The electrical engineer was Darryl. Darryl was a sweetie. He was kind, and not rough, but he talked a big game in front of the boys. I didn't mind. I know how it is with guys. So when he just grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder, I put on some damsel-in-distress theater, and the guys lapped it up.
"Good for morale", was the aim, after all.
Once we were in his quarters, though, he put me down gently, and touched me tenderly, admiring me, drinking in the sight of body, deliberately vulnerable as I had made it, in my inadequate clothing. He liked the 'girlfriend experience', so that's what he got. I snuggled, kissed, and allowed his touch to fire me up. I wasn't pretending, either. It was really nice.
I kissed him deeply, and his passion rose quickly. His hands began searching around the flimsy fabric of my little teddy, which was the sort of thing I flounced around in as part of my role, providing R&R for the men. My personal effects were more than half taken up with negligees, teddies, nighties, corsets, underwear sets, and every tight, short, flippy, or plunging garment I could fit. My criteria were that you had to be able to see up it, down it, or through it, and preferably all of the above.
Darryl's hands eagerly pushed their way around the delicate lacy knickers and matching bra, to find and caress my most sensitive parts. I purred and hummed in response, encouraging everything he was doing.
I unzipped his uniform coveralls and pushed them back off his muscular shoulders. All the men were incredibly athletic. It was part of their employment requirements. They spent an hour a day in the gym to retain their muscle tone while in the low gravity of the moon, and I made a habit of doing the same.
Under his coveralls, he wore just a cotton t-shirt and cotton boxers. I wondered if that was a uniform as well, because all the guys had almost identical kit. The one exception to the otherwise uniform outfitting was a locket he wore on a chain around his neck, normally tucked into his zippered uniform. Inside, it contained a picture of his mother on one side, and his father on the other. He had shown it to me previously, in a long chat after passionate lovemaking.
Darryl knew, of course, that this wasn't a relationship. I mean, I could just as readily be with any one of the other men, and I'd be just as inviting, and keen, and open. But he was happy to go with the fantasy. For the moment, I was his girlfriend.
Darryl enjoyed going down on me, which is lovely, but he had the habit of shaving only in the morning, and by evening his face was rasping sandpaper. That was something I had to get used to, and in a weak moment when I wasn't thinking ahead, I told him it was such a tease, and that I enjoyed how rough it felt. It was half true, but only half, and he often left me pretty raw!
"Oh, you're so scratchy!" I admonished him, stroking a hand down his stubbled cheek. "I hope you're not going to put that anywhere... soft..."
"I'll tell you what," he responded, sliding off my almost invisible knickers and effortlessly lifting me off the floor to put my legs over each of his shoulders. Bear in mind the very low relative gravity, making this not a very difficult thing. "I'll just do whatever I want," he said, and buried his scratchy face into my soft loins, eliciting half genuine squeals from me. Within moments, however, his tongue was in play, opening up the floodgates of my pleasure response. The scratching became merely a playful thing, a tease, as his delicious ministrations carried me to my happy place, and my giggling squeals gave way to luxurious moans.
Presently, he growled with carnal ardor, flipped me over and, encountering no resistance from me at all, pulled me back onto his impatient erection. He still held me off the floor, each arm hemming me in at the sides so that his hands could cup my breasts and he could bodily pull and push me to achieve his thrusting.
I will note here that you may be surprised how difficult it can be, at first, to get a good thrusting rhythm happening in low gravity. We take so much for granted on earth! Try just getting straight into it, and you'll find yourself bouncing around, falling off the bed, and generally failing to get a momentum going.
But being highly motivated, it didn't take me long to get things worked out.
I was fully in his hands, in every way imaginable. He had me held tightly, and was entering me from behind. If I struggled, I might be able to get away, but why would I do that? I let him set the pace, and he settled into a moderate cycle, but each thrust was strong, and accompanied with a grunt, as he plunged as hard as possible into my softness. I bucked and moaned in encouragement, but I wasn't contriving it at all. He was fixing to ring that bell for sure!
The pace predictably increased with his urgency, and I allowed myself to ride the wave. My grunts and moans gave a reply to his, signaling that he was taking me along, and I was willingly following. It was my siren song, calling to his mounting urgency to come into me and explode, to take possession of me, to fill me.
Presently, he gave his victory cry, and every muscle in his athletic body was tensed. It meant he was pulling on my breasts in a way that would otherwise have been painful, but as it was, his ferocity caught me and took me with him over the precipice. We joyfully climaxed together, and only after several long, deep thrusts with their accompanying groaning exertion, did he start to relax, and eventually let my head and shoulders sag downwards onto his bunk.
He stayed in me for at least a minute, and I waited patiently, enjoying the warmth and the closeness. He held my up by the hips so that he didn't slip out as he regained his breath.
Finally, he pushed me forward to crumple, curled up, on his bunk. I sprawled, the plucked flower, the tamed shrew. He stood victorious, reveling in his sense of power. I let him have his moment.
Presently, I felt his gift oozing onto my inner thigh, threatening to drip. "Pass me my knickers?" I asked. "I don't want this going over your bunk." He smiled, scooped them up, and tossed them to me. I slid them on, despite the squelchy mess.
I slid down onto the floor on my knees, "Can I clean that up for you? I wouldn't want you getting it all over your sheets..." I leaned forward and placed my open mouth around his rapidly deflating member, keeping eye contact with him.
Once I had it fully ensconced in the warmth and wetness of my mouth, I moaned loudly enough that he would feel the vibrations, and closed my eyes to fully savor the musky, salty, sweet mix of flavors of our lovemaking. I gently sucked, licked, and fellated him, and then went searching for extra drips and drops, licking the base, then down to the balls. I made sure I found every trace of the naughty love potion. Finally, I sat back and smiled, letting him see that I was pleased with my self.
"Ok, now you're good to go," I announced cheerfully, climbing to my feet. A small dollop of goop had squeezed through the silky fabric of my now sodden knickers, and was lubricating my inner thighs, but it wasn't going to drip on the floor, at least not immediately, so it was ok.
Darryl leaned in to kiss me goodby, but I pulled back. "Are you sure you wanna do that, after where I've been?" I figured I'd rescue him from making that embarrassing mistake. Guys don't want to get spunk on their mouths.
To my surprise, he responded, "Are you kidding? That was so hot." He then, to prove a point, licked from my chin up across my lips, swirled around my mouth, and dove into it. I didn't know if he would taste anything, because I had been pretty thorough, but it was a really nice gesture.
Finally, once I was outside Darryl's quarters, I didn't turn left to go to my own, but went right, and headed off to see what the captain needed. I figured she couldn't get too mad about me coming straight over in response to her clear instruction to see her "after", even though I really should shower first, given my state.
The captain was the most experienced spacer on the moon base. She was the leader of the team, not just because of her title, but because she had the respect of every man who worked under her. I got a chance to see why on our way in.
We had detached our lander from the orbiter, and we were going through what looked like it must have been a pretty routine descent. The pilot was in control, with our captain as copilot.
"Ground speed 5800 clicks. Altitude 103 clicks. Firing main thruster in 90 seconds," the pilot reported. The captain scanned all the readouts, monitors, and controls, and also kept a watchful eye above her, at the ground.
It was disconcerting being inverted like that, but apparently that's how it was done. In training they said it's so the pilot can see the ground. It made me feel queasy.
"We're rotating clockwise," the captain said.
"Roger that. Computer just caught it now. Counterclock retro fired. Rotation good," the pilot replied.
"Roger that," the captain confirmed.
Everything was still. The moon's surface above us was silently rolling, apparently very quickly, but it looked slow. Electronic clicks and beeps were the only sounds, other than the voices of the captain and the pilot in the intercom. We all wore full space suits, and we were all mounted at what seemed like an incongruous angle, strapped into full-body seating that would support us in the descent and landing.
"60 seconds," the pilot announced.
"Run the diagnostics," the captain requested, meticulously running the carefully trained and drilled routine.
"Motor diags, good. Life support, good. Electronics, good. Software, good. Comms, good. All good," the pilot read off the results from his screen.
Silence.
"Thirty seconds," the pilot announced.
