Crash Immelmann vs. the Dread Pirate Holt!
Crash Immelmann vs. the Dread Pirate Holt!
On the deck of a rogue AI Communist pirate ship rolling in rough seas, Space Ranger Crash Immelmann struggled to break free from the grip of his fembot captors, the bands of riveted chrome across their exposed limbs and cleavage gleaming as they forced him to his feet. Being roughly grappled by female robots (chrome-plated or no) in low-cut blouses and curve-hugging pantaloons was a situation Crash would normally be up for, but seeing the unforgiving demeanor of their curvaceous commander, one Kommissar-Captain Holt, he knew this would not end in a rogue AI Communist pirate orgy.
“Vell, Mr. Immelmann,” Holt purred, her segmented metallic hand probing under Crash’s leather jacket, “zees iz zee second time I haf had to reclaim mein property from you!” With a sharp tug, she produced the Phallus of Amun, its highly polished surface hinting at its storied journeys into the crevices of ancient royalty.
“That belongs in a sex museum!” Crash Immelmann objected.
Holt leaned in close, the full red lips on either side of her hinged jaw scarcely opening as she whispered, “So do you.” Pivoting impressively on her tall boots, she departed with a sway in her broad, breech-clad hips that made Crash yearn for normalized relations with rogue AI Communist Pirates.
“Srow him overboard!” barked Holt, and her elite pirate-bots began pulling Crash toward the edge of the ship.
“A question, Kommisar-Captain…” pirate-bot 12 exclaimed from crudely animating red lips pursed around a circular speaker, the riveted brow above her glowing eyes furrowing in a facsimile of confusion. “You said he belongs in a sex museum… but if we throw him overboard, how will we then put him in to a sex museum?”
Holt’s palm struck her face with a metallic clang. ‘Elite’ was a relative term Amung Rogue AI Communist Pirates, and the bar had not been set very high. Knowing it would be easier on their software just to lie to them, Holt simply said, “It just so happens vee are above un undervater sex museum right now!”
Satisfied, the pirate-bots continued pulling Crash toward the edge of the boat.
“Wait!” Crash called, and the pirate-bots complied.
“He is not zee vun in charge you idiots!” Holt roared, then to Crash Immelmann, “Vell, vat are your last vords!?”
“You may have my blaster,” he began, “…as well as my… other blaster…”
Holt nodded, her free hand brushing the confiscated weapons slung over her broad hips.
“…and you may have me in the grip of your elite pirate-bots… who are about to toss me overboard where I’ll drown and then, I suppose, sink down to an underwater sex museum?”
Holt’s eyes audibly rolled in their polished sockets. “Get on vis it!”
“But there’s ONE thing you didn’t account for,” Crash muttered, the corner of his mouth creasing in a wry smile.
Holt felt her metallic buttocks clench reflexively as she dropped her hand to her laser flintlock, resisting the urge to just shoot him and end whatever inane plan this nigh-unkillable moron was hatching. Watching Crash Immelmann like a voluptuous chrome-plated eagle, she asked, “Und zat ees…?”
Crash Immelmann was silent for a moment. “…sorry?”
“What did you just say, I didn’t catch-“
“Vat ees eet zat ve didn’t account for!” she roared.
“Oh!” Crash said. “Its just that sometimes, with your accent is a little hard to-”
“Shut up und answer zee question!” her hinged jaw clanking in frustration
“Ummm…. Huh.” Crash looked slightly embarrassed. “It was right on the tip of my tongue…”
“Is it your seat-of-your-pants cunning?” pirate-bot 87 offered.
“Your devil-may-care willingness to take big risks and damn the consequences?” pirate-bot 12 added.
“Hair that maintains its bounce and sheen, even in a gale on the open seas?” pirate-bot 6 wondered aloud, her cold metal hands running through his golden locks.
Crash Immelmann chuckled, “No, though I appreciate-”
“Shut up!” Holt snarled, then added, “I suppose you vere going to say eet ees your greatly overestimated charm?”
“No, that wasn’t it…” Crash Immelmann muttered.
“Your space-ranger training that perfectly prepared you for survival against a crew of rogue pirate robots?” pirate-bot 12 asked.
“An almost baffling competency in hand-to-hand fighting?” pirate-bot 87 wondered.
“An ass you could bounce a roll of space-quarters off of?” pirate-bot 6 mused with a digitized sigh.
“No, no, no…” Crash Immelmann muttered. “Dammit, what was it?”
[Some time later…]
“Your… incredible… patience…?” droned pirate-bot 12, her head repeatedly dropping.
“Your… error… battery… levels…criticalllll…” droned pirate-bot 87 as she slumped forward, her grip of steel on Crash Immelmann’s wrists becoming more like aluminum foil.
“Oh, I remember! Kommisar Captain Holt, you should know that dildo from antiquity bears a terrible curse! That any black-hearted man, woman, or robot who uses the phallus is destined to have the most mind-blowing orgasm of their lives-”
Holt looked at the artifact with newfound interest.
“-And then die!”
Holt guffawed, her hinged jaw waggling in disbelief. “You vill not frighten me mit your superstitious nonsense!” she snapped, tucking the artifact safely into her bountiful cleavage. “Girls, git zis man off mein ship!”
After several moments of the bot’s ineffectual tugging, it dawned upon Crash that was no longer at the whim of the three now-drained bots. He grabbed two of his captors and smashed them together in forced embrace, their cymbal-like union an eruption of nuts and bolts, sparks, and an accusatory “Yarrr....”
“Seize him!” cried Holt in alarm.
“Is it… your…fondness…. of casual… sex?” mused pirate-bot 6, apparently not on the same page as her fellow crew. Crash spared a moment to pull the fawning fembot in a tight embrace and deliver a swift kiss to her pursed metal lips. “C-casual sexxxxzzz!” she moaned, falling blissfully to the deck when he released her to leap through the crowd of hostile, yet nearly discharged pirate-bots to reach their Kommisar-Captain. With a right cross to Holt’s jaw, her head went spinning as she staggered about the deck, throwing orders and curses at her crew.
Holt’s dizzying perspective only afforded glimpses of the ensuing melee, but flashes of flying pirate-bot heads and limbs trailing sparks told her this fight was not going her way. Bracing herself against the ship’s rail, she fixed her head forward and drew her laser flintlock, steadying it on Crash just as he heaved a kicking pirate-bot over his head. Before Holt could squeeze off the shot, Crash tossed the flailing pirate-bot straight into her, sending them both tumbling overboard.
Holt seized the railing, narrowly saving herself as pirate-bots were tossed into the water below where they shorted out in a geyser of water and circuitry and final cries of “Yarrr!” One pirate-bot tumbling past managed to grab her breeches, dragging them to down to her ankles. With a kick, Holt sent both the bot, her pistols, and her modesty into a sea churning with sparking fembot flotsam. Holt hung there, her lower half bared to the world save for a pair of communist-red panties, her gleaming backside and legs shining in the setting sun as her processers chafed at the indignity of it all.
She began to pull herself up when another pirate-bot going overboard caught hold of her waist, locking her arms around her captain’s wide hips.
“Get off of me!” Holt growled, kicking at the bot.
“Oh, Captain!” exclaimed the pirate-bot. “Your big hips have saved me!” The addled bot hugged her tighter, clanking her sculpted lips against the commandant’s metal rump in appreciation.
“S-stop zat!” wailed Holt, struggling to pull both of them up as her processors went nuts from the attention lavished upon her sensitive, sensor-laden posterior. “You vill d-destroy us both!” she moaned, her legs kicking ineffectually at the pirate bot who continued to shower gratitude upon Holt’s generously proportioned hindquarters with metallic kisses.
Just as Holt’s processors were about to seize up entirely from the conflicting data streams of her imminent watery termination, her embarrassment, and unbidden pleasure, a human hand grabbed her wrists and hefted both her and her ass-appreciating hanger-on over the rail. Crash Immelmann shook Holt until the pirate-bot fell off, hitting the deck with a clang, before planting the pantsless Captain in front of him.
“So, you thought you could hide from me on the side of the boat,” Crash Immelmann remarked, “passing the time with your subordinates literally kissing your ass?”
Holt attempted to steady her footing, struggling to get her systems under control and calculate a rebuttal better than, “Vhy… you…!”
Crash took note of the staggering Captain’s jostling bosom, and announced, “And I’ll be taking this!” Plunging his hands down her straining shirt, he seized the Phallus of Amun — but as he met the stunned glowing eyes of the Komandant Captain, he found himself reluctant to withdraw his hand from that metallic yet supple valley.
After a few clicks of her eyelids, Holt finally steadied herself, her software taking note of Crash’s mute stupefaction. “Vould you like to see zem?” she whispered, her fingers teasing the straining buttons of her Captain’s jacket.
Crash nodded earnestly, withdrawing the artifact and watching transfixed as Holt began to slip a button free, the upper half of her naval jacket splaying wide to reveal a portion of the gleaming hemispheres of her stupendous bust, supported by a lacey communist-red bra. When the second straining button of her jacket popped free he saw stars, the world spinning around him, the Phallus falling from his grasp. As he hit the deck, he realized it wasn’t the view of her bared cleavage that had done this, but instead a rather sudden chrome headbutt.
Holt’s buxom body was upon him, his wrists pinned, and he was powerless against the Captain’s robotic strength. “Und so, Crash,” she snarled, leaning in close, her reflective bosom leaning even closer, “It seems you vill be sinking down to zat sex museum after all…”
“Perhaps,” Crash mused. “But there is one thing you failed to consider…”
“Zat vill not vork a second time!” Holt snapped.
“No, I know exactly what I want to say this time!”
“Oh, I’m sure you do…”
“Zo, eef I ver to humor you und zay, ‘Vat ees eet I haf failed to consider?’, you vould reply mit…?”
“I would say, ‘Look behind you!’”
Holt chuckled. “Crash, how dumb do you sink-“
Suddenly, pair of metal hands seized Holt’s prodigious hips. “Your big hips saved me, Frauline!” slurred a nearly drained pirate-bot, smacking her speaker-box into the stunned Inspector Kommisar’s metal cheeks. Holt recoiled and kicked backward with a bared chrome leg, caving the pirate-bot’s face in with a shower of sparks.
As the pirate bot wobbled and slumped over, her voice a droning, “Yarrrr….”, Crash took advantage of the distraction and met Holt’s quivering lips with his own in a kiss he expected would clear whatever plans she had for the evening. Her red eyes began to flicker while her entire body trembled. “V-vat are you do-ink?” she mumbled under his lips, gasping when his hand broke free of her faltering grip and took hold of one of her chrome tits, popping it free from its lacey red cup. Steam leaked from Holt’s gaping mouth, her robotic strength deserting her. Through the haze of pleasure-clouded processing, Holt managed an uncertain, “Nyet, I am at your mercy! V-vat do you intend to do…?”
“A space ranger has broad discretion in dispensing justice,” Crash began, experimenting with the pliable metal of her breast. “And since you have an extremely forgivable body, I am prepared to exercise this discretion to the maximum. Just… promise to give up your system-wide campaign of terror or something.”
“B-but Crash!” she groaned, her chest growing warmer, “Mein chassis is very sensitive! E-eef you keep t-touching me like zat — ahhh!”
Crash slid her jacket over her gleaming, trembling shoulders, unclasping her bra as her stupendous chest sprung free in all of its buxom glory. “Well, that settles it!” he remarked, cupping each breast and attempting the impossible task of picking a favorite, “You shall have a very full pardon!”
Holt gave a tinny squeal as he smothered himself in her breasts, steam pouring from her tits and mouth. “Crash, you vill m-make me… <ahhh! explode!” she pleaded, sensory input flooding her systems as he nuzzled her chest. “You… you vill turn me into scrap! Ahhhh!” Her skull-and-crossbones ushanka jumped as a rivet shot from her temple.
Crash removed his head from the smoking valley of her chest and remarked, “Do you think I’d do anything that would destroy these curves?” He pulled her shining hips to meet his own, his hands splaying to get a fistful of her bountiful backside, reveling in her professional-grade squeezability.
“Y-yes, zees curves vill be destroyed, alonk mit zee rest of me!” Holt exclaimed, her body buzzing sharply when Crash’s fingers danced along the rivets and seams of her otherwise smooth ass. “I am very sensitive und you <ahhhhh!> are overvhelming mein processors!”
“Fear not!” Crash responded, tearing her panties free to reveal the rubber lips of her sex, glistening with fluid. “I am well versed in the mechanical tantric arts, and know the difference between making a fembot explode metaphorically and literally!” With that, he undid his trousers and plunged home.
Holt squealed, sparks spurting from her mouth, steam jetting from their union with each thrust into her robotic womanhood. “Crash, I am seriously goink to blow!”
“Metaphorically!” Crash corrected, watching as smoke and sparks vented from her at every fondle of her well-rounded body.
“Nyet!” she wailed, her pace quickening. “I mean I vill literally explode into b-bits!”
“You do seem rather hot,” Crash remarked uncertainly, feeling the now-sweltering surface of her thumping backside, her jiggling breasts, her tightening sex.
“Y-yes!” Holt cried. “S-soooo hot! So hot!” She ground her hips desperately into Crash’s own, collapsing forward as her steaming tits compressed against his chest. “I vill be scrap! U-useless scrap!” She rolled her plump metallic excesses against him, servos straining as a spring shot from her neck, followed by a broadside of rivets fired from her clenching thighs.
“I’m <ow!> starting to <ow!> believe you!” Crash announced, receiving a number of shocks as her sparking nipples raked across him.
“I vill be d-destroyed!” she panted, sitting up to pound herself like a piston upon Crash’s broiling manhood, her sous-vide sex tightening around him, every impact sending springs and bolts whizzing from her gleaming, steaming body.
“OK, you’ve convinced me!” Crash said, holding up his hands defensively.
“Eet ees too much!” she wailed, taking his hands and crushing her breasts beneath them, their expansive, polished surface growing hotter. “Mein tits! Zey are goink to blow!”
Crash fought both her hands and his own compulsions in order to free her metal mammaries, only to have her divert his hands directly to her chrome-plated posterior. “Mein ass! Crash, you are goink to blow me into useless scrap! Cannot process sensory data! I… I…!”
Executing a rarely employed bit of sexual judo, Crash pulled himself and the Kommisar Captain to a standing position, planting her in front of him while keeping erogenous contact to a minimum, then withdrawing completely. “All right, Kommisar!” Crash exclaimed as the now untouched Holt rattled and buzzed with her back to him, sparks leaping from under her ushanka. “I think it’s about time you had a break!”
Lose panels across her voluptuous frame rained bolts and screws as she moaned in a paroxysm of pleasure. “Crash, I sink I…“ electricity flitted between her breasts, over her steaming sex. “…I sink I’m goink to..!” He eyes flickered in and out as her buttocks clenched with a metallic squeal, her tits becoming hard hemispheres of riveted steel, her body stiffening as it threatened to shake itself to pieces. “-oh, mein leben!” Holt’s chassis suddenly released the tension, staggering as she cried out in electric ecstasy, her rubber sex flooding with lubricant while steam hissed from every gap in her frame — and despite it all, she held together, her body humming with cooling fans. She finally relaxed, gripping the railing as her dangerously arousable sensors were stimulated only by the open sea air.
“Oh… oh Crash,” the Kommisar Captain panted, her processors beginning to cool from that supernova of sexual data, “Zer is… somesink you should know…” She bent over slightly, leaning toward one of the broken pirate-bots.
“Lay it on me, Captain!” Crash remarked, wondering if it was safe to touch her butt again.
“Zat ees…. you should never…” her hand dug through the wreckage of her former crew member, “haf trusted a Communist Pirate Rogue AI!” she pulled a laser flintlock free, but as she brought it to bear on Crash, her metal foot came down upon a smooth cylinder - the Phallus of Amun! It rolled out from under her and she staggered backward, spinning into the Space Ranger, her backside sandwiching a rocket still well-prepped for launch. The crush of her metal ass around Crash at full mast sending her processors straight back into overdrive. A succession of shrill beeps came faster and faster until they were a solid, mournful tone. “Oh shceisse!” she moaned and the top of her head blasted off, carrying her skull-and-crossbones ushanka with it.
The Captain’s red eyes strayed beneath a sparking mass of bared circuits and wiring, her hinged mouth mindlessly intoning, “Error! Overloadink! Error!” Crash propped her upright, saying, “Alright Holt, I’m willing to give you one more chance, but first you’ll need to apologize-“
Holt staggered away from him and spun clumsily in place, her eyes straying wildly beneath an exploded cranium jostling with electricity. “K-kill Crash! Reclaim zee artifact!” her addled processors managed as she struggled to bring the laser-flintlock to bear. Crash kicked the Phallus of Amun toward her and said, “Fine. Let’s give the Captain what she wants…”
Holt glanced down to see pirate-bot 6 grab the phallus and, with a surge of energy, plant the artifact in Holt’s steaming sex. A strange electricity shot from Holt and connected with a handful of her more-intact pirate crew scattered about the deck, infusing them with power and drawing them to their feet as they shambled toward their Captain. Each bot planted their hands upon her abundant curves and were immediately overcome by convulsions and rapturous cries. Crash seized pirate bot six and pulled her away, shielding her from the energy as it pulsed between the remaining robots.
Pirate-bot 29’s hands ran over her curves as she threw back her head in rapt ecstasy, a desirous, “Yarrrr…” whisping from her speaker-box. Suddenly, the plates of her head casing blasted apart, exposing a cluster of wires and sensors, her speaking box still droning in pleasure as the twisted circuity erupted in flame. The burning pirate bot sank against the railing, coming to a rest as molten metal and plastic streamed down her body.
Pirate bot 58’s hands clutched at her bosom, her metal tits deforming around her jointed fingers as she squeezed harder, her body trembling, her eyes gaping. Her breasts began to smoke and hiss in her hands, her nipples sparking like twin fuses before suddenly blasting free. After squeaking an inquisitive, “Yarrr?” her tits exploded, sending her head and arms pirouetting through the air while her torso-less legs wandered off the extended gangplank and into the fembot-laden waters below, another explosion littering the ship’s deck with parts of her former crew.
Holt herself moaned as her fingers weakly brushed against the embedded phallus, her body enveloped in its energies. “M-mein tits!” she gasped, her chrome breasts swelling to the sound of straining metal as rivets fired from their gleaming, trembling surface, becoming twin zeppelins crowding each other’s air space. “M-mmmein ass!” The metal of her shapely backside groaned, her chrome cheeks’ curvature approaching geometrically perfect hemispheres as they expanded. Holt took a trembling step towards Crash, her metal drumstick thighs squealing against each other, sparks flowering from their union.
“I-I-I am goink to blow,” she stated flatly, the phallus’s crackling eldritch energies highlighting her voluptuously blossoming body during her halting approach, the contents of her exposed cranium jostling like a circuit-filed salad bowl slathered in electrical dressing. When Crash stepped back to keep his distance from her increasingly hazardous body, she cooed, “Crash, come here… make me explode only metaphorically, no?” Her wandering red eyes momentarily fixed upon Pirate-bot six and flared brightly, her distorted voice shrilly commanding, “I am still your captain! Bring him to me!”
Pirate-bot six stepped to her quivering captain and extended her fingers, stood on her toes and prodded her captain’s nipples with a cheerful, “Mutiny!”
“Nyet!” the Captain roared, unbearable streams of pleasure swamping her processors as electricity arced across her swollen breasts. “So hot! Goink to blow! Mein components!”
Crash took another step back, pulling Pirate bot-six with him. “Mein components! Vait, vere are you goink?” Holt droned, her head blurring as it shook rapidly. “Do you no longer like mein-mein-mein tiiiiit-“ Her left breast ballooned impossibly with a metallic squeal before detonating in a blast of smoke and heat, half her torso now exposing the smoking internal structure of her failing machinery. Holt looked at the damage to her body and performed a clumsy pirouette, bending forward to present her perfectly rounded metal backside. “Never mind zzzat, Crash, I still have zees amazink ass!“ Pirate-bot Six’s leg lashed out, kicking her Captain’s butt with a metallic clang, sending Holt’s posterior into a frenzied vibration.
“I s-still have,” the Captain repeated as her hips trembled, “zees,” sparked, “amaaazink-!” and then exploded, the barren armature of her spindly mechanical skeleton sparking feebly next to the full-figured plating of her one remaining cheek.
The Captain, now a mechanical amalgam of voluptuous chrome and exposed internal structure, gaped at Crash and her mutinous pirate bot, her deliriously flashing eyes meeting his own concerned gaze beneath a crackling field of unprotected circuitry. “Error overload so hot cannot process error so hot error hot hot hot HOT!” A string of explosions rocked the Captain, sending debris in all directions. Her skeletal and smoking frame stood for a quiet moment before it was claimed by a final blast, leaving nothing but scattered lumps of smoldering metal. Seconds later, her gape-mouthed head hit the deck with a loud clang, staring mutely in disbelief.
After confirming she was the last remaining pirate bot aboard the ship, pirate bot 6 kicked her former captain’s head aside and picked up the smoking Phallus of Amun, turning the cursed artifact over in her hand, purring “So… If that’s what happens when a bad robot uses it, what happens to a robot who is, like, totally pure of heart?”
“In that case, the mind-blowing orgasm she experiences remains strictly figurative,” Crash replied with a smile, teasing the pirate-bot’s tight breaches down her charged hips. She slid the Phallus into Crash’s hands, leaning back against the rail the ship pushed through the waves into the setting sun.
When filling out a work order at the repair shop next to the National Sex Museum, Crash puzzled over his choices under the question, “Cause of malfunction,” before selecting “Other”, and then specifying, “Using the Phallus of Amun with a heart that was only mostly pure.”
“That’s one of Holt’s dreaded pirate-bots!” remarked the repairman, pushing the box containing the remains of Pirate Bot 6 back toward Crash. “I can’t in good conscience repair that thing! She would remain loyal to her Kommisar Capatain!”
“Fear not, my good fellow!” Crash remarked, patting the broken robot’s rounder parts affectionately. “This one has a very good heart. Well, pretty good. And trust me — the galaxy has nothing to fear from Kommisar Captain Holt.”
At that precise moment, a voluptuous chrome figure reached the end of an automated assembly line. Mechanical arms inserted a fully charged battery pack into the opening between her abundant gleaming breasts, tubes infused her reserves with hydraulic, cooling, and lubricating fluids before detaching with a hiss, and whirring scouring pads finished polishing her round backside to a mirror-like sheen. A slender rod extended from the floor, rising between her legs to depress the tiny button just behind her rubberized sex, a friendly chime sounding from the newly minted robot.
Captain Holt’s eyes flared to life, taking stock of the factory around her — noting with some alarm the piles of Holt-shaped scrap and series of scorch-marks in the floor around where she stood. “Vat… vat is happenink?” the confused fembot exclaimed as powerful sensations overcame her sensors. “So… so hot!” she moaned, staggering forward. “Sexual systems at maximum! I am goink to blow!” Electricity surged over her stiffening breasts as she toppled forward. “I vill be scrap! Zis is your fault, Crash Immelman!” Her gleaming body hissed with overheating components that were desperately trying to process her backup memories. “Crash! I! Vill! Destroy!-“
The latest copy of Holt exploded in a hot conflagration of metal and circuitry, her parts scattered amongst those of her predecessors. The facility’s computer noted that this one had survived a full 0.69 seconds longer than the previous version, and sent the command to begin work on her replacement.