing gear, "I need you to move…"
His attempts to push backwards were meager at best, but he was in no position to be calling any of the shots; he relied solely on the Flysenhower to be able to deliver.
And he sure did ask for that, didn't he?
The tendrils holding the crop duster up shifted, tilting him back a little more for the most applicable angle of attack. Dusty was practically dizzy with anticipation, landing gear wiggling in the grasp of the Admiral, used to having a surface to grip but being startled to have only the open air.
He clenched them again as he felt the penis buried in his depths begin to thrust, gentle as he could, but obvious in just how much there was. His whole body was rocking in tandem, stretched around a push-and-pull type force. His body ached and burned, but it also tingled and fluttered with need. He forgot where he was, who he was. He just needed him to keep moving.
“Fuhh…fuuuck…” Dusty groaned, jolting and wincing slightly with every few thrusts of added force. It was a lot, surely. But it was so…so good…he forgot what it was he wanted to think about, or even how to think at all, just groaning and taking it.
It was a marvel to be seen, on the Admiral’s end. He’d never fucked something so small and so soft. This was a first, even for himself, who'd had the pleasure of taking up “appointments” with dozens of others during his time in service. Some from further back in time were smaller, sure…but they were nothing like Dusty was. Here was a simple farm plane, built for rural field work and not for war. He was so different. It was immeasurably tantalizing.
Dusty’s blue eyes rolled back as he felt the Flysenhower’s cock hit spots inside of him he didn’t even know he had, his mind enraptured by the heady pleasure. “H-Howieee…!” The Air Tractor keened out, making it quite clear how much he loved this, and how he didn’t want it to stop.
The Flysenhower’s gaze looked down lovingly at Dusty’s trembling frame, the moonlight glinting so perfectly off of his canopy while he was practically splayed out on the flight deck. He had always taken a liking to the former cropduster since he landed during the Wings Around the Globe, and now he could finally act on his hidden desires.
The aircraft carrier wrapped some of his slick tendrils around Dusty as he continued thrusting the poor air racer into the flight deck, providing a tender embrace. However, he couldn’t exactly let that informal nickname slide…
“That’s not my name, Dusty…” The Flysenhower growled out, as he let the end of Dusty’s name drawl out into a low moan which sent vibrations reverberating through the flight deck.
“Aaah! F-Flysenhower, sir! Please, more…ngh…” Dusty was barely able to string together a sentence, all of his control surfaces flying up from a particularly hard thrust into his depths. His own manhood below him gave an excited throb as it slapped against his underbelly with each thrust, leaving a damp spot soaked with pre-cum.
Hmmm…even though Howie is cute… The Flysenhower thought, loving Dusty’s pleasured expression as his tongue lolled out lazily. The Air Tractor’s insides felt so tight and warm, something he had never felt before in his past exploits. If Dusty was game, he’d have to do this again some time…
Meanwhile, Bravo and Echo looked on, mouths agape as they looked on in shock that Dusty was actually taking this quite well. And the show was definitely getting them in the mood, their cocks pressed painfully against their panels as they tried desperately to stay in their cover, lest the Flysenhower catch them spying.
“You think he knows we’re up here?” Echo asked quietly, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves.
“We can only hope he’s solely focused on Dusty…” Bravo replied, absentmindedly licking his lips as he couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous of all the fun Dusty was having.
Dusty shuddered as his landing gear had all but collapsed at this point from the ecstasy, those powerful thrusts pushing his nose into the soaked flight deck below him. He moaned when one of the aircraft carrier’s tentacles caressed his lips, teasingly making its way inside his mouth.
Keenly aware of his own limits, the Flysenhower knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer, not when Dusty looked so alluring. The Air Tractor was practically falling apart on his own flight deck, all because of him. He removed his tendril from Dusty’s mouth, his eyes half-lidded as his own mouth was partially open from the pleasure.
“Dusty…I’m going to…” The Admiral let the sentence trail off, while Dusty looked up at him lovingly. Those blue orbs met his own, and it felt like the Air Tractor knew what he was talking about even though he had left it unsaid.
“Me t-too!” Dusty reassured, panting as he felt that feeling coiling up behind his erect dick. The waves of pleasure rocked through his frame as the Flysenhower’s rod hit indescribable depths inside of him, all building up to his inevitable finish. “Please…inside…”
Dusty’s pleading finally broke the Flysenhower’s will to keep the ecstasy going, and the aircraft carrier let out a groan as he shot his seed deep inside the air racer, his length throbbing with each spurt of cum that filled Dusty to the brim, claiming him as his.
Feeling himself getting marked by the Admiral was all it took for Dusty to come undone, his voice breaking as he shouted the Flysenhower’s name. His dick shot multiple rounds of cum onto the already saturated flight deck below, joining the mess of pre-cum that was already there.
The Air Tractor’s tail sagged down onto the Flysenhower’s length as both recovered from their combined orgasms, just enjoying the afterglow. Dusty continued pressing himself against the aircraft carrier’s cock, making the Flysenhower smirk at how desperate the air racer was even just after orgasm.
“Dusty?” The Flysenhower asked cautiously, knowing how Dusty looked absolutely wrecked while he was fucking him.
“I’m okay…more than okay…” Dusty replied with a small grin, looking up at the Flysenhower lovingly.
That elicited a small chuckle from the Flysenhower, even though he was keenly aware that there were a bunch of Super Hornets sleeping in his decks. “Glad to hear it.”
There was a small whimper of disappointment from Dusty when the Flysenhower slowly pulled out of him, as the Air Tractor could feel a small trail of the aircraft carrier’s seed leaking out of his entrance and running down his underbelly.
“I have to say…I’m surprised that you could take it, and you want more.” The Flysenhower remarked in amusement, to which Dusty smirked up at the aircraft carrier.
“What can I say? I like to subvert expectations.” Dusty replied, his gaze still full of lust. Evidently, the Air Tractor wasn’t nearly done.
“Hmmm…you know, since you’re so keen, would you like a similar appointment next time you’re here?” The Flysenhower asked, and the quick enthusiastic nod he got from Dusty made him grin.
“You don’t have to ask me twice…” There was no hesitation in Dusty’s answer, and one had to wonder how he managed to keep up the innocent facade when he was racing.
“Good.” The Flysenhower then turned his gaze to Bravo and Echo on the side, amused at how the two Super Hornets thought that they were hidden on his flight deck. “Bravo and Echo.”
Bravo and Echo almost jumped out of their frames when the Flysenhower addressed them directly, and they could only assume the worst. They scrambled to come out of their hiding place, taking their position in front of the Flysenhower’s gaze.
“F-Flysenhower, sir! We didn’t mean to-” Echo started, but the Admiral cut him off.
The Flysenhower seriously considered an actual punishment for the two Super Hornets for spying on his and Dusty’s alone time, but he was honestly too horny at the moment to really go through with it.
“You really thought that I don’t have eyes on all of my flight deck?”
“Sir, we really meant no disrespect, and we’ll go right back down. We swear we won’t tell anyone.” Bravo tried to save face, only to be puzzled by the Flysenhower’s raised brow.
“Dusty here isn’t nearly finished, and don’t think I don’t know what you three got up to in your quarters. You want to make it up to me?”
Bravo and Echo were left shell-shocked after that proposal, and they almost considered getting their ears checked. “Sir?” Echo tentatively asked, unsure if he heard the Flysenhower correctly.
“We’re moving your appointment with me to today. Dusty?” The Flysenhower looked expectantly at Dusty, who was all too eager when he saw Bravo and Echo come into view next to him.
“I’m game…” Dusty replied, which visibly made Bravo and Echo shudder with excitement.
“If this is what you want…sir.” Bravo hesitantly replied, a soft moan coming from his lips as a tendril started caressing his right side.
“As long as this never leaves this flight deck.” The Flysenhower said sternly, to quick nods from all three planes in front of him.
“Of course, s-sir…ohhh…” Echo trailed off his sentence as a tentacle entered his mouth, while Dusty moaned at one of the cock-shaped tentacles teasing his entrance again.
Needless to say, the night was still young, and everyone would be leaving satisfied when it was finally all said and done…