The bike had been Donatello's idea, but once the planning was done, all the grunt work had been Raph's. He'd scavenged the parts and metal, torn his tough fingers open trying to make the disparate pieces fit together; he'd siphoned the gas to make it run.

And it was a good thing it was done now, because there was a murderous anger lurking in his heart and he had no desire to take it out on his brothers – especially after the scare Leo had given him at the Technodrome.

The boots felt strange, but along with the helmet, chain-bedecked leather pants, and heavy jacket, they were absolutely necessary for safety and disguise.

Not to mention they made him look fucking awesome. Raphael winked at himself in the pitted but gleaming chrome of his "new" motorcycle. He was feeling better already.

The roar of the machine filled the tiny workroom, and he heard an angry shout from Donnie – an experiment interrupted, but Raph didn't stay to find out. He clenched his fists, and the creak of his leather gloves made his heart race. He settled his helmet on his head, laughed aloud with sheer joy, and kicked off.

His tires screamed and his engine revved beneath him, launching him forward like an arrow. He knew the path from here by heart; it led out to an obscure drain he had widened with Donnie until it was able to serve as an emergency exit.

The way his engine's powerful sound blasted all around him, echoing from the buildings across from him as he raced out onto the streets, was queerly soothing. His blood was pumping through his veins like gasoline, and he felt himself shaking as he rode.

His eyes were fiery behind his mirrored visor. Someone was going to get hurt tonight.

Long minutes of riding did nothing to abate his bloodlust. No one was on the streets, no lurking Foot soldiers or Purple Dragons cruising for a bruising. Raph's fierce joy was starting to sour, when he heard something.

He skidded to a halt and hauled the helmet off, and there it was – the sweet, sweet sound of thrumming engines and a cheering crowd. He grinned.

A street race. Perfect.

It took mere seconds of thought to determine where the race was going to be held – Purple Dragons were predictable at best. Chuckling darkly behind his visor, Raph crept into an alley a few turns away from the starting line.

As the first rumble of motorcycle engines hit his ears, he gunned his bike, and when the racers shot past he kicked it into gear, surging out of his concealment into the street.

Purple Dragon tags adorned all the bikes but one. Good. The remaining biker was riding a sleek red powerhouse – she was sleek herself, despite the spiked leather jacket.

Well, that wouldn't save her. Anyone riding with the Dragons deserved what was coming to them.

The hindmost racer yelped as a massive hand dragged him backwards off his bike, sending him hurtling through the air to roll and tumble like a rag doll into a stack of crates. Raph laughed like a maniac.

God this felt good!

The next biker put up a little more fight, but Raph simply leaned into his swinging fist, letting the ganger's fingers crack against his helmet, thoroughly enjoying the man's cry of pain. A helping boot completely unbalanced the Dragon, and with one hand broken he was helpless to keep himself on course.

The brief struggle hadn't escaped the remaining three Dragons, and the two lower-ranked looked at each other and turned back. Raph saw the glint of heavy chains in their fists as they gunned towards him.

His bike shot between theirs, and they were jerked backwards to slam into the asphalt. Raphael held their chains up and threw them down, roaring on.

Four down, two to go.

No, wait.

The other two racers were neck and neck, Purple Dragon and anonymous biker. As soon as Raph came into range, Nameless lifted her right leg and slammed it into the ganger's chest, sending him flying gracefully backwards straight at the turtle.

Raphael growled and sent his bike into a slide, scraping just underneath the wailing Purple Dragon, then jerking roughly up. Nameless flipped him a mocking salute and raced on.

That wasn't gonna fly. He grinned again, baring his teeth in a deadly grimace that his opponent couldn't even see. And then his bike was up and flying, the engine screaming like a monster as his burned his way towards her.

They raced like maniacs, shredding their own tires as they blasted through empty night streets. Now one was ahead, now the other, and Raph knew they'd long ago left the established raceway behind.

That meant two things. One, that this girl didn't give a damn about winning a Purple Dragon bike race, which meant that she'd joined for some other reason – maybe the same reason as Raph, in fact.

And two, that she was playing with him.

Well.

Raph could play games.

He patted his bike with a tiny feeling of betrayal. He'd just built the thing, after all. But then he straightened as he pulled ahead of the racer, and launched himself backwards at her, fists first, his bike skidding away to slam into the side of a building.

She dodged.

It took Raphael's well-honed warrior's mind almost a full second to realize what had happened, compensate, and land in a safe (albeit abrasive) roll instead of a bone-cracking impact. He leapt to his feet, staring as his opponent slowed and turned.

Then she drew a sword. He cracked his neck. This was going to be good.

His sais were in his hands even as the gleam of her blade hit his eyes, and then she was revving her engine, heading straight for him.

Distance disappeared. As she closed, Raph sprang.

One sai deflected the short blade she carried, the other swung towards her helmet, but she jumped like an acrobat, flipping backwards off her bike as he hit her, and they landed together in a tangling roll, ending in a confused pile of limbs and bodies.

A spike was digging into Raph's side, and he jumped up, snarling. His visor had a massive crack running down one side, and he tore it off, throwing it aside. His sais had gone winging off somewhere, but he didn't care. He could tell at a glance that his foe was unhurt as she reared to her full height – taller than him, but then most girls were.

She looked at him for what felt like too long, then looked down at her sword. It was broken off an inch from the hilt. Shrugging, she flung it away. Her expression was unreadable behind her face-concealing visor, but Raphael could read her body language just fine.

Gravel crunched as she slid one foot forward into a battle stance.

This night just kept getting better.

Neither of them was in the mood for circling, examining, thinking. They collided like trains, hands jabbing, legs swinging in punishing kicks. The biker was fast, fast and tall and agile and very well-trained; Raph was stronger by far and much better able to absorb punishment, but he couldn't land a damned punch!

"Slippery little minx," he said, breathing hard from a particularly painful elbow to the center of his plastron.

She shrugged. "It's not my fault you're slow, Raphael."

He stood bolt upright. That voice...

When she threw her helmet away, he tilted his head to one side and laughed tiredly.

"Karai. What the fuck are you doing riding with the Purple Dragons? Kinda slummin' it, aren't you?"

"I might ask the same, except it's pretty obvious what you were looking for," she sneered back at him, slowly unzipping her leather jacket. She tossed it aside, revealing a black tank top.

Raphael stretched and followed suit, winking at Karai as he pulled off his jacket. His boots clattered away; his muscles bulged as he simply ripped his pants apart, not caring.

Karai raised her eyebrows. "Why the show?"

"You like turtle meat, don't you, bitch?"

He swung his hips, a wicked little smile curling his lips, and Karai rolled her eyes.

"Please. You're not half as attractive as your older brother."

"I may not be Mister Right," Raph conceded without rancor. "But you look like you need to blow off steam as badly as I do. And I'm sure as fuck happy to be Mister Right Now."

Karai pursed her lips. "'Mister Right Now,' Raphael? That's your come on?"

"You want a cock or a poet? I can only do one at a time."

"Tell you what, freak. You land a hit on me before I..."

She didn't have time to finish her sentence before Raph barreled into her, his heavy, muscular body slamming her backwards. She ducked away from a punch, blocked a kick, and counter-attacked with a vicious swipe of her spiked gloves, only to have her wrist clamped in an unbreakable grip.

Raph twisted her arm up behind her and slammed her forwards into the hard pillar of a streetlight.

"Motherfucker," Karai hissed, her lips pressed against the cold metal. Raphael shrugged.

"My mother was a canister of ooze, you know," Raph mused. His blood was still hot, and the fight had left his senses on edge. He was pressed against Karai's backside now, and he could feel an almost painful pressure inside his cloaca. Little Raph wanted out.

Karai tried to twist away, but he shoved her back against the pole. "Ah, ah, ah!" he said, leaning into her, his turtle cock unsheathing to rest comfortably against her jean-clad ass. "You lost. That means you gotta bottom."

"That wasn't part of the deal," Karai growled, but her heart wasn't in it. Raph slid a hand under her tank top, and she pressed her ass back against him as he cupped a small breast.

His left hand tugged at her jeans, and her buttons pinged against the light pole.

"You fucker, those were expensive," she hissed, shimmying her hips to help him slide her pants down.

"Jesus Christ, do you ever stop talking?" Raph muttered. As she opened her mouth to respond, he clamped his right hand over her face, slipping his middle finger past her lips.

Karai stiffened, and then Raph shivered as her tongue started toying with his finger, her lips suckling on the thick digit.

"Mmm, good girl," he purred in her ear. "Good girls get treats."

She laughed throatily as he started to rub her clit while he ground against her, his cock hard and twitching against her ass.

"Fuck, you're wet already," he said with a crooked smile. "You really like fighting, don't you?"

"Good girls get treats?" she gurgled around his finger. "What do bad girls get?"

"Well, Karai, bad girls get spanked, and –"

She bit his finger.

Raphael yelped and jerked his hand away, shaking it. Karai turned around and smirked at him.

His murderous glare shut her smile down, but her eyes twinkled as he picked her up under one heavily-muscled arm and hauled her over to a dilapidated bench. The way she raised her bottom as he threw her across his knee made him laugh.

"You want it now, bitch," he said. "We'll see how you feel in a few minutes."

"Put up or sh –"

*SMACK!*

"Jesus fucking –"

*SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!*

Raph's hand swatted Karai's pale cheeks with a sound like a gun going off, leaving bright red three-fingered prints all over her pretty bottom. She squirmed in his lap, scrabbling at his leg and feeling his erection against her belly as he administered her punishment.

*SMACK!*

"Raph, pl –"

*SMACK!* *SMACK!*

"RAPHAEL!"

Her voice was breaking a little. She was used to physical pain, but this wasn't a fight; it was a game, and she had an idea what the angry turtle wanted. She pushed her bum against his hand.

"Had enough?" he gloated, running his palm over her hot red cheeks. He pulled them apart, and she blushed red – probably her first real blush in years.

He caught her eye as she looked up. "Got a reaction there?"

"Asshole," she murmured. She felt his dick rise at the word.

"Sounds like an invitation. And Jesus, you're fucking sloppy back here..."

Karai's fists clenched as Raph slid a thick finger into her pussy. It was true. She was wet enough to drown a platoon. She had long ago resigned herself to the sick attraction she felt to these mutants. Why did they have to be so goddamn sexy?

Raph picked her up with an ease that made her belly flip-flop pleasantly, and made her kneel on the bench. "Ready, princess?"

"Wait, wait, you need..."

"Turtle cocks are self-lubricating, bitch, and that's all you're getting tonight!"

Her protests were strangled as the wet, pointed tip of his phallus found her asshole and slowly, inexorably, began to stretch her. She gurgled randomly, her knuckles white on the bench, as the sensation of being buttfucked by a giant turtle started to invade her brain.

Karai's nipples were hard under her tank top, and Raphael took a sadistic glee in pinching them.

"Piercings, eh?" he laughed, his dick halfway buried in her tight little butt. "Does your daddy know about these?"

She couldn't answer just then. Most of her nervous system seemed to be focusing on the giant intrusion into her formerly inviolate rectum, Raphael's thick cock lighting up clusters of nerves that she didn't know she had.

It was almost frustrating how easily she'd stopped fighting and given in to the sensory overload he was inducing in her. Her pussy was sopping wet, and her clit was so swollen and sensitive she thought she'd die if she touched it.

Inch after inch of throbbing reptilian dick slid into her overstuffed asshole, so much that she was legitimately astonished when she felt him bottom out. He groaned, feeling her tight rump spasming around his shaft.

"Ready, Karai?" he growled, moving his hips slowly. She had an inkling that she knew what he meant.

But she had to ask. "Ready, f-for, what?"

"This."

She moaned as he slowly withdrew his length, and then bright pink fireworks were going off in her head as he began to give her a proper assfucking. His cock pounded into her, pushing her against the bench, making filthy sounds in the empty street as he drove himself into her over and over.

His hips moved like one of Donnie's machines, smoothly plowing himself into her trembling ass until it felt like her heart was going to explode. Somehow he snaked a hand around her, and she desperately reached down to push him away, she knew she was going to black out if he...

He got to her clit before she did. His thick finger pressed it hard, sliding over it, up and down, lubricated until it was slippery-smooth by her flowing juices. Every tiny little push sent red lightning racing up her nerves into her overstimulated brain.

The sound she made as her orgasm blasted her away was probably impossible to describe. There were elements of moaning, of a grunting gasp, of gurgling and sighing and an intake of breath. Her mouth flopped open, and her tongue protruded a bit from her lips.

And her overworked little asshole clamped down on Raphael's cock in a way that made his vigorous buttfucking extremely pleasurable. He laughed roughly as he kept using her thrashing, orgasm-ridden body. Her hands were fluttering, her fingers twitching, and he just kept fucking her.

He pounded her into a string of orgasms that left her dazed and drooling, and as the tension rose in his cock he grabbed her hair with his right hand, her hip with his left, and sped up even faster.

Karai shuddered as his prong thrust deep inside her, then stayed there, filling her up more than she'd ever been filled before as he pumped her bum full of turtle sperm. It shot inside her like lava from an erupting volcano.

Raphael shivered and leaned forwards, drained and blinking. He felt... Well, better. He laughed as he ruffled Karai's dyed hair.

"Thanks for the race, babe," he said as he pulled himself out of her asshole. He wiped himself off on her pants, still dangling from one of her ankles. "I'll be seeing you."

She found the energy to flick him off as he collected his gear and walked towards his bike. As he roared away, she sighed.

She'd made a promise to herself, recently. And now she repeated it again with new fervor.

"I swear to fuck, Karai, you're never, ever going to find yourself outside alone at night with turtle jizz dripping down your thighs. Not fucking again. Jesus."