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STARS ABOVE    {Burnt Feathers}     (ScFi, alien, nc, voy, humor)

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Stars Above
by Burnt Feathers ©



Shadow Lake, being exactly nowhere with access to every
destination, was — as Councilman Aygrie had proclaimed — in the
ideal position for a transfer station.  The first concrete result
of his decree was that the lake's water temperature suddenly
plunged twelve degrees in three days.

This overlooked event had repercussions in diverse and
unsuspected localities.

On Shadow Lake's grassy shore the single light from Johnson’s
Bait Shop glowed dimly through the trees to reveal a sprawling
couple.

"You said your name’s Sharon?” an awkward agrarian inquired.
“Where are you staying?"

"Nearby."

"Everything in this hick town,” he snorted, “is nearby!"

"What is your function here?" his curvaceous companion inquired.

"My function?” he seemed confused.  “Oh, you mean, like my job?"

"Yes."

"I run Johnson’s Bait Shop," he replied.

"Is that important work?"

"It's easy summer money, but these last few days it’s been a real
bitch."

"Er, a bitch?"

"Yeah.  For some reason the lake temperature has dropped way
down.  Now, the fish are biting like a sonuvabitch!” the rustic
exclaimed.

As he spoke, his hands slid down his companion’s shoulders and
forward to her breasts.  “Word's gone out all over the province,”
he assured his companion.

The bumpkin hurriedly unbuttoned the grey shirt which covered
breasts that promised to be of incredible proportions.

“Fishing parties have booked every boat on the lake,” he stated.
“I should be out collecting nightcrawlers right now.”

Uninvited, the hick yanked his companion’s shirt from the
waistband of tight-fitting jeans, in order to reveal a remarkable
set of mammaries.

“Say!” he added, casting her a speculative glance, “You wouldn't
want to help me?  You know — afterward.”

"No, I must . . . er . . . leave soon."

"I'll pay," he offered. "Two cents apiece. On a night like this
you could pick up ten bucks, easy."

"Well, no. . . . "

"Okay,” he agreed, spreading and removing her shirt.  “I can't
hang around here all ni. . . .” he froze, gulping noisily.  “Wow!
Some tits!"

"Er . . . what's wrong?"

"They're . . . big!" he exclaimed, as his eyes grew large.

Both of the hick’s hands were magnetically drawn to the massive
mounds exposed beneath to his gaze.

"Oh."

"Huge!" he enthused.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. They're great!” he declared fervently to his companion
as his fingers made sudden and enthusiastic contact.

“Are they real?" he wondered aloud, as his hands lifted and
kneaded as much breast as each hand could encompass.

"Pardon?"

"I don't mind,” he added hurriedly in reassurance.  “I've never
felt implants before.  No one around here has them.”

As bucolic fingers tightened upon two tautly-distended nipples
while the bumpkin’s companion shuddered and whimpered piteously.

“Least ways,” the boor conceded dispassionately “none that I know
of for sure.”

His companion had slumped down onto the grassy meadow, writhing
beneath the rustic’s ministrations.

“Are yours implants?" he inquired

“No.”  Words came gustily between gasps. “They are all . . . me.”

“Here,” he instructed, “Raise your hips.  Let . . .  me help . .
. pull off . . .  those pants."

Finally, the jeans’ snap released, and slid down to reveal that
the bumpkin’s companion was not wearing panties.

"Th-thank you."

For a moment the rustic goggled at the exposed display of shapely
flesh.

"Oh, baby!"

Never once withdrawing his eyes, the hick windmilled his way out
of his soiled clothing.  He did not stop until he had reached a
state of complete nudity.  He then pounced upon his seductive
companion.

“God!” he cried, his belly slapping against his companion’s
softly yielding form.

“Gawhd!” he repeated, as his shaft sank slowly its full length
into his companion’s tight, but oddly-textured aperture.

“Oh Gawd!” he uttered once more as his companion’s arms tightened
about his shoulders, and legs clamped about hips.

As their rocking struggle increased in tempo, his unsophisticated
litany of “Oh God!” became louder, and more frequent.

From the bushes, a small shadow observed the couple.  It watched
as the body of the stranger covered its companion.

Although the stranger seemed to be physically attacking its
compatriot, the small one remained in hiding.  It knew the
commander was handy in a fight.

Instead, the small one counted the words, "Oh God!" as they
changed to, "Oh Ga-ad!" and finally into unintelligible grunts of
exertion.

Relatively soon the bumpkin came with a ferocious roar.  Then,
for several long minutes his struggles ceased.  Some time later
the hick rose to his feet.  Quickly, he drew on his overalls,
fastening them about his scrubby body.

With no further word, the hick sauntered toward the beach,
whistling off-key as he wandered away to dip a toe into Shadow
Lake’s chill waters.

"Brrr!" the bumpkin proclaimed, looking out over the
star-splattered water.

The small observer kept the peasant in view until it distinctly
heard the sound of water falling upon water.  A few minutes
later, the bumpkin wandered off, his flashlight quartering the
grassy meadow.

"Sharlhi, are you all right?" the small watcher hissed to the
rustic’s companion, now busy donning discarded clothing.

"That nudgwat stuck its protuberance into my crevice, Pygarte!”
Sharlhi growled, with ill-concealed pique. “Then, it excreted
ichor into me.”

Sharlhi scrubbed savagely at the abused anatomy between its lower
limbs, “Of course I'm not all right!"

"I could make no sense of what it said during the struggle,"
Pygarte admitted, "but I did get a recording to analyse later."

"Well done, Pygarte," Sharlhi replied. "I feel certain the first
observers must have erred.  That McDonald creature cannot be a
leader, even if it does distribute food."

"I sussed that, also," Pygarte agreed, "from the unflattering way
it was ordered to convey edibles."

"I learned another fact as well," Sharlhi declared, shuddering,
“during that . . . interview."

“It was productive?” Pygarte was dubious.

“Yes,” Sharlhi declared.  “Come, while it is still local night. 
Time to quit this place."

Under the baleful light of the stars above, two forms emerged
from the bushes and walked purposefully toward the water.  By
appearance they were a teenage girl of magnificent proportions
accompanied by her younger brother.

Unhesitatingly, they strode into the lake. Once below the surface
no bubbles betrayed their going.

During the night the lake’s water temperature rose seventeen
degrees.  The following morning, when the unprecedented fog upon
Shadow Lake was at its thickest, Sharlhi piloted their craft
skyward.

Across the vastness of space two voyagers carried vital
information perilously gleaned from the local ‘nightcrawler
picker’ creature.  Information that would change history.

Despite Councilman Aygrie's confident words, Shadow Lake could
not be used as a transfer station. The lake's thermal variations,
created by the heat inductors required for atmospheric braking as
well as for liftoff, would definitely be noted locally.





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 Comments are appreciated, contact: Burnt.Feathers@gmail.com

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