She sits up in her bed. Her belly has gotten significantly larger so it’s not as easy to sit up as it once was. That may be why she’s having such a hard time falling asleep. Her room is dark except a small night light by the door and the occasional lightning strike in the distance. She pulls off her covers and walks over to the telescope and looks through it. Her view is limited from the window especially through the rain, but she always remains hopeful to catch a glimpse of Orion who may be watching her from above.
“Where are you, my prince? My man from another world, another Galaxy, “ she whispers as if he’d somehow hear her through the telescope.
“I don’t want to be alone. I need you. I can’t have this baby alone. I don’t even know how to raise an Alien baby or whatever it will be.”
Her emotions build. Her heart starts to race. She paces back and forth. Thousands of conflicting thoughts collide. She can’t handle it anymore.
THE RETURN
Ashton runs down the stairs. She’s about to run outside but stops and looks at the radio in the den. She grabs the microphone from it and flips the radio on. The radio whirrs on. She’s done this many other nights and it didn’t matter. No response.
“Orion. Orion. If you can hear me I need you. I crave you”
“I don’t know who this Orion guy is but that’s pretty hot. I can come meet you.” says some random voice possibly a trucker.
Frustrated Ashton shuts off the radio, throws the microphone and runs out of the house. The screen door slams behind her. She runs through the grass field. The rain pounds harder and harder with each step. The sheets of falling water drench her t-shirt. Her oversized shirt clings to her body and reveals her breasts as her shirt becomes see-through from the wetness. She keeps running, but not as fast as before. It takes her a little longer with a bulging pregnant belly, but she’s just as determined. She makes it to the edge of the corn field where she was abducted. She fights to breathe and catch her breath. The cold air stings her as it enters her lungs.
“Orion! Orion!!” Ashton yells at the angry dark skies. Lightning strikes in the distance. “Are you watching? Are you up there? I need you!”
After no response, she makes her way into the maze of corn. She comes to a flattened area about where she found herself after the abduction.
She again yells to the skies. “Orion, you can’t leave me here by myself! I need you! I have your baby! “
Ashton takes off her wet shirt, shorts and panties to reveal her pregnant body. She stands naked in the rain, water running down her face and breasts. Lights shoot through the sky around her. A steady beam of light lands next to her. Grass under the beam starts to tug back and forth and soon ends up floating in the air. Ashton reaches for the light and feels an upward pull toward the sky. She steps to the light. The light surrounds her body and slowly raises her nude form into the night skies. Rain drops are displaced by the yellow light beam. She looks down and sees the farm getting further and further away. She normally would be afraid of heights, but can’t help but smirking. She wonders what someone would think if they saw her nude, pregnant self, floating in midair. As she’s pulled further up, her throat dries. She’s nervous and excited. She hasn’t stopped thinking about the spaceship, the abduction or Orion since that amazing night. Bobby Darren, or any other fantasy couldn’t hold a candle up to the reality that was Orion.
Ashton sees a metallic structure in the clouds above her. A pattern of lights move in a rapid order around it. It’s an Alien ship. The beam of light is emitting from a trap door underneath it. By some unseen force, she’s pulled through the trap door and into a large room. Her nude body stays suspended in midair even after the trap door closes. The lights surround her body. She’s about two feet on the floor. A familiar figure walks into the room from a sliding metallic door. It’s Orion.
“You’re not a dream. You are real,” Ashton says with a tear. She puts her hand to her belly. “It’s yours, Orion. I’m yours.”
The giant, muscular nude figure walks toward her. His skin fluctuates between iridescent colors and a mirror-like surface. His body form is perfect. He’s like a moving statue.
“I craved you. I missed you,” says Orion. He moves his hands over her floating body. They are huge and comforting. His hands go over her soft skin, down her belly. He puts his hand behind her head to pull her in for a kiss. Blood rushes through her body. The kiss is passionate and familiar. Familiar like they’ve kissed in a past life. His lips taste sweet. She bites his bottom lip. He slowly moves away to spin her levitating body around. Her naked back and curvy bottom are exposed to him.
He pulls her toward him. She feels his rippled chest against her back and his hardened cock against her ass. He reaches around to feel her ample breasts as he kisses down her neck. Her nipples are hard and tender to the touch. His other hand slides down her belly, then her thighs.
“I love you,” Ashton says, while taking in every feeling and every touch.
“I need you,” Orion responds, as he sucks harder on her nude neck, pushing away her wet red hair. He reaches down her thighs between her legs and realizes it’s not just her hair that’s wet.
She can’t contain how horny he makes her. She wants to feel and experience every part of him. His fingers tease her clit in rhythmic, circular motions, increasing in intensity. Her back arches as she grinds her soft ass on his hardened member. He slides a finger deep inside her. Her body trembles with excitement. She flexes her legs back and forth over his finger. She reaches back to feel how hard he is. She slides her hand up and down around his thickness.
He gently bends her over and caresses her cheeks. He slips himself inside of her from behind. An intense pressure fills her. She loves feeling him inside of her. He pulls slowly out, then back in, building up his speed. One hand is around her waist and the other’s still teasing her clit. She can feel every inch of his shaft thrusting over and over. With each thrust she moans and screams until finally … an explosion of feelings and ecstasy shoot though every part of her body. Her body shakes and spasms as aftershocks of joy hit her.
Orion lowers her to the ground and pulls a silver fabric-like material from a slot in the wall to cover her nude body with. He holds her tightly. He’s never been like this with anyone here on earth, or on his home planet. His customs were much different and less personal. This was all foreign to him, but he loved feeling this delicate flower next to him. It was forbidden in every way possible, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to spend another day without her.
Laying in bliss, Ashton says nothing. She slowly catches up on her breathing. Sweat forms down her body, and her lovers embrace only heats her more. She didn’t know if she’d ever feel him again.
Orion kisses her neck and whispers into her ear. “I don’t want you to ever leave.”
Ashton turns around to kiss his lips. She looks into his reflective eyes. “I don’t know where your home is. I don’t know what’s next, but I don’t care, as long as it’s with you.”
Orion holds her tight.
“And our baby.”
“Yes, our baby.” Ashton rubs her belly. “Do I need to pack some clothes?” Ashton ask as she looks under the reflective sheet at her naked self.
The metallic ship hovering in the clouds turns invisible with only a pattern of lights remaining. A mechanical whirring builds up and then explodes. The ship darts away leaving a trail of lights to catch up with it. Ashton looks forward to her new adventure and her new love a few galaxies away.
Faith runs out to the porch just in time to see the light of the ship taking off. She now knows for a fact that her sister was telling the truth about everything. She shakes her head back and forth laughing to herself.
“That slut. Hooking up with the first Alien that sweeps her off her feet.” Faith jokes to herself before letting a tear drop fall from her eye. She whispers to the sky “Love you sis. I’m going to miss you. I hope you found your knight in shining armor after all. “
Queen of the
Mojave
Chloe Martel
Queen of the Mojave
Copyright 2016 by Chloe Martel
First electronic publication: June 2016
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.
Queen of the Mojave
1
Alma Abrams rode Roach into town, which comprised a long dusty road, a post office, a newspaper office, three hotels, four general stores, a meat market, bars, brothels, three restaurants and two boarding houses; there was a deputy sheriff, two constables, three doctors, a justice of the peace; and two lawyers. There was even a telephone and telegraph service. Calico, the Mojave’s silver-producing star, with over five-hundred silver mines—this was where the wanderer Alma Abrams would make her home.
She rode to the closest tavern, outside of which a dirt-encrusted man sat, his head lolling on his chest. Roach let out a soft neigh. Alma stroked her mane. “Easy, girl,” she muttered, and Roach quieted. “You, my good man,” she said, trotting over to the man and gazing down at him.
“What sort of evil excuse of a man bothers a working man . . . arg!” He looked up under the rim of his hat, and his expression changed in a moment from one of hatred to one of complete shock. Alma knew what the man saw and what he had expected to see. He had expected to see a man, like him, covered in dirt and with a tough body worn by decades of hard labor. Instead, what he saw was a woman of twenty-four, with smooth, white skin, wide blue eyes, golden hair tied back in a bun, wearing trousers which hugged her tight figure and a shirt – a man’s shirt – which showed the tops of her pert breasts. Alma allowed him one of her smiles. A smile is just one weapon in a woman’s arsenal, after all.
“Excuse me,” the man breathed. He climbed to his feet and dusted down his clothes. “I didn’t mean to speak with such haste. Neither did I mean to imply any sort of . . . of . . . Excuse me, miss, but what is a woman like you doing in Calico?”
“I seek a room,” she said. “Surely a man as distinguished as yourself would know the best room in the town?”
Alma was not surprised when the man blushed and then puffed his chest up. Men, she had learned, were gluttons for flattery. Even when the flattery was obviously absurd, even when it was completely dissociated with the reality of the situation, they were gluttons for it. This man did not look distinguished, but that did not stop her cool calm flattery from reaching his ears and having its effect.
“There’s Beryl’s hotel at the end of the road, there.” He pointed to the far end of the town to a two-story building whose blue paint chipped and flaked in the setting sunlight. “Be careful, mind, miss. All hotels round here serve a double purpose, you see, as, err . . . How do I say it, miss? Err . . .”
“Brothels?” Alma offered.
The man was so shocked to hear Alma – clearly an angel – utter such a dirty word that he took a step back. His blush deepened, and then he nodded quickly. “Yes,” he muttered.
“Very well, then,” she said, and led Roach toward Beryl’s.
Alma did not have to look back to know that the man was watching her. If he stopped to think for a second, he would realize it was completely unnecessary to ask a local where the hotels were. Calico was a small town of around one-thousand inhabitants. It would not be a tall order to find the hotel for herself. But the man wouldn’t think; he would do exactly as Alma wanted him to. He would go into the tavern and tell the miners about the arrival of a golden-haired woman wearing trousers and riding a horse, unaccompanied by a husband, seeking lodging. And the miners would whisper fiercely, and soon the owners of the Silver King Mining Corporation would hear of it. Alma’s plan would be set in motion.
She tethered Roach to the post and walked into the hotel. A barrel-chested woman stood behind a desk. She had thick, strong hands and thick, strong legs and a thick, strong head. She grimaced when Alma approached the desk. “Is your husband here already?” she said.
“I am afraid I am a widow.” That wasn’t strictly true, but the Lord knew that people – women especially – treated widows better than lone travelling women. Wanton women, Alma thought with a bitter taste in her mouth. But she did not let her internal monologue show on her exterior. She liked to think of herself as a master of the exterior. Her mind could run in the opposite direction to her face and nobody would know but her. She could grin during an execution and scream in terror during a proposal of marriage.
“So you are alone?” Beryl grunted.
“Alone.” Alma nodded. “Just like so many lost souls in the great Mojave.”
“Oh, you’re a poet, are you?”
Alma smiled. “I am merely trying to befriend the owner of Calico’s finest hotel.”
As Alma said this, a half-dressed woman stumbled from a nearby door, followed by two men. The half-dressed woman kissed one of the men fully on the mouth whilst the other explored under what little clothing she wore with a meaty hand. Alma pretended not to notice. This seemed to impress Beryl. She smiled as though to say: “Ah, so you’re not a fussy one.”
“I’ve got spare room,” Beryl said. “It’s nasty, but it’s cheap.”
“Cheap and nasty have never been a problem for me. And you have a place to stable my horse?”
Beryl nodded. “We can take care of that, too.”
“Very good.”
Alma encountered two more whores as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. One said nothing, only looked at the ground in a vain attempt to hide the blooming bruises that painted her eyes. The other – a toothless crone, her prime a tiny dot somewhere in the vague past – grinned a gummy grin. “New competition, eh?”
Alma found she had had enough of playacting. She looked up and down the hallway. When she saw that she and the crone were alone, she approached the woman so she stood over her, looking down at her. “I hate you, ma’am,” she said, “for no other reason than you amuse yourself with saying unintelligent and cruel things to a woman whom you have never met. I just thought you should know that.”
She turned on her heels and walked toward her door. Behind her, the woman grumbled something, but Alma ignored her. Her spirit was restored; she had allowed her mask to slip for a moment. One must indulge one’s true nature every so often lest one go insane, she thought.
2
Alma woke to a knock at her door. She rolled over and buried her head in the paper-thin pillow (as much as one could bury one’s head in something paper-thin) but the knock came again. “What!” she called.
“Excuse me, miss,” a voice replied. “I have a tray of breakfast, miss. If you do not want it now . . .”
“I’ll take it,” she said, leaning up and rubbing her head, her arms, her legs. Everything ached, but everything always ached when she slept in places like this. “Come on!” she snapped, when the door did not open.
The man who entered was tall, muscular, and black-skinned. His skin was so black it was like the night’s sky. He wore a shirt which seemed molded to his body, showing his muscular chest, biceps and triceps. His neck was thick with muscle. His legs showed their muscle through his britches. His eyes were a brown so dark they, too, were black. His hair was jet-black. Alma gulped. He was a handsome man. She so rarely met handsome men.
The man stared steadfastly at the ground, as though that would change the fact that a man whose father may well have been a slave was in a half-dressed white woman’s bedroom. “It’s okay,” she said, once she’d taken the tray. “You needn’t look so frightened. I’m not going to hurt you. A big man like you frightened of a rake-thin woman like me!”
The man’s lower lip trembled. “Ma’am,” he muttered, and then made to leave the room.
“Wait,” Alma said. “Sit with me, if you will.”
It was a request, but it did not have the tone of a request. The man pulled the one chair – a wooden, creaky thing – across the floorboards to the side of the bed. He still gazed down. Alma started on her food, a simple meal of bread and water with a side of some kind of miscellaneous meat. “What’s your name?” she said.
“Solomon Crawford, miss,” he said, still gazing down. The floor, it seemed, was far more interesting than Alma.
“I am Alma Abrams. I have been called a whore, a thief, a liar, a killer, a seducer. I am yet to deny any of those titles. So, Solomon Crawford, how does it feel to sit in the presence of a whore, a thief, a liar, a killer, and a seducer?”
“I do not know, miss,” he said.
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