Fucking Abraham Before the Launch: Raw Heat in the Albert Einstein

Deep in the Albert Einstein module, buried under lunar rock, my phone buzzed—Cap Com nagging about prep. Ignored it. Heart pounding from days of flirty chats with Abraham. Skinny Israeli fucker, all bones and fire. We’d eyed each other during sims, tension building like the Clef’s hum in our skulls. No time for bullshit. Countdown ticking. I sat cross-legged on the plastified floor, lower deck, away from prying cams. Sniffed a fat line of coke off my wrist. Burned perfect, sharpened everything. Door hissed—Abraham stormed down the ladder, pissed. ‘What the fuck, Bettina? Launch in minutes.’ His voice rough, eyes wild behind that introvert scowl.

I smirked, wiped my nose. ‘Fuck the caissons. You know this might be it.’ Pulled my scarf over the camera lens. Blackout for Luna’s pervs. He glanced at the clock—five minutes. Rage twisted his face, but his dick twitched in his jumpsuit. Days of screens, dirty texts: ‘Bet you’d ride me raw.’ Now real. Adrenaline spiked. No dinner, no drinks. Straight to it. I grabbed his shirt, yanked him close. ‘Shut up and fuck me, Stern.’ Our mouths crashed, tongues sloppy, tasting salt and fear. His hands clawed my tits through fabric. Clock beeped: four minutes. No foreplay. Urgency electric.

The Approach

He growled, ‘Crazy bitch.’ Pushed me back, but I hooked legs around his waist. Fabric ripped—my top gone. Nipples hard from cold air, coke rush. His scent hit: sweat, metal, cheap cologne mixing with my perfume—musky vanilla, finally real after pixels. Phone vibrated again. Charles yapping. Muted it. ‘They’re watching vitals,’ he muttered, palming my shaved pussy. Wet already. Fingers slid in rough. I moaned, ‘Harder, asshole. Make it count.’ Three minutes. We stripped frantic—his cock sprang free, veiny, average but throbbing. Mine smooth, thighs muscled from training. Naked, feral. Pressed against him, felt his heartbeat hammer.

Two minutes. I shoved him down, straddled. ‘Gonna fuck you into history.’ Guided his dick in—stretching, filling raw. No condom, no lube needed. Slid down, balls deep. Groaned loud. He gripped hips, bruising. ‘Take it, slut.’ Thrust up savage. Pounding echoed in tight space. Sweat slicked skin, coke made nerves scream. Tits bounced, his thumbs pinched nipples. ‘Fuck, your pussy’s tight,’ he grunted. I rode hard, grinding clit on his pubes. One minute. Grunts, slaps of flesh, my ass smacking thighs. Phone buzzed wild now. ‘Faster, cum in me!’ Dirty words fueled it. His eyes rolled, ‘Gonna fill you, whore.’

The Explosion

Ten seconds. I clenched, orgasm building tsunami. He bucked, cursing Christ. Nine, eight… Nails dug his chest. Seven, six… Pussy spasmed, waves crashing. Five, four… He roared, hot cum jetting deep. Three, two… Pleasure exploded, vision white. One… We screamed together, bodies locked. Then—nothing. Blast of light, minds merging Carl’s ancient memories. Mountains, white sun, forgotten wars. Euphoria, terror. Body dissolved to mist. Launched into void.

Calm after. Or end? Drifted, sated, alien again. Abraham? Stranger now. Eyes met once—cold nod. Back to mission. No afterglow cuddles. Just fucked and forgotten. Phone silent. I pulled scarf off cam, wiped cum from thighs. Slid into seat, anonymous once more. Stars waited. No strings, pure hit.