It took a week or so for us to settle into a pattern. I didn't know beforehand what to expect, and to be honest, I thought it would be something like a daily free-for-all orgy, with all the men piled on top of little me until they were all exhausted. But that's not how it went at all.
We did have one poker night where I was the grand prize for the winner. Dexter Garton, the hydraulics specialist, won the game, and therefore the girl. Egged on by the others, he cleared the table, lay me on it, and took his winnings in front of the whole group. He confided in me afterwards that he didn't particularly like that, because with all the men looking on it made it very hard for him to concentrate, and despite my best efforts to noisily appreciate him and keep the atmosphere hot, he had started to worry that he might not be able to... finish. It was the boys all chanting and goading him that was distracting him. He was grateful that I, after a time, offered to use my mouth, because that allowed me to control everything and, using a little trick my older cousin told me that she liked to use, I cupped his balls gently and 'accidentally' touched his bottom in the process, just as he was getting close, and that tipped him over the edge. He said it saved him a lot of embarrassment. He wouldn't have been able to live it down if he hadn't delivered.
There were other occasions where I would have to sex not exactly discretely, with one or other of the guys, but with only one exception in the first week or so, my interactions consisted of one-on-one sex, even if it wasn't always private.
The one occasion which was certainly not one-on-one was my fault really. I initially thought group sex was going to be the norm, and when I turned up in the gym and found three of the men there, I started flirting with all of them, thinking that's what they wanted. When I did that, they all thought it was what I wanted, so they went along with it. Anyway, long story short, they sort of took turns, one in me, one in my mouth, and the other having to settle for my hand, before changing positions, then rinse and repeat, and we got through it, but it really wasn't a very satisfying experience for any of us, we all confessed much later on.
When things settled down, it was more like a daily pattern of one or more morning blow jobs, then off to the gym. Perhaps a couple of daytime "surprise" pounces on me for opportunistic sex, particularly when I made sure to flirt a lot and show off my cheeky outfits, but rush hour was bed time. It was almost like needing to tuck them in. Most of them really wanted a nice cuddle at the end of the day before dozing off to sleep, so they would often agree among themselves what order I would go in, and I'd spend a couple of hours bed-hopping to get them all settled down. The evening meal beforehand was often a lot of innuendo and teasing, of me that is, which functioned as foreplay. Of course, the day-to-day varied quite a bit, but that was the general pattern which, by the time we started week two, I felt we had settled into.
I had determined that I would not even bother trying to get my research underway until I had this aspect of my mission under control, because that's what I essentially agreed with the captain. By the end of the second week, I figured, I would perhaps get away for an hour or so during the morning, and if I wasn't otherwise required, perhaps some time after lunch as well (but if I was out for the morning it seemed likely I would be in demand for at least part of the afternoon, so I was prepared to stay flexible on that). But for the time being, I just stayed on the task of satisfying the boys.
I should explain what I mean about "morning" and "afternoon", because a day on the moon lasts for over 700 hours, with half being in daylight, and half in the dark. But that's not a very practical way for humans to run their schedules, so we just set all the clocks to the Spacer Industries head office timezone and maintained a 24 hour cycle in sync with back home. The lighting in our base was set to automatically adjust during that cycle, and we didn't think much of it. When I say, "morning", I mean morning back home on Earth, which was when we all woke up.
The lunar day was still significant, of course, because the bulk of our power generation was solar. So for two weeks we had 24/7 solar power, and then two weeks of darkness, and we had to take that into consideration. Of course the base had huge batteries, and there was no problem keeping it operational. It was the heavy mining equipment that was the real power guzzler, so the mining operations had to scale back during the two "night" weeks. That's when we, or at least, the rest of the crew other than me..., really got busy.
Our team was a maintenance team. The mining itself was mostly controlled remotely from Earth, with all the equipment reasonably autonomous anyway. But repairs and maintenance were always required, and that was our job. Again, my job was to look pretty and make nice with the boys, and then do what research I could. But the rest of the team was busy with the mining equipment.
To be honest, my research didn't require a lot of time. I had some biological experiments that needed to be monitored, and some other radiation measuring equipment, but I mostly just needed to keep an eye on it all once it was all set up, taking readings and making notes, and then I would spend some time crunching numbers for my paper.
Temperatures on the surface ranged from about 400 Kelvin (125C/260F) in the lunar daytime, to less than 100 Kelvin (-170C/-280F) in the dark. All the mining operations happened under a sort of gigantic semi-opaque tent, which protected against the high temperatures (it also, being deliberately colored like the surface of the moon, conveniently concealed the massive mining pits from overly zealous Earthbound telescopic gawkers, who would be aghast if they saw the scale of the operations). But in the dark, the low temperatures were so extreme that it was better to stow most of the heavy equipment and not run it. They were equipped with heaters for all the vital components, but of course, that just guzzled more power. So they got overhauled, serviced, and refitted in large hangars, ready for their next two-week work day.
The "rail" that we had followed on our way in was a mag-lev track for transporting equipment between the base and the various local mines. 'Local', in this context was a radius of some 800km, about 500 miles.
We had landed during the late morning of a lunar day, so we had just over a week to get everything organized before lunar nightfall, when the equipment all started coming in to the large group of hangars which straddled the crossroads of the rail network, jutting outwards in five different directions as far as the eye could see. Admittedly, that's not very far on the lunar surface, which curves away much sooner than Earth's.
Anyway, all that to say, the captain threw a bit of a wrench in my plans when she inserted herself, if you'll forgive the expression, into my schedule. I had to figure out how I was going to manage her needs alongside the others. And hers were more complex because, for the sake of team cohesion and discipline, the men must not find out that she was also sampling the goodies. She had to remain aloof and in command.
The sun had gone down on our lunar base, so the boys were all getting busy with their work, and so was the captain. At least that made it a bit easier to predict their movements, because they worked a more or less standard day in the hangars, with a lunch break back up at the base.
The next day I rose just as normal, a bit before the guys, and quickly got my makeup on and selected an outfit. This day, I would be half way between cheer leader and California beach babe, I chuckled to myself, putting my hair in a high ponytail. In the low gravity, my modest boobs didn't even need support, and sat up much higher than normal, so the cheeky little crop top would be extra fun. It hung down and outward from my low-gravity-enhanced boobs, looking super cute with the perilously short denim full skirt, a fabric thick enough that its folds sprang outwards, giving impromptu glimpses up between them, into the even more intimate spaces that the already short skirt pretended to cover.
I always worked hard at the gym to chase a washboard stomach but I couldn't ever shake the feeling that it bulged just a little. I've tried telling this to friends, but they scoff. The girls start gushing about how they wish they had my figure, and guys seem to take it as an opportunity to talk about what they would like to do to my body. Anyway, my captive audience on the moon never showed any sign of disliking it, so I have to just take my best girlfriend's well-meaning advice, "Fuck'n stars, girl, you're a rockstar. If I wasn't such a prude I'd wife ya myself, ya spunk. Take my advice: shut up and enjoy it. You're perfect." I love her so much.
I decided to wear high-cut white briefs, which would be a cheeky detail glimpsing out between the skirt's folds as I moved about. The low gravity assisting the skirt's natural tendencies to bounce out and expose me at every opportunity. I wore long white socks to just above the knee, which obviously served to accentuate the brevity of the skirt, and little black flats.