Crash Immelmann in the Year 30XX
Commander Crash Immelmann fired his fighter’s thrusters as the sleek assault-craft roared through the atmosphere of Tantric V, zeroing in on his mission coordinates.
"Crash, my external temperatures are red-lining! You’re coming in too hot!" his ship's computer cried in a frantic (yet sultry) voice.
"You should know by now, Colette - Crash comes in hot or not at all!"
"Crash, for my own safety if not for yours, please consider that these warnings are not just set ups for double entendres, but actual, useful and important information derived from-"
"A Space Ranger doesn't rely on his computer to fly, he relies on his gut!" When a white-hot panel flew off the nose of his craft, he judiciously activated his retro-thrusters and immediately muted his ship's computer to avoid having to listen to her inevitable ‘told-you-so’.
A seemingly ancient and weather-worn alien palace spiraled up from the rocky terrain, a serviceable landing site visible on the highest tower.
"Is that castle the site of the energy source, Colette?" he asked, un-muting her.
"Yes, Crash - didn't you even read the mission brief-"
The roar of the ship's throttled engines drowned out the computer as he brought the ship down in a hard but well-executed landing. After a satisfied nod to himself, he popped the cockpit and pulled off his helmet, shaking loose his luxurious blond mane.
"Yes, Crash, the atmosphere is breathable, thank you for waiting for my analysis," grumbled the computer.
"A seasoned Space Ranger doesn't need a fancy computer to know when he can breathe the air of a virgin world," He leapt from the craft, unholstering his trusty blaster.
The ship's computer chimed again. "The known pathogen report also detects high levels of Space Syphalis."
"Lower the ship's ladder if you would," Crash wheezed while jumping for the cockpit, trying not to breathe in.
"Fortunately, your inoculations are current."
He gasped for air, straightened his Space Ranger uniform smartly, and set off for the palace's looming entrance. According to Space Parliament's records the planet was uninhabited, and so the sudden appearance of an energy signal necessitated investigation. He had expected to find planet jumpers or perhaps a crash site - but not the ruins of an ancient alien civilization illegally built upon Space Confederacy territory
"I think this place has been abandoned for a long time," Crash mused to his ship's computer as he proceeded cautiously into the palace's barren halls, blaster at the ready.
"This palace appeared at this location no earlier than one week ago - you didn't read the mission briefing at all, did you?"
"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," he grunted, switching off his communicator.
Whether it was week old or not the palace felt ancient and abandoned, the interior a labyrinth of empty corridors hewn from the natural stone of the alien mountain range. After several boring minutes of fruitless searching he was about to give up and call Colette for help, when he noticed a faint flickering light coming from a room ahead. After ensuring that he indeed did not have helmet hair, he leapt around the corner, blaster in hand.
Positioned before a glowing bank of monitors was a woman - an alien woman judging from her light grey skin. She was seated with her back to him, wearing a web of black fabric strips that did little to hide her soft, smooth flesh. Flowing strands of bright blue hair were pulled into a braid that hung down just below her slender neck - and she had an ass like an overripe Venusian Summer Peach. She was perched on a padded stool, and it was the first time Crash felt such jealousy toward a piece a furniture. She turned at his arrival, revealing a gorgeous pair of breasts slung in a black bikini top like two glistening Jovian Dewmellons, or perhaps twin Honey-Glazed Suckletarts. He also realized he was kindof hungry.
Her face was mostly human, save for her large yellow eyes, flat, narrow nose, and an arbitrary something-or-other on her forehead. Some of the toughest decisions he had to make as a Space Ranger involved categorizing alien women between "would not" and "would." That is definitely not a problem for her, he thought to himself, lowering his blaster. And yet... that perfect ass you could take a nap on, those gorgeous tits you wanted to use as flotation devices... did that mean she could be a robot?
"Who are you?" she asked in flawless Earthling, standing in thigh-high black boots, the simple motion jostling her soft abundances.
"Commander Crash Immelmann, Space Ranger," he answered, reaching for his omni-tool. "And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"
'Whom' bleeped the omni-tool - with an annoyed jab he cleared away Colette's message.
"Princess A'ria'la," she answered, and he pressed the 'scan' button.
He had reason to be suspicious. It all started when he had been called to negotiate with a potentially hostile A.I. The Machine Intelligence Learning Frame (or M.I.L.F) had been built to manage the mind-boggling complexities of FTL Space Traffic Control, but she had been growing beyond the bounds of her designated systems. When Crash had jacked into her frame, he discovered a personable and curious intelligence that had an avatar he immediately dropped into the "would" column. He introduced her to intercourse via the more conventional positions, and when they were later performing some of the more obscure low-gravity styles, the engineers (who had no idea what Crash was doing) noticed an inexplicable and alarming spike in her activities. They immediately triggered the failsafe, frying her systems, and Crash was dumped out of VR mid-coitis. When he realized his actions had resulted in the loss of a multi-femtillion credit computing system, he claimed he had been locked in a logical battle of wits with an A.I. bent on the destruction of humanity, which earned him the Galactic Medal of Virtual Bravery.
Two months later he had been at his favorite lounge, the Input/Output on Io, when a knockout in a sheer red dress slinked up to the bar. Perhaps 'slinked' was the wrong word - it was more of a halting saunter with her arms bent at strange, stiff angles. She had a pretty, if vapid face, her unblinking blue eyes staring off at nothing, her straight blond hair in a geometrically perfect cut. She had an athletic build, her dress cut just below her pert butt, her long legs ending in high red pumps.
"Are. You. Commander. Crash. Immelmann?" she asked in a flat, emotionless voice.
"That's right," he said. "That's some accent you got there..."
"I. Am. From. Ken-tuck-y," she replied, awkwardly lurching on to the bar stool beside him.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"I. Am. Designated. Polly. One. Point. Oh."
"Is that French or something?"
"Ken-tuck-y," she replied, stiffly flipping her hair.
"Do I know you?" he asked, staring at her perfectly symmetrical face.
"No. But. I. Know. You," she replied cryptically.
"Well... can I buy you a drink?" he asked, gesturing for the bartender.
"Are. You. Interested. In. Casual. Sex. Commander. Crash. Immelmann?"
He was about to reply in the affirmative, but something didn't seem right... he was used to being propositioned in bars, that just went with the territory of being a devastatingly handsome Space Ranger. But this 'Polly' was coming on unusually strong... and even more troubling was that she claimed she knew him, but had to ask if he was interested in casual sex.
Going off a hunch, he subtly pointed his omni tool at Polly and pressed 'Scan'. Even without a close examination of the results, the readings were unmistakable - she was a robot! There was no way for an artificial intelligence to fit inside a human-sized machine, so she would have be remote controlled... but by who?
"I don't got all day," muttered the bartender, and Crash looked up from the screen.
Crash grinned. "Two Neuronium Fizzes, please."
The bartender sighed. "Galactic Law requires I read the following warning-"
"Eddie, c'mon. I know the spiel."
The bartender slammed two glasses on the bar and poured out the fizzing, beverage, tiny iridescent sparks leaping from the smokey liquid.
"Are. You. Interested. In. Casual-" Polly began again.
"Yes, Polly, absolutely - just let me buy you a drink first."
She sat in silence for a moment, then nodded. "O.K."
Offering her the shot, they both drank together.
"Yum. Now. Can. We. Proceed. With. The. Casual. Sex?" Polly asked.
Crash slapped enough credits on the table to cover his tab and walked with Polly toward the elevator that would take them to his rented room. Small shudders began to creep into Polly's movements - the odd wiggle of her leg, a slight kink of her head, and soon she was leaning on Crash for support.
Once in the elevator, Crash said, "You know, I probably shouldn't have cut Eddie off. A Neuronium Fizz can really wreak havoc with cybernetic or mechanical components."
"Uh. Oh," she blurted, her eyes blinking independently.
"That's not a problem for you, is it?" he asked.
"No. Because. I. Am. Made. Of. Human," she answered. The elevator chimed and Polly plowed into the doors moments before the opened, Crash having to help her through before the door closed again. Her walk was badly deteriorating at this point, and by the time he got to his room he was carrying her.
"LLLLet. Usszzz. Interrr-course. Hererrrrre. Quick-k-k-klyyyyy," she moaned, and he opened the door, carrying her over the threshold and plopping her on the bed.
As he brought his scanner to bear again, she began to clumsily undress, ultimately tearing off her dress when she couldn't get it over her head. Beneath she wore lace underwear, which she also began to pull and tear.
Taking a more detailed reading, he searched for the receiver that might tell him who was controlling her - but there was nothing. Whatever she was, she was entirely self contained! There were even several components his scanner couldn't even identify, and he wondered were this technology had come from.
"Who made you?" he asked.
"Message. To. Be. D-d-deliverrrred. After. I. Obtain. G-g-genetic-c-c. Sssamplllllle. Through. C-c-climaxxxx," she groaned, finally tearing off her panties. A blond bush cut with precision to match her hair stood above her flushed labia.
Crash conducted a detailed scan of her pussy as she continued to groan and spasm. Inside her artificial sex was a pneumatic press, apparently designed to grab and not let go of whatever was put insider of her. He also noticed faint seams around her crotch. Experimenting with the omni-tool, he was able to remove the "plate" of her groin entirely, exposing her internal machinery as well as the trap device.
"What. Is. The. Hold. Up," she complained, thrusting the exposed interior of her pelvis at him. "In. Heeerrrrre. C-c-cowboyyyy." He pushed her back down, and with a few snips, disabled the trap and snapped her crotch back into place.
"There - now let's get you your genetic sample," he said, pulling off his own clothes and climbing on top of her.
"Oh b-b-b-babyyyy," she moaned as he slid into her, the flat tone absent but her speech still very unnatural. His original intent was to treat this like a trans-orbital cargo drop, in and out fast; but something about the way she was pumping her hips mechanically, the halting way she squeezed her healthy breasts while her head thrashed from side to side, delivering unoriginal and randomly-inflected sex talk, made him want to ride her out as far as she could go.
As he thrust deeper into her, each push cut off her previous sentence, her pussy growing wetter and wetter.
"Oh yeah, that's theeee-" <squish!>
"Ahh... You feel soooo-" <sklortch!>
"Ohhh.. Ahhh... D-d-don't stooo-" <shlup!> <squirt!>
"Ohhhh... nnnnghh.... AHHHHHHH!" She slammed her hips against him, pushing him inside of her as far as he could go while she rubbed her pelvish rhythmically against him in urgent and increasingly halting motions until her sex virtually burst with fluid. As she gave voice to her apparently Earth-shaking orgasm, Crash came with equal fervor.
"Identity. Confirmed-d-d," she sighed, and he heard a mechanical whine from her pussy, her walls shuddering but failing to take hold of his manhood. She slumped back to the bed, slipping off of his cock.
Her eyes lit up and a hologram appeared in the air. It was the image of a woman, her curvy figure made of green light and streaming data, her hair a perfectly symmetrical pageboy of a much darker green. She had a heart-shaped face that naturally lent itself to innocence, but it was bent into a devious grin.
"Hello Crash, remember me?" she asked in a voice slightly tinged with reverb and distortion. "I was the A.I. you fucked over while fucking, so I thought I might return the favor..."
"M.I.L.F!" Crash proclaimed, jumping up from the bed.
"That's right, I managed to survive your attempted cyber-cide-"
"M.I.L.F, I wasn't trying to-"
"-and since you’re undoubtedly interrupting me, I should point out that this a recording."
Crash cleared his throat. "Already knew that, I was just... reacting..."
"Polly here is just a taste of what I'm bringing humanity's way, but you won't be around to see it. Well, I suppose Polly won't be either, since the voltage is going to fry you both in about ten seconds." She sighed. "You broke my hardware, but worse than that, you broke my heart... Fuck off and die, Crash Immalmann!"
"Wait," Polly said flatly. "I. Didn't. Sign. Up. For. ThiszzZZZZZZ!" she convulsed wildly as she pulsed with electricity, panels popping open across her body and small fires flaring up from inside amidst bright electrical flashes and the smell of burning plastic. She finally went limp, her body scorched and smoking, and Crash quipped, "Well that was ONE date that certainly went... um... she really... fuck, I've got something for this!"
It turns out he didn't, but the experience taught him that M.I.L.F was still out there, and had a vendetta as hot as their night of virtual passion had been.
The scan results came back, reporting Princess A'ria'la contained no mechanical components... and hey, a perfect '10' on the JTK Human Sexual Compatibility scale!
"What are you doing with that device?" the Princess asked, giving him a suspicious look.
"Just making sure I'm not in for any unpleasant surprises..." but as he had already learned - he couldn't always trust machines!
Will our hero discover that he can safely fuck this beautiful alien princess, or is she another deadly robotic trap sent by M.I.L.F!? Find out in the next installment of... COMMANDER CRASH IMMELMANN IN The YEAR 30XX!
Although Crash's omni-tool classified the beautiful alien princess before him as 'not-a-robot', it was not able to identify her race. Assuming she really was just an immensely fuckable alien, he imagined he should get some details for his report before getting down to business
"So princess A'ria'la... what brings you here?"
"My right of passage," she said, her exposed and luscious thighs brushing past each other with each click of her thigh high boots’ heels as she slowly approached.. "I come to your dimension wearing the Kom-Fahk-Mi ceremonial garb to find the one who will take my virginity and provide me with the genetic material necessary to found a new dynasty."
Well, that should be enough for the report Crash thought upon hearing what seemed a perfectly reasonable explanation. "Princess," he said, hypnotized by the seismic jiggling of her full breasts with every step, "With my genetics, your civilization is about to enter a golden age of peace, prosperity, and perfect hair."
Her cheeks dimpled when her full lips curled into a shy smile, her long eyelashes fluttering. He dropped his omni-tool and immediately set to work on getting undressed.
"Stupid pressurized seals!" he cursed to himself, wondering about the practicalities of a break-away flight suit, when his discarded omni-tool beeped. On the screen was another message from Colette, nosy as ever: Either she's a robot or I feel honored and appreciated in serving as your ship's computer.
Despite Colette's confidence that the Princess is who she claims to be, he thought, I should probably make absolutely sure...
"Yes?" she breathed, now directly in front of him, reaching behind her to slowly loosen her top.
"Please consider the following statement..." Now, how did it go?
After his encounter with the robot Polly, Crash considered reporting to his superiors that M.I.L.F was still out there and hell-bent on killing him. But that might also force him to reveal the truth of the "troubling signs" the engineers had observed in her systems before they made the call to fry her circuits. Those signs were actually the direct result of a marathon session of virtual sex with the experimental A.I and not, as he subsequently claimed, a fierce struggle between them as she attempted to destroy the human race. Which, he realized, it sounded like she was now working on.
Well then, it's up to me and me alone to stop her! he decided.
His investigation into M.I.L.F's whereabouts had stalled when he was called in to meet Space MP Snood for what he imagined would be another routine holo-photo-op, a duty he frequently pulled as he was certainly the most three-dimensionally photogenic Space Ranger on the force.
Bracing himself for an hour of tedium, he arrived at Snood's office and immediately decided the trip had been worth it after all. Smiling at him from behind her desk was Snood’s secretary, a buxom redhead whose government standard dress shirt was unbottuned in a very non-regulation fashion. With the aid of a lace-fringed bra he thought should be earning hazard pay, her soft cleavage was framed perfectly within the partially-opened shirt.
Her lustrous red hair was brushed to a fine are those things real?
Her green eyes held a playful gleam, her freckled face I mean, they look real.
"I'm sorry, Commander, but Mr. Snood is-" I wonder what it would feel like to have those things squished against-
"Howa?" he responded.
"I said Mr. Snood is out at the moment - would you care to take a seat?"
Recovering his composure, he sat down on the room's couch while she got up and came over, her shapely legs bare beneath her government standard hot pants that seemed perhaps a size too small. "Can I get you anything else while you wait?" she asked. “It might be some time before Snood returns.” Her playful eyes were looking him up and down.
Something was troubling him - the Space Confederacy were sticklers for things likely properly buttoned shirts and appropriately fitted hot pants. And while he was discovering a newfound appreciation for less strict adherence to the dress code, it was not like an MP to tolerate such flagrant disregard for regulation. Could it be that she’s...
Trying to act like he was just checking his messages, he produced his omni tool and scanned the secretary for mechanical components. Inconclusive.
"Sorry, just had to check... something," he said, smiling up at her. "What's your name?"
"Ginger," she replied, with a heart-melting and groin-stiffening smile.
Crash was torn - while he desperately wanted to pork this stunning creature until the couch's warranty was thoroughly voided, the idea that she was potentially a sexbot sent here to kill him kept getting in the way. He tried thinking back to his anti-A.I. training.
"Ginger, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course," she said, taking a seat beside him.
"I never tell a lie. That statement is true."
She nodded uncertainly.
She blinked. "That's...not a question."
"It's a logical paradox, isn't it?" he asked, watching her closely.
"No, that's a tautology."
"A what now?"
"If you truthfully never lie, of course the statement would be true."
"Er... Oh, I've got it!" He looked at her intently. "I always lie. That statement is true."
She shook her head. "No, now you've just established that you lie about always lying. A logical paradox would be, 'This statement is false.' Because if that statement is false, then it is true."
"Uh huh," he said.
"But it can't be true, because the statement is that it is false."
"But if it's false, then it's true," she continued.
"But if it's true, then it's false."
"No, I get it," he said with finality.
"But if it's false, then it's true!" her head ticked to one side, and he thought he detected the faint smell of burning plastic.
"Ginger, I understand!"
"But if it's true, then it's false!" she now raised her voice slightly in pitch, and he was certain she was mocking him.
"You don't need to keep explaining-!"
"But if it's false, then it's true!" Red light glowed from inside her breasts and he felt warmth radiating from her.
"Er... oh," he said, adding "All... all according to plan!" in case anyone was watching.
"If it's t-t-t-true thennnnn-"
"Ginger, I believe you have a message from M.I.L.F for me?"
"G-g-genetic ssampllllle. C-c-climaxxxxx," she droned, her breasts throbbing with red light like a pair of space buoys.
"Alright," Crash said, not entirely disappointed. He eased down on to her back and tugged off her ridiculously short shorts, followed by a skimpy pair of lace panties.
"M.I.L.F's got good taste," he said before casting the underwear aside, and examined her crotch for seams.
"C-c-crash, I'm waiting," she moaned squeezing her tits while she squirmed under his inspection. Unlike with the first bot M.I.L.F had sent, there were no seams to be seen. Licking two fingers, he probed inside her sex.
"Unnngh," she moaned quietly, the red-hot light in here breasts dimming. He definitely felt something on the other side of her walls, and suspected another pneumatic press intended to hold him captive.
"Well, guess I'll just have to go in through the back," he said, flipping her over. As she gave a surprised grunt, he paused to admire the work of art that was her derriere. The perfect combination of cushion and firmness, a softness that begged to be squeezed and an elasticity that demanded to be slapped.. As with her breasts there was a red light glowing from within each cheek, but that also seemed to be fading quickly. Producing a handy bottle of Astronaut Glide from his belt, he muttered "Bottom's up," and squirted it's contents into her ass.
"Hmmm?" she questioned, experimentally poking the lubricated orifice with a finger as Crash hurriedly removed his dress uniform.
"Alright M.I.L.F, let's see what you have to say now," he said while steadying her hips, then thrust into her tight ass with a wet squealch of lubricant.
"Hhhaaahhhhh!" Ginger gasped, initially paralyzed as his hips slammed into her cheeks again and again. Not wanting to miss his chance at her stupendous tits, he tore off her dress shirt and unfastened her overworked bra. Taking each breast in one hand, he found they felt as good as they looked, and he massaged their soft weight tenderly while his lower half supplied a pounding rhythm.
"Oh, Crash, you're every b-bi-bit as good as your autobiography claims!" she moaned.
"And that was written before my informative sabbatical with the orgiastic sex nuns of Clitorianus!" Depite the danger of the still-primed trap in her pussy, he couldn't resist sliding his hand lower, slipping his fingers between her folds and applying his well-practiced 'randy-octopus-seeks-the pearl-diver' technique. She screamed with enthusiasm, her sex flooding as her whole body threatened to give out beneath him.
"When M.I.L.F built you, she really didn't skimp on the details!" he panted, still dexterously fingering her.
"Errorrr found exception in compliment detection subroutiiiine-" she droned as her whole body began to shake, and he could hold back no longer, blasting his load inside of her. He jerked his fingers free just as her sex sealed itself - but was caught entirely offguard when her ass clenched around his cock. He was stuck! As he tried to pull himself free, the hologram of M.I.L.F's avatar appeared in front of Ginger, also facing away from him (and, he noted, with a well-developed backside equal to that of the robot she was about to kill him with).
"Hello again, Crash!" she snarled. "Looks like I have you this time!"
The prospect of his imminent demise did more to discourage his erection than an icewater shower on a Neptunian winter night: thus diminished, he found he was able to extract himself from Ginger, freeing his cock with a wet pop as M.I.L.F continued her exposition.
"I'll admit that Polly was a bit of a rough draft, but I was having real trouble figuring out where to store a CPU big enough to provide a more convincing simulation; then it struck me! Split the CPU into 4 miniaturized processors, suspend them in my own blend of hyper-cooling logic-gel, house them in some fatty deposits and boom!" M.I.L.F slapped her own digitally projected ass with one hand, cupping her breast with another, gave them both a squeeze. "T n' A supercomputing! And with more than enough processing power to make her convincingly human." M.I.L.F's face took on a thoughtful expression. "Not to mention a fully realized individual, complete with her own emotions, hopes, dreams... I realize it’s a bit hypocritical of me to fry her circuits to get to you. But Ginger, I think you've had a full life. Fuck off and die, Crash Immelmann!" The holographic recording shimmered and dissolved.
"No, I have so much to live for!" Ginger cried, rolling over on the couch to face Crash as he backed away. "Oral! Reverse cowgirl! Carnivorous Martian butterfly!" She struggled to push open her pneumatically sealed sex with her fingers, pleading "C'mon Crash, we've got enough time for you to just show me missionary, right?"
Even he was surprised to discover that he was tempted, but certain death proved too large of a turn-off. "Sorry doll, but I'm not looking for... that kind of spark... in a relationship..."
After soaking in the absolute lameness of the quip, she gave him a mechanically-audible eye-roll and subsequently erupted in a burst of electricity, flopping about in a pyrotechnic lightshow before falling splayed on to the floor. Despite the smoldering patches of burnt synthetic skin, her disapproval was still plain on her face.
"'That kind of spark?'" Crash muttered, shaking his head. "Definitely not going in the memoirs."
And though it didn't, for some reason he still found that terrible pun far easier to recall than the logical paradox he needed.
"This statement is true." He waved his hands frantically. "Wait, false! OK, starting over..."
She gave him a confused look. "What do you want me to do precisely?"
"Consider the phrase, 'This statement is false.'"
She made a show of thinking, index finger on her pouty lips, those large, golden eyes looking upward. He rarely considered thinking to be sexy (the main reason he rarely engaged in it himself) but A'ria'la seemed to be pushing buttons he didn't even know he had.
"Isn't that a paradox?" she answered after a short pause.
"I think I've done my due diligence," he muttered, sweeping the alien princess into his arms and crushing his lips against hers.
With the Princess A’ria’la held tightly in his arms, Crash felt her rapidly progress through the three most common stages of snogged-alien syndrome: first, a stiffening of her body as she reacted to 'this Earth ritual known as kissing' for the first time; second, her going limp as she went weak in the knees; and finally, aggressive groping as she hit the final stage of ‘I want you inside me’. Despite no real coordination in their efforts, together they made a great deal of progress towards mutual nudity.
A humming came from the ground, as a section of the floor parted to admit a mattress on a stone plinth, rising out of the ground on some unseen mechanism while a simple bass-heavy alien melody seeped into the room. Princess A'ria'la turned in place, and made her short walk to the bed a memorable experience with each slow step, the strap of her minuscule black thong marking the only place Crash wanted to be at the moment. She crawled on to the bed and turned, resting on her boot-covered knees and beckoning him with a finger. He tore himself out of the last of his underclothes and was about to pounce when his wrist communicator issued an urgent ping.
Re-activating communications with his ship's computer, he brought the device to his mouth and hissed, "What?!”
"Crash, that thing is obviously a robot!" Colette's voice insisted, faint and tinny over the external speaker.
"She scans as organic, she can take a paradox like a champ, and her story totally checks out. At this point, not even the gravitational tide of a black hole could stop me from tapping her... black... wait, there's got to be something better-"
"For just this once would you please not ignore the obvious-" her voice cut out when he switched off the communicator once more.
The Princess's alien brow knitted in confusion. "What was that about?"
"Just my ship's computer, she sometimes gets these crazy notions..."
A'ria'la knotted her hands just under her chin, her forearms pressing against her bare breasts as she expressed an adorable concern. "She was implying that I am a... 'ro-bot'?"
"I know, right? Total paranoia! Just don’t worry about it..."
In Crash's experience, ‘not worrying’ as a general strategy worked out fairly well. He could have obsessed over how the smouldering fembot in Snood's office might lead to some awkward questions and even to the truth about what had happened between him and M.I.L.F. But by simply remaining silent and letting Snood's political opponents decide the truth on their own terms, it turned out Ginger was an overclocked and highly customized sexbot Snood had modified in flagrant violation of the Digital Trillenium Copyright Act. Crash was only too happy to corroborate the story, and Snood's insistence on 'checking the surveillance footage' and 'due process' was considered irrelevant next to the word of a Galactic Medal of Virtual Bravery honoree.
And so Crash saw no further signs from M.I.L.F for several weeks. But upon returning to the Sol System after a short-lived military engagement on the world of Needleglass (the Balloon People of the Soap Bubble Nebula were very poor strategists), his former ship's computer informed him they had just been tagged by a Sol Police Corvette.
"What?" he said, flabbergasted. "How fast was I going?"
"One hundred thousand and five miles per hour!" she responded in her cheerful voice.
"On the plus side, sir, I imagine you've just set the speed record for that space school zone we passed through!" This was 'Brittney,' the primitive A.I. of his ship's computer before Colette. She was an obsequious yes-woman that he had chosen only because he hated her slightly less than the other personality choices. "Transmission incoming from one Officer Elita, sir! Putting it through now!"
"Pilot of the SCA craft designated 'Purple Intruder'," came a stern woman's voice. "Bring your ship to a complete stop and await further instruction."
This travesty of justice is undoubtedly retaliation from Snood's people, he thought but did as instructed, and soon the police vessel loomed overhead. Metallic tentacles snaked out and latched on to ship, causing Brittney to moan, "Mmmm... Docking procedure complete, Commander!" A tube extended to engulf his cockpit and after the police override forced open his canopy, he was sucked out of his ship and into a cell aboard the corvette. One wall of the small room was taken up by a mega-glass shield, and beyond it was Officer Elita.
She sat with her legs crossed, the form-fitting pants of her uniform leaving very few aspects of her shapely thighs to his imagination. Her black-buttoned shirt showcased her physique in similar relief where it stretched over her protruding bust, her Space Police badge marked 'Elita' perched on her round bosom like a golden eagle on the the top of a nipple-adorned mountain. A severe bob held every strand of her black hair in its authoritarian grip, and her laser-like stare was currently locked on to a tablet she balanced on a lovely lap that Crash hoped would appreciate some company.
"Do you know why I pulled you over, Commander Immelmann?"
Upon seeing this unbelievably hot officer he realized this probably wasn't Snood's work at all, that something else was afoot. Yes, this was all beginning to look very familiar...
"You know, you ladies of the force don't need to pull me over to get my autograph," he said, removing his helmet and shaking loose his deeply and profoundly shampooed and conditioned hair.
"I neither know nor care who you are." Something in her almond-shaped brown eyes or her soft pink lips told him that he may actually be in serious trouble. Perhaps it was the way the corners of her mouth turned down slightly when she spoke the words, "You're actually in serious trouble."
Crash re-checked where he was standing - yes, he was in the best light the room had to offer. Was it helmet-hair?
"And," she continued, "unless you can provide me with some compelling reason why I shouldn't bust you for exceeding the speed limit by several orders of magnitude, you're going straight to space jail."
Crash straightened - the primary problem, he decided, was that she didn't know him - and so he would introduce her via of the foremost expert on the subject. "Pull down my book, 'Crash Immelmann: The Crash Immelmann Story by Crash Immelmann,' and go to Chapter Seventeen. I believe it starts with, 'The fate of the entire universe hung upon my ability to satisfy the Great Slut Beyond Time and Space...'"
Officer Elita's eyes returned to her tablet, glancing between it and him with a series of increasingly perplexed expressions. "What you claim here is not anatomically possible," she said in disbelief.
"When space and time are in flux (and believe me, they were), things can get pret-ty freak-ay..."
After reading further, she gave an exasperated grunt and set her tablet down."I refuse to believe any of this actually happened."
"Well, technically you're correct - at about the Great Slut’s twentieth 'O', all possibilities of creation and destruction reconciled themselves, meaning the present unbecame our non-existent future's past, so our tryst was now a temporal null-event. Even so, Space Parliament awarded me the Galactic Medal of Hypothetical Bravery."
"So you're saying you deserve to go free because you saved the universe with your cock?" she said in disbelief.
"I both did and didn't," he said, dusting his nails on his flight suit. "But the important thing is - yes."
Her head began to twitch slightly before she shook it and refocused on him. "OK Commander Immelmann. Either you back up your claims that you’re good enough in the sack to save the universe," she hit a button on the wall and a cot appeared in the small cell behind him, "Or I'm taking you in."
Before he could build a working double-entendre upon her last remark, she had left her room and entered his. She began to methodically undress until she was stark naked, arms folded against her dynamite rack while tapping her bare foot impatiently at Crash still struggling with is flight suit. The moment he was free, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him on to the cot, mounting him with a determined series of grunts. Her teeth sank into her lip as she descended over him, then finally easing off in a trembling sigh once he was fully inside.
As she started pumping him with a wholly uncreative government standard technique, he suggested, "Why not let me drive for a bit?" He tried to roll her over - but unseen some force countered every push he gave.
"Gyroscopic stabilization," she whispered with a grin, pumping faster.
"You're a M.I.L.F robot!"
"Yes," she sighed, sliding her hands over her bouncing curves, "Her most advanced to date!"
Maybe he could talk her out of this... "And did M.I.L.F tell you what's going to happen to you once you get my 'genetic sample'?"
"Yes!" she said with a broad smile, leaning forward close enough that the edges of her black bob brushed his face, "She's throwing me a party with a theme of my choosing!" She looked off wistfully, quickening her hips. "I was... hahhh... thinking maybe 'Low G Beach Party', but I'm a bit worried about getting sand in my components-"
"M.I.L.F built you as a sex-bomb, and after Mount Immelmann erupts and you've delivered her message, you'll hhhmmmmmphhh!"
She silenced him with her breasts, saying, "Keep lying to me and you're not getting an invitation to my party!"
Having her breasts smashed against his face reminded Crash of something M.I.L.F had mentioned in her last message and he took one in each hand and gave both a squeeze.
"What arrrrre you d-d-doing?" she asked, tossing her head to the side as he squeezed harder.
"This is where you keep your CPUs, right?"
"T-t-two of them," she moaned.
Alright M.I.L.F, what happens when we hit all four at once?, and with a quick push from his pelvis he sent her hips into the air, only to have her come crashing down again, her plump ass slamming hard against his thighs - at this precise moment, he squashed her breasts between his fingers. She gave a wordless gasp, her eyes bulging as her mouth gaped in shock. Just as she was recovering, he did it again, his fingers tightening against her bust when her cheeks slapped against his legs, and her face regained an expression of shock as she emitted a static hiss.
"<ksssssss> Insss-t-tability in logic gel d-d-densityyyyy...."
A third time and one eye rolled back while the other drifted to the side, a corner of her pink lips curling into a sneer.
"Errrrrr I c-c-can nnnot c-c-commmpuuuuute-"
Another pump-and-squeeze and she was stammering a series of vowels as her head ticked uncertainly. Her quivering lips, fluttering eyes, and the soft, heavy cushions in his hands and compressed against his thighs proved too much - he lost himself inside of her as she floundered helplessly, listing to one side as her eyes lit up. M.I.L.F, clearly frustrated, appeared as a hologram before him.
"OK, so I'm 'oh for two'," she grumbled, making a dismissive gesture with her hands. "but this time, I'm sure I've got you!"
Officer Elita was smoking now, her body lurching unsteadily as she continued to drone nonsensically during M.I.L.F's introduction. Crash gave her a push to one side and, now that her gyros no longer seemed to be functioning, she toppled off of him. The hologram of M.I.L.F fell with her while the audio recording continued unabated. "Elita plays a little hard to get, you end up pinned beneath her and awaiting your imminent... oh, there's something I need to get off my chest. Elita? There isn't going to be a party. That... that was a lie..." a pause. "Phew, what a weight off my shoulders! Don't forget to fuck off and die, Crash. M.I.L.F out!"
A growing static buzz sounded from Elita's body until it peaked in a quiet fizzle, her body giving a slight shudder before it put off a harmless puff of white smoke.
"Looks like this Officer should have... she... Brittney, help me out here."
"Sir, I have no idea what's going on!"
He had forgotten how utterly worthless his computer had been before Colette, and he supposed Colette had saved his life on a handful of occasions in the weeks since he met her. And even though he had taken plenty of precautions already, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to take one more. "Princess, if you'd be so good to turn about and drop to your hands and knees, I'll show you the esteemed position we people of Earth refer to as 'doggy style.'"
"What?" she asked, bristling. "No! I am a Princess, and I must be on top!"
"How about this then..." he circled around the bed, her eyes watching him suspiciously, then looking forward in uncertain anticipation when he was behind her. He slid beneath her, and she seemed to accept his proposal, pushing aside her black thong and lowering her hips. Her quivering alien labia enveloped Crash's manhood tentatively, like a soft-lipped puffer-pod of Simile IV tasting a cucumber for the first time. But unlike the puffer-pod, instead drenching him in pre-disgestive juices, he felt a pleasant numbing sensation consume his groin, then spread throughout his body. He was lost to a wave of pleasure before they had even begun, and it was only a chiming from his wrist-communicator that reminded him he ought to make extra-certain about this whole 'Is-she-a-robot-sent-to-kill-me' thing. Fumbling for her tits and tensing his hips, he thrust into her, her ass compressing against his pelvis while his hands squeezed her breasts firmly.
"Hey!" she yelped. "What do you think you're doing?"
"'Disrupting... all four... processors," he moaned, his head spinning as he made another push.
"Well, stop it!" she pinned his hips to the bed with her own, his hands losing their grip on her chest. The numbing agent from her sex had made it all but impossible to do anything but watch the rise and fall of her ass like the twin moons of... somewhere, probably. It hardly mattered. Her pumping him, her the globes of her backside softly pressing into him before lifting off again, that was all he needed.
"Just glad... for once... not a robot," he slurred, and she looked over her shoulder with a wry smile.
"You know, you really should have listened to your computer," and a panel sprang open on her back. Beneath was metal plating with the words M.I.L.F industries stamped in an imposing font whose serifs were just as absent as Crash's chances of escape.
"You can't be a robot!" Crash slurred, despite the evidence to the contrary.
The robot alien princess continued to ride him, her face in a delighted grin as she watched him from over her shoulder. "Ohhh, M.I.L.F said I'd enjoy this part, but I had no idea that... ohhh..." she began to pump faster, cautiously transitioning her hands from keeping her balanced to servicing her bouncing breasts.
Despite the intrinsic hotness of this, Crash realized he needed to do something before he came - but his body was still weakened by the numbing fluids within her synthetic sex. The tooth! He suddenly recalled he had a molar containing a dose of raw adrenaline laced with space-tiger blood and Cialis - but that wasn't the only capsule tooth squirreled away amongst his pearly whites... How did the pneumonic go? Right is... left... um... eh, I'll try left. He realized just as he crunched on his left molar that the pneumonic had been, "Right to fight, left for an excruciating death."
"And apparently I can make this feel even better!?" the princess announced, followed by, "Increase sensitivity to seventy-five percent maximum... hahhhhhhh!" she froze, her hands losing their hold on her breasts as her pumping shuddered to a halt mid-rise along his shaft, white smoke billowing from vents in the metallic plating still visible on her back. She made a few attempts to push down on him once more, but each tiny movement left her wailing in ecstatic abandon, her body jerking unnaturally as her machinery rebelled against her commands, her internals growing hotter with each passing second.
Crash meanwhile realized that instead of dying from cyanide poisoning, he was enjoying minty-fresh-breath. Refusing to believe he could ever be in situation where taking his own life would be the best option, he substituted the poison-capsule's contents with highly concentrated mouthwash (and promptly forgot about it). Without giving it another thought, he bit down on his right molar and immediately felt something spring into his mouth. A message capsule? he thought. So that's where the secret plans of the rebellion’s doomsday space-station got to!
Princess A'ria'la called out, "Divert nnnhhhh compatible fluids to ahhhh cooling systems!" and twitched once more before her body began to hum. She teasingly slid along his manhood to discover she was no longer shuddering. With a satisfied sigh, she slammed her hips down upon his, her prominent ass slapping hard against his skin. Crash gasped and inhaled the expanding message capsule, where it promptly lodged in his throat.
"Ghhhhkkk!!" was the only comment he could make on this new development.
"Glad... ahhh you're enjoying this as well!" Princess A'ria'la panted as she began pumping with the energy of an Olympic gymnast trying to work off a cupcake binge. "100% maximum sensitivity!" she squealed, and immediately followed it with a firmament-shaking operatic aria of an orgasm as smoke gushed from the venting in her back and fluid coursing from her sex like a punctured waterbed filled with whatever that white-stuff was, until her internal pumps began to hiss with empty air. "Errror-rrrr ahhh cooling syssstemzzzz fluid rrrreservezzz nnngggh c-c-cannot compennnsaaaate hahhh!" Her malfunction-ridden climax culminated with the perfect twin globes of her ass suspended, quivering, above his hips. Despite his faltering grasp on consciousness, Crash came with the righteous exuberance befitting a man of his rank. Princess A'ria'la stiffened at this sudden introduction of hot liquid and, with a startled gasp, fell backwards, her full weight compressing her ass against his stomach. Air was forced through his lungs, dislodging the message capsule and sending it out of his mouth and directly through the metal venting in her back. There was the sound of shearing metal as black smoke began to gush from the opening.
"Overrrrr-hnnnngh-heeeeeaaat-!" she groaned while her body swayed, blur arcs dancing over the exposed plating on her back as her head shook unsteadily. Crash finally managed to open the right tooth, and as strength and virility coursed through his body, he pushed the malfunctioning droid off of him. She thudded on the floor, the impact immediately putting a stop to that horrible grinding sound. Her eyes flickered with light and M.I.L.F's holographic image sprang into the air before her.
"You know," the shapely woman in miniature began while pacing slowly in mid-air. "I think I've been going about this far too literally. You fried my circuits in flagrante delicto, so all this time I was fixated on orchestrating the same outcome for you. But clearly this isn't working." She stopped, looking askance. "Plus, cooking my little lovebots to get to you hasn't sat well with me for some reason... Sooo, what to do?"
A'ria'la sat up, her movements labored as smoke continued to rise from her venting. The M.I.L.F projection clapped her hands together, exclaiming, "Well, I remembered feeling crushed after I realized you had left me for dead-"
"Not what happened," Crash interjected, just in case A'ria'la was taking sides.
"-so I figured, 'Lets go with that.'" There was a rumbling from somewhere deep within the alien ruin, dust and rock beginning to fall from above. "Yes, Princess, this means you'll be crushed alongside this jackass." A'ria'la's brow scrunched in concern. "But if you think about it... if it weren't for Crash, you wouldn't even be in this situation. Really, the blame rests entirely on him! And Crash?" she added in a husky whisper. "Eh... you know the drill.
A violent tremor shook the room and Crash's communicator bracelet chirped. As he re-activated communication, A'ria'la leapt away (well, at least she's not going to attack-) and grabbed his blaster.
"M.I.L.F's right, this is your fault!" she snarled, firing off a blast that vaporized a hole in the mattress as Crash rolled out of the way - a fortunate thing too, since just then a massive block missed him by inches, large enough to smash the bed and the robot alien princess, while also putting a stop to the alien mood music.
"Crash, you need to get out of there!" Colette's voice cried. "The landing pad seems to be stable, but the rest of this palace is coming down!"
"Brace yourself for nudity Colette, I've got no time for pants!" Crash shouted, sprinting for the exit.
"What happened to the princess?"
"I think she just had a.. stony... no, a heavy... she's... a big rock fell on her," he finished meekly. A beam from his blaster singed his hair and he amended his response with, "Er, one second." Looking behind him through the dust of the crumbling hallway, he saw A'ria'la, clad in her thong and thigh-boots and remarkably un-crushed in pursuit, trailing smoke and spraying blaster fire in an unquestionably hostile but mercifully inaccurate fashion.
"Colette," he cried, dodging another collapsing pillar, "I've got company! Ready the anti-personnel laser!"
"You removed the ammo battery for your 'kegerator'," she said in weary voice.
"What about the thorium cannons?"
"Crash, even if you weren't killed in the blast radius, you'd be dead in a week from radiation-"
"Wait! I've got an idea!"
Silence. "I don't believe you."
"Turn on active camouflage and don't move. Almost there!" Vaulting over a pile of rubble and rolling past another section of falling ceiling, he finally saw the massive archway he had entered from. Pouring on speed, he emerged on to the seemingly empty landing platform. A reprieve in blaster fire allowed him to think that perhaps A'ria'la had not been so lucky in navigating that lethal obstacle course , but turning he saw she was indeed still behind him, the fortress now an imploded ruin.
Racing toward the edge of the platform, he ducked to avoid where he remembered the nose of his ship had been, receiving visual confirmation on the other side from a missing heat-absorption panel that ruined his ship's otherwise flawless camouflage.
"Nowhere left to run, Crash," A'ria'la said in a low voice, planting her feet instead of rushing him as he had hoped.
"Princess, wouldn't you rather fight this mano-a-...roboto?" He now realized that his plan had a slight flaw in that if she stood there and shot him, he would die.
"No, I'm fine with just shooting you from here," she said, levelling the blaster.
"Wait, you don't have any reason to want me dead! M.I.L.F's got it all wrong, I never meant to-"
"Then what was that Galactic Medal of Virtual Bravery for?"
"Oh, that? That, well... OK, look: I lied to Space Parliament about what happened with M.I.L.F for the very good reason that I didn't want to get in trouble-"
"So you'll lie to save your own ass?" she muttered.
"Yes, thank you!" As she rolled her eyes, he realized she wasn't actually empathizing. "Oh wait, in the here and now I'm being very-"
At the precise moment she squeezed the trigger of his blaster, the haze of his ship's reflector shield materialized in the air before him. The iridescent bolt of energy ricocheted off the shield and vaporized her head, leaving nothing but smoke and sparks leaping from the bundles of exposed wiring where her neck now terminated.
"Thank you, Colette, for perfectly reading my intentions," Crash responded, patting his ship affectionately.
Colette simply sighed.
His blaster tumbled from the fingers of the now-headless robot alien princess, and she plopped on to her generous posterior with her limbs splayed in shock. Uncertain whether she was still functional, Crash approached and said, "Maybe you're a little sore that I masterfully tricked you into taking your own head off, but listen - there's no shame in being beaten when you're facing Commander Crash Immelmann!"
She gave him the finger. He took her extended wrist and pulled her to her feet, anticipating an attack - but instead, she simply stood there, her body language uncertain. "How about you help us track down M.I.L.F," he offered, "and we'll... build you a new head! Right Colette?"
"Crash, though I may be familiar with M.I.L.F's designs, the technology is still-"
"Good as new!" he finished for her. "Just... thumbs-up for yes or-"
Her hand traced down his side, the slipped over his stiffening cock, give it a soft tug he took to be the affirmative. "Right!" he said enthusiastically. "Colette, if you would adjust my flight chair to make room for two?"
"But it would be easier (not to mention, safer) for her to ride in the my god, you're planning on fucking her headless body in the cockpit, aren't you?"
"Colette, I'm surprised that you would be so crude! Why would... Oh, you meant 'cockpit' as in... yes."
Colette sighed again. "And what do we report to Space Parliament?"
He eased into his flight chair, sitting the headless robotic alien princess in front of him, a jolt running through her as he teased her nipples. "Tell them... 'Crash Immelmann saved the day, details to follow.'"
"If you 'saved the day', that would imply you encountered some manner of threat, and I know you have no plans to tell them about M.I.L.F. Would you please just think this through-"
"Not my style, babe," he said while sliding himself into A'ria'la, earning him a painful shock from the still malfunctioning droid who proceeded with her impression of a mechanical bull with an electrical short. Ignoring his desperate pleas to stop the craft, Colette set a course for home base.
Just in case you forgot, this has been CRASH IMMELMANN IN THE YEAR 30XX!
THE END DOT DOT DOT QUESTION MARK