The gymnasium is amazing.
Most of the base had tiny portholes to give little glimpses outside, but the gym had a huge window panel looking out over the landing pad, some of the warehouses, and the lunar surface stretching away under the billions of stars that were visible from the Moon's surface, whereas on Earth you can hardly see any of the stars of the Milky Way because of the atmosphere and the light-pollution.
Windows were apparently risky. The Moon attracted a constant barrage of space debris, and had done so from time immemorial. It's the reason the surface has those enormous craters on it. There's a more or less constant supply of tiny dust particles that get caught in the Moon's gravity and end up falling to the ground, but there are also larger rocks. Occasionally some really big ones fall in, which can damage structures like the moon base, and windows are more vulnerable than the curved igloo-style of reinforced roofing that the base employs. When you get to those impacts that are big enough to cause a crater, we just sort of hope it won't happen, because there's nothing that's going to protect against that. And they don't happen often. It's sort of like living on the Pacific Rim where, at any moment, a whole island nation like New Zealand or Japan could be swallowed into the ocean with a tectonic shift... but that sort of thing doesn't happen often, so it could be ten thousand years before we see something like that. That's sort of what living on the Moon is like. A kind of Russian roulette.
The gym was built in a separated section of the base as a recreation zone. The windows were deemed important for the sanity of the inhabitants, so the risk was accepted. Don't get me wrong, you couldn't get through those multi-layered, space-rated windows with a bazooka, but a basketball sized meteoroid traveling at thousands of kilometers per hour? That would come through that window like it was rice paper. The rec center was connected to the base by a tube corridor which was able to function as an air lock, just in case anything happened to the windows.
So being in the rec area was supposedly a slightly higher risk, but it was worth it, looking out at the vastness of the Milky Way, the large gibbous globe of the Earth hanging just above the horizon on this particular day, and the peculiar lunar landscape underneath it all, eerily lit by starlight and the diminutive reflection from a mostly darkened Earth.
I normally warmed up on the bike. Today it was going to be a challenge, but the captain made me promise to do a "full" workout, so I couldn't skip it.
I wasn't a real gym junkie. I mean, to give you an idea, I was wearing the same outfit from earlier. I brought active wear with me to the Moon, but I had been eschewing it because it was less "accessible" if one of the guys passed me in a corridor and wanted a quickie. Besides, I had all this other nice flirty stuff. Why not enjoy it?
I put a towel on the bike seat. Normally, I just wiped the equipment down after, but today I predicted there could be... additional factors to consider.
After setting some modest initial resistance on the bike's programming, I started peddling.
Oh, man.
The motion of my legs alternately pumping the pedals was probably rolling the balls against each other or something. They more or less constantly vibrated with that motion. Combined with their bulk and their weight, it was impossible to not think constantly about them as I pedaled and they sang out their delicious vibrating siren song, luring my credulous, enraptured flesh to its doom.
I always set myself a challenge on the bike that was 10 kilometers, with a 100 meter incline overall (the resistance being designed to simulate Earth gravity, not Moon). I didn't have a time limit, so sometimes it was a gentle ride taking as long as 45 minutes, but I knew I couldn't last that long under these conditions. I didn't know what was going to happen, but these balls were going to drive me crazy before that. I picked up the pace.
Of course, this only amplified the awful, incredible sensation tide that just kept thrumming away inside me. It took all my concentration just to watch the numbers counting down on the bike's display, and to try to think of the burn I was starting to feel in my thighs to distract from the indecent, uncontrollable swelling of erotic power in my lower abdomen.
I finished the program in just over twenty minutes. I was awash with sweat, breathing hard, and my thighs were shaking and twitching as I continued to let them spin idly on the pedals until they settled down.
My inner core was a blazing inferno of arousal and yearning. I didn't know how long I could tolerate it. I recalled my family cat when I was growing up, when she went in heat. I had watched her writhing, rubbing herself up against anything and everything, and yowling with such a plaintive cry, desperate for some of that tomcat loving that her instinct told her to crave, even to the edge of madness. At the time, as an impressionable adolescent, I intellectually knew what I was watching, but couldn't really relate to the intensity of it. Now, in the gym, after my frenzied ride, I recalled her travails. A pang of belated empathy rose up in me, recognizing the awful sweet torture of denial she was enduring back then. Poor little thing!
When I finally slid off the bike, I was certainly grateful for the low gravity. My legs were still quivering, and I didn't know if it was the exertion or the arousal, but either way, it would have made standing upright very difficult in full gravity.
I persevered in similar ways, but with varying amounts of interference from my foreign, frisky, freeloading fornicators, as I moved around the equipment. Work on my arms with resistance bands was the easiest to complete without too much distraction, but when it came to the leg exercises, I almost failed entirely. If the captain hadn't made me commit to a full workout I certainly would have ended up skipping leg day!
Weights are less useful on the Moon. They're ok for when you're swinging them around, like hand weights for punching and so forth, but for actual dead lifting, the low gravity means you would need weights six times the size. For the men, that would involve weights approaching half a ton! So instead, we had a machine that would use electromagnets to produce variable resistance. I was using that machine to do my squats, but the physical action was like a perfect storm for the bawdy balls to weave their wicked wand over my awakened abdomen.
I was barely half way through my routine, straining to retain my control, fighting desperately against the overwhelming sexual waves of demanding pleasure, when I suddenly, unexpectedly, burst into tears. They were tears of frustration. I was frustrated both that I couldn't concentrate on getting through my workout, and also frustrated by my now roaring, unsated carnal need. And those balls just kept cranking it up, and up, and ever further up.
Fortunately, the weeping acted as a little bit of a pressure release. The pent up pressure of shameless want was beyond anything I had experienced, but while I was crying, I could at least gather enough of my concentration to continue my workout. I must have looked a sight, as I blubbered and wept my way through my program.
Eventually, finally, after just over an hour, which is record time for me, I had completed all of my workout elements. I was in terrible shape though. Far more than normal, I was drenched in perspiration. It wasn't just from the physical exertion, but also the strain of having to maintain focus in such arduous (or 'ardorous'...? Is that a word?) conditions.
I made sure to take extra care in wiping down the equipment, certain that my libidinous sex organ had been indecently overactive, producing lubrication for an anticipated sexual experience which, to its incredulous incomprehension, was thus far denied. Once that was done, I picked up my almost spent water bottle, and headed gingerly back towards the captain's office.
My body was on a hair trigger. The furnace of sexual need was glowing brightly, and prone to react to the slightest provocation. Such provocation was, of course, exactly what those recalcitrant balls were determined to supply. No matter how slowly I moved, and how smooth I tried to make my gait, the fire in my loins, stoked repeatedly by those tenacious toys, endlessly leapt upwards into my throat, eliciting whimpers of unrequited lust.
