The Booty Raiders of Asteroid -69

SPACE LOG #0143: The Booty Raiders of Asteroid K-69

A Space Stoners of Shroomshaka Chronicle

CLASSIFIED ENTRY

Access Level: T.H.C.++

Mood: Post-nut euphoria with incoming violence.

Ship: The Morning Joint

Timestamp: Who fucking cares. We're high.

The Morning Joint drifted belly-down on a cracked asteroid, pink gas pumping out of its wounded core like cosmic cunt juice.

Inside the ship, MJ sprawled across a half-melted console, legs split wide, thighs still jerking from the aftershocks of a full-body mindfuck that had rewritten her DNA. Her chest heaved, pot-leaf pasties barely clinging to her glistening skin.

Her mouth hung open, ragged moans pouring out, spit webbing from her swollen lips. Fingers shined wet against her pussy, smearing fresh filth across the console, where streaks of lipstick, cum, and crushed weed leaves stained the surface.

Bodi swung lazily in his gravity hammock, naked and leaking, beard stained with the slick runoff of everything they'd done. His fat cock twitched lazily against his gut, cum drying in sticky strings across his chest.

"I think I saw God's butthole," he muttered, blinking at the ceiling, tongue lolling out in aftershock.

MJ snorted, voice raw. "Bodi, if you talk again, I'll cut your dick off and make you eat it with gravy."

Grande Juanson stood over them like a sweaty, leaking titan, cock slowly drooping from the glory of its double climax, heavy balls hanging low. Somebody had scrawled CHOKE ME WITH LOGIC in gold marker across his massive thigh, and he hadn't wiped it off.

His glasses hovered nearby, pulsing with data. His cock gave a lazy flex, still half-ready for another go.

"I have successfully recalibrated all serotonin levels aboard the Morning Joint," he announced.

"My fucking balls are humming," Bodi grunted, slapping his thighs.

"Good. Let them." MJ wiped two fingers across her mouth, tasting herself and grinning.

Grande flexed his dripping hands. "Post-coital states optimize tactical focus. You're all welcome."

CRACK!

The entire ship jolted hard, as if slapped by a titanic dick. Alarms howled. Red light drenched the room.

MJ rolled to her feet, her blade, "Spliffcutter," already yanked from the ceiling magnet, pasties fluttering off. Her nipples stood out sharp and mean, thighs flexed and dripping, ready to kill.

"WHO THE FUCK VIOLATES MY SHIP DURING POST-COITAL BLISS?" she roared, voice thick.

Grande's glasses snapped to his face, scrolling so fast the air shimmered. His cock thickened again.

"Pinpoint breach," he barked. "Precision tip-thrust. No debris pattern. This was a targeted fuck-you."

Bodi plummeted from his hammock, landing face-first with a wet splat. "Somebody order an interstellar dick-slapping?"

MJ stomped naked toward the airlock, utility belt slapping her slick hips, her tits bouncing like loaded grenades, bloodlust in her eyes.

Grande's voice darkened. "Hive Syndicate Booty Raiders. They track Nebulust Kush. They want our seed."

"No consent?" MJ spat. "No lube? We fuck 'em raw then."

Through the viewport, an enemy pod bulged into view--black, ribbed, obscene, its pulsing tip oozing plasma pre-cum across the void.

Bodi squinted. "Their ship's got a throbbing boner. Sweet."

Grande jammed his wrist comm. "Auto-defense protocol: Disrobe Mode Alpha. Deploy Mechaconda. Activate Grind Mode. Tongue Lasers: Lube up."

The Morning Joint roared, metal plates peeling back to expose its most brutal sex toys.

From the undercarriage, the Mechaconda exploded forth--chrome coils glistening, tip vibrating so fast the air blurred, sticky lube dripping from every scale. Below that, the Tongue Lasers shot out, slapping the enemy pod like spit-drenched whips, the black hull jerking and spasming.

MJ planted her bare feet by the airlock, blade tight in her grip, nipples sharp. She didn't need armor. She was the weapon.

Bodi scrambled to the controls, pantsless, balls flapping as he bent over the dashboard. "MJ, wait! You're gonna--"

Too late.

The airlock hissed open, and the universe sucked her into its black mouth.

MJ sailed into space naked, gleaming, deadly. No hesitation. No mercy.

The first Booty Raider launched at her, hook blade raised high, shouting in some ugly pirate dialect.

MJ swung low, slicing his torso from his hips in a single brutal arc. Blood misted out, a pink cloud bursting wide enough to kiss the stars.

The Raider's legs spun comically into space.

The rest of the enemies froze--half from fear, half from a confusing, gut-deep boner they weren't ready to acknowledge.

MJ flung herself back toward the Morning Joint's airlock.

"Bodi!" she roared, ass cheeks flexing with the force of her rage.

Bodi mashed buttons like a drunk DJ. The Morning Joint moaned to life, Tongue Lasers slapping the enemy ship into submission while the Mechaconda slammed its vibrating tip into the pod's faceplate over and over, splattering lube and crackling metal.

Grande braced naked against a pillar, abs flexing, sweat pooling between his perfect glutes. "That slice will be sung about for a thousand orgies," he growled approvingly.

The Mechaconda shivered, retracting smugly back into its greasy hole. The Tongue Lasers licked one last stripe across the enemy hull, then withdrew, wet and satisfied.

Bodi howled with glee. "GRAB YOUR TITS! WE'RE BENDING FUCKING TIME!"

The Morning Joint ripped into hyperspace, snapping enemy corpses into tiny frozen chunks behind them.

LATER...

MJ stood naked and victorious at the main viewport, blood and cosmic cum drying into a crust across her thighs. Sweat dripped down the beautiful ridge of her spine, pooling where her thighs met.

She gripped her blade tighter, thighs shifting, hungry for whatever fucked-up ecstasy the galaxy could cough up next.

Behind her, Grande lay sprawled in godly exhaustion, cock soft but proud, still twitching. Bodi licked a streak of dried cum off a wall, eyes rolling in idiot bliss.

But MJ was already hearing it. Already feeling it.

A whisper curled through the ship's thick weed-haze.

"Kushandra"

MJ's lips twisted into a filthy grin.

She rolled her hips slowly, feeling the wet smear of space between her thighs, already aching for more.

"Let the bitch come," she purred.

The Morning Joint purred too, a dirty, eager sound.

It was only the beginning.

END SPACE LOG: 0143