FSE

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“V-AFB, I'm awaiting clearance for landing."

“Copy that Incoming Flight, we have your authorisation coming through now."

“Roger."

G-2 cut through the air without much effort. His streamlined form was built for high speed: perfectly inclined wings, the latest avionics for lightning-fast flight control, and an efficient turbojet engine burning in the core of his body. A dip in acceleration was needed as he turned, tilting to the right before levelling off. His comms were experiencing some static, and the weather wasn't great, so he decided to change heading to see if he could expel some of the interference. Bringing a hand to his cheek, nestling aside his pointed, bird-like head, he felt the rush of cool air slip between his fingers as increased drag came into effect.

“Incoming Flight, you are authorised for approach."

“Received, V-AFB. I'm making my approach now," G-2 said over the comm-link.

“Copy Incoming Flight, welcome to Viktishelm Air Force Base."

Making his descent, G-2 could feel the stream of air through his nasal inlets and the large intakes on his shoulders. It surged through him, as natural as breathing, finding its way into his chest where it mixed with jet fuel and compressed deep inside his core before firing out behind him in a roaring column — lighting up the evening skies. His lower back heated up as his primary exhaust blazed with life. Above his ankles, secondary jets grew from the biometal exterior of his flesh, helping him steer during flight.

Bystanders around the landing zone watched the incoming figure as he began his final approach. Many moved on — another unit dropping by, so what? One or two others hung around, fresh recruits catching their first glimpse of one of his kind for real.

G-2 was an aeromorph; a humanoid aircraft. A creature of machinery and military might.

Cutting through the dwindling light, he twisted and turned, whirred and whirled...

All in all, certainly a sight to see.

The landing-lights stretched out before him. G-2 prepared himself, adjusting his position to direct his jets where he was hurtling. As they burned, he slowed down, allowing the cybernetic being to 'drop' gracefully and land on his two feet. They depressed against the scorched asphalt of the runway, keeping him steady as he reduced his engine output until at last silencing the thunder of his jets. The tinny whine of his fans spinning slower and slower passed as well, and G-2 stood up straight. Brushing his chest, the visiting 'aero' set off to find the nearest ranking officer.

G-2 was confident his affairs at Viktishelm AFB would be short and sweet. A new prototype due for air trials — the hopes and dreams of his brood and future siblings rested on how he performed here and now.

His upright body towered over most buildings on-base, and the human personnel moved like mice around him — shuffling, scurrying, carefully avoiding his footfalls. G-2 glowed with confidence as he strode, his slender frame head-to-toe covered in new, never-before-seen stealth compounds. Radar-dampening materials infused into the very fibre of his being; synthetic skin drizzled in classified tech. He knew he had potential, and no matter how much he hated flying far out into the sticks to attend trials, he could comfort himself with the fact it would only be for a couple of hours.

That is...until he met the base commander and received his orders. Standing stupidly tall in the mess hangar, other aeros giving side-glances to the new arrival, he was told by the tiny creature on the elevated platform before him that the trials had been postponed until tomorrow. Inclement weather, was the reason, but G-2 felt he could still excel in adverse conditions — surely that was part of proving himself?

Alas, he was overruled, and told to find a place to spend the night. Dismissed, he may or may not have stormed off in a huff — giving a certain impression to the denizens of Viktishelm. Fellow aeromorphs, like himself, who may or may not think the 'new guy' was too full of himself.

G-2 paid them no mind, instead retiring to a hangar bay on the far side of the base, away from all the locals. Alone, and quite pleased with the isolation, he tried his best to relax.

* * *

G-2's hangar bay was cramped. Ill-equipped for any morph larger than a reconnaissance unit, a fact he intended to raise with the base commander once his trials were completed. The uncomfortable aero reclined as much as he could, finding small comfort in the tight space. Rain beat down on the metal ceiling, it's incessant plink-plink-plink keeping his auditory system busy. Eventually he tuned out the noise, and tried to rest. Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow and then I can return to Central. He half-opened an eye, peeking at the dull sheet metal of the hangar bay door. Rust crept in from every angle, marring the door with orange flakes. Ugh...tomorrow I'll be rid of this middle-of-nowhere shithole...

An hour or two passed, his systems recharging. G-2 remained still, his cybernetic body propped up against the nearest wall. Arms limp, crossed over his torso. Legs extended, managing to match the bay's dimensions (if only just about). On each limb, hard metallic fuselage flowed, with softer synth-flesh exposed at the joints. His hands and finger followed a similar design — flexible where needed, solid otherwise. His back bent slightly, leaving room for the wing-pack jutting from below his shoulders. Military decals decorated the surface of each, freshly-transferred — you could still smell the paint. Each wing spanned two-thirds of the width of his chest, the pair stretching past his upper arms and terminating in slender, swept-back tips.

G-2's figure gave the impression of balance...of control. Narrowed to improve aerodynamics.

Slim.

Svelte.

Graceful.

The first of a new breed; a new model. G-2's parentage a state secret, he only knew life as an aeromorph — many years of childhood compressed into one, training, indoctrination, moving from base to base with no real place to call home. For a human, this would surely drive one insane. Not G-2. His government-mandated programming kept him from losing himself that way.

A small heated gust escaped his jets as the living war machine inhaled vast gulps of damp air. Relaxing after his yawn, his turbines quickly spooled down. Despite his resting state, part of his consciousness kept on ticking over, keeping an eye on vital systems. Especially energy. He needed the bulk of his strength for tomorrow. No sense going hungry the night before, and having to explain to Central why he filed for extra fuel expenses.

Night-time called. And fatigue cursed his artificial hide, a dismal inheritance from his human creators.

* * *

Sleep came and went, passing the time in bursts of nothingness.

G-2 shifted. One leg bent, he dragged his rubber-soled foot along for the ride. Scraping the dusty floor, occasionally striking something human-portable that made a noise — a workbench, or forklift, he didn't care — it came to rest placed firmly against his thigh, filling the gap left by the curve of his ass. Next to it, and bound tightly in a ballistic fibre jock-strap, were his genitalia. A cock and balls. Well, that's not what the Air Force said on their paperwork — 'data delivery module' (DDM) and 'data nodes' for his unmentionables; and they weren't clad in a skimpy male thong either, it was formally referred to as an 'all-weather uniform transit pouch'. In keeping with the sanitised view of their war assets, no asshole but an 'waste egestion port' — no breasts on females of his kind, just 'long-range reserve fuel tanks'. Such a list of terms went on and on.

Eyes? 'Optical sensor arrays'.

Lips? 'Vulcanised moisture seals'.

The sultry curve of his ass, perched above his sinuous thighs? G-2 had long forgotten the designation...

He let a smile form in his slumber.

The lengths gone to control language itself, to deny to the world the all-to-human nature of their killing machines...

What could anyone say? Bigwigs liked their nomenclature.

G-2's sleep state reverted when he heard a loud clang. Given his size (many tens of feet tall) he knew from the sound that it was something big. Something very big.

Another noise, this time a heavy thud, got his attention. The curious aeromorph rose to his feet, slowly, angling his pointed head in the direction it seemed to come from.

Another, then another...almost like...footsteps...

A towering presence emerged, G-2 glancing upwards to greet it. Shadows cast themselves across the whole of the bay.

“They say you're one of the new prototypes."

Above him, leaning on the wall separating two hangar bays, a large morph stared down G-2.

“Who's they?"

The mottled surface of the stranger and tell-tale welding seams removed any doubt. This was a heavy bomber, and by the looks of his pockmarks and aged, rumbling voice, he had been on active duty for a long, long time...

“Rumour mill is hard at work. I got ears, don't I? So, son, why don't you give me something to work with." The larger male applied his weight to the wall, revelling in the creak and strain of the structure as it tried to support his sheer size. Rivets snapped, popping out and falling away like tiny grains of sand. Thick arms bulged with hydraulic muscles, pushing out against his metal skin. “Extended range? Fuel efficiency? Huh? Or weapons tech we haven't seen before?"

G-2 held his tongue. He'd prefer to be left alone, but if he had to humour one of the local aeros to get some proper rest then there really wasn't a choice. “I'm not at liberty to discuss," he said, puffing his chest.

A deep, resonant bout of laughter came over the heavy bomber. “Oh...shy one are we? Well let me be a gracious host and start things proper. They call me Dambuster."

Dambuster? “Impressive call-sign."

“Yup. Earned it too, not like some fly-boys stationed here. They think strutting like a princess down the runway at air shows counts as deployment. I say different."

“I don't doubt it."

“Now, son," said the aptly-named Dambuster, his broad frame positively bursting with strength, “why don't you give a little respect to your elders."

“I don't know what you mean by that," G-2 replied, getting defensive.

“Your name?"

“I haven't been assigned one."

“Your serial, then."

“G-2MK114."

“Ahh...see I was right, you're a prototype. Latest and greatest."

“How did you—"

“Have a friend in engineering, one of the ground crew. Clued me into the numbering system for test aeros."

G-2 growled in defiance. “Don't speak a word of this to anyone else, y'hear! That's classified information you're—"

“Oh son," Dambuster interrupted, grinning wildly, “my silence can't be bought so easily."

No sooner had he said that then the large aeromorph disappeared from view, leaving only dents where his bulk warped the very structure they were in. G-2 moved from one side of the bay to the other, as the loud thud of heavy footsteps circled around. Where are you...?

The handle of the door snapped clean off, startling G-2. A heavy groan followed as the door was pulled from the outside, buckling. Once loose, it swung open to reveal Dambuster.

“Hey! You ain't supposed to—"

Only now did G-2 have time to appreciate his counterpart's form, albeit unwillingly. Muscle-bound arms and legs — titanic pillars that could crush tanks — supported an immense torso. Armoured pecs glistened from faint moisture, wide and perched atop a sweeping chest of square muscle. Motors moaned, pneumatics pumped, and hydraulics heaved with each and every motion. Big, buff shoulders supported a compact but dense wingspan and aggressive, angular air intakes. His face was rounded, chubbier than fighter models like G-2, but no less intimidating. Steel-grey lips pursed and formed into a callous grin. Blue eyes blazed in the darkness of the night, standing out against his physique.

Dambuster took one step inside the hangar bay, humming. G-2 watched his huge foot slam into the solid ground, cracking the concrete as the full weight of this behemoth came to bear upon the crumbling stone. Metal ground and flexed, carbon fibre jostled, and a slab of ridged rubber that could cover a sports field finally came to rest. G-2's nerves, however, had gotten the better of him.

The nervous aero gulped, feeling his empty throat constrict as the intruder hauled himself inside. His hulking form ruled its surroundings. Light reflected off of metal plating in the hangar bay, shimmering and scattering as pale rays bounced everywhere. Halogen rods flickered, soon overshadowed by the visiting morph rising to his full height.

Hanging limp, swinging as he made his way through the door, was the largest DDM he'd ever seen! Massive, slapping against its owner's thighs. Two high-capacity nodes bounced behind it, testicles filled to bursting with nanite data paste. Dambuster's dick dominated the bay, refusing all attempts to be ignored. G-2 couldn't tear himself away. It was just...so big...

A muffled clang rang out, G-2's wingpack having struck the back wall. The aeromorph watched Dambuster, who stood still. Silent...

...until a loud guffaw broke the peace.

“I think you see why they call me Dambuster now, eh?" he chuckled, reaching down and taking his flaccid length in hand. He gave his cock a couple of quick strokes, sliding the dark outer skin to-and-fro, revealing a glimpse of lighter grey at the tip.

He took another step forward. Another chunk of territory surrendered without a fight.

“You young bucks have your stealth capabilities and your manoeuvrability, but there's something to be said for a heavy-duty payload, don'cha think?"

Dambuster lowered his gaze, taking stock of G-2's equipment. Snug in its polymer pouch, it presented a reasonable bulge for his frame, but paled in comparison to the monster that swung between his mighty legs. Exposing his teeth, the larger aero taunted: “I reckon you couldn't take on a whole armoured column with that dinky little shooter."

“Not my role," G-2 replied meekly.

“Nah, it ain't, is it? You're the type for special ops."

“I request that you leave," he said, squaring off with the intruding aero. G-2 suppressed a nervous fight-or-flight reflex as he found he only came up to Dambuster's pecs.

Noticing this, another laugh boomed from above. “I think you've bitten off more than you can chew sonny. But that's okay. I understand the need to keep things under wraps. That's why you can either share some juicy details with me about your lineage, or get me to leave...another way..."

Handling his junk, Dambuster grunted. The forecover pulled back with ease, exposing his mushroom-shaped cock-head, sealant dripping from the giant hunk of biometal.

“There's no female units on-base," he explained, “that leaves guys like me without a lot to do but a lotta needs to fulfil."

G-2 pulled back. “What's your beef with me? I haven't done anything to you!"

“No, you haven't. That's not important, because it's how you look to me that decides my next course of action."

Look? What is he talking abou—

Dambuster squeezed his hardening length. “Funny thing about stealth tech. You can darken your fuselage and paint yourself with radar-scattering compounds like a schoolgirl playing with make-up, but you can't hide one thing..."

G-2 paused. Silence encompassed the cramped bay. His next words came out significantly less defiant: “what's t-that?"

Grumbling, Dambuster rolled his shoulders, letting his cock hang mid-air. Aloft thanks to his raging erection, it pointed menacingly towards G-2. The giant aero chuckled, and answered his compatriot's question in a low growl: “how fuckable you are."

If planes could shiver, G-2 would be a vibrating wreck. Alas, all his body afforded him were simulated sensations. Empty, hollow, non-physical phenomena that he had no way of communicating beyond his inner self. As Dambuster advanced, glowering as he moved, G-2 found himself retreating — creeping backwards, metre by metre.

His intruder enjoyed the slow chase. Evidenced by the twitch of his primed shaft. “Mmmm...guys like me see the new cohort as a buncha sissies — too eager to please the brass. Too ready to bend over come inspection time. Me an' mine? We're real men. Real fighters. Peace has made you soft, but I carry scars from my time in the air." To emphasize his point, strong hands graced unseemly scrapes across his fuselage. Patches where wounds were once inflicted. Every mark a notch above G-2's experience. “Make no mistake, I ain't ready to hand the reins to a generation of pansies if you don't show me what you're good for!"

G-2's hip was first to feel his firm hand. He shut his eyes. Dambuster's voice was impossible to resist...

“Turn around."

G-2 obeyed. He could feel the other aero staring. His gaze intensifying. Boring into the back of his head. Capturing his form. Feeding his lust.

“Bend over."

The next command was followed without complaint too. G-2's lithe frame titled forward, lowering his wing-pack and giving a better view of his rear. From the base of his spinal superstructure, a round jet exhaust protruded — dirtied from his recent flight. Flaps circling the exhaust expanded and contracted, nervously dancing to the tune of their owner's fear. He felt another hand upon his thigh, sliding and touching his ass, fingers stroking between where his exhaust nestled atop bare cheeks.

“Nice. Sleek and slender. Almost feminine, wouldn't you say?"

“I—"

“No, don't answer, you'd only disagree — I'll let your body to the talking for yourself!" With that last remark Dambuster drew out his arm and slapped G-2's rear. Pain, mixed with surprise, shot through the smaller aero's system.

“Eep!"

Dambuster smirked at his submissive squeal. “Oh yeah...we got a girlie here alright!"

“You won't get away with this," G-2 barked, “I'll report you!"

“What?" he snorted, “you don't think the military turns a blind eye to stuff like this? Son...you're naive as hell. My generation has real combat experience; that doesn't just grow on trees, y'know? If top brass wants to keep us sweet and share our lessons with up-and-coming flyers they know right well to look the other way when we want to have some fun."

“Then I'll scream!"

“Hah! Don't make me piss myself laughing! Who's gonna come to your aid? Huh? Vickers? Matador? Pfft...Greenbriar!? They're the same as me, unhappy with the latest batch to shoulder the nation's defence."

G-2 knew he was telling the truth. Who did he know on-base? Nobody. He wasn't even supposed to be lodged here — that was a mix-up by his handlers! Fuck Viktishelm AFB, fuck that prick Dambuster...and fuck his stupid-ass trials! They could rot for all he cared.

Still feeling up G-2 ass, Dambuster grunted. Bet he could tell what G-2 was thinking right now...no matter, as he had other designs.

“Oh, but go ahead and scream. Makes it more fun for me!"

Prodding at his crack, Dambuster's fat fingers made their way south, prying apart clenched cheeks to reveal the thin string of G-2's jock-strap. Curling under the jet exhaust, he found room for three fingers, enough to keep the overhanging exhaust from obscuring his true prize.

Don't you dare, G-2 whispered, or I'll blast you!

A high-pitched whine filled the room as his take-off procedures kicked in. Suddenly, a rush of superheated air bellowed from his engines — directed away from his ankle-jets and instead pushed through his single central exhaust. Tongues of orange and red streamed forth, causing Dambuster to recoil. Not for long, however, as the massive aeromorph reached down and clamped a hand over the exhaust. Diverting his fury into one last act of resistance, G-2's heart fell when he looked over his shoulder. His tail burned white-hot, but even that didn't deter the mammoth hands gripping him. The intense heat did little damage, and his dominator's bulky palm took the brunt of his jets without a scratch.

Cutting power to his engines, G-2 coughed. His air intakes sputtered as he wound himself down, taking time to regulate his breathing. Dambuster was in no mood to wait. His fingers returned to their probing, eliciting a whimper from G-2.

“Call yourself a warrior!? Disgraceful, we're on the same side and you're cowering in fear like a baby animal."

“It's not my role..."

“Yeah, yeah — your role is stealth. Well guess what: when you're in the air on patrol and some jackass interceptor catches you off-guard you'll wish you were made of sterner stuff. Either the enemy takes you, or I do. Don't matter much what you think."

Pinching the strap of his underwear, he pulled sharply. G-2's jock-strap came away quickly, sliding down his legs as the slender morph froze up, resigned to his fate.

His actions exposed a patch of synth-skin. Below where the jet exhaust jutted out from G-2's lower back, a dark, rubbery sphincter surrounded by yellow-and-black warning markings and the words 'KEEP CLEAR OF OPENING' emblazoned on his inner cheek, met Dambuster's eager digits. A further fondling let him tease out the tightness that faced his fingertips.

“That's the stuff," he rumbled, “you gotta nice pucker there son."

“Gee...thanks," G-2 replied, venom dripping from his words.

Another smack rocked his delicate cheeks. Lurching forward, G-2 hissed.

“No backtalk! I want you to know who's in charge."

Without much care for his captive's comfort, Dambuster took his forefinger and pressed against his squinting asshole. G-2 grit his teeth as the large digit forced him to open up, the flinching walls of his insides refusing to budge, but relenting under the assault. Sliding in up to the knuckle, the larger aero whistled, appreciating the tight tunnel he'd be privy to tonight. G-2 grimaced as he moved back-and-forth, reciprocating his entry, getting deeper and deeper. Small quantities of emergency lubricant deployed along his internal length to prevent chafing, but that only helped the intruding digit slide faster and further.

Slick with industrial lubricant, Dambuster removed his finger with a wet pop. Watching his hole scrunch shut after exiting left him horny, and desperate to relieve his tremendous erection. It hovered close to G-2's thighs, sometimes glancing the rich, alluring texture of cold biosteel. Tingling sensations ran through his nerves, tantalising each fibre of his being. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he opened his jaws and let his tongue emerge. From behind serrated teeth it swirled. The serpentine organ writhed continuously before finally tasting his finger. Dambuster let the harsh flavour of G-2's juices settle, fuelling his hunger.

Finished tasting his prey, Dambuster placed his hand on G-2's back, squarely pressing down and keeping him bent over. Exercising his grip, he felt out the shape of G-2's wingpack, sliding from the centre outwards, appreciating the smooth metal surface. Another bevvy of prods at his pucker brought fleeting gasps; digits spreading him wide. Keeping his other hand in its place, Dambuster let his invading fingers retreat, catching his erect cock along the way. Pumping his length for a second, he let his spear drip, eager to dock and 'top' his hapless 'bottom'.

A long, rolling grumble filled the air. The atmosphere grew as G-2's muscles did: tenser. The sounds of his dominator moving behind left him to worry. Eyes shut. Breathing erratically. Bated hunger oozed from the timbre of the alpha aero's voice. A tickling tremor, coursing through his lithe and sinuous form. Sensors blared with new information. Warnings. Emotions. All in anticipation of Dambuster's humbling girth.

When his tip met the cool biosteel of G-2's fuselage, everything changed. Dambuster's jaw opened, and slackened, as the cold gave way to lukewarm rubber — the tight asshole defending as best it could. His hypersensitive tip nudged gently against the barrier, the larger male taking time to arrive at the best position. Each slight push excited him. Each rough nudge against the quivering synth-flesh let him gauge his approach. Tactics flared across his mind — calculations normally reserved for combat, mental acuity earmarked for war turned instead to revelling in his capture.

He thought about giving notice before the big push, but his twisted side won over. Quickly, and without so much as a cough to alert G-2, he thrust forward. His cock pressed hard against the clenched hole, forcing its way inside. G-2's body was wracked with pain and panic, a fact Dambuster gleaned from the tangible stiffness of his frame as he entered. “Gurrgh...ahhh..." he groaned, his tongue flopping loose.

Once past the dry entrance, G-2's systems aided his passage with lubricant — warm, silky juices spreading across his shaft, coating him in a layer of pleasant moisture. He slid deeper, the wet squick of his cock prying open the tight hole was music to his ears.

“Ffffffuuuccckkkkk!"

G-2 inhaled. The invading member kept penetrating, round and bulging. It made its way, expanding his back passage without regard for material limits. He gritted his teeth and bore the brunt of the pain. It had to end soon, he reasoned — he had to adjust in time...right?

“God damn G-2!" Dambuster angled his hips as his reach half-way. “Fucking damn...you are tight! Betcha no-one's popped the seal — so to speak, eh?" With a grin, he positioned his hands on G-2's hips. “Fresh meat," he moaned, pleased to despoil his fellow morph's anal virginity.

“It fucking hurts!" G-2 shot back.

“I bet it does," he answered, pausing as he just made it two-thirds of the way inside, “alpha like me...beta like you...it was always gonna hurt." He laughed loudly. “See what I mean about power? Could you measure up? I don't — guhh — think so!"

He reached his limit: right to the hilt. Dambuster roared in triumph, letting the stiff body beneath him rest. His cock was deep in G-2 guts, filling him with his immense size. The quaking walls of G-2's insides squeezed him, constricting around him, desperately trying to eject the intrusion. Fat chance of that happening, he reckoned, given his overwhelming advantage in terms of strength. Putting said strength to use, he spread his feet and flexed his muscles, steadying his mighty form. The hangar floor buckled with his feet pressing down on it, balancing his centre of gravity to best ensure future pleasure. Cracks surrounded the broad soles, spreading several metres before vanishing into thin lines. His large ankles creaked as their joints and pistons fought to maintain their master's posture. Leg muscles billowed as one travelled up along them. Bulky thighs shifted little, his cock and balls snug between them. Those huge orbs danced with each motion of his hips, ready to supply the dick buried in another morph with enough nanite-infused seed to last a lifetime — if he could keep it all inside without bursting!

Dambuster clenched his ass, keeping his muscles in tension. Sculpted cheeks held themselves aloft. Rippling muscles all along his back and shoulders kicked into high gear as the behemoth stretched out. After enough time spent dallying, he slowly removed himself from G-2. The sensitive sigh of a lesser male made him feel...all-powerful, knowing that he'd merely witnessed the first movement in a symphony of hard, animal rutting. He praised his makers for their preservation of human need...needs he were dying to sate...

Once he'd left just the tip inside, blocked by the slight bulge that kept his cock-head trapped by the rubbery sphincter, Dambuster pushed his hips forward again. Another long advance into unclaimed territory, the hulking aeromorph hunched over, his groin pressed close to G-2's rear. Craning forward, his whole belly rested atop his lower back, covering the main exhaust and causing the prototype's wings to grace his body with the odd scrape.

“That's it," he shuddered, “that's it right there..."

Hilting himself a second time, he still cursed the lack of real speed. Breaking in a new lover was always a chore, and the slender build of his latest conquest was proving to be quite the challenge, even with ample lubrication. He needed to get serious.

Leaning further, his pecs settled on G-2's shoulders, some of their weight straining the aero's ability to stay propped up. G-2 felt Dambuster's throat rumble close to him. The dominant male brought his jaws to the crest of his companion's aerodynamic skull and whispered: “don't move a fucking inch. Don't make a fucking sound. Understand?"

G-2 nodded. Dambuster closed his eyes and placed a hand on G-2's stomach. He sensed the hesitance, the errant anticipation coursing through artificial veins. The small six-pack that hid like a frightened creature 'neath his palm gave him a sense of scale. Of power. He was in complete control.

Nothing was going to ruin this.

Suddenly, sharply, he pulled out and rammed himself home. Obeying his commands, G-2 refused to let a cry escape his lips, choosing instead to lower his head and hold his breath. Another full cycle. Withdraw and thrust. Withdraw and thrust...the pace quickened, Dambuster losing his patience as strong sensations swelled inside him. Building into a consistent rhythm, the larger male destroyed the tight hole with rapid-fire thrusts. His heavy body slammed against G-2's delicate synth-flesh, soft balls slapping against solid biosteel. His thrusts continued, pumping his hips over and over. The pressure of forcing himself through G-2's tunnel drove him wild. Nothing compared to the pleasure he was experiencing right now. Nobody else came close.

“YEAH!!!"

G-2, against all odds, tried to hold onto his sanity. The moment-to-moment clash of ass and dick sought to overwhelm him — disrupt his state of mind. The more Dambuster thrust, pounding him relentlessly, the more G-2 lost a little of himself to the act. Senses went dark, and he could only feel the powerful size of his compatriot, taking him like a feral beast.

Oh God, he realised, I can't stop thinking about—

Cock. Huge, awe-inspiring cock. Massive DDMs hanging from buff aeros as they strut about their day. Juicy dongs dangling from naked morphs mid-flight, a sure sign to foes that they were a force to be reckoned with. Something awoke within him. Something equally twisted as Dambuster's violent lust.

No! I can't. He's...

It's only one night, he told himself, I can afford to give...in...

Just this once.

Just to last the night...

“D-d-don't...s-sssttop!" he cried, voice rattled from increased thrusting. Dambuster's sensors perked up. “Oh? Didn't hear that — what did you say?"

“Don't stop," G-2 repeated, descending into a whisper.

While his hips bucked and with his great form covering G-2 like a mammoth tarpaulin, Dambuster spoke: “well done, kid. You know the truth now. You — urgh — know your place compared to me!"

The rich, spine-chilling slap of his balls against G-2 occupied the leftover silence from his gloating. Dambuster moaned and pumped his hips, driving his cock into the somewhat-eager submissive. Their biomechanical bodies collided in a cavalcade of pleasure and pain. Big and small. Tall and short. Master and slave.

He wondered if G-2 would continue to be so receptive.

The night dragged on, caught in a fit of frantic action. The heaving mass of Dambuster's lower half rocked back-and-forth, exerting millions of dollars worth of energy to achieve his desired speed. He threw his head back as the fortune spent to create and sustain him was squandered on personal satisfaction. All that food, fuel, and power, swallowed up by hungry engines, charred, and cast into oblivion. His kind were supposed to be weapons of war, thinking machines capable of great feats of combat. Some were once human, a long time ago. But many were pure-blooded. Born of living machines just like him. Creatures with their own desires. Dambuster growled as his night of pleasure built toward an ever-rising peak, rushing beyond his grasp — forever escaping him.

He had to pick up the pace. He needed to fuck harder!

“Grraaagghhh!" With a roar he began to speed up. G-2 whimpered as his body tried to contain the onslaught. Dambuster's cock rampaged through his insides, spreading the slick tunnel wide, to accommodate even deeper thrusts. His huge hips thwacked against G-2's. His balls shook, and ass clenched as his fucking went on and on — pounding the lithe aero for all he was worth.

“God...fuck...I..."

G-2's meek mewling reached an inattentive mind. Dambuster wasn't concerned with the feelings of his fucktoy, no...he was concentrating solely on his own enjoyment. Whether his cock was too big, and he was being too forceful, wasn't a concern. In fact, as he jack-hammered the smaller morph, he abandoned anything beyond animal instinct.

“Please...it hurts..."

“GRRRRR!!!"

“I can't take...much more..."

A word slipped past his lust-fuelled stupor. Dambuster heard G-2 cry out, breaking his promise. He had to be punished, part of his feral mind told him. But how?

“Do you want me to cum?"

“I..."

He grabbed G-2 by the shoulder, pinching down on the intake vales that opened out from his collar. The lesser male grimaced, the agony of penetration the only sensation he was permitted. Dambuster forced him to meet his gaze — electronic eyes staring deeply into one another. His next words were the same: “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Cum?"

G-2 produced a noise that wasn't a clear answer. Dambuster growled and gripped him tighter, his hips slowing down to let him focus.

“Say it!" he ordered, frowning. “Beg!"

“P-please cum inside me," G-2 purred desperately. “Cum inside. Fill me."

Whether it was from a sense of defeat or reluctance, Dambuster couldn't tell. Not like he cared anyway. A hole was a hole, and G-2's tight little number was doing wonders for this unit's morale.

Ready to announce to his prey the big finale, Dambuster lifted his weight from G-2, allowing the smaller aeromorph to breathe a sigh of relief. He kept slowing his pace, gradually reaching equilibrium with the rising orgasm that threatened to end his fucking. “Let me hear it again," he said.

“Cum inside me!"

The great hulking beast atop G-2 filled him one last time. Sheer mass fought with his constricting synth-flesh; a fit of oil and orgasm ensued. Dambuster moaned, his voice stuttering as his hips jerked. Fulfilling the wishes of the cowering G-2, he let his backed-up pseudo-biology loose. A hearty throb of his balls pumped gallons of syrupy seed through his groin — piping the hot paste up through his turgid shaft, before unleashing his load as a torrent of cum deep inside G-2. His whole body reacted, nerves firing in a discordant pattern of surging sensation. The low, awning groan of the hangar bay as the mighty morph arrived at his peak silenced any attempt by G-2 to speak up. The lesser aero crawled beneath the weight of Dambuster's core, knees dragging over the dull floor. Armour rattled and scratched as he moved, making scant progress when pitted against the mass of his dominator.

A wild pulse of ecstasy fizzled inside Dambuster. The tight tunnel he came inside of kept him locked in-place, pumping his nanites into G-2. His head flared as the spray continued. The thick grey-silver paste flowed fast and free, never stopping. G-2 gasped, his lower torso feeling the expanding mass of sexual slurry push outward. His jaw went agape, pleasure-circuits wiping out his reluctance in the sweetness of the moment. The vast, billowing tide...a tsunami's worth of cum putting his manufacturer's guarantee to the test!

As heavy balls shook and spurted, and the heaving, groaning mass of Dambuster forced him further and further towards the ground, G-2 closed his eyes and let the last wave of resistance melt away. Dissolved in the liquid bath currently occupying his guts. His alpha's pillar remained stiff, buried snugly into his soft rear. The rush of climax was infectious. G-2 began to feel his own body react to the surge. Bolts of pleasure shot up his spine, electrical discharge from sparking sensors. The torrent hadn't stopped, and Dambuster's plentiful emissions soon spurted out they way they came, violating the tight seal between cock and hole.

Fluid splashed on the floor. Expensive nanomaterial thrown away for no military gain. Between Dambusters squatting legs G-2 wriggled, his far lighter build frail in comparison. Pain was irrelevant. Pleasure was all that mattered.

“Urrggghhh...aaaahhhh..."

G-2 sensed his belly's tumult. Slowly, as Dambuster emptied himself, he felt his abdomen bulge. Pressure built, welling up to a noticeable sensation. Concerned his fuselage might pop at the seams, G-2 crawled, hoping to lessen the depth of penetration. His efforts failed, however, when Dambuster gripped his shoulders and slid him back down his length. Taking a hand, G-2 ran it across his belly. The distension grew. As time passed his stomach swelled with seed, his body straining to maintain its aerodynamic form. He bit his metal lip, caught in a swirl of competing emotions.

Pain...

Pleasure...

...

When things finally came to an end, a meek thrust from Dambuster shot the last of his cum. Now content to lie on top of G-2 and enjoy the afterglow, he gave a small sigh. His voice rumbled, still retaining its aggressive tone. He adjusted his posture — kneeling over G-2's backside, giving his body room to relax in the cramped bay. He felt G-2's wingpack jut into his chest, but paid it no mind. As he applied himself, he felt his compariot's wingspan bend — pressed down by his sheer size.

“Ah," he mumbled, “best part of doing it with a male aero."

“What's that?" G-2's speech was slurred, made fragile by the events of the night.

Dambuster grinned, his foul spirit knowing no bounds, and moved to speak close to G-2's ear. The gnashing of teeth was close enough to make one shiver.

“No risk of reproduction."

G-2 coughed, his airflow affected by the mass of synthetic seed bubbling inside him. His belly painfully swollen, all he could do was rub the expanded area...and hope, nay pray, that his figure would return for tomorrow's trials.

“Got a lotta kids on the force. Not intentionally — but I can't bear those safety coverings they make us wear. Buncha prudes in charge who wanna pretend we ain't got needs."

Following a shift in weight, and Dambuster whispered again: “get in raw and hard, that's my motto!"

G-2 sucked air into his chest, filling his intakes. Constricted by Dambuster, he let it cycle through him, cold exhaust tickling the other aero's thighs. As if to cow him, Dambuster did the same. He breathed and let his own turbines spool, beating G-2 in terms of quantity and noise level. The loud hum and screech of his engines blasted a wave of hot air behind him. The blast rebounded off of the hangar door and warmed the entire room. Gloating over his cum-filled captive, Dambuster let his turbines rattle for a while, gradually losing speed until they came to a complete stop. The auxiliary engines running along his wings purred, their sounds battering G-2's hearing.

Pleased with his show of strength, Dambuster began to slowly ease himself out of the hole he'd forced his way into. About three sizes too big for a clean evacuation, he chose instead to gyrate his hips, rotating his angle of penetration, accompanied by nothing less than a chorus of sensual moans.

The slick spear made its way out of G-2's ass. It took time, but the massive DDM cleared his pucker with a damp squelch, its bulbous head flopping into the open air. A steady drip of spent seed fell from the tip. Dambuster snorted and rose to his feet. G-2's body refused to let go of his paste, fighting every impulse to relax and let the invader's cum flow out. He was going to have spend a lot of time caressing his distended belly until Dambuster's essence faded fully. He rolled onto his back, ignoring the awkward positioning of his wings, and looked up at larger aeromorph.

His spent dick receding, Dambuster jerked it a couple of times for good measure, before turning tail and reopening the hangar bay door.

“Now get some sleep," he said, casting a careless eye over his shoulder, “I hear you got work to do tomorrow."

* * *

As per his orders, the next morning G-2 attended flight trials. Pitted against stealth jet models currently in active service, he was tasked with demonstrating his unique capabilities, and justifying the faith placed in him by the brass. The neighbouring airfield (well...neighbouring in flight terms) was tasked with challenging him. Mock dogfights, high-speed manoeuvres, and a battery of sensor tests filled the itinerary, lasting hours.

Fortunately, after last night's escapades he'd returned to his prior gracefulness. No sign of tampering remained — barring the faintest stretch marks on his armoured fuselage, but few would notice unless performing a full physical inspection.

By the time G-2 had completed the trials, he'd been put through his paces six times over. Relaxed, having performed excellently, he nonetheless felt the aches of constant activity in his frame. Joints creaked — devoid of oil. Motors whirred faintly, their coils brimming with electromagnetic discharge. G-2 jets had darkened from carbon scoring after such a long time in the air. The prototype was altogether wrecked from the day's events.

He did his best. It was done now. He could leave...

“G-2," a comparatively tiny human officer said, addressing the much taller being during debriefing, “you've crushed the competition. These trials have been a resounding success!"

“Thank you sir." G-2 stood upright, dwarfing everyone in the hangar. Again wearing his 'uniform', covering what little shame he had. The previous night's incident with Dambuster long pushed from memory as he saluted the ranking officer.

The human called him forward. G-2 took barely a step before he needed to crouch, kneeling to face him. Small in comparison to the elated aero, only reaching his ankle — just ahead of the last of the articulations between foot and shin. Close by, but ignored, was his bulge...the synthetic package shaking with the occasional movement of his legs. G-2 shifted his hips and seated posture as the officer circled his side, tracking the human.

Returning to the front, the human officer spoke: “report to the base commander for permanent lodgings."

“E-excuse me?"

Zooming in, the aero could see him frown. “You got that, G-2?"

“I thought—"

“You thought nothing airman! Thanks to a change in the duty roster, you've been ordered to deploy to this airbase for the foreseeable future."

No.

“Got something on your mind?"

G-2 rose. Glancing at the officer, he shook his head. “No sir."

“Good, report to hangar bay 34..."

The droning of the human faded as he was left to process his future. G-2 bit the inside of his cheek, shearing his serrated teeth on the tough, stretchy material. I have to stay here!? His mind protested loudly, but not loud enough to escape his disciplined silence.

Here?

With...

...

FUCK!!!

* * *

The eerie grin of Dambuster met him as he entered the hangar, despondent.

“Hey there G-2."

The huge aero turned to face him. Naked. A solid cylinder of steel and concrete in his left hand, pumping the weight like a bodybuilder. G-2 frowned. There was no need to exercise like that — regular servicing sufficed to keep an aeromorph's muscles in shape. No, he was doing that to flex his power...

G-2 train of thought derailed when Dambuster stood up, letting his massive erection show for all around to see. Noticing the other's stare, he smirked. “Always get a little worked up during free time. Nothing that won't be fixed, however."

“They let you out-of-uniform?"

“Well, not so much 'let' as 'tolerate'. Like I said, guys like me are valued. Leeway is to be expected. Speaking of..."

He turned and shouted at the rest of the hangar. Only now did G-2 realised who else was present. Other aeros began to close in, curious and...intrigued.

“Come meet our newest member," Dambuster declared, spreading his arms wide, summoning his wingmen. A small crowd of available aeros formed, blocking any escape. Many colours splashed across his vision. Greys, blues, greens, beiges...accompanying his smooth black. “They were watching your performance today. Gotta say, you impressed everyone."

Impressed was certainly one way to describe their looks. Each new face, new shape, brought a tremble to G-2. He spied names — callsigns — printed in stark lettering on their collars or above their pecs. Markings abounded. Serial numbers, kill counts, and some that were clearly borne of personal flourish. Slowly, G-2 got to learn the names of his new 'friends':

Matador — a six-engined turboprop morph. Red lines traced seams on his body where armour plates joined together. Chest rippled with muscles, forming an impenetrable bulwark of sheer strength, giving Dambuster a run for his money. Notches all along his thigh denoted bombing runs, as he appeared to be another heavy like his compatriot. They ran from the edge of his knee, rows four-wide, continuing up until one's eyes met his massive junk, without cover. G-2 gulped as the large cock flopped into view. Above his waist, on the left-hand side, was a picture of a feminised male human in a cropped blue airman's uniform, bending over in a suggestive posture. No prizes for guessing which side he played for!

Cannonball, the next surly beast to confront G-2, was a gunship. His wingpack was short and squat, but covered in compressors and turbines — enough to send him soaring at Mach 5. For someone his size, that was quite a feat. His shoulders had small protruding mount points, currently unused. Similar points ran along his arms, this time with armaments. Rapid-fire cannons formed an array of aerial artillery capable of smashing fortified positions. He'd surely earned the adage 'Cannonball', proven by G-2's hurried observation of his markings. Hurried, because another giant cock hung from between his broad thighs. Another source of consternation for the smaller aero.

G-2 didn't want to look any more, but wherever he turned, another threatening face made itself known. Vickers. Sarge. Greenbriar. Sledgehammer. Each name filling him with dread. Each bulky form shrinking him, battering down his resistance. Were there no thinner aeromorphs on-base?

“Impressed," Dambuster repeated, catching G-2's frayed attention 'midst the prison of mighty chests suffocating him, “so much so that I had a word with the brass, let them know how much you appreciated learning from an experienced flyer such as myself. Strangely enough, they agreed."

“Oh no!"

Another aero chimed in: “oh yes honey."

Dambuster continued: “so me and the guys got to thinkin': I can't be the only one to teach you the tricks of the trade; now, can I? We share things in this hangar."

G-2 looked around, seeing everyone's erect dicks pointed his way. Big, meaty shafts. Hands stroking. Forecovers sliding back to reveal their tips. Billowing heads poking aggressively at the air. Leaking fluid. Balls wobbling side-to-side as their excitement grew.

Two of the aeros high-fived, no doubt eager to sample the delights on offer.

Dambuster cooed: “you've got your work cut out for ya, son."

That same resignation that came over G-2 last night returned with a vengeance. His head lowered, eyes dipping and closing halfway. He saw his own figure, meek in comparison. Cock and balls tucked neatly into his jock-strap. A goody-two-shoes, by-the-book flyer — following every rule the brass laid down. Every regulation. When he caught glimpses of the burgeoning sausagefest around him, it seemed like it was all a waste. Dambuster won. His way of doing things reigned supreme. He belonged here now...

Reluctantly, he muttered: “wh...who's first."

Another laugh from Dambuster, and guffaws from the assembled crowd, silenced him. “You dumb motherfucker," one of them — Matador — said, “we ain't waiting in line!" The heavy, booming thuds of his feet as he approached sent shivers through G-2. “DB's told us good things 'bout you. How eagerly you raised your exhaust for him...we want a taste of our new brother's...hospitality."

“Yeah," said another, possibly Vickers, “we all heard how much you loved DB's cock. How you screamed for him to fill you with his paste!" Moving quickly, he grabbed hold of G-2's ass cheek. “How you begged him for more!"

“Something our bro didn't get to try yet," came the raspy voice of Sarge, a camo-patterned fighter-bomber who still could go toe-to-toe with heavies like Dambuster or Matador, “is how good your mouth feels...I call dibs on first BJ!"

Dambuster invited all his brothers-in-arms to begin their approach. G-2 shot a desperate look — a confusing blend of fear and desire, his mind losing itself again. The large aero merely shrugged, and patted the two nearest to him on the shoulder. “We did come up with a codename for ya. Somethin' to suit your new position/role in our family. I was right in guessing, based on your attitude when you came here, that you wanted a callsign. Just like one of the big boys?"

G-2 coughed an affirmative.

“Well, we found one..."

“What is it?" he barked, feeling several cocks brush against his hips and thighs. They were closing in! He didn't know where to look, to put his hands. Part of his programming toyed with the aero, calling for him to abandon himself fully, to offer his body to the rest.

“C'mon — tell me!"

Dambuster drew to his full height, and stepped into the ring of bodies. His strong hand fell on Sarge's neck. “Hey...what the—"

In a flash, he tossed aside the hungry aeromorph, taking his place in front of G-2. His own cock twitched triumphantly, having stolen Sarge's dibs. “Mine," he growled, his voice rumbling from the very pit of his core, the word instilling obedience in the others — shifting and competing for a good spot to observe. Lust incensed the crowd, who bayed for action. Dambuster raised his hand and curled his finger, not at G-2 — who remained below eyeline — but Matador. His fellow aero happily took position at G-2's rear, dripping cock nestling between his cheeks.

G-2 could feel the wetness grow. Splashes of liquid lubricant and over-eager emission coated his crack, making the cleft between his buttocks nice and slippery. Checking behind himself, the smaller aero winced as he felt the thick pillar of Matador's cock press against him. Looking ahead, he saw Dambuster's length dance inches from his nose. Broad. Mesmerising. He didn't want to stay; but as the heat of the many bodies pressing together, and the strong pungency of their libidos consumed the atmosphere, left G-2 questioning himself.

“Spit it out," he snarled, “what you think my callsign should be!"

“..."

After a moment's pause, and some stifled sniggering from his partners, Dambuster cleared his throat. His cock pressed at G-2's lips, parting his narrow jaw as he began to slip inside.

“Spitroast."