Lightning Strie

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Disclaimer: This is gonna be a weird one for a lot of people. This was a piece based off the world of the Dire Machines by the artist Ratbat. Perhaps the only 'living machine' pornography I enjoy, when it cames to real-world depictions of vehicles in an erotic manner, without being given humanoid shapes. So you've been warned. But if you're interested, give their art a look. You may even unlock a new kink

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Marcus heard the whine of the F-35A long before he saw it, the squealing of its wheels hitting the tarmac just barely audible over the screaming of jet turbines only just starting to wind down.

She came most weeks, several times a week typically. A confident thing that went where she pleased, visiting to chat with the local light planes. She had most of the Dire Machines here enamoured with her beauty and her prowess; easy to do when her competition were Cessnas, Robinson helos and the odd truck like Diego on the ground meant to help out at the airfield.

Jezebel was a next-generation stealth multirole fighter with a carefree attitude and a wanderer's spirit, plus an assertive air that commanded those other machines around her.

She flaunted this, revelled in the adulation she received, which Marcus found ironic for a stealth plane.

That being said, she was friendly enough, not so full of herself that she was insufferable to those around her, and the light planes always had gossip she was eager to hear, and she had juicy tales of her own.

Why she could just disappear from wherever her base was -- Marcus honestly did not know -- at her discretion, he didn't understand.

But, she was a Dire Machine, she didn't have to follow military orders, especially not if she wasn't interested in serving.

It wasn't long after that the engines of the jet had whined down that Marcus heard the excited chattering of the airfield's other residents. He glanced behind him and saw them trundling along, always eager to hear the latest from Jezebel.

Marcus didn't pay them much mind; Jezebel wasn't much of a concern to him. Hell, he'd only ever interacted with her once or twice, and there wasn't much going on when they did. Marcus didn't know anything about military aircraft beyond the basics, and he wasn't interested in being around the haughty Lightning more than he had to.

He didn't know why, he just felt... far too unfamiliar with her to be comfortable.

So, he returned his attention to the winch motor he was working on, normally meant for hauling out light engines for overhauls or replacement. Of course, the engine of a Dire Machine was utterly gunked up with the artificial, nanite-composed 'flesh' that could regenerate most damage a Dire Machine could suffer. There wasn't much demand for the likes of Marcus these days, save for the fact some Dire Machines seem to enjoy getting looked at by Mechanics, and for the odd mechanical device that couldn't become a Dire Machine.

He sighed out, and tinkered with the motor for a few more minutes, unable to figure out why it was working. By now his hands were covered in grease from his work. He mumbled and grabbed a rag from the bench, and started wiping his hands down.

That's when he heard the sliding hangar doors grind open a little more.

He turned around and found himself face-to-nose with the F-35 herself, a sharklike grin arcing from either side of her nosecone, just in front of the forward landing gear. Angular eyes peered at him from just beneath the empty cockpit's front, and he could hear the dull thrum of electricity pulsing within the jet's body. The Hangar was plenty spacious for a typical light plane, but she was taking up a lot more space than they did, with much less room to move around.

He blinked in surprise; he'd never expected a jet to be able to roll around on the ground so quietly. Maybe stealth jets were sneaky in more ways than one.

Still, he cleared his throat and crossed his arms.

"May I help you?" he asked, able to see his messy-black hair in the reflection of Jezebel's cockpit; if it were shinier, he'd be able to make out the blue hues of his eyes in the dull red-tinted glass.

"Help me? Can't a girl just say hello?" she answered with a hint of amusement.

Her voice wasn't quite human. Feminine, yes, and rather soft, but it had a deepness to it, and a slight reverb that gave her tone an artificial feel.

"Well, hello," Marcus added, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Though he might've been putting up a front of calm aloofness, he was honestly not sure how to feel or react; this was the first time Jezebel had ever sought him out directly. And he'd never met her in such an 'intimate' space, so to speak; there was no one else here but them. "Forgive me, I'm not exactly used to personal visits."

"I'm sure. The other girls tell me you keep to yourself," Jezebel remarked. Naturally, the others had probably told Jezebel all about the resident mechanic. Those girls loved gossip as much as any human girl.

"I have a lot of work to do," he said, though it was a slight lie; yes, he often had things to attend to, but for the most part, there wasn't a lot of laborious jobs he had to perform now. The Dires made things much easier around the airfield, and they could usually deal with a lot of their problems by themselves. "I don't get a lot of time to chat around."

He moved from one table to another, picking up a screwdriver with a ratchet torque system for tight spaces.

"Well, I find that hard to believe," Jezebel commented, her eyes slowly tracking him, giving Marcus the shivers; plane-based Dires tended to have more predatory eyes than their land-machine counterparts, but fighter jets were particularly sharp-eyed. He felt like he was being sized up, and that turning his back to this machine would turn him into dinner. "A mechanic only has so much work to do these days. Most of us can take care of ourselves. And some of the heavier stuff... well, we can help out there too, you know."

"Don't remind me," he said, grumbling as he recalled the odd fleeting desire to have a machine that didn't have nanite-based flesh turning it into a living, artificial organism. He liked getting inside of things, and most complex mechanical machines now found that a rather intimate idea.

Not that it mattered for many, since their insides were all gunked up with grey, malleable 'flesh'.

"What? Upset you can't just take us apart and figure us out? Don't you like a challenge... something mysterious, something that needs intimacy to prise out all the secrets~"

She laughed softly, and Marcus swear he could feel the bass in his chest reverberating through the ground.

He mumbled and tried to ignore the mildly flirty tone she spoke with.

"No offence, but I prefer machines that make sense. People are hard to decipher, and you lot are people too."

"Oh, I'm so delighted that you think that!" Jezebel said with some slight mock delight. "There are many still that don't think much of us, don't think we're people."

"Well, you are, but I didn't necessarily say that as a compliment. You know how annoying people can be?" he said, waving a wrench at her as he moved to yet another table. "Humans, Dires, what makes them tick doesn't always make sense."

He started working on a small motor, using the wrench to loosen some bolts.

"Mmm... and I suppose that includes you," Jezebel quipped. "What makes you tick?"

"Working with my hands relaxes me, and I'm all fine with my current lack of human contact. The dire machines here are plenty company for me. Not much more than that," he said, unaware of Jezebel quietly closing the door to the hangar... and slowly creeping closer, dendrites slithering forth from ports all over her underside.

"Mmm... but I'm interested in what makes you

really

tick... what makes you jump and shiver~"

He lifted his head up, a quizzical expression on his face. He didn't look at at Jezebel.

"Wait, what the hell are you talking--"

He was cut off with a shout as he was suddenly pinned against a wall, mechadentrites coiling around his limbs as Jezebel forced her nose cone up against his face, those predatory eyes of hers locked to his.

"What the fuck are you doi--"

He was cut off again as a tendril wrapped over his mouth.

"Can it, wrench boy..." Jezebel warned lowly, though her eyes were full of lusty hunger. "I've seen you so many times on my visits here, but never have you paid me any attention. Never have you expressed any interest in me... at first, it made me frustrated. Everyone else here always seemed so eager to say hello. But then, I started getting interesting... always at a distance, always so far away and busy with your own things..."

Her voice had taken on an almost breathy quality now, and he could feel the heat emanating from her mouth... warm, and moist. He squirmed, but the small tentacular manipulator limbs that held him were impressively strong.

"Everyone else at my base is always so upfront, so obvious, but they've all got partners, and I'm never alone with the ones that don't. But you? You're always alone, always away from the crowd... you grew on me without me even having met you personally. You were easy on the eyes, you didn't just shower me in adoration... two mutually exclusive things, yet it made me want you more than anything else... and now, I'm finally going to enjoy the 'meat' I've been craving for so long~"

She let out a sighing laugh, and then a metallic purr as she pushed closer. Marcus still tried to fight against her advances, but soon he was subjected to a long, slow and firm lick.

Her body bent and twisted so she could bring her mouth close to his body, the size of the artificial, slimy muscle equal to his own torso. It was gooey, like lubricant, and it stuck to his coveralls. He let out a grunt of intolerance, but he couldn't bring himself to be disgusted. She drew that tongue over his body, from just above his crotch, up his belly, his chest, and then over his face, the soft texture of the artificial, nanite-laden tongue almost enveloping his head. It started soaking him through, even before she proceeded to lick him again... this time purposefully curling the tip of her enormous tongue between his thighs, a fleeting massage deliberately aimed at his package. The moisture of the slippery, slimy saliva seeped through every layer of clothing he had, and the stuff was meant to keep grease off. He let out a defiant whimper as he tried to prise off her dendrites, but it was hopeless... especially since those licks seemed to sap him of strength whenever they reached his face; try as he might to resist her advances, the biology of his body was far less cooperative to him than to her desires. He felt himself starting to harden with each of the painstaking, erotic licks he was subjected to.

His skin started to tingle, and she started to pant, hot breaths of living machine lust washing over his body, his very skin prickling as if his garments were useless at keeping anything out. She had said she'd been 'craving' Marcus' 'meat'... and she was thoroughly saving the taste. He groaned and tried to pry the tentacle covering his mouth off, but it was hopeless. He couldn't fight against her strength.

Soon dendrites with the tri-clawed hands were snaking their way beneath his clothes, the metallic digits splayed out across his skin. He felt Jezebel reach for his chest, feeling him up, prompting a luxurious sigh from the horny jet.

"Oh, I knew you were a hunk beneath all this~" she purred, half in relief at being right, and half in thirst for bodily intimacy. Marcus himself could only close his eyes and breathe out hard through his nose as the stimulation slowly worked its unasked for arousal into his body. He was getting harder in his underwear, and it wasn't long before he fount his length wrapped up through his undies by one of Jezebel's dendrite's, a hand moving to take a hold of his balls, still through the material of his garments. He had no direct contact to his penis just yet, but the jet relentlessly licking him wasn't intent on screwing him just yet... she wanted to savour this, she wanted to play with her food first.

Heat burned across Marcus' face, his cheeks especially red and fiery as the debauched assertions of the Lightning forced his body to submit.

His coveralls roiled from dendrites wriggling around beneath his clothes, slithering across his skin. She kept licking, kept drawing that torso-thick tongue up his body... then, she grabbed his wrists, and pulled them upwards.

She started stripping him now, ripping at his work attire where she did not immediately find buttons.

She removed his belt and flung it away, as countless dendrites, tipped with hands or not, snaked across his body, cool to the touch, quite firm against him, yet deceptively yielding to provide some amount of comfort.

He bucked involuntarily as his coveralls and shirt were wrenched off him from overhead, and once his upper half was naked, Jezebel bound his wrists together above his head, his arms no longer capable of resisting the horny plane.

But her breath felt like a dragon, getting hotter and hotter as her arousal intensified. He heard quiet whines from the turbines inside her, spinning fast at erratic intervals, like someone revving an engine without thought or pattern.

The same could be said of her dendrites, exploring his body drunkenly, some attacking softer parts with possessive gropes, others tracing cool appendages across his skin with sensuous intent.

One of her 'hands' took its time grazing a claw up from his belly, wending like a serpent to his chest, circling one of his nipples... all whilst Jezebel tugged the shoes from his feet and set about wrenching his pants from his lower half.

He struggled in vain, a few errant defensive kicks proving useless as his legs were grabbed and bound, one of Jezebel's hand's snaking around a thigh to take a greedy handful of glute, squeezing with confident ownership.

And her tongue... he felt it fully against his skin now, and it prompted Jezebel to slow down further, each stroke and draw of her grey, slippery muscle achingly slow, a firm pressure applied to Marcus' body so that he felt her tongue meld to his body in every possible way. It soaked her other dendrites too, leaving their touches gooey and wet against his skin, like she intended to cake her 'meat' in a glaze of her own saliva.

She started another brush stroke with her tongue, the tip now curling up between his thighs. This time, it lingered there, rubbing and swirling around his penis.

Through cracked eyes, he watched as grey, nanite-laden fluids practically poured from the Dire Machine's tongue, surprisingly warm to the touch as hot, tropical breath washed over his lower half, Jezebel deliberately panting against him. He squirmed, and let out moans he could not contain. Still she traced his body with fingertips and the dendrites without hands to grab or draw lines with. It was the most surreal feeling he'd ever felt before, especially with his cock being stroked from side to side by that massive, impressively dexterous tongue, the tip juggling his balls. Precum started beading from his tip, he couldn't help it. He was fully erect now, and only growing harder. His body had acquiesced so willingly to Jezebel's wiles, and now, his mind was starting to submit to the pleasure. What she was doing to him... it felt

wonderful.

He couldn't describe it to himself well, the writhing, wriggling tentacles and dendrites wrapping and exploring around his body, the hands groping him possessively and the fingers that seductively drew lines of pressure across his skin, one even drawing up his cheek as Jezebel eyed him deeply.

He felt the tip of her tongue curl up between his glutes, her 'head' lifting to unfurl more of her tongue against his body, pressing it to his chest, until he felt the thicker girth of her muscle pressing against his cheek, her tongue far longer than he would've anticipated. The tip tauntingly prodded at his sphincter, before it began to recoil, Jezebel slipping it up his body, that lecherous muscle sliding against his penis and his swelling jewels in the process, until once more she finished a long, slow lick with an exaggeratedly slow 'flick' off his face.

That made him shiver alright, and with a buck of his hips, a droplet of precum fell to the concrete below.

She laughed lowly, peering into his eyes side-on.

"You taste delicious, wrench boy~" Her words were teasing, seductive, and the name-calling seemed almost endearing.

He let out a muffled huff, still unable to speak with the tentacle over his mouth. She pointedly wiggled the dendrite against his lips before giggling. Then, she dipped her nosecone down again, twisting her head for better access to his crotch... where she began to attack his cock with her massive tongue.

The thing roiled around his shaft, swirling and twisting, and bending his manhood every which way, Jezebel applying hungry pressure with the dexterous tongue, making sure his balls were constantly lathered in her slimy, grey-tinged saliva with the tip.

More moans left his mouth, muffled as they were. He was helpless, completely vulnerable to her predatory and salacious whims... yet he couldn't bring himself to be so repulsed and ashamed.

He'd

never

felt like this, and this jet was

damn

good at hitting all his sensitive spots. It was a surreal feeling, that enormous tongue rubbing up against and around his cock, the size difference alone meaning it should've felt crude... but she was good, and precise with her touch, lapping at his crotch with firm, hungry strokes, or practically nuzzling his comparatively small member with her flexible tongue, letting its flesh meld to his contours. Sometimes she was quick, other times she took a more methodical pace. At all times, she endeavoured to practically drown his crotch in her tongue, the slippery muscle shifting and curling anywhere and everywhere, wrapping around his length, grasping it and squeezing it.

And whilst her tongue drowned his loins in flesh and fluid, her dendrites continued their relentless teasing and groping of his body. He felt clawed fingers trace lines across his body with almost ticklish pressure, though the sharpness of the metal digits ensured it was always an acute sensation, one that drew his attention to the stroking but never threatened to inflict fits of laughter.

His nipples in particular were toyed with in such a manner, one of her handed dendrites rubbing the nub on the left, whilst a standard dendrite with no digits simply circled the one on the right. Elsewhere, they wrapped and squeezed, Jezebel seeming particularly fond of his ass.

And more, sometimes they assisted her tongue, slipping down between his thighs, cock, and that thick tongue of hers, to grope and massage his balls, polish the glans of his penis, or even coil a dendrite around his length like a snake around a branch, and stroke him off with it.

Marcus wasn't going to last much longer. He did his best to hold back the involuntary bucks of his hips, but sometimes the jerks could not be suppressed. His body was wracked with erratic jolts and spasms, reflexive pleasure begging his body to simply rut in carnal lust.

However, Jezebel would always restrain Marcus' reflexive outbursts... just enough to keep him contained. She seemed to allow him some measure of flexing, if only so she could fight against him... she seemed to enjoy his struggles.

And somehow, it was only making Marcus even more damn horny.

Precum was liberally oozing from his tip now, and his penis throbbed with potent warning. Between the tongue lolling around his cock, the dendrite that sometimes coiled around his girth with tugging strokes, the tri-clawed hands that sometimes grasped and polished his glans or fondled his testicles, there was no way he could hold off the veritable explosion welling up in his loins.