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A Lunar Girl

By Flatfish

Jemma’s skimmer shot over the surface of the moon like a bullet. Living on the Moon is great, she thought gleefully. She had passed her driving test shortly before leaving earth when her family moved to Armstrong for her dad’s new job.  Then just after arriving at the lunar city her dad had presented her with her very own sports craft. She had strict instructions of course not to leave the city. The vehicle had been space worthy in its day but Dad wanted to be sure that Jemma would stay within the pressurised atmosphere of the city dome. He also knew his daughter was a free spirit and he needed to be sure she would be bound by the city speed limits.

Jemma, however, was eighteen years old and obedience had never been her strong suite. She limited herself to the city for the first few days as instructed but she longed to know what the skimmer could really do. Skimming through the streets of Armstrong, as she did most days, she was exploring the outer suburbs and she came across air lock 7, a vehicle exit point. The temptation was just too great. She dashed home and grabbed her life suit and helmet then bubbling with excitement, she returned to the airlock, swiped her licence at the exit point and flew out into the Moon’s deadly void.

She laughed with delight at the ease with which the vehicle wove its way between rocky ridges and dust filled craters. It was so much faster than the one she’d driven on Earth. With no atmosphere and only a sixth the gravity of the home world, the lunar environment turned the old worn-out skimmer into a Ferrari. She pulled back on the steering column and ascended to a height where she could fly flat out. Then, with eyes sparkling, she pressed the pedal to the floor and felt the thrill of acceleration as she was pushed back into her seat.

The landscape beneath the skimmer blurred. Armstrong was soon left behind and the lights of Aldrin came and disappeared behind her in a flash. When Collins town came into view she should have known she was in trouble. If she had only taken the trouble to listen at the lunar orientation classes she would have known she was dangerously close to the frontier. Another few minutes and she would be crossing into the lawless territory of Far-Side.

In the hour that had passed since Jemma left the safety of Armstrong she hadn’t noticed the persistent flickering warning light on the dashboard. She was just considering swinging around to head home when the skimmer’s engines started to cough. Power dropped off rapidly and to Jemma’s horror she started to lose height. As she dropped towards the hazard filled rocky landscape she had had to hit the retros to slow her forward velocity but it was too little too late and with a final shudder the engines died and she dropped the last ten feet into a dustbowl and ploughed a course for half a mile across the floor of the crater before she finally came to rest in a cloud of dirt and smoke.

Trembling and crying, she pressed the communication button on her figure hugging life suit and tried to call her dad. It was no use. Communication between the city of Armstrong and the thinly scattered settlements of Far-Side was none-existent. She was lost, stranded and alone.

Or at least, she thought she was alone.

Suddenly something banged against the skimmer and a gloved hand brushed at the dust piled on the windscreen.  As the outside world became visible Jemma realised that a group of men had appeared and were gathering around the vehicle. She was terrified but she knew she couldn’t stay where she was. To do so would mean a slow and horrible death when the skimmer’s power cells failed and the oxygen cycler and heaters stopped leaving her to suffocate or freeze. Worse still if she survived the three earth days until the next lunar sunrise she could be cooked by the blazing heat of the rising sun. It was clear that her only chance was to leave the vehicle and hope the men outside would help her.

Jemma put on her helmet, locked it in place and ran her suit’s safety diagnostics. Then she depressurised the cabin and hit the button to flip open the door. As she started to climb out of the vehicle a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her violently forward. She cried out but her voice couldn’t be heard in the airless wilderness. Her assailant wrapped an arm around her thighs and lifted her off her feet. She was flung over a shoulder and carried kicking and struggling towards the dull lights of a nearby settlement.

Prospect 17 was a ramshackle collection of unkempt living quarters housed under a dusty survival dome. It was home to a mining family. The three men and one woman that made up the community had lived for years with their only outside contact being the delivery and collection bots that transported their ore and brought supplies.

Jemma was carried inside to a dimly lit room and thrown onto a single bed. She twisted off her helmet and shook her long blond hair free.

“Where the hell am I?” she demanded.

The man who’d carried her in pulled off his helmet and grinned. She was sickened to see his yellow teeth and smell his foul breath. She couldn’t guess at his age but she had the feeling he looked older than he really was. He seemed quite strong and she felt that a hard life and a lack of personal hygiene had taken an excessively heavy toll.

“You’re at Prospect 17,” he laughed, “and you’re just what we need.”

A large woman barged past the man, pushing her way into the room.  “Git that suit off girl. The old man wants to see you.”

“I’m not taking my life suit off,” Jemma answered. “I just need someone to fly me back to Armstrong so I can arrange for my skimmer to be picked up.”

The woman laughed contemptuously and sneered. “You’re not going back to Armstrong girl. You’re going to be staying right here. Now git that suit off before I rip it off.”

Jemma knew that ripping a life suit with bare hands was impossible, but she had no doubt that the woman and the smelly male could strip it off her and they wouldn’t be gentle. She started to unfasten it. “W… what do you mean, I’ll be staying here? How long for? I…I’ve got to get home.”

“The old man will tell you everything you need to know,” the woman answered. “All you need to know now is if you don’t do as I say you’ll be sorry.”

Jemma peeled away the life suit revealing the usual thin inner clothes, tight shorts, clinging cropped top and ankle socks. The old woman gave her an appraising look and grinned.

“Oh yes,” she said, “you’ll do very nicely.”

As Jemma stepped out of the suit the woman grabbed her arm, pulled her forward and landed a hearty smack on her bottom that made her yelp and propelled her through the doorway. She was sent scuttling down a short corridor. At the end she came to a slide door. The woman reached passed her and hit a green button at the side. There was a slight hiss as the door seals released and the door slipped open revealing a dingy room.

A scruffy, skinny, man sat at a table, facing the door. A younger man sat on a chair to the side. At first Jemma thought it was the same guy that had carried her in after the crash, but a stink behind her soon made it clear that this was a different person, maybe a twin. Stinky pushed past her and took a seat opposite his brother. The woman came in behind Jemma and jabbed her in the back making her totter forwards towards the table.

“I’m Jeb Hasslet,” the old man announced, “and this is my claim. You’ve met my wife and these are my boys. We’ve been mining here for five years.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” Jemma demanded.

“Let me explain your situation,” said Jeb. “You crashed on my claim. Your skimmer is now mine by the laws of salvage. And as for you, you’re mine by the same laws. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for us. We salvaged you from that wreckage.”

“Y…you can’t salvage a person,” Jemma protested. “I need to get back to Armstrong. My family will be wondering where I am.”

“You sure are a pretty young thing,” Jeb leered. “So nobody knows you’re here eh? That’s good. You’re going to make a fine wife for my boys.”

“Wife?” A lead weight dropped in Jemma’s stomach. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not marrying anyone let alone one of these…,” she struggled for a fitting description, “these animals.”

The boys looked insulted and Jeb’s expression turned to anger. “Sam, Jim, I think your wife needs to learn some manners,” he said. “Are you going to take care of it or do want Ma to do it for ya?

The boys scrambled eagerly to their feet.

“I’ll deal with her,” said Sam, “I’m the oldest.”

“Only by minute’s,” argued Jim, “and she’s my wife too.”

“You can both deal with her,” said Jeb. “I recon she needs it.”

Jemma had no idea what the boys were planning but as they came towards her she started to back away. Then a hand stopped her. “Not so fast honey,” said Ma, “looks like you’re in for a whuppin.”

Sam was first to grab Jemma. He took a grip of her wrist and towed her back to his chair.

“No! Let… me… go!” she screamed.

Even with the Moon’s low gravity to ease the burden of working in the mine, Sam’s muscles were hard as iron and it took no effort to pull Jemma to his chair and wrestle her over his knee. He locked her in place with his left hand over her waist and he stroked the soft round cheeks of her bottom with his right. Jemma had never been over anyone’s knee. Spanking had been outlawed in Europe, where she’d lived on Earth, years before she was born. But on the Moon it was still lawful, not that Jeb’s family cared much for the law anyway.

Jemma flailed her arms and kicked her feet frantically but she couldn’t wriggle free. When Sam’s hand smacked loudly against her bottom raising an unbearable sting her cursing and protesting rapidly turned to yelping and crying. Sam was determined to impress his dad and outshine his brother so he laid into Jemma with as much vigour and strength as he could muster. Jemma howled and bawled but it did no good. The spanking was long and merciless and her thin shorts offered little protection.

Sam finally released his grip on Jemma and pulled her up off his knee. She paced the room holding her bottom, crying and cursing.

“Are ya going to apologise,” asked Jeb, “and show some proper respect and gratitude for us saving your life?”

“Go to Hell!” cried Jemma.

“Ok,” said Jeb, “if that’s the way ya want it. Jim, looks like you’re going to have to bring her in line.”

“Oh my God, no!” wailed Jemma backing away from Jim. Her bottom was way too sore to face another spanking.

She turned to run but she didn’t get far before Jim caught hold of her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. He carried her over to his chair and swung her over his knee.

“Let me show you where you want wrong Sam,” he said grabbing the waistband of Jemma’s shorts and dragging them over her bottom. Jemma fought. She tried in vain to hold onto the skimpy pants but Jim prized her grip free and yanked them down her thighs. He held her down with both hands and admired the blazing red of her sore cheeks. He glanced across at his brother. “You did a fine job Sam, but I can do better.”

“Maybe you should use this Jim,” said Ma. She held up her old hairbrush.

“Yeah, throw it over Ma.”

Ma tossed the hairbrush over and Jemma watched in horror as it spun towards her in a gentle arc. Jim caught it by the handle, swung it back and brought it down with a resounding thwack on Jemma’s naked bottom. With her cheeks already severely scorched, Jemma’s rear felt like it had been stung by a swarm of bees. She yelled herself hoarse but Jim’s fast and furious paddling was relentless.

When Jim let her go, Jemma slipped to the floor and bawled, clutching her bottom. Jim hauled her to her feet and she struggled to pull up her shorts. “Now,” he said, “you’re going to apologise.”

Jemma was about to tearfully comply when the whole complex shook. The family looked panic stricken. “What the fuck was that,” said Jeb. “We aint expecting a delivery.” He didn’t have time to say anything else before the door to the room slid open and an attractive woman stepped inside wearing a life suit. She carried a portable industrial laser and she pointed it at Jim.

“Let go of my daughter,” she said, “before I slice you in two.”

“Mum?” said Jemma. “Oh thank God! How did you find me?”

“We’ll talk later,” said Jemma’s mother. “Get your life suit on. We’re getting out of here.”

Jemma’s dad arrived a second later carrying her suit. He was accompanied by a police officer from Armstrong.

Five minutes later Jemma and her parents were taking off in the police skimmer, leaving  Prospect 17 and it’s unpleasant inhabitants cursing and arguing far behind.

“All vehicles leaving the city are tracked,” explained the officer to Jemma. “The alarm was raised when your skimmer dropped off the radar. We were able to track where you crossed over to Far-Side and then we picked up the beacon from your skimmer. You’re in big trouble young lady. There’s a five thousand credit fine for crossing the border without a permit.”

“Five thousand?” cried Jemma.

“You’re going to be paying that back for a long time,” said Jemma’s mother, “and that’s not all. After all the worry you’ve caused you’re going to be grounded for the next three months.”

“Three months?” wailed Jemma. “Mum please…, Dad, say something.”

“Jemma,” said her father, “you have disobeyed me and your mum many times over the years, but this time you’ve gone way too far. It’s long overdue but so help me, when we get home I am going to put you across my knee and spank you until you can’t sit down for a week.”

Jemma shuffled uncomfortably on her sore bottom. I’ve lost my skimmer, she thought, I’m facing a massive fine, I’m grounded like forever, my arse is stinging and my dad’s going to spank me when I get home. Can this day get any worse?

Maybe living on the Moon isn’t so great after all.

 

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