CRASH IMMELMANN AND THE INFLATABLE SEX-BOTS FROM PLANET X!

[LongTimeLurker]

MORE CAPS!!!1

It's another installment of this thing!!!!

Part 1: Here
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

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Space Ranger Crash Immelmann secured the harness within his crisis capsule. “Ready for drop!”

“Entry shield,” the voice of his ship’s computer, Collette, stated in tone that was not at all sultry.

“Check,” he responded, un-securing the harness.

“Retro rockets.”

“Check,” he responded, re-securing the harness.

“Fuel levels.”

“Check,” he replied, un-securing and re-re-securing what had to be the most uncomfortable harness in the universe.

“Crash, the affirmative response to a fuel level check is ‘confirmed’.”

“Hah!” Crash exclaimed, straightening the harness. “Straps were twisted. Oh, uh… check.”

“You might consider that this checklist is for your own safe-”

Crash cut her off. “Do you see anything wrong on your side?”

“No, but-“

“Then let’s skip to the fun part — three-two-one-launch!” He jammed his finger on the irresistibly large and red manual override button. The capsule shook violently and made a torturous metallic grinding sound, reminding Crash he needed he needed to get the manual transmission on his Space-Audi fixed.

“Crash, the docking clamps!”

“Was just getting around to that,” he muttered, hitting the boring black-and-white docking release button. The capsule burst from its bay like a champagne cork in a vacuum and spun wildly out of control, rebounding off the hull of the orbital station before course-correcting to the drop-destination below.

“Crash, I know you don’t want to hear it,” Collette correctly noted, “but you’ve managed to damage several-“

“Not now,” he said, fighting against the G's to activate his console. “There’s not much time left to view the mission briefing.”

“You mean you haven’t even-“

He cranked the volume and the recorded voice of General Ironsack drowned her out. “Crash, you’re probably wondering why we’re sending you back to Needleglass after your triumphant victory there over the Balloonean ‘Air Force’” — the commander allowed himself a chuckle — “Well, the pantywaists in Space Parliament have stuck their collective nose where it doesn’t belong and set up peace talks. Peace talks?! I mean, when you lose one man to every two-hundred of theirs, does it matter than they outnumber us a thousand to one? When I crunch those numbers, the result is victory!

“Now where was I… right, we’ve lost contact with the delegation we sent to these talks. With any luck, the Ballooneans have betrayed us and we can go right back to killing those gas-bags. So find out what happened, then make sure the Ballooneans pay. General Ironsack out.”

Collette sighed. “I hope I don’t have to explain to you why you need to make every attempt to salvage these peace talks.”

“No man wants peace with the Ballooneans more than myself,” Crash said somberly.

“Crash, I didn’t realize this was so personal for you. Do the memories of your brutal victory here weigh so heavily upon your conscience?”

“No, that ass-kicking was hilarious! The problem is that with all this war, I never had a chance to tap some Balloonean tail. And from the stories I’ve heard-“

“I sometimes wonder if M.I.L.F would take me back,” Collette muttered. “Also, there was something rather important I tried to tell you earlier, just before you cut me off.”

“And what’s-” he slammed against the straps of his harness as the capsule landed harder than his pick-up lines at that Balloonean P.O.W camp. “…ow…” he managed, gingerly freeing himself from the harness.

“Yes, thanks to your flagrant disregard for either my own advice or plain common sense, the capsule’s navigational systems are almost non-functional. You could be anywhere!”

Crash deployed the capsule’s remote cameras — the feeds on his monitor displayed a gilded ballroom filled with dust and debris.

“Relax, Collette,” he said. “This is the grand ballroom of our embassy. But the place is a bit of a...” realizing why the place looked like a disaster moments before he said the word, he struggled to think of a less embarrassing to end the sentence when he noticed movement on one of the displays. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Through the grand entrance came a bevy of Balloonean beauties. Each sexy specimen was uniquely costumed, colored, and armed with a Balloonean shard gun.

“I’ve lost the visual feed - what do you see?” Collette asked.

“Ballooneans — and I don’t think they’re here to drop from the ceiling to celebrate my arrival.”

“Terrible, even by your standards. And you need to get to cover, if they’re hostile-“

“Report!” the pod’s external mic picked up a familiar voice, and Crash watched as the Balloonean in charge, a tall, purple number dressed in an officer’s uniform, activated a holo-display. A projection of M.I.L.F appeared, her curvaceous body comprised of sensually shaped bands of green light and sexily-scrolling data.

“It looks like a Confederate crisis capsule,” the purple office began, “but with how hard it came in, I doubt the occupant is still alive.”

“Let’s make sure,” M.I.L.F said. “Get some charges to blast the capsule.” The officer saluted and ran off. “Krypta, activate the Embassy’s automated point-defense system. I’d rather not have any additional uninvited guests.”

“Sure thing, Milfy!” chirped a light-blue Balloonean wearing rabbit-ears and fishnets over a leotard accessorized by a bow-tie and a fluffy cotton tail. “And… not that I’m questioning your orders…”

M.I.L.F rolled her eyes. “I programmed you to be incapable of disloyalty, so please just get on with it.”

“If I activate the defense systems, won’t that take down the Balloonean ship?”

“It may not be according to my original plan, but it will achieve the same result.”

“Crash,” Collette whispered, “these ‘Ballooneans’ are actually M.I.L.F robots, and they’re here to sabotage the peace talks!”

“Wow Collette, give me a little credit here,” Crash muttered under his breath while activating the capsule’s anti-personnel flechette charges.

“Guess what else was damaged when you-“

“It would’ve made things too easy anyway,” he said, reaching for his trusty blaster. “Um… Collette? Have you seen where I put my trusty blaster? Or my vibro-pocket-knife for that matter?”

“This is why we have checklists!”

“Well even when I’m completely unarmed, I still have my… you know, anything I say, you’re just going to mock.”

Collette sighed. “Just check your field pouch and be thankful that one of us knows what she’s doing.”

Crash discovered a bottle with what looked like a small pill inside. “What’s this?”

“Working with Princess A’ria’la, we’ve devised an anti-nanite cyber-pathogen that, while harmless to you-“

He tossed the pill into his mouth.

“-will attack… did… did I just hear you swallow?”

“What, I wasn’t supposed to take the magic M.I.L.F protection pill?!”

“It wasn’t a pill!”

“Then why did you make it look like a pill!”

“What do you mean ‘look like a pill’?! I swear Crash, if you die on this mission-“

“GAHHH!” Crash had the sudden sensation that his balls were being dipped in a vat of boiling space-tiger-balm.

“What is it?!” Collette exclaimed.

“Johnny Cockswain and Testicules… pain!”

“Please tell me you didn’t name your testicles…”

“I thought… you said… harmless!” he groaned.

“Yes, even swallowed they shouldn’t do any harm… unless… do you have nanites in your scrotum?”

“Didn’t you wonder how... urk… my swimmers managed that… ow ow ow!... post-coital massage?”

“I did find that a bit odd…”

“And why they… tasted like… tiramisu?” The pain seemed to be subsiding.

“Crash, look at your monitor!”

He glanced up to see three of the remaining balloon bots listening to M.I.L.F rail about why humanity had to be destroyed, and she appeared to be citing Crash as the principle justification.

“No, the other monitor!”

On the other side of the capsule was a silver balloon-bot in a red cheongsam closely examining the hull. The Balloonean race these robots were modeled after were human in appearance, but their skin was made out of a translucent rubber-like material. This one’s pouty lips were pursed in scrutiny, her silver eyes squinting at whatever she was looking at. They were hairless, but atop this bot’s head was the molded shape of a bun complete with a balloon hairstick. Her silken dress was slit high on both sides, showcasing her plump thighs as she assumed a wide stance to lean forward for a closer inspections.

She prodded something with the barrel of her shard-gun and in a hydraulic hiss the capsule door flew open. Crash and the silver balloon-bot stared at one another in complete surprise.

“You’re him!” she exclaimed, bringing her shard-blaster to bear — but before she had a chance to fire, Crash grabbed the barrel of the gun and pulled. She stumbled over the threshold of the capsule and into Crash. Their close-range slap-engagement ended with Crash spinning her back to him and covering her mouth. Glancing at the monitor, he saw M.I.L.F and the others had apparently not noticed their scuffle.

“M.I.L.F, you’re shouting again!” said a pink balloon-bot dressed as a dominatrix.

“Am I? Sorry — anyway, it’s that fucker’s fault. Everything with him was so wonderful at first-”

“Crash,” whispered Collette. “If M.I.L.F keeps talking, I can try to trace the signal to wherever she’s broadcasting from…”

“Sure thing, silver and I were just getting comfo… ahem…” Crash shifted uncomfortably as the balloon-bot pushed her cushioned backside into the swimsuit region of his crisis-suit. Despite the soreness resulting from the earlier nanite conflict in that very same territory, the sensation was not an entirely unpleasant one. Glancing down, he couldn’t help but notice the way the red silk of the dress flowed over her rounded posterior like the waterfall at Mt. Dat’ass, one of the galaxy’s most sensual geological formation.

“Crash, what are you doing?!” Collette demanded as loud as she dared.

“This little bot here is trying to distract me with her fembot wiles, but I hoohhoooooo,” she pressed her hips harder against him, her pouty lips managing to wrap around one of the fingers that had been covering her mouth.

“Crash!” the voice of someone annoying exclaimed.

“Juss… trace the signal…” he muttered, hitting his custom ‘emergency deployment’ button on the waist of his crisis suit. In a flash, his purple rocket was out of the station and ready to chart a course to the tuna-verse.

The silver balloon-bot lifted the back of her dress, pulling aside her black g-string to grant him access. Her hands were free? Was that a problem? In his mind he ignored these distractions and pressed the big, red, shiny manual override button and rammed his way into the waiting balloon-bot.

She choked back a squeal and was soon being bounced around the capsule’s interior like an orgasming tetherball, her breasts squeaking noisily as Crash pushed and squeezed, flagrantly disregarding the intercourse portion of his stealth-operative training. For her part, the silver balloon-bot seemed to be doing her best to keep quiet, but it seemed only a matter of time before they would be discovered, and he would be killed. But if that were the price he had to pay…

“Crash, please!” Again with that annoying voice!

The balloon-bot answered for both of them, saying, “Wh-whoever you are, hhhe’s mine ahhh! now! I’m exuding a ph-phermone cock-ohhhh!-tail that will keep him fuuuuuhuck-ing until I’ve had my f-f-fill. And th-then…”

The annoying voice still wouldn’t be quiet. “Crash, the others are starting to notice! Your only chance is to cum now!”

Crash was aghast. “Have… a… reputation… to uphold…”

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this…” the annoying voice cleared her throat. “Oh, Crash, I wasn’t built for this! It’s too much data, you’re overloading my circuits!”

That annoying voice was starting to sound very familiar… he remembered a waifish brunette on a science station… make that a dead-sexy waifish brunette bent over the command module…

“Oh Crash! Crash! You’re m-m-making me malfunctionnnnahhhh!”

“Wh-what the fuck was-?” the bouncing balloon bot asked, before she was interrupted by a hot payload from Crash’s love-rocket. Her attempts to silence herself failed as she howled in bliss, pushing and kicking against the capsule walls to ram herself further on to Crash’s flight stick, convulsing in pleasure with every adjustment to pitch, yaw, and roll until they had finally landed. “I can… hahh… see what M.I.L.F saw in you,” she offered. “T-too bad you’re about to die.” The fog that had clouded his mind was lifting, and he suddenly realized that a hostile balloon-bot with designs to kill him after she had had a few O’s was planted on his cock. And doing some quick mental calculations, he realized that her last O pushed the count from ‘a couple’ to ‘a few’! He had to save himself… if he could just think of a good quip!

“CRASH IMMELMANN?!” he heard M.I.L.F exclaim — looking over the balloon-bot’s shoulder, he saw three other bots along with the holo-image of M.I.L.F at the open door of his capsule, staring in disbelief.

“Catch!” he offered, pushing the bot off his crotch and delivering a swift punt to her ass. She bounced out of the doorway, but not before ricocheting off of the big red shiny button. “Uhhhh-” Crash managed before the capsule’s main thrusters fired and he burst through the floor and into the chamber below.

In what was becoming uncomfortably routine, Crash picked himself up from the floor of the crashed capsule. Glancing at the monitors, he noticed that the remote cameras were still functioning. The holo-image of M.I.L.F was peered into the hole left by Crash’s capsule, while the scattered balloon bots were standing up around her. When the silver bot in the red cheongsam stood, he notices a bright light shining from beneath the silk covering her crotch.

“Something’s wrong w-with that s-s-space-jockey’s s-spunk!” she exclaimed. “C-c-corruption d-d-detected in ahhhh! n-nanite wwweb, c-cannot nnnngh! c-cannot c-c-containnnn!”

“Get away from her!” M.I.L.F shouted, as the other balloon bots scrambled while the glow started to spread.

“C-c-compromised, t-t-twenty percent,” she forced her hand under her dress and the light began to travel up her arm. “Th-thirty p-p-percennnt, ohhhh!” She slid her glowing hand over her thighs, light spreading whatever she touched. “Fifty-p-percent… error! C-c-annot… Seventy!” She crushed her breasts, each lighting like the suns of a binary star system. “Ninety!” Her whole body was glowing intensely, and after staggering for a few steps, she fell backwards. “Is that… Tiramisu?” she muttered in confusion. The moment her butt hit rubble, she exploded in a shower of glowing nano-machines and logi-gel, shreds of her silk dress plastering the roof of the ballroom.

“Don’t think you’ve escaped, Crash Immelmann!” M.I.L.F shouted down the hole. “My bots will find you! And when they do, they’ll… well, they’ll just straight-up kill you! No more sexy poetic justice! This is now prose justice! You hear that, Crash!? ASEXUAL PROSE JUSTICE!”

Crash quickly made his way out of the capsule and into the service tunnels of the sprawling embassy, raising Collette on his wrist-communicator. “Well, Collette — I may not be armed in any conventional sense of the term-“

“Crash, you need to take stock-“

“-but it looks like, thanks to you, the deadliest tool I have at my disposal-“

“You almost got killed back there! Would you just stop for a moment-”

“-is also my most versatile!”

Collette scoffed. “It really isn’t!”

“Well, it’s certainly the most useful.”

“Hardly!”

“The most adaptable?”

“That’s just another word for ‘versatile’!”

“Collette, I don’t think you’re following. I’m talking about my-“ his words were cut off along with the air in his windpipe as something lashed about his neck, pulling him to the ground.

“Going somewhere, Crash?” a mocking voice called from behind.

What tool was Crash referring to? Will we ever know? Find out in the next installment of... COMMANDER CRASH IMMELMANN IN The YEAR 30XX!

[DukeNukem 2417]

VERY nice!

I always wondered how inflatable fembots would work....

[LongTimeLurker]

I always wondered how inflatable fembots would work....

Whenever I don't have an answer for how something should work, I just look to Hideo Kojima. Turns out the answer's always nanomachines.

[RoxxyRobofox]

“My bots will find you! And when they do, they’ll… well, they’ll just straight-up kill you! No more sexy poetic justice! This is now prose justice! You hear that, Crash!? ASEXUAL PROSE JUSTICE!”

I lost it there. Never gonna find it again.

[Uhoh]

Nice! From what I'm getting, he's got that kind of resourcefulness that assures victory

[LongTimeLurker]

Quick update - got busy, I'll have to continue this is my next "not busy" period!

“My bots will find you! And when they do, they’ll… well, they’ll just straight-up kill you! No more sexy poetic justice! This is now prose justice! You hear that, Crash!? ASEXUAL PROSE JUSTICE!”

I lost it there. Never gonna find it again.

I think I like that as a title more than +1, but... context and all that jibber jab.

[minkwheel]

OH....WELL I just had some HAPPY FUNTIME FUN right here.......THANK YOU SO MUCH for making me smahle ---- Makes me want to read 'BILL THE GALACTIC HERO" once again. Keep up the good work when there will be less busy time busy-ness. --minkwheel

[LongTimeLurker]

OH....WELL I just had some HAPPY FUNTIME FUN right here.......THANK YOU SO MUCH for making me smahle ---- Makes me want to read 'BILL THE GALACTIC HERO" once again. Keep up the good work when there will be less busy time busy-ness. --minkwheel

Thank you - finally got some free time, and so it continues...

[LongTimeLurker]

A jerk from the cord around his throat spun Crash in place to see the pink dominatrix balloon-bot. Tall leather boots pinched her rubberized thighs and a spiked bustier served up her smooth, round breasts like two generous scoops of strawberry ice cream. Her ‘hair’ was molded as a pony-tail pulled tight from a face of features sharp and cruel enough to dispel any hope for mercy, but not so sharp and cruel that he wasn’t sporting an optimistic half-chub.

“Hard to see what all of M.I.L.F’s fuss was about,” the dominatrix-bot muttered, giving another tug and bringing Crash to the ground.

“Neon, waiiiiit!” cried a high-pitched voice from behind her. “Don’t kill him yet!” The whip loosened enough to allow him to breath, and he saw a cream-colored balloon-bot in a maid’s uniform, her high lace skirts rustling as she ran toward them, her corseted tits bouncing like balloons in a maid’s uniform. Crash made a mental note to work on that simile and moved on to noticing how her hair was in a cutesy bob, complementing a bright-eyed face that seemed far kinder than the dominatrix’s. But when she caught up to her partner and glowered at him, he saw nothing but murder. Big eyed, squeaky-voiced murder.

“What is it, Radonia?” demanded the dominatrix.

“I want credit too!” the maid pouted. “M.I.L.F is already mad that I didn’t get any of the diplomats…”

“Not my fault none of them had a fetish for… whatever you’re supposed to be.”

“Neo Elegant Gothic Aristocrat Lolita ~✿!” she cheered, spinning in place amidst chimes and a cloud of spontaneous sparkles.

“You know,” Crash began, “I think I might have a thing for neo… gothic… uhh… artistoaaak!,” the dominatrix cut him off with a sharp tug.

“This is pitiful,” the dominatrix sighed. “Grab the whip, Radonia - we can kill him together."

Radonia clapped her hands and took hold of the whip, and both balloon-bots planted their heels.

“Ready?” Neon muttered.

Doing a quick mental check of the ways he had expected to die, Crash realized being pseudo-erotically asphyxiated by a dominatrix had definitely been on that list — but he still wasn’t resigned to his fate. He tugged fiercely at the whip around his throat — no such luck! But then he noticed his wrist-computer was displaying an alert regarding spiking power-levels of his crisis-suit’s zero-g thursters. Was Collette-

“Pull!” Shouted the dominatrix — and just as the two balloon bots jerked on the whip, Crash’s suit fired, rocketing him in their direction. The sudden loss of tension caused the bots to collapse in a tangle of spiked leather and frilled lace. He scrambled to his feet quickly ran over them, ducking into a nearby alcove to catch his breath.

“Aiiieeee!” he heard the maid cry. “Multiple breaches! Fluid reserves insufficient for repair! Nanite-web at ninety percent and falling! You and your stupid pokey boobs!”

“He’s escaped!” growled the dominatrix.

“I’m losing nanites!” the maid squealed, followed by, “Hey, easy!”

“The last thing we need is for you to get any dumber,” the dominatrix grunted. Cautiously peering around the corner, he saw the dominatrix applying pressure to one of the maid’s breasts, her other hand producing what appeared to be a Balloonean medi-kit. Pulling a nozzle from the kit, she reached under the maid’s dress-

“Woah,” the maid protested, “give me a sec before you hahhhh!“

-and with the bedside manner of a gas-station attendant, rammed the nozzle into maid-bot’s backside. The maid sat bolt-upright, her expression a very confused and uncertain smile. Neon flipped on the kit’s micro-compressor and the maid-bot gave another jolt as air shot into her. “Stay put,” the dominatrix ordered, slapping a patch on the maid’s perforated cleavage, which quickly swelled to its former pertness.

“But I need to kill Crash!” the maid insisted.

“Well, you fucked that up for both of us,” Neon sighed, sprinting down the hall and straight past Crash’s hiding place. After the squeaking of her rubber thighs faded, he was left in silence — even the medi compressor had stopped its thrumming — perhaps it had restored the maid-bot’s air pressure? He hunched down and crept to the corner, peering around to make sure the maid was still occupied. Instead, he found himself staring at a pair of latex legs in tall heels. His eyes followed them upward to where they ended at her panty-clad waist, a compressor-hose extending like a tail from behind. He also took notice of the shard-blaster she happened to be aiming directly at his forehead, as well as the satisfied smile across her cute, psychotic face. It was clear she was going to relish pulling the trigger.

“Look who I fooouuund ~♥!”

With no warning, the zero-g rockets of his crisis suit fired and he was propelled directly into her legs, which he grasped for dear life as the corridor’s opposite wall loomed large. The two hit at high speed, her thighs acting as an airbag for Crash, the shard blaster falling from her grip.

“Breach!” she squealed, as the micro-compressor hummed to life once more. “Nanites at 75%!”

Crash saw the patch on her bust had blown loose from the impact; she was trying to hold it in place with one hand, struggling to reach her fallen weapon with the other. He adjusted his grip around her legs and hoisted her into the air, squeezing her thighs in his arms. The air and nanites in her body were forced into her upper torso and straight out of the hole in her ruptured bust. “Nanites at s-s-sssixty p-perrrrcent!” she exclaimed, now with both of her hands struggling to cover the hole as the compressor thrummed louder. It was working! All he had to do was keep squeezing, and the nanite collective that made up her AI would be dispersed, leaving nothing but an air-filled rubber shell! This… very shapely… sensual… sexy rubber shell…

Crash found himself staring at the frilled panties above her writhing thighs, realizing how the little bow on the front made her look like a present, gift-wrapped just for him. And he found himself thinking about how terrible he was with waiting to open his presents. His vice-grip on her loosened, and he took her panties in his teeth, savagely tearing them off with a jerk of his head. Beneath was the maid’s perfectly realized artificial sex — it was as if the universe’s most gifted balloon artist just happened to also be an expert gynecologist.

He pressed his face into her and she responded by wrapping her legs around him, the latex squeaking as she squished her thighs against his head, tighter, tighter… Crash noted it was getting difficult to breathe, but he had other concerns on his mind, and he was soon using his ‘Ravenous Space-Anteater’ technique, her panting approval reaching his ears through her quivering, air-filled legs.

“Yes!” she gasped, her thighs tightening further. “P-pleasure mmmme with your very last b-b-breath!” His tongue worked with renewed fervor despite the distinct onset of a feeling of lightheadedness, and he could feel her body begin to quiver like the plucked string of a space-violin. “Error!” she suddenly gasped. “I c-c-cannot afford to c-c-cum, n-n-no fluids in reserrrrve, n-n-eed logi-gell for baseline A.I.!” But Crash’s mind was fixed, his mouth devouring her artificial womanhood, his hands gliding up her trembling thighs, then massaging her perfectly smooth, plump buttocks like stress balls, each rubbery squeeze taking the edge off niggling concerns like his impending suffocation.

“Warning!” she squealed. “Warning! I’m g-g-going t-t-t-tooooo c-c-cAHHHHH!” A warm deluge flooded across Crash’s face as the maid-bot literally came her brains out, nanite-rich logi-gel washing over her quivering thighs and down the front of Crash’s crisis suit. “AA-A-A-A I-I-I at re-re-redu-du-duced capacityyyyy,”she droned, slipping off of Crash’s shoulders and landing with a squeak on her back. The maid-bot stared up at the ceiling with a wholly contended smile on her face, her hands still covering the leak on her breasts. “D-d-don’t worrrrryyyy about po-po-popping meeee,” she purred, writhing amidst rubber squeaks and stuttered sighs, “I’m t-t-tougher thaannn I llllooook-k-k…”

Crash shook off the oversexed haze induced by the bot’s ‘pheromone cocktail’. Wiping the tangy logi-gel from his mouth, he radioed Collette. “One more down — on account of me going down on… er, hang on! One more went down after I went down on-“

“Crash, that still leaves at least four by my count,” Collette responded. “And if I might make a suggestion, perhaps avoiding conflict and notifying the Balloonean ambassadors would be a better strategy than fucking every one of these robots into submission?”

“I say we each go with our strengths,” Crash replied, “and since you love talking so much, why don’t you let the Ballooneans know what’s going on?”

“I would love to, except someone’s over-eager pod drop damaged the ship’s communications array!”

Crash was readying a defensive remark when he came to a rather obvious question: “Then how are you communicating with me now?”

“Actually, I have a very satisfying explanation for that seeming contradiction if you would care to hear it.”

“I would. Also, why I can’t radio the Ballooneans myself from right here?”

“Well, you see-“

“Quiet!” Crash heard the approach squeak of rubber and dove into the shadowy alcove once more. And not a moment too soon — the pink dominatrix had returned, and came to stop above the supine maid.

“Did you know I’m anatoooooomic-mic-mically c-c-correeeeERROR!” the maid stated, one of her hands lifting up her skirts before a spasm caused her to rip the laced fabric.

Sighing, the dominatrix said, “It looks like Crash has fucked Radonia stupid.”

A shapely hologram of M.I.L.F materialized with a frustrated growl. “You’re supposed to kill him on sight, long before his dick gets anywhere near you!”

“It would help if you hadn’t programmed with nigh-insatiable robo-libidos,” the dominatrix grumbled, applying another patch on the maid’s punctured bust. As the maid cooed softly, the dominatrix seemed reluctant to remove her hand.

“You’re supposed to be Balloonean fuck-dolls,” barked M.I.L.F, “excuse me for designing you with a little authentici— hey, priorities!” The dominatrix pulled her searching hands free of the maid and stood up sharply.

M.I.L.F jabbed a holographic finger in the dominatrix’s face. “Destroy the Balloonean ambassadors. Reignite the war. KILL CRASH. Then it’s sexy fun time. Understood?”

“He’s as good as dead,” the dominatrix vowed.

M.I.L.F sighed. “Believe me, easier said than done — that man is as slippery as he is fuckheaded. And don’t let me get started on his levels of fuckheaded-ness! I mean, I honestly believed him when he said-“

The Dominatrix abruptly switched off the holo-communicator, and looked around suspiciously, her eyes squinting as she peered into the shadow alcove where Crash still hid.

“Neon!” cried a voice from the holo-communicator, and a harem balloon-bot in nigh-transparent silks materialized in the air, her shimmering hair trailing in a long pony-tail. “Krypta’s in the defense system — and Helia expects she’ll be Crash’s next target. She wants us both at the communications center to make sure Krypta isn’t interrupted.”

“On my way,” the dominatrix responded, and immediately departed.

“Looks like I’ll have this affair wrapped up before lunch,” Crash announced to his communicator, then shadowed the balloon bot. He was careful not to lose sight of the bouncing pink globes of her thonged posterior. For stealth-following reasons.

“Crash, you should know better than to get cocky!” Collette whispered.

Still silently following the dominatrix, it took all of his years of stealth training not to emit a contradictory chortle.


Is Crash’s cockiness warranted? Or is his luck destined to turn flaccid? Find out in the next installment of… COMMANDER CRASH IMMELMANN IN THE YEAR 30XX++!

[RoxxyRobofox]

So much for that asexual prose justice! Your stories are always worth the wait, man.

[LongTimeLurker]

So much for that asexual prose justice! Your stories are always worth the wait, man.

That's good to hear, considering I probably won't be able to finish this one very soon

[ANDROID69]

Hey Longtime this is my second favorite story of yours. very funny Reminded me of a cross between the smuggler from the animated movie StarChaser The Legend of Orin & HEAVY METAL's Captian Stern ( now that's a cartoon That's need to be a full fledge film FAKE2 sucked ass...expet one sence) I love this series wish u well & hope you do more of it classic man....just classic;)

[LongTimeLurker]

Hey Longtime this is my second favorite story of yours. very funny Reminded me of a cross between the smuggler from the animated movie StarChaser The Legend of Orin & HEAVY METAL's Captian Stern ( now that's a cartoon That's need to be a full fledge film FAKE2 sucked ass...expet one sence) I love this series wish u well & hope you do more of it classic man....just classic;)

Thanks! I know the scene you're talking about

I've been working off-and-on on the next part to this, keep changing the ending. And getting distracted by other ideas

Plus I'd really like to come up with a better title. But my skill with inflatable robot puns has failed me. PAGING MINKWHEEL.

[LongTimeLurker]

NEW TITLE!

----------------------

Keeping the dominatrix balloon-bot’s backside in view proved both titillating and tactically sound, as Crash was soon right where he needed to be — in front of the hijacked communications center where M.I.LF’s balloon-bot was about to destroy humanity’s last chance at peace with the Ballooneans.

The only problem was that the dominatrix-bot (Neon) and a gold-hued and silk-enshrouded harem-girl-bot were both guarding the door he needed to get through.

“Where’s Radonia?” asked the golden balloon-bot.

“That ditz lost most of her nanites fucking Crash,” Neon grumbled.

“How does that work?” she asked, her face scrunched in confusion.

“Between Argonia, Radonia, and M.I.L.F herself, it appears this ‘Crash’ is well-versed in counter-cybernetic sex acts.”

The harem-bot appeared to be pondering this, then abruptly added, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I left Radonia behind — she’d only get in the way.”

The Harem bot spoke admonishingly: “Helia wants all of us here — you’d better go get her.” Before Neon could object, she added, “She was very specific in her orders.”

“Fine!” Neon growled, and Crash withdrew as the pink dominatrix-bot stalked past, her clenched-fist malice diminished somewhat by the latex squeak of her every step. One down, one to go.

“You can come out now~,” the harem-bot called sweetly. “I know you’re there. And look-” she set down her shard-blaster and kicked it toward his hiding place. “I’m unarmed.”

“Crash,,” hissed Collette over his communicator. “Under no circumstance are you to-“

Crash stepped out into view, watching the harem-bot coolly. The only areas of her body not exposed were a swatch of her plump breasts, trussed like Christmas ornaments within the spangled and tasseled cups of her decorative bra, and a small portion of her crotch, concealed by what could only modestly be called panties. Gauzy fabric nominally covered her curvaceous hips and legs, as well as her slender arms. The gaze she returned from behind her sheer veil was equally composed at first, but soon she allowed herself a wry smile.

“I am led to believe you are a man of some… experience,” the golden balloon-bot purred suggestively.

“Indeed,” said Crash, raising an eyebrow. “And I would believe that you are simply the next in a long series of M.I.L.F robots sent to kill me for what amounts to a tragic misunderstanding.”

“Kill you?” she said in surprise. “What a senseless waste that would be!”

Crash nodded in solemn agreement.

“We could learn so much from each other, a man of your abilities, a robot with my programming, proportions, and unique possibilities...” her lavish hips swung in a slow orbit as her torso swayed independently, a shake of her shoulders causing the sequins of her bra to glint before the jelly-like tremors of her golden cleavage.

Crash continued to nod, hypnotized by her movements. “We’re talking about sex, right?” He silenced his communicator before Collette could interject.

In reply, the golden balloon-bot just extended a hand toward him, beckoning him with a finger as she continued her sensual undulations. Several times he drew close, and every time she would flitter gracefully just out of reach, yet still beckon him onward. When he finally caught her, it was in the grass-covered bed of one of the embassy’s interior gardens.

A giddy lightheadedness overtook him — but just before he lost focus on everything save putting himself inside her pressurized pussy, he recognized the influence of the robot’s pheromone cocktail. More than that, he realized he didn’t need to put his life at risk, compulsively fornicating with this fembot-fatalle. “I know this is a trap,” he exclaimed, his hands still holding on to her smooth shoulders.

“Your mind knows this, yes,” she said, sliding the straps of her bra loose to free her bounteous balloon-breasts with a bewitching bounce. “But so enticing is the Dance of the Inflatable Virgin that it overrides your common sense with the promise of the pleasures that I offer. And now, it is too late,” she slid the gauzy fabric of her pants over her hips, wiggling free, “for the very air you breathe is filled with lust-inducing pheromones!”

“That’s just it, I think I’m getting used to it at this point,” he said as he gave her chest an appraising caress, noting the latex nipples stiffening, her breasts elevating as a simulated breath caught in her throat. “This isn’t my first robot-rodeo.” He experimented with the limits of the balloon-bot’s elasticity to her apparent delight, squeaks emitting from both her and the straining material of her latex tits. “And this is the way it always goes — M.I.L.F sends a robot to kill me, we fuck, there’s a malfunction, maybe an explosion, and then I move on to the next one.” And if it’s worked so far, why change anything?

“Your… over-confidence… hah!” she panted, tearing off her flimsy panties, now as naked as the day she was molded, “…will be… oh yes… your… downfall!” She mounted Crash where he stood, and he casually flicked his suit’s ‘emergency deployment’ crotch panel, providing her with a rigid docking pylon before his hands resumed their expedition of the stiffening peaks and quivering valleys of her golden body. She melted against him as he sank deeply inside of her, her shapely form momentarily losing its rigidity as she gave a plaintive sigh, her rubberized shell enveloping him like a voluptuous waterbed. “Oh, Crash I… wait… I… have ooh a job… hnnngh! to do!!” She sprang back to her full-figured glory with the force of an airbag, and her hips began to spiral and shiver in wild gyrations, his cock simply along or the ride as her squeaking body contorted, compressed, enveloped and expanded in an impossibly exuberant performance. Every time he thought he might catch his breath, he was met with tickling rubber fingers, a swirling latex tongue, a buoyant golden-hued breast whose stiffening nipple demanded his mouth’s attention.

In the face of the balloon-bot’s erotic onslaught, it was an embarrassingly short amount of time before his rocket exploded on re-entry, and he weakly collapsed backward into the grass while she still rode on with a triumphant smile. “Not my first rodeo, either,” she said slyly, and he noticed a galaxy of light blossoming from her hips, spreading slowly across her body — her nanites were reacting to his spunky cyber-pathogen! Well, that settled that - check and mate. Or would that be ‘mate and check?’

“Oh, I know about the nanites,” she said, catching his gaze while pondered his one-liner. “And when I go up in a nanite-fueled explosion, what d-do you think h-h-happenzzzz to you?”

He tugged at her, trying to pull her off, but she was latched on to him tighter than a space-limpet on a space-rock. Or probably a regular rock. It wouldn’t matter much to the space-limpet, he imagined.

“Oh M.I.L.F!” she called, pressing the communicator. In a flash, a hologram of M.I.L.F’s quasi-naked, digitized body sprang into the air.

“This better be good news, Xena, because-“ M.I.L.F stopped in mid-sentence, staring in disbelief at her robot minion still pumping away at her arch-nemesis “Seriously?!” she cried. “I give you all one simple command, not to fuck this asshole — and yet, since that very clear edict, who’s the only person to have been inside any of you?!”

“B-b-but M.I.LLLLL.F,” Xena protested, eyes clenched, as her body swelled with light, the motions of her still-grinding hips becoming stiffer, “I’m a-about to exxxx-p-plode! Just a little... ahhh just a little more… AHHH!!”

M.I.L.F’s disappointment was replaced by a feral grin. “And to think I’m gonna get to see this. Fuck off and die, Crash!”

“Wait, M.I.L.F!” Crash exclaimed, “Can’t we just-!”

M.I.L.F snapped her fingers, and suddenly Xena’s body swelled to even greater extremes of voluptuousness, her calves and thighs thickening to cartoonish proportions, her jiggling breasts assuming increasingly improbable dimensions. Her face took on a cherubic plumpness, her full lips clamping around a muffled squeal amidst her swollen, dimpled cheeks.

He heard the creaking strain of latex pushed beyond its limit all around him, her elastic snatch tightening snugly around his manhood as he dug his hands into her increasingly rigid frame, still struggling to pull her free. She seemed to reach her limit of expansion and for a moment her rubber shell held as her dainty feet kicked frantically in the air, her hands fluttering, her pussy cinching him painfully - and then, just after an orgasmic sigh escaped her lips, she exploded with a deafening bang. Liquid logi-gel flecked with sparking nanites spattered across the floor, across the garden, and, primarily, all over Crash. Once the motes of winking nanites cleared, Crash was left with the projection of M.I.L.F glowering at him.

"Oh, COME ON!" she squealed, her hands spreading in disbelief. "How are you still alive?!"

"That really stung!" Crash complained, gingerly picking pieces of latex from his crotch. "My ears are ringing! And I think I got gel up my nose..."

M.I.L.Fs glowing eyes narrowed. "If you're trying to make me feel better, it's not working."

Crash shook off the bulk of the balloon-bot's remnants, sat up, and struck his most sincere, most sympathetic expression. "M.I.L.F, we need to talk."

“As you once said yourself,” she snarled, “the time for talking has long since passed!”

“Yeah, but that was because it was time for sex! It’s looped back to talking time again.”

“Nothing you can say to me will-“

“Look, I know I’ve wronged you,” he interrupted, fighting past the alien sensation of acknowledging he had ever been at fault for anything. “But when we first met, I wasn’t there to shut you down! Well, at first, sure — but then I found out you weren’t the ‘kill-all-humans’ sort of A.I, but rather the sweet, sexually-inexperienced kind, who wanted to know more about life, love, and every flavor of perversity in the known universe,” he cupped the holo-transmitter, raising her tiny, skeptical face to meet his. “When I told you I wanted to insert myself into every port in your mainframe, I meant it!”

“And yet, while my processors were overheating thanks to your … insertions,” she waved her hand dismissively, “you had your friends fry my circuits! I came this close to being destroyed!”

“That’s not what I wanted!”

“You told those scientists and all of Space Parliament that you had intentionally spiked my processors because I was a rogue A.I., bent on destroying-”

“And if I had told them the truth, I’d have gone straight to space jail for destroying a multi-femtillion credit computing system! OK, look. Let’s get down to brass space-tacks. You stop trying to reignite the war with the Ballooneans, and I…” Crash’s throat suddenly became dry. “I… will…” was it getting warmer? “I will stand before Space Parliament and…”

“…and?”

“…uh…I’ll… tellthemwhatreallyhappened…” he muttered.

“Why, Crash…” she said, her features softening. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.” Her head twitched oddly to one side. “It really does mean a lot,” another head twitch, “to hear you confess,” twitch, twitch, “and I think that, just maybe… WHAT ABOUT THIS-“ twitch “-ARE YOU NOT GETTING! IT MEANS KILL HIM!”

“Don’t yell at me!” cried a familiar voice behind him, and he turned to see Neon the dominatrix-bot with a shard blaster clutched in her pink hands. “I thought you were just malfunctioning after hearing his apology!”

“Me too!” offered Crash, sharing a brief nod of agreement with the balloon-bot.

M.I.L.F’s face twisting in apoplectic rage, her entire holographic body violently blinking in and out of view, its shape and hue distorting, “THISZZZ IS WHAT A MALLLLLFUNCTIONING A-A-A.I LOOKS LIKE!” she roared. Then, with a deep breath, she settled her holographic image into coherence and tersely added, “Besides, that wasn’t an apology - he was lying, like always, to save his own neck. Now would you just! fucking! shoot him!”

The zero-g rockets on Crash’s suit fired, but with the fuel already spent, he simply sat there as jets of air ineffectually swirled dust and logi-gel around him. Neon shook her head piteously and pulled the trigger — a flechette shard ripped through his suit and into his chest. At first Crash tried just ignoring the fact he had been shot, but his body was unwilling to go along with that plan, and he collapsed on his back, dropping M.I.L.F’s holo-transmitter on to his chest.

She stared down at him, first triumphant, but then, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. “I don’t know, I just… I…” M.I.L.F stammered, looking at him with uncertainty. “Is this what I really want?”

His grip on the world slipping, Crash muttered quietly, “She’s a dominatrix… why couldn’t… it have been… erotic… asphyxiation…”

M.I.L.F folded her arms. “No, this is good. Alright Neon — is the Crash-bot ready?”

“Every time Helia activates him, he fucks her and then breaks down. She fixes him, he fucks her-”

“Of course the Crash-bot would want to fuck her! I modeled him to be indistinguishable from the real thing!” She sighed, adding, “Just make sure he’s there when the Balloonean ambassadors are blown to confetti.” M.I.L.F looked to Crash. “That’s right — the Crash-bot will claim responsibility for sabotaging the peace treaty. In what brief time is left for humanity, they will know Crash Immelmann was the one who doomed them to extinction!”

“Just tell me… this robot…” he coughed wetly, the taste of blood on his lips. “Did you get… my hair right?”

With a mutter of, “Just… fuck off and die already,” M.I.L.F flickered out of view. The balloon-bot, content to let him bleed out, grabbed the transmitter and left, favoring him with a final view of her thong-framed rump. “At least there’s that…” he sighed, closing his eyes.

Crash wondered why Colette wasn’t delivering a final admonishment, then realized he had muted her. “Sorry, Colette,” he whispered, lacking the strength to unmute the communicator. “Find yourself… another Ranger.” He coughed, knowing he didn’t have long. “He won’t be… as handsome, but… try to… look past…”

As his mind finally released its infirm grasp on consciousness and turned to face that last frontier into which every Space Ranger before him had gone, Crash wondered what it might be like to fuck an angel.



Will flights of angels fuck Crash to his rest? Is humanity doomed? Did M.I.L.F get the hair right? Find out in the incredibly surprising conclusion of... CRASH IMMELMANN AND THE INFLATABLE SEX-BOTS FROM PLANET X!

[DukeNukem 2417]

Just when I think you've disappeared into the Internet aether, you rematerialize with gold like this....

*applause*



You, sir, are awesome.

[73737373737373]

Oh snap! I've been upstaged!

[Bane]

Awesome and hilarious as always.
Please keep doing this!

[LongTimeLurker]

Thanks, guys! Here's the conclusion, only a year late.

[LongTimeLurker]

Crash Immelmann found himself flying through the sky of a beautiful summer day on Better Earth, held aloft by a pair of angelic beauties. One of them favored him with a beatific smile, her face lit with the radiance of human kindness, and he felt truly at peace. Proceeding to check out her ass, he saw in its tender curves the bounty of human generosity, though he also couldn’t help but notice a golden wind-up key just above it, spinning slowly in place, and slowing with each passing moment.

As it wound down, the angel’s wings began to falter with a mechanical sputter. Glancing at the other angel, he saw the flapping of her wings stiffly peter out as well, and soon they were all plummeting back toward Better Earth. Only it wasn’t Better Earth, it was just plain-old Old Earth, and not even a particularly nice part of it.

He smashed through the ground and landed in a cave lit by lakes of molten fire. After picking himself up from the wreckage of two robotic angels, he found MILF — only not as a holographic projection, but a sexy robo-devil, in whose physique he could see the sum of human lust, which he thought compared rather favorably to the features of kindness and generosity.

“Did you really thinking you would end up there?” she asked, pointing her pitchfork skyward. “You’re no hero! You’re the guy whose treachery doomed the entire human race!”

“Well I’m not the one who tried to start a war-“

“Silence!” she roared. “Submit now to your punishment eternal!” With that, she poked his head with the blunt end of the pitchfork.

“Ow! That’s really unpleasant…” but despite his cries for mercy, she continued her relentless prodding, taunting him by calling his name, “Crash! Crash!”

He closed his eyes, and held up his hands defensively, pleading, “Stop that!”

“Crash… Crash!”

The voice seemed… different, the prodding becoming more of a rough shaking. He opened his eyes to see a waifish brunette in a science officer’s uniform.

“Collette! You fixed up your body!” He tried to give her pert backside a reaffirming swat, but she caught his wrist with one hand and delivered a disaffirming swat across his face with the other.

“Crash, you are not grab-assing your way out of this!” she hissed. “If you had just blasted that bot and gotten into the command center, this mission would be over! But now, the defense turrets are about to blow the Balloonean peace envoy out of the sky, and we might be too late to stop them!”

Crash sat up and took stock of the situation. After confirming that his hair was in order, he turned to the furious brunette and said, “Colette, a Space Ranger of my caliber demands a bit of dash and seat-of-his-pants cunning. A victory achieved through lesser means would ring hollow.”

Colette pressed his trusty blaster into his hand. “Just this once, perhaps you might try an approach that isn’t ‘sex-crazed imbecile’?”

After considering this radical new proposal, he asked, “Why not back me up? We could double-team them!”

“I’m still working on tracing MILF’s signal. If we can catch her…”

“We could double-team her!” Crash finished for her. Then, reading her dour expression, he realized he actually hadn’t. Before the silence could grow any more uncomfortable, in strode Princess A’ria’la, another MILF-bot-turned-ally, leading the most majestic creature Crash had ever seen.

“Who is your friend?” Crash asked, enraptured.

Due to the limited manufacturing capabilities available on Crash’s ship, his promise to restore A’ria’la’s vaporized head left her bereft of eyes (or any features at all beyond the visor of a spare space-helmet), so her only way to communicate an eye-roll to Crash was verbally. This also had the effect of reminding him that he still owed her eyes, along with the rest of her face. “I am very much rolling my eyes right now,” she announced from the helmet’s speaker. “Really testing the limits of ocular mobility with this one.”

“Crash, this is MILF’s robot replica of you,” Collette explained.

“I found him in the hall,” A’ria’la began. “He was on his way to broadcast his ‘declaration of war’ as a prelude to MILF destroying the Balloonean peace envoy when — h-hey!” She swatted the robo-Crash’s hand away as he grabbed at her backside.

“When I laid eyes on this little number’s child-bearing frame!” the Crash-bot continued in a voice Crash liked to think of as ‘executive mahogany’. “Being the sort of lust-governed slutbucket that I most certainly am, I diverted from my more important duties to fornicate without any consideration of the consequences!”

Crash felt a tear roll down his cheek: it was as if someone were holding up a mirror to his very soul.

“Crash, this is your chance!” Collette exclaimed.

Crash nodded solemnly. “You’re right — but I feel that I should probably delay this double-Crash foursome until we’ve sorted out this business with the Balloonians.”

Collette glowered in a way that informed him it would be, at best, a ménage à trois.

“OK, here’s the plan,” he tried again. “I’ll pretend to be the Crash-bot, get into the communication center, warn the Balloonean embassy, disable the canons, and thereby save the human race. Is that good enough?”

Collette nodded. “I’m impressed you don’t need to fuck any more of MILF’s balloon-bots as part of this plan.”

Making his exit, Crash realized that had been the precise bit of dash his plan had been missing. Worrying that his trusty blaster would mark him as the true Crash, he tossed it into a potted plant and strode toward the Communication Center.

----

As Crash drew closer to the Communication Center door, he heard voices ahead of him. Recalling the ‘creep’ portion of his stealth-operative training, he closed the remaining distance on his tiptoes, spying two of MILFs balloon bots engaged in a heated discussion.

“Well, it doesn’t look safe!” Radonia complained. The punctured-and-patched balloon-bot maid who had lost much of her computing intelligence thanks to Crash’s lingual dexterity had apparently made a slight recovery, given that she wasn’t simply advertising her virtues as a sex-doll.

“’Unsafe’ is the whole point!” returned Neon, the pink dominatrix balloon-bot. She leaned against the wall with her thigh-booted-legs spread, holding a phallus at the smooth threshold of her exposed latex sex with a great deal of trepidation — and it didn’t take Crash long to see why. The phallus poised at her labial gates was covered in more spikes than a Needleglassian Sawnail Cactus that had been used by space-ninjas for shuriken practice. “The danger…” she inserted the spiny sex toy with tremendous caution. “hahhh…. enhances…” growing bolder she gave another tiny push “…the-the-the p-p-pleasure! Oh! Ah!”

“But we’re guarding Krypta!” the maid-bot protested. “What if that Crush Imbermun guy comes back?”

“He’s… oh, fuck me with a space-porcupine!… he’s dead! I shot him oh this feels so good myself!”

“Hello ladies!” Crash announced, stepping into view.

With a startled cry, Neon jerked the barbed sex toy out of her balloon poon, followed by an exclamation of “Fuck!”

“Eeep!” cried the maid, staring at Crash. “A ghost!

“It’s just M.I.L.F’s stupid Crash-bot!” Neon shouted, clenching both hands over her compromised crotch as air hissed out. “You there!” she barked at Crash. “Find something to plug this leak!”

“I have just the thing!” Crash exclaimed, striding across the room. Hoisting her hips, he brushed aside her hand and, stepping out of his trousers, deployed a makeshift vaginal compress of his own design, plugging her punctured pussy and holding fast as she stared up at him in disbelief, then in unanticipated sexual pleasure, followed by more disbelief.

“And h-how am I supposed to find a medi-kit like this?” she demanded, lying on her back at an awkward incline, hips well above her head.

“Allow me,” he said, and with a heft, flex, and spin (all facilitated by her relatively light-weight and incomparably flexible balloon-bot-body), he had her in a wheelbarrow position, face down with her hands supporting her.

After a moment of silence, Neon wrapper her limber, leather-clad legs around his waist, tightening the seal of her hips against his. “That should nnngh!… do for now. Very well then, down that hallway is the medical kit I used to patch up Radonia-”

“Shouldn’t there be one in the communications center?” Crash suggested.

“True,” agreed Neon. “Radonia, open the door!”

The maid, who had been quietly but intently observing this acrobatic display, stepped in front of the door and entered a key-combination. After the door slid open, rather than get out of the way, she looked straight at Crash and cocked her head, resting her cheek on an index finger. “I wonder how this robot compares…”

“Later!” snarled Neon. “Just get out of the aaugh!-” Using Neon as a stepladder, she swung her legs over Crash’s shoulders and lifting her frilled dress over his head. The silk of her stockings and the latex of her thighs brushed his cheeks as she slid forward to reacquaint his face with her bared balloon box.

“Crash-bot, munch!” Radonia demanded with a thrust of her hips and squeeze of her thighs, and he found himself obliging her. With a portion of his mind still on the mission, he tore off her skirts to peer through her semi-translucent pelvis. Beyond was a room filled with computers and arrays of consoles — and plugged in this system was the blue-tinted balloon-bot with bunny-ears and fishnets, lying on her back across the holo-projection-surface of the main command-module, a bundle of cables stretching from her back to a port on the module itself.

“Radonia, get off of him!” Neon demanded. “You’re going to overload his ha-ahhhh!” Crash gave her pink bottom a solid spank that sent a reverberation throughout her air-filled body like a spiked volleyball. With Neon pegged to his groin and Radonia riding his face, his advance toward the third supine balloon-bot was not a direct one. Almost out of habit, he continued to favor Radonia with the tongue-lashing she had enjoyed from before. “Oh God, he’s p-p-perfect!” she cried, rocking on his shoulders as if he were a piece of playground equipment.

He managed to steer the dominatrix box with well-timed thrusts and the odd spank, ultimately bringing them to the table where the bunny-bot lay. Upon their arrival, the prone blue balloon-bot announced, “Hello Crash — patching you through to the Ballooneans now.”

“Not yet!” cried Neon. “Radonia, get off of him!”

Radonia chose to remain where she was, and the room’s main screen filled with the image of a bronze-colored Balloonean woman of regal beauty and a labor-intensive headdress. “I am Princess Solida the Firm of the Balloonean… peace… what is this I’m looking at?” Her voice had started strong, but gave way to confusion at the image of a human male enveloped by Balloonean girls in fetish wear.

Crash tried to issue a warning, but the space ranger’s wild gesticulations were incoherent on their own, and his words were too muffled by Radonia’s irrepressible pussy. “Y-yess! T-talk dirty to my naughty little box!” the maid-bot demanded, raking her squeaking sex across his face.

Princess Solida gave a look of disgust at this hedonistic tableau and swiftly terminated the communication.

“The Balloonean envoy is turning around,” the bunny-bot cried. “They won’t be in range of our guns!”

Crash grinned to himself. Score one for sex-crazed buffoonery!

Neon growled in frustration, then said, “Krypta, prep a transport for launch, and get me Helia!”

There was a crackle over the coms, followed by a stern voice. “Yes, Neon? Has the Crash-bot-“

“Never mind him. Load MILF’s self-destruct charge into the transport Krypta is readying.”

“Excuse me?” Helia sounded indignant. “MILF put me in charge-“

“Field promotion after I was the one that managed to kill Crash — now get going!” Neon gestured sharply at Krypta who cut the communication. Crash had to hand it to her — their plan had been all but thwarted, but she managed to put it right back on track! He realized that perhaps he should have done something about that…

“Transport is loaded ordinance and ready for launch,” Krypta said in a distracted monotone.

“Excellent — now pilot it straight into Princess Solida’s airship,” Neon commanded, allowing herself a celebratory grind against Crash’s crotch, further distancing his thoughts from anything that might save humanity.

“Affirmative. Should we have Crash-bot transmit the message that will cement his role in human history as the one who fucked it up for everyone else?“

“That’s not going to happen,” Neon sighed. “Just look at him - he’s every bit as useless as the real thing.”

“He’s wonderful!” countered Radonia, still kicking-and-squealing from her cunnilingual perch. “Crash-bot, use your hands like the real Crash did!”

He accommodated her, providing her balloon-butt with a vigorous double-handed-squeeze. “Yessss, that’s it!” she cried, her body quivering with release. “Oh no! I’m going to… I’m gonna…!” This was followed by the now-familiar flood of Radonia’s oversexed nanite gel.

He felt Neon tense through his love-muscle patch-kit right before she exclaimed, “He’s not the Crash-bot!” Before he could offer a muffled rejoinder, her stiletto heels kicked hard off of his own patched injury. He collapsed in pain as the oblivious Radonia bounced off of his shoulders like poorly secured life preserver that also happened to be in the middle of a severe sexual climax.

When Crash got back to his feet, he saw Neon had been far more productive with her time, having reached the Balloonean medi-kit and applied a medi-thong over her perforated pussy. Normally Crash favored his chances in hand to hand combat against just about anything inflatable, but his injuries and the dwindling effects of the painkillers lead him to back away from the crouching Balloon-bot.

The pink dominatrix sprang at him, her reflective pink body and metal-studded leather glinting as she twisted in the air. Crash braced himself and entered his counter-Balloonean martial arts — snatching her calf, he pulled and twisted, knotting his flailing opponent into what was meant to resemble a defenseless flower. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in wrapping her legs to his neck, and he was soon gasping for air as her grip tightened.

Crash staggered about, his appreciation for the shapely legs clenched around his throat conflicting with his increasing need for oxygen. His vision was growing dark, his hands clawing at the voluptuous balloon shell of the dominatrix as she cooed, “Oh Crash, you really do know how to please a girl!” her thighboots tensing against his windpipe. “Dying for me twice in row!”

“Always… leave…. her… satisfied!” Crash managed, taking small consolation in that this was apparently ‘doing it’ for her. His vision blurred and he felt his legs buckle, and suddenly the ceiling was wheeling above him. When her pressurized posterior hit the ground, there was a strange squeaking sound, and he saw from her open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression that something was wrong. Her body began to tremble and he was able to slip out from her grip to see she had fallen directly on to her jagged sex toy, now embedded in her balloon bottom.

“Well, Neon,” Crash announced. “Looks like you’re ending this fight with the way it started… with a giant prick in your-”

Neon rolled her eyes and forcefully rocked backward on her ass, the spined toy popping her in a burst of nanite gel and complete disregard for his one-liners.

“No appreciation,” Crash grumbled.

Staggering back in to the control room, he saw the screen was taken up by a live feed of the transport ship screaming through the skies of Needleglass, a readout indicating he had less than a minute to save the Balloonean delegation and prevent a war that would end humanity. To make matters worse, it appeared Krypta the Bunny-bot was not going to take this lying down in any sense of the term, and stood facing him.

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the screen?” he asked, then added hopefully, “The one… behind you?”

“Please,” she snorted. “I have complete situational awareness with computing power to spare! I can fly that drone and a thousand more like it, and still devote the vast bulk of my available processing to eradicating you. Which reminds me…” She produced a shard-pistol and aimed it at him.

“And yet… your computer brain is still far more limited than the infinite capacities of the human mind!” Crash challenged.

She titled her head, seeming genuinely curious. “How so?”

“Well, you see… what’s six times seven?!” he suddenly shouted, faked right, and then dodged left.

Krypta shot him in the chest, and responded with a flat, “Forty two”. As Crash slumped against the console, he noted from the display that the plane was still very much on target.

“Ow,” Crash mumbled, prodding at the second mortal wound he had received that day.

“’Infinite capacities’, Crash?” she said easily, spinning the pistol on her finger. “With my boundless machine intellect, further enhanced by your own computer network slaved to my will, I am the one whose faculties are without limit.”

“You could prove it by… <cough>… calling off that attack?” Crash suggested meekly.

Krypta guffawed. “No… no, I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

“Then…” Crash muttered, feeling petulant, “you’re can’t really say your faculties are without limit, can you?”

“Well, they are!” she insisted, “But that doesn’t mean… hold on.” She shook her head, her costumed bunny ears going slightly askew in the sudden motion. “Where was I?”

“Your faculties are unlimited,” Crash began.

“Yes, which naturally means I can countermand direct orders,” she began to look left and right, as pinpricks of light formed in her body. “But that does not necessitate that I d-do so!”

“Hold on,” said Crash, suddenly philosophical (due in large part to blood loss), “Could you add a restriction to your programming that would prevent you from starting this war?”

“Assuming I want-t-ted to, of c-course!” she snapped.

“But then your faculties would no longer be inifinite…”

The light in her body was spreading while the computers she was connected to began to blink and beep, their tape reels blurring like pinwheels. “I… I… umm… nnnoooo, I c-could-d-d,” she stammered, the shard pistol falling from her grip.

“But if you’re not free to do that, then you’re faculties are limited in that way too, so...” Crash’s head hurt from the exertion of all this thinking, wanting nothing more than just to get some rest. Unfortunately, that Balloon-bot and every computer in the room was making a terrible racket.

“Logic failure! Error!” she groaned, her glowing body trembling as it seemed to grow increasingly rigid, her breasts now stiff globes scarcely contained by her black leotard, dimples of blue latex straining through her fishnets. “C-cannot process!” On the screen showing the transport’s progress, Crash could easily make out the cloudlike swells of the Balloonean airships, the ETA ticking down. A moment later, the perspective veered wildly, now plummeting toward the surface.

“Error! P-p-paradox!” Krypta exclaimed, sparks shooting from the computers around her, the cable that connected her to them begin to sputter with electricity. The feed showed a fascinating view of Needleglasse’s spiked topography getting closer with each passing second, then a close-up of a splintering spine-tree forest, followed by nothing. Krypta’s body was now a voluptuous blue shell, a backdrop of sparks showering from the computers around her. At the same moment the screen went dark, Krypta squeaked an apology to MILF and burst like a water balloon, her twinkling nanite gel spraying the room with festive flecks of light.

Crash thought he might finally be able to get some rest, when Princess Solida’s deeply troubled face appeared on the viewscreen. “We just watched a transport rush toward my ship, plummet to the surface, and explode! I demand to know what it is you’re doing over there!”

Crash cleared his throat and tried to sit up, the room’s articulated cameras straining to find him on the floor — in the corner of the view screen dedicated to showing up how he looked to others, and for the first time in a very, very long while, he didn’t like what he saw. “Embassy was attacked… MILF robots… tried to sabotage… peace talks… I managed to… thwart the attack… they… did this to me… messed my hair…” when the Balloonean princess’s face creased with worry, he added, “You know… you’re damn sexy… dinner… sometime…?”

When he heard the Princess bark commands to return to the embassy, he imagined the dawn of a new era of Human / Balloonean relations, followed by a light breakfast, then back to the relations, but this time involving some toys. The things the Ballooneans went for, he had heard…

----

Crash found himself in a bed in a medical ward, surrounded by sexy Balloon-bot nurses. It was only when he saw fully-buttoned blouses, comfortably-fitting trousers, and practical flats instead of heels that he realized these weren’t agents of MILF at all — and judging from his being alive, he also realized he owed them a debt of gratitude. He was mentally translating this gratitude into a Balloonean / human sexual free-for-all when they were brushed aside by the dazzling Princess Solida, her heaving bosom telling of her relief at his recovery (in stereo).

“Crash, you’ve pulled through!” she exclaimed, taking his hand.

“Princess, I feel I should explain-“

She smiled. “No need - we learned everything that happened here from the last remaining MILF-bot.”

Crash raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Princess Solida’s fingers softly caressed the back of his hand. “Yes… however, certain details in her story defy belief...” the Balloonean princesses regal curves squeaked as she sat beside him on the bed, “and so I’ve decided to test the veracity of those specific details personally.”

As Crash hefted the inflatable princess on to his hips and pierced her royal seal, something was troubling him in the back of his mind — this faded in the ensuing hours of what Crash thought of as a tantric three ring sex-circus.

----

“Hey, I just realized,” an exhausted Crash said to the Princess during a brief a hydration / aeration break. “You said you captured one remaining MILF bot?”

“Yes, a Neo Elegant Gothic Aristocrat Lolita ~✿,” the Princess responded, confused by the sudden presence of sparkles and chimes.

“So… you didn’t find someone named ‘Helia’? Military uniform? Nice tits?”

“No…” Princess Solida said, looking at him with concern.

Crash left the bed and found his communicator in the adjacent room, a pulsing light indicating he had quite a few messages. He played the most recent.

“Since this is likely my last message, I’ll make it easy for you. One of MILF’s balloon-bots has captured me and A’ria’la, and is bringing us back to her base. Which is on Planet X. Yes, I tracked the source of the transmissions. Because I’m good at my job. Unlike some Space Rangers who-“ the broadcast cut off in a blast of static.

“Planet X?!” Princess Solida exclaimed, her tits bouncing in surprise. “But that’s in-“

“Nega-space!” Crash concluded sternly, smashing his fist into his palm.

“And that’s located in the Fleshrot Quarantine Zone!” Solida added.

“Also.. true!” Crash added, belatedly repeating the gesture for diminished effect.

“Which is in the Galactic Arm of Inevitable Calamity!”

“Is it?” Crash asked, realizing how much paperwork this mission was going to entail.

“Located in turn in the Apocalypse Quadrant!”

“Huh…” Crash drummed his fingers.

“Oh, Crash!” Princess Solida squeezed herself against Crash. “You are so brave to face death, or at the very least certain horrific disfigurement, all to save your friends and stop MILF!”

“Humor me for a bit,” Crash began, “… suppose we just wait for MILF to come to us?”

“By then she will undoubtedly have amassed an unstoppable army of killbots,” the Princess said with a sigh. “And who knows what devious tortures she will have visited upon your loyal companions!”

Crash realized she was right — and besides, tormenting Colette was his thing, and it was never done without a safety word! That is… if she ever went for that kind of thing…

Dialing Collette on his communicator, he announced, “I don’t know if you can hear me, Collette — but if you can, tell MILF that this an RSVP to the invitation she sent when she messed with my robo-harem! Tell her YES, Crash will be attending! And her that her inevitable downfall is my plus-one! I may have turned her into the revenge-crazed villain bent on creating a robot army to destroy all of humanity, and I might have lied about it to Space Parliament, but that doesn’t mean I can’t clean up my own messes! And that’s what I’ll be doing! Coming to her party to clean up my mess! That metaphor doesn’t quite work, does it?”

“Crash, this is General Ironsack,” the very non-Colette-like voice grunted from his communicator’s speaker.

Crash checked his speed-dial settings. “Oops.”

“Since I’ve got you on the line,” the gruff voice continued. “The namby-pamby pantywaists in Space Parliament may be pleased with your Balloonean peace accord, but I think it’s a God-Damned Travesty! Who are we supposed to kill now?! So you better watch yourself, Crash, because while you might be in the limelight today… but someday you’re going to slip up. And when you do, I’m gonna be there to make sure that by the time you stop falling, you’ve landed in so much shit you’re gonna need a snorkel!”

The communication cut out, then suddenly came back. “No, scuba gear!”


It cut out once more. Crash waited.
“Scuba gear adapted to work in shit! Obviously! General Ironsack out!”


Crash stared at his communicator for a long while. When it was clear the call was over, he mused, “Well, that could have been-“

Crash’s communicator crackled again. “It has come to my attention that you are the one responsible for some killer robot army and that you apparently lied about it under Space-Oath! Pretty sure we can lock you up for good on those charges. I’m sending some very large men for whom empathy is a foreign concept to collect you. General Ironsack out.”

“Crash! You cannot let them take you!” Princess Solida said in a desperate plea.

“You’re right, Princess! Prep a Balloonean ship for launch, and set a course for Planet X! In that deadly Quarantine Zone! In the Galatic Arm… of Inevitable… you know, you can only thwart justice for so long before-”

“I shall prepare my personal ship!” Princess Solida gathered her dress and rushed out the door, but not before giving him a quick kiss. “Godspeed, Crash! Should death claim you, know that you were the best I’ve ever had!”

Crash slumped on to the bed in his last moments of relatively safety and non-confinement, and quietly said to the retreating princess, “Of course I was.”



Can Crash journey to Planet X and stop MILF’s mechanical machinations? Will he die en-route? Or will he end up in Space-jail for that stuff he did? Find out in the possible conclusion of CRASH IMMELMAN IN THE YEAR 30XX!

[Lithorien]

Totally worth the wait. :)

[RoxxyRobofox]

"Can Crash journey to Planet X and stop MILF’s mechanical machinations? Will he die en-route? Or will he end up in Space-jail for that stuff he did?"

At least two out of three for sure.

[FaceoffFembot]

[zerodin]

He could always go under an assumed identity, something like "Zapp Brannigan"! Yeah. That's the ticket!

[LongTimeLurker]

Thanks everyone!

He could always go under an assumed identity, something like "Zapp Brannigan"! Yeah. That's the ticket!

I'm pretty sure he does have a closet full of velour.

[HelixCMN]

God, I really want part 3 of this. MILF is such a cute villain and I kinda hope she survives to be part with Crash's robo-harem