Hurghh in fact I had to fight the urge to draw this because this is the sort of shit that I have to start saving for a Patreon
I’ll leave you with an image, though:
Mister Nightfighter fucking the daylights out of a shiny lil P-51 Mustang with his crewmember stuffed up in that cockseat as it slowly floods with building machine spunk. He’s talking about how the Mustang will be so gummed up with his come that they won’t be able to fly for a week, and with a roar that can only come from a pair of fat rotary engines, the human finds themselves drowning in hot fluids, pressed up against the canopy of his spasming cockhead, and when they finally get a breath of air, they’re surrounded by the smell of burning rubber.
I mean, for all intents and purposes they feel pretty safe in there – pilots trust their birds with their lives, after all – but they really would like to get cleaned off. The question is, how in the hell do they get out?