by Ella Ford
I came easily that first time with Sarah in control, as did CJ. Our bodies releasing themselves to the deluge of ecstasy that washed over us and threatened to engulf us. But it wasn’t the last time I came that night, each agonizingly overwhelming orgasm better than the last, strengthening the tested bonds between the three of us.
In time, we struggled up the stairs to bed. Bodies wasted and spent, exhausted by the hours of pleasure and pain, we collapsed together, naked limbs tangled together, cooling skin slick with drying perspiration. Sleep came, and with it, contentment, the sense that things were right again.
Because everything changes, but some things are constant. I began by submitting to CJ, but that changed, and I now submit to Sarah. The circumstances of my possession are different, but the constant of my obedience remains. For I was born to this, born to be a maid, born to serve.
THE END
Lesbian Invaders From Space
by Ella Ford
Chapter 1: Arrival
Growing up in a town like Sycamore Falls, Oregon could make you believe that the universe was a pretty small place, all things considered. It was the kind of place that felt fast-paced if you got served a milkshake at Ed’s Diner in less than a half hour, or if your mail worked its way through the municipal post office in under a week and didn’t become a matter of public record thanks to Sherilyn Coombs and her uncanny ability to identify the origin of postmarks! With a population of less than a thousand people, the options for adventure were few and far between.
At least, for most of the year.
For the summer months though, our tiny town came alive. From midnight on memorial day to midnight on labor day, each and every year, the place became a magnet for tourists, flocking in from San Francisco and Portland to see the picturesque waterfalls that gave the town its name. Thousands of them, filling the motels and campgrounds with their rented RVs and overloaded station wagons; stampeding herds of city kids, driven to acts of boredom-inspired maliciousness by the simple fact of not being in Disney World or Six Flags or at home with their Nintendos. Obnoxious and loud, they nevertheless brought our sleepy town to life for the hot summer months, inoculating us with novelty and the vacation dollars that helped us survive the long fall and winter.
I loved Sycamore Falls and hated it in equal measure.
As a little girl growing up here, I’d dreamed of seeing the world, of breaking free from the surly bonds that held people in the town and escaping into the wide world to make my fortune. But places like this have a kind of inertia to them, a stabilizing energy that acts on its subjects and throws obstacles in the way of those who would chance to leave.
My brush with this strange force came in the form of a dumb car accident in high school; a split second of bad luck where a drunk driver pulled out of the turnpike dive bar and clipped the trunk of my dad’s Buick, knocking us into the spin that would take us off the road and into a dry culvert. It was a slow collision and we would have been fine, emerging from the impact with light scratches and a cool story. But the real bad luck for me had yet to play its hand. As it turned out, the seatbelt on the passenger side of the car had a tiny hairline fracture on the locking mechanism that finally gave way as we barrelled to a stop in the shallow ditch, leaving me free to enjoy the mixed blessing of momentum and smash my head on the windshield.
It was touch and go for a brief time. I spent most of the next month in a coma, and the whole of the next year in rehabilitation, figuring out how to do simple things like speaking and eating and walking, and generally falling behind on the whole process of growing up.
But I guess my bad luck got used up that day on the turnpike, and I managed to recover pretty much all of my mobility and mental acumen. By fall of the following year, I suffered little more than an occasional ache in my neck on particularly rainy days.
Nevertheless, the strange gravity of Sycamore Falls had played its part. I never truly caught up with my studies, dropping out as soon as I could and promising myself, with as much sincerity as a nineteen year old high school dropout could muster, that I would get my high school equivalency just as soon as I had the money and time. But I never seemed to find either.
By the time the hot and endless summer of 1986 rolled around, the year I found out that the universe was considerably bigger than the claustrophobic city limits of Sycamore Falls, I was twenty two. I was also broke and jobbing for tips in Carly’s Grill, a pokey little cook joint out on Barley Lane. Sometimes, life doesn’t quite work out as you planned.
“Laura sweetie, would ya be a doll and show this one the ropes?” Carly shouted at me from across the crowded diner. I glanced over from the table I was waiting, momentarily distracted from the small troupe of excited tourists who were babbling like hungry chicks waiting to be fed.
“Excuse me please ma’am, I’ll be right back,” I said to the oversized lady in the floral moo-moo and the gaudy golf visor. She muttered something unrepeatable then turned back to her squawking brood and attempted to wrestle a ketchup bottle from one of her obnoxious kids before he squirted it into his sister’s freckled face.
I sighed and dropped my notepad into my apron pocket, pushing my way through the crowded diner towards Carly. I hated summer, especially on days like this. The air was thick and humid, and the temperature had hit ninety five before midday and didn’t look set to drop till October or November. This kind of heat made people turn into assholes, and made them tip like bums.
“Sorry Carly, what did you want?” I said, reaching my stressed looking boss. Carly was late fifties, easily, though she never told anyone her age. She was thin and wiry, with a New York accent and temper to match. Her shocking red hair was store bought and clashed violently with the garish green of her oversized glasses that she claimed made her look like Janine from Ghostbusters. It was a strange look.
But she was a good boss and took care of her girls, ensuring that tips were handed out fairly and that the worst of the asshole tourists, the kind that thought that waitresses were fair game for a hearty slap on the rump, were sent packing without chance of appeal.
“Boy, tough day huh?” she said to me, peering over the top of her glasses. “Say honey, this is… what did you say your name was sugar?” She turned and spoke to a girl standing beside her, an attractive looking blonde with a cheery face and a cute nose.
“Belle ma’am,” said the girl with a smile, “my name is Belle.”
“Sure it is honey, sure it is,” nodded Carly and turned to me, raising her hand to cover her mouth and lowering her voice. “I think she might be from Europe,” she whispered with no subtlety whatsoever. Then she turned back to Belle and mouthed loudly, as if the girl was deaf or simple or both. “Laura here will show you out back. We’ll start you on the washing up, then you can work the tables later if you cope.”
Belle nodded enthusiastically and didn’t seem remotely offended by Carly’s off color treatment. She simply smiled a perfect smile and raised her thumb. “Sure thing, that’s a-okay” she said and I swore there was something strange about her accent. She was definitely not from around here and sounded for all the world like she’d learned how to speak English from a toothpaste commercial.
I stepped over to the girl and touched her arm. “Come on Belle, let’s get you out back and find you an apron. Then I’ll show you what you need to do.”
The girl lowered her thumb and turned to me, fixing me with a stare that I’ll never forget. Her smile had vanished and her expression had become blank and inscrutable. Her eyes flicked up and down, starting at my face and scanning down my body, then back up to my face. The whole thing took two seconds at most, but it seemed like an eternity and I shuddered at how out of place it was. Then her features appeared to animate once more and her perfect smile returned. “Great! Let’s go… Laura!” she said with a perky bounce.
I shook my head and promised myself a long, hot bath when I got home that night. Damned tourist season, it was messing with my head!
Belle took to
the task of washing pots like a natural, needing to be told what to do only once. She nodded, then beamed her vacant smile and set to work. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t rocket science, we weren’t asking her to repair the space shuttle or something. Mostly it was a case of “take dirty plate, make dirty plate clean, stack clean plate”, but you’d be surprised at the number of summer kids that came through Carly’s Grill and got stuck somewhere between steps one and two. It was, if I’m perfectly honest, a blessed relief to finally get one that looked like shoelace tying wouldn’t be too much for her to grasp.
I decided early on, for that reason and others, that I liked Belle. She seemed chirpy and optimistic, and utterly unharried by the frantic bustle of the busy diner.
When eleven o’clock rolled around and our shift ended, she seemed as pristine and perfect as she had all those hours ago. Her short blonde hair had somehow avoided the thick matting layer of grease that the rest of us had acquired and her porcelain skin was pale and unblemished, not blotchy and pink as mine was. As the pair of us walked through the diner to leave, I caught a glimpse of us both in the large picture window up front.
I sighed to myself, wondering what her secret was. I looked as though I’d just spent the evening wrestling a bear; my long honey blonde hair was frizzy and dull, and my eyes looked tired and small. While Belle seemed like she’d just taken a hot shower and slept for twelve hours, still beaming that perfect smile and looking for all the world like the perfect American gal. Damn her.
“G’night girls,” shouted Carly from the cash register, “same time day after tomorrow, yeah?” she drawled. She pronounced “tomorrow” as “tomorra”, and sounded decidedly out of place in smalltown Oregon.
“Sure Carly, see ya!” I shouted back and stepped out into the night with Belle.
“Say, you heading back into town Belle?” I said, secretly hoping that the unflappable blonde would have an equally perfect car to drive us the mile or so back downtown so I wouldn’t have to persuade my aching legs to give me half an hour of extra effort. My own car - a battered old Hyundai that my dad seemed to think represented a beachhead for the invading Japanese - was in the shop. It was touch and go whether it would be recoverable enough to persevere with or if it would be kinder to all involved to take it out back and give it the Old Yeller treatment.
“Yes. I have lodgings in town. Shall we walk?” she said, uttering the longest sentence I’d yet heard her speak. Her words were clear and robotic, and I was struck, not for the first time that day, that she sounded as though she was imitating how she expected a person to speak.
I sighed, resigning myself to the long walk, and we set off down William’s Hill towards town, ambling down the darkened road in silence, enjoying the reassuring chorus of the summer insects.
Luckily, the night was refreshingly cool, with a light breeze and full moon. A welcome relief from the oppressive heat of the day. The pair of us were wearing identical powder pink shift dresses and simple white sneakers, and the gentle wind caused the thin material of our clothes to hug our legs and hips. I found myself feeling relaxed and thoughtful, enjoying the slow walk with Belle.
“So, how did you end up working at Carly’s?” I asked her, suddenly intrigued by the strange girl.
She paused and scrunched up her pretty nose in concentration briefly, an affectation that made it appear that she was formulating the correct answer. “I saw a request for help in your… news paper,” she finally responded. She pronounced newspaper just like that. News. Paper. Two words.
“The Sycamore Bugle?” I replied, relishing the chance to make small talk with her and try to guess where her curiously featureless accent was from.
“Yes, the Bugle. Where I am from, we do not have such things,” she blinked.
I slowed down and turned to her. “Where are you from Belle?” I asked, thinking that there was something decidedly strange about the girl and desperate to get to the bottom of the mystery.
She looked at me and smirked, a strange expression that appeared dreamy and distant. “Far away,” she breathed, and I got the sense that she was about to add something more, but the moment passed and she shrugged, then turned back to the road and set off walking again.
After half a mile, the dark country road took us around Pineview Bluff, a sharp bend where the road dropped into a steep incline that led eventually to Main Street. We followed the sidewalk as it hugged the outside of the bend and skirted a steep drop-off that overlooked town. We wandered off the road to a narrow parking area with a vista point, attracted by the view and grateful of the chance to rest. The pair of us paused on the edge, both captivated by the warm pockets of light in the valley below, inviting enclaves of habitation that seemed distant and small. In the distance, wrapping the town in its shadowy arms, the dark presence of Sycamore Woods, blanketing the low foothills that would eventually become the mountains of the Rogue River Range; while above us, the vast expanse of the night sky, the thick rash of the milky way bashful and barely visible in the darkening night.
I took a deep breath in through my nose, closing my eyes and relishing the cool breeze on my skin. The air up here was thick with the smell of barbeques and campfires, a rich aroma that evoked cherished images of summer nights and a feeling of endless freedom.
As we gazed out over the valley, a shooting star’s thin streak of silver light arced across the sky from east to west, low on the horizon and fleeting. I heard Belle gasp and turned to her, wondering what she was thinking.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said with a distant whisper.
I turned back to the town, and felt a rush of comfort at the familiar sight. “Yeah, it is. It’s not a bad place to live,” I said.
“No,” said Belle, her voice suddenly deep and serious, “I mean here.” She pointed at the ground beneath her feet.
I raised an eyebrow and looked at her quizzically, not sure what she was getting at. “What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly noticing the way the pale moonlight illuminated her pretty face and gave her a marble smooth appearance, making her look like an ancient Greek statue.
The corners of her mouth raised in a small smile and she blinked three times. “All of this,” she added, sweeping her arms outwards with hands upturned and I sensed that she was telling me something very important.
But before I could consider the matter further, she leaned forwards and touched her hand to my cheek, then bent her head and brushed her ruby lips on mine. I gasped and pulled back, shocked by the warmth of her palm on my face and the sudden electric jolt of her mouth on mine. A wave of sensation washed over me; the soft wetness of her lips, the velvet brush of her hand, the gentle swell of her breasts pushing against mine. I felt her breath on my face, warm and insistent and thick with desire.
She pulled her head back and stared at me, wearing that same blank smile and inscrutable expression. Her deep blue eyes flicked over my face, studying me for signs of a reaction and I found myself drawn inexplicably forwards into those dark pools that twinkled in the moonlight like a summer lake. I leaned forwards and returned her kiss, pressing my mouth on hers and coiling an arm around her waist, pulling her towards me.
My heart was hammering and I was acting on instinct alone now. I’d never kissed another girl, never even been attracted to a woman before. But I couldn’t help myself, I longed to feel her body against mine, to taste the moist warmth of her. I parted my mouth and pushed my tongue forwards, darting between her lips with a gentle insistence that she didn’t attempt to resist. She allowed me to explore her, allowed my hands to roam across her back and down to the firm bulge of her bottom.
I could feel her heart beat in her chest, slow and rhythmic, a far cry from the rabbit jackhammer in my own body. I sensed that she knew what she was doing, that she was allowing me this frantic exploration, this moment of blissful control. Then her hands moved. She shifted her fingers from my cheek back to cup my ear and plunge into my honey curls. She lifted her other hand to my chest and grabbed my breast
, squeezing roughly. I gasped, shocked by the bold advance and the sudden rush of sensation from my sensitive nipple as she brushed against it.
My mind was racing now, alive with new thoughts and novel feelings. I was dizzy and lightheaded, my legs trembling and barely holding me up. Deep inside me, an insistent throb, pulsing in time with my heart and my quickening breath.
Suddenly, a car rounded the bend and we were illuminated in the harsh glow of the headlights. We both turned as one, locked in our tight embrace and blinded by the bright light. I raised my hands to shield my eyes, and the car horn honked - whether in disapproval or appreciation of the sordid scene, I’ll never know - then the vehicle turned down the hill and disappeared into the dark.
My eyes followed the trailing red lights of the vehicle as they faded into the sultry night, then I turned back to Belle, suddenly overcome with a feeling of shame and regret. I pushed her away from me, breaking the warm embrace that we shared. She looked back at me with a look of hurt confusion on her face, the deepest emotion I’d yet seen her express.
“Laura… Did I do something wrong?” she whispered, still breathless from the passion of our kiss.
I shook my head and shuffled on the spot, unable to look her directly in the eye. “No… it’s just… I’m not…” I said, unable to articulate my feelings, mind still racing from the complex desires that had briefly taken hold of me. “I’m sorry,” I added, then turned away from her and hurried down the hill, never looking back.
I didn’t stop until I reached my tiny apartment off Main Street. I raced up the stairs and pushed my way in, then slammed the door shut and fell back against it, sliding down the faded wood to the floor and panting heavily. The glowing memory of Belle’s hot mouth and eager tongue burned bright in my mind.
Chapter 2: First Contact
