Lyndon’s Worries

Lyndon Carson was alone in the Greenland botany hall, planting seedlings. He held a snap pea in his hand, admiring the hue of the waxy flesh, then crunching on it with satisfaction. They can afford one less snap pea he chuckled to himself. Beside that was his crop of squash. Hardy, big vegetables that will keep for ages, even if the crew was less excited about them, he was. He just hoped whoever was in charge of cooking them could treat them with the care they deserve. Squash, he thought, can be shit if done wrong.

The long hall ran parallel to the mess hall and comprised half the square footage of the whole station. This room, like every other, was a duplicate to the one being built on Mars. The material was spartan, reflecting the fact every gram of cargo had to be sent from Mars. Safety grip metal flooring, and aluminum wall panels with frequent access doors, all painted white. His foot falls made hollow clunks as he walked.

Happy as he was among the plants, or plants-to-be, doubts grew in his mind. He was one of the foremost biodome botanists on Earth, the best in his opinion. His experiments showed they could last five years without sustainment in Greenland with just what he had on hand. Now it was time he put practice into action. He had so many ideas. With the Europeans late, the mission was off to a rocky start, literally before they even got off the ground. They needed leadership and right now, otherwise they’d be on the backfoot for the entire mission. He’d taken charge and started things, but this new guy might show up. The thought sickened him. Lyndon knew he was the best, and thus any interference would endanger this mission. He needed to talk to Tara to explain the danger. For God’s sake, we’re talking about starvation, scurvy, and **** he thought. Putting the Kraut Schwartz in charge? That old fool.

The door opened with a squeak. They were airtight, like most were, and heavy enough to need a shove to open.

“Sup Lyn,” asked Sam Hayden, walking slowly into the room, squinting in the harsh light of the grow lamps.

“Oh hey Sam, nothing. Just getting the seedlings ready. You’re going to the gym,” he asked, noticing the workout gear Sam was wearing.

“Yeah, want to come?”

“No, I’ve got some stuff…” he trailed off. Sam frowned.

“You good Lyn?”

“I’m annoyed bro,” he said, words spilling out as fast as he could think. “I’m planning this first crop alone cuz the Euros are late, and I don’t even know if I’ll be playing second fiddle once they get here.”

“What’s the worst case if you are though man,” he asked earnestly, “it’s not forever, it could change when we arrive and, like, I dunno, even if you are is that all that bad?” Carson felt derision for this puppy-like innocence. It annoyed him.

“We all starve to ****. Food Sam, it’s a whole thing.”

“I know, I know, but it ain’t like the other guy isn’t going to grow… I’m just saying, it’ll probably be fine. Besides, what can you do about it from here? You gonna seduce your way to the top,” he added, chuckling.

“Not the worst idea I’ve heard Sam, Tara’s a nice piece of ass.”

“Bruuuh haha! It’s true but like…” he trailed off.

“Dunno what she’s doing in this cold shithole,” Carson continued, chuckling, “she could be a model anywhere else.” Hayden nodded along but didn’t comment. Carson thought about Tara’s body in the one-piece white mission suit she wore. His mind wandered to the last time he saw her; her round butt wiggle a little as she walked.

“Lost in the sauce?” Lyndon snapped out of his smutty daydream, noticing Sam’s bemused expression on his face.

“Sorry man, I’m really distracted. Gotta get these seedlings going,” he added, walking over to the next hydroponic section.

“All good bro, I’m going to the Fortress of Swoleatude. See you in a bit,” he said, leaving. Carson liked Sam Hayden. His easy demeanor matched his professionalism, and besides, he spoke the same language as Carson; the language of science, and dudes. Carson went back to work on his plants. It’d be different on Mars he told himself; he’ll have had nine months to start the crops for Mars while in transit. If he planned right, they’d be ready to harvest as soon as they got established. Still, doubts nagged at him. Whatever knowledge the Kraut may possess, he, Lyndon knew his own skills. Could he entrust the most important phase of his life’s work to a stranger?

“This isn’t ambition this is about survival damnit,” he muttered aloud. Outside, the wind howled and pressed against the walls, making them creak. He suddenly felt very alone. His pent-up energy made him feel like he had cabin fever already. He fiddled with his intercom for a little while, it being similar to a phone, yet perpetually offline. No updates, no news. Just the storm.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, “I need a woman.” He thought about the bevy of assistants and ‘helpers’ he had in his biodome experiments. The treated him like a kind of celebrity, and it took simply telling them what he wanted to get them into his bed. He loved the feeling of power almost as much as the sex. The knowledge that he could look at one of them, tell her to get on her knees for him, and that she would, made him feel ten feet tall. Maybe he loved it more than the sex, he thought idly.

Carson decided to go talk to Tara. He wasn’t going to outright say that he should be in charge, but he resolved to act like it, to give a status update as if he was. It was a good plan he thought; professional and organized.

“Plus I’d better make nice to Tara about the Eurotrash thing, even if they are. Late Eurotrash at that,” he muttered to himself. “Where is the Canadian,” he asked himself rhetorically, as he worked. “Sheldon or whatever. Not a Euro but somehow also late.”

Not being in charge bothered Carson. He knew himself to be a type A personality, and he hated the feeling of subordination. Working for someone out there on Mars was scarier than the liftoff, flight, landing and potential of starvation all combined. As he moved through the bay, Carson tended to each of the seedlings with care. Some of the plants had been established a month earlier, an attempt to simulate the rations he’d be growing on the way, but most were still babies. Without pollinator insects established, he’d soon be going around to each plant, manually pollinating each flower. Or at least, the others would be when they got here. He hoped he could delegate that task. He washed the fertilizer off his hands and adjusted his green jumpsuit to look proper. Then, feeling properly squared away, he left the Botany Hall to go find Tara.

His first stop, across the mess hall, was the gym. It wasn’t large, being designed for twelve residents. Inside, Colby Smith and Sam Hayden were working out separately. Carson’s eyes fell upon Smith as she finished a set on the rowing machine. She was wearing a white singlet with black booty shorts that clung to her ass cheeks with each rep on the machine. Sweat ran down her back, making her sports bra strap visible through the material. Her curly black hair shone with sweat. With each rep, she let out a sigh, making Carson wonder if that’s what she sounded like when getting fucked. He found himself getting jealous of Hayden who he assumed must be thinking the same thing. When she leaned forward with each rep, her big soft tits jiggled in her sports bra. The shower room next door was co-ed. He seriously considered doing a quick workout so he could get a sight of Smith in the showers but dismissed the idea. There would be time for such… pleasures, later. Lots of time.

Getting to eye-bang Colby wasn’t his only reason to be a little jealous of Sam Hayden. As he stood by the pull up bar between sets, Carson couldn’t help but notice his muscular form and chisel jaw. At 29, the New Yorker was the youngest guy in the science team. On such a small team, he’d be unwelcome competition for the women Carson thought. He was glad he wouldn’t be working directly with him. Carson wandered out of the gym, but not before getting another quick peak at Colby’s round, shapely arse as she did squats. The mess hall was empty and silent but for the wind. He was already dreading the cooking. Nobody, he thought, cooked vegetarian like he does. One more thing he would have to do himself, probably. Next up, to check the residential wing. Each mission member had their own voice activated smart apartment; custom designed for each inhabitant. The screen on the entrance of the wing showed a small room map.

“Is Mission Commander Dayton home,” he asked the screen.

“Commander Dayton is working in the science lab Mr. Hayden,” came the crisp female voice of the machine. He grunted a non-descript reply and left. The science lab was a three-office arrangement with a central common area for experiments.

“Of course the nerds get their own offices,” he grumbled, sliding the door closed behind him. He did have his own workstation of course, but amongst the plants, it was hardly private. He resented the fact he didn’t seem to rate even an office. The laboratory door was a little ajar, and he shoved it open slowly. Then he heard something; a sigh. Dayton? He didn’t see her, but her office door was ajar. He approached slowly, quietly, his uniform footwear making a nearly no sound on the metal flooring.

Then he heard a moan, a deeply sexual moan, and he felt his heart hammering in his chest. Carson looked in the crack of the door, keeping his distance to not attract attention. Tara Dayton was inside sitting at her desk, her white jumpsuit wide open, her hand working furiously under it. He couldn’t see what she was watching on her computer.

“Ho-lee-fuck,” Carson gasped under his breath. He slunk behind one of the lab desks, not taking his eyes off the spectacle. As he watched, Dayton’s other hand pushed her singlet up and exposed her tits. They looked perfect and round. Her long blonde hair fell messily around her exposed body. Her free hand tweaked her nipple, and he could see even from this distance they were hard and pointy.

“Ohhh yeah… Fuck… Mmmm,” she moaned, her hand now fully thrusting into herself under her jumpsuit. Even from this distance, Carson could hear the wet sounds of her fingers in her twat. His cock bulged, fully erect under his pants. He thought about whipping it out, but figured he’d get caught, and refrained. Instead he pulled out his intercom and started filming like it was a phone. This may be useful for later, he thought maliciously. It felt wrong, like a violation, yet he loved the feelings of power it gave him. His cock twitched in his underwear.

“AaaaAAAAAHHH, fuuuuck,” Dayton cried out, her body vibrating in the office chair, her back lifting from the seat. Her face contorted with the beautiful agony of orgasm. It seemed to Carson that she was making zero effort to hide what she was doing. She relaxed her body back into her chair, and Carson thought it was time to go, before afterglow made her look around. He put away the intercom and snuck out. As he left, he gave one last peek, and he saw her slowly lick her cum from her shining fingers.

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped as he walked back to the crew quarters. His boss was a smoke show, and a dirty one at that. His hardon bobbed uncomfortably in his underwear. He’d fantasized about this since he first saw her. He thought about all the things he would do to her if he could. Visions of fucking her, hearing those moans while she took his cock, drove him wild.

He got back to his room and laid on the bed. He unzipped and started to stroke himself, his cock already rock hard. He started thinking about Tara, her fingers buried in her tight little snatch. He pulled out the intercom and started playing the video, leaning the intercom against the nightstand.

The video was only ten seconds, but it looped great, Tara her tits out, cumming on her fingers. Short as the video was, he didn’t see it more than a few times before he grunted and blew his load all over his stomach and hand to the sound of Tara’s cries of ecstasy. He collapsed back in the bed, and looked at the video still running, when he noticed something: right in the middle of the video, Tara looked right at him for a brief second, then orgasmed. An icy pool of dread appeared in the pit of his stomach.

Did she know? Did she cum because he was watching? Or because she knew in that instant, she could kick him the fuck out of the mission? His mind raced. It wasn’t shame he felt for filming his boss masturbating, but fear. Fear that he’d blown it before it even started, fear that his dream just died for ten seconds of smut.