Tevun-Krus #59 - SpacePunk

All in a Dave's Work - A Short Story by @MadMikeMarsbergen

1

Earth had finally done it, had finally neared an Earthlike world positioned in the Goldilocks Zone of a nearby star system. The Vita Nova, the ship travelling to such a place, would reach GM-2871 within four hours. Surface gravity had been determined to be slightly less than that on Earth, and GM-2871 was roughly the same size but comprised of far more continents. The planet was surrounded by a thin ring of rocky debris surely suitable for mining, and even the orbiting moon looked like a rather promising venture. Time would tell whether such a journey would prove to be a fruitful capstone on an age of humanity, whether it would usher Earth into a new era of extraterrestrial life.

The crew of the Vita Nova was a mixed bag of thoughts and emotions. Some were cynical about the voyage, while others waxed philosophical on the potential consequences.

But don't take my word for it—see for yourself.

2

i

"Does this pose make my ass look fat?" Betty asked Veronica as she bent over in a way that was certain to offend those flat-chested, board-assed women who couldn't tolerate a well-endowed girl comfortable with her own rockin' body. Her suit lay in a heap below her toned, gap-free thighs, and she only wore a sports bra and an uncomfortable pair of skin-tight, crotch-riding undies. At the same time, she texted her boyfriend Rodney, who was trapped on Earth with a lifetime supply of tissues and a shipping container of industrial-grade lubricant, counting down the days until he would bang her.

Slurping vodka through a straw as she stepped into her spacesuit (adorned with a Canadian flag on the shoulder), Veronica took a good long look at Betty's booty and felt the nipples of her enormous sports-bra-smothered breasts harden. "Girl, your ass makes your ass look fat." She gave it a good spank and watched it ripple. "Damn!"

"Could you be serious for a sec?" Betty asked, still bent over for some reason. "That's all I'm asking. Jesus, Veron! You're always cracking jokes and making crude comments about me, and I'm asking you for some serious advice. I don't want a spanking—not right now. I want your opinion as a strong, independent woman." Her thumbs moved nearly at the speed of light as she finished off the text to Rodney. She wanted to know his opinion on her latest four-hundred-page thesis about the possibility that extraterrestrials built the Giza pyramids. Thanks to the phenomenal advances in interstellar WiFi, they could communicate anywhere, anytime.

"What's the problem, girl?" Veronica zipped her suit to her chin and examined herself. Unsatisfied, she unzipped the suit to her bellybutton and spread the material so her enormous breasts were hanging out, barely contained by their sports-bra prison of the patriarchy. She nodded and tried on her helmet, making sure the seal was tight.

"I've been sexting Rodney lately, and I've been feeling... I dunno, self-conscious about my ass. He says he loves it, but, y'know how guys are. Does he really love it? Or is he just lying to make me feel better..."

"Girl, if Jughead don't like that booty"—she snapped her fingers—"bitch, I'll gladly take it. Mhm. That's for damn sure."

"Don't call him Jughead... You know I hate it. You don't see me calling Archie 'Spotted Dick.'"

"Feel free to call him 'Freckle-Cock' for all I care," Veronica told her, removing the helmet and peeling off the suit. "Ain't nothin' wrong with the truth, girl, and the truth is: Dat ass be a round mound. Fo' damn sho'."