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Tales from Snippettsville Issue 01

By: Snippettsville Group



Hello, and welcome to the first issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 1
Introducing Molly by PierceStreet
Kindred Cunning by Wildsweetone
Hannah and the Jammer by MathGirl
Every Cloud by Alex de Kok

Illustrations
Header Picture, (c)Couture, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on... 

* * * * *

Introducing Molly by PierceStreet

I'm not sure what is appropriate for the day after Granddad's funeral, but I suspect it shouldn't be enjoying Molly's strong legs pumping a bike, and her cute ass astride the seat.

My family was back in Snippettsville for a few days for the funeral. I was born here 18 years ago, but we'd moved when I was seven. It was a great place to be a kid. I remember playing in the woods, and walking downtown to buy CrackerJacks. I had a freedom there I did not have when we moved to a city four hours away.

After the funeral, my girl cousin and I were playing frisbee in the backyard to get away from the morbid feelings in the house. Molly's yard abutted my Uncle's and she wandered over and played with us for a bit. We all sat on the grass and talked. One thing led to another, and Molly invited me for a bike ride and picnic the next day, to "take my mind off things".

After she left, my 16 year old cousin filled me in on her. Graduated the previous June, her boyfriend had gone off to college, but fallen in love with someone else. Molly worked at the diner in town.

Snippettsville was having an Indian Summer that October. It was in the 90's already as I followed Molly out of town. A couple miles out, we turned onto a dirt road. We stopped at a farm pond. "This is my grandparents farm, the house is a mile away. This is my private place.," she told me.

We spread a blanket and downed the sandwiches and a beer each. Afterwards we laid and talked and became friends. She looked so cute, her shoulder length red hair, a skinny body in a thin t-shirt. Her large eyes seemed to take in everything.

"How about a swim?" she asked suddenly.

"No swim suit," I responded.

"I never wear a suit here." Molly leapt to her feet, peeled off her T, and skimmed her shorts and panties down in one move. She stood there, her weight on one leg, her hand on a hip waiting for me.

I was struck dumb. Molly in a bikini would have left me breathless. My eyes traveled down her body – she was a true redhead – and back up. I saw slight impatience in those green eyes, so I quickly stood and shed my clothes. I had a little trouble getting my underpants off my stiff cock. We jumped into the pond.

We played for a while as kids do in water, but we weren't quite kids. She swam up to where I stood in shallow water, and wrapped her legs around me, put her arms around my neck and kissed me. We kissed again, long and hard.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" I shook my head no. "I had to ask. A skank didn't ask my ex-boyfriend when she should have." She repositioned herself on me.

"Ever have a serious girlfriend?" I shook my head again. "Are you a virgin?"

"Yes."

She wiggled a little. "Do you realize where your cock is?" She'd positioned it so my tip was at her entrance.

"If you want to stop being a virgin, pull me closer."

I did.

I lasted longer later, back on the blanket. And longer still the next time.

"My parents are coming back to settle the estate in a couple weeks."

"I don't want a boyfriend," she said dashing my hope. "I do want another afternoon like this with you, though. Hurry back."

* * * * *

Kindred Cunning by wildsweetone

Roger peered through the rain and smeared grease on his windscreen at the blurred lights glimmering through the windows of the diner. The hot food he'd bought for their dinner steamed up the inside of his truck windows. Darkness from the thunderstorm had fallen quickly tonight.

He turned the key in his truck, listening as the engine coughed into asthmatic life, then drove off splattering mud over the sidewalk. Punching the 'on' button of his radio with a clean finger, he grinned as his baritone rang out the sounds of Michael Bolton's 'Can I touch you there?'

"Baby, tell me what you feel…" the lumberjack in his plaid shirt turned down his driveway recalling the special moments he'd spent with Samantha last summer, the moments when she'd gone from virgin to woman in one swoop.

Now, squinting through the unclear windscreen, he slammed on the brakes stopping barely a foot from a drenched Maggie. She looked like she'd been standing in his driveway waiting for several hours. Her glossy locks were plastered to her head. In the headlights, she looked remarkably like she was pointing a shotgun directly at his face.

"Holy shit!" He ducked down behind the dashboard shouting, "Maggie, Maggie honey! It's me! What's wrong? Put the gun down baby."

"I'll put this gun down when you understand, Roger. Get out of the truck."

"Maggie, please honey. What's this all about?"

"Just shut up and walk." She prodded him ahead.

"Okay, Okay! I'm walking. See. Put the gun down honey. It'll go off if you're not careful."

Pushing him in the back again she ordered, "Move buster. Get up them stairs."

Without looking back, he walked ahead of her. Water streamed from their bodies hitting the floor with loud plops as they made their way up the stairs.

"In there."

"But Maggie..."

"Do as you're told for once in your life damnit." The gun clicked. He walked quickly into the dark room.

"Sit on the chair." He did as she bid.

"Don't move or I'll blast your ears off."

"Maggie. Please, can't we talk about this?"

"There's nothing to discuss. Now shut the hell up." She covered his eyes with some rough material. Blinded, he listened to her grunt as she climbed off the bed, then felt her hands tug his as she tied each hand to the arms of the chair.

"Maggie, this is insane… Plmmmuuggshhhh," he garbled as she stuffed his mouth with sweetly scented material. "Mmmaagggglmmmgg!"

Ignoring him, she unbuttoned his wet shirt, then undid the button and zip of his jeans. Reaching inside with her hand, she smiled at his groan when she gripped him firmly.

As Maggie stroked, his moans intensified and he struggled to lift his hands. His groans spurred her on, stroking faster, then so slowly her hands had almost stopped. His grunts were moments of frustrated pain mingled with pleasure.

She knelt in front of him and took him into her mouth. He jerked in the chair.

"Sit still Roger. Let me finish."

"Nmegghhh."

"I know, honey. I know how much you love me doing this. I remember."

Unable to control himself he felt his cock expanding in her mouth, her little teeth nibbling gently and her tongue working magical charms around and around his throbbing head. He exploded in her mouth then endured listening to her slurping and sucking him clean.

"There now. Doesn't that feel better Roger?"

"Shhhmnktt."

"Oh. Wait up." She stood then took her makeshift panty gag from his mouth. "What was that?"

"Maggie you shouldn't have done that. You're my sister for heavens sake!"

* * * * *

Hannah and the Jammer by MathGirl

Hannah had been without a lover for almost a year, since the abrupt departure of one Orville J. 'Jammer' Gillette. Mr Gillette had been assistant football coach at Snippettsville High until he was discovered in flagrante delicto buggering a sophomore place kicker in the locker room after practice.

Gillette had been arrested, and several other present and former Snippettsville High students had come forward and told the cops of past experiences with their coach. During the police investigation, a search of Gillette's apartment turned up an extensive feminine wardrobe, complete with lacy undergarments and sheer nighties, in the Jammer's size. Of particular interest was a pair of chic black platform shoes with ankle straps and five-inch stiletto heels in size 12 EEE. Also found were assorted whips, ropes, and handcuffs used for indoor sporting events.

The most damning evidence uncovered was a collection of Polaroid photographs of Mr Gillette, clad only in crotchless panty hose, on either the giving or receiving end of a vigorous cornholing. One of the pictures showed a menage a trois in which he was both buggerer and buggeree. In another team event photo, the Jammer was the central figure in a daisy chain with all six members of the previous season's defensive backfield (linebackers included). The coach had indeed established a close, personal relationship with his student athletes. The opened case of hospital size jars of Vaseline and the enema bags the cops found were not introduced into evidence at the trial.

Gillette was subsequently charged with multiple counts of sex with a minor, sodomy, and various other morals raps. In a plea bargain, the Jammer's lawyer got the sodomy ....... um ...... beef reduced to following too close, but he was convicted of the other felonies and awarded a dime stretch at the state prison. Since he had been a rather indifferent lover, Hannah had been under the impression that Orville didn't care much for sex. She was understandably shocked when his escapades while swinging from the other side of the plate became public knowledge.

* * * * *

Every Cloud by Alex de Kok

"Goddammittohell!" He sat back and glared at the computer screen in frustration. Black and lifeless, it gave a dull reflection of his frustrated face. Nothing more. There was power, because the monitor ready-light glowed redly. He stood and checked all of the cables. Nothing. Inspiration dawned and he rifled through the papers in his desk drawer. Yes! On-site service. He reached for the phone….

Sitting in Hannah's diner two hours later, he looked out into the rain again. Because of the difficulty involved in a stranger actually finding his home, he'd arranged to meet the service engineer at the diner. The computer people hadn't been able to give an exact time, saying only that it would be 'after four, but certainly before six'. He glanced up. Molly, Hannah's young waitress, stood with the coffee jug.

"Refill, Jack?"

"Please." Molly was looking over his shoulder and he glanced out to see a station wagon pull into the parking lot. The driver got out and he sat back, disappointed. She came into the diner and Molly made her way over. He couldn't hear what was said but Molly pointed and the woman came over to him.

"Mr. Shaw. Jack Shaw?"

"Yes?"

"Hi. I'm Sally Aker, service engineer for Ace Computers. I understand you have a problem?"

Surprised, but not showing it, Jack stood. "Great! I asked to meet you here as my place is tricky to find. If you'd follow me, it's about five minutes drive."

Sally Aker smiled. "Lead on, Mr. Shaw."

Ten minutes later the cover was off his PC and Sally was probing inside. She turned to him. "Seems okay. It may be the monitor so I'll get my test set out of the car."

Sally connected the test monitor and rebooted Jack's PC. "What were you using last?"

"Word."

"Right, let's see if that comes up okay…, yes, that looks good. Ah! It wants to load a partially-completed file. Okay, let's see…."

Jack felt his face go red as his latest opus came up on the screen. 'I forgot I was working on that,' he thought. "Um, just move on to your tests if you want."

She gestured vaguely. "It's okay, this is fine for a test."

"It's not finished…"

"I can see that, but it's good." She looked round at him, a slight smile on her lips, a sparkle in her eye. "Are you Alex de Kok?"

Jack avoided her eyes. "Um, yes, I guess I am."

"Great! I've read all of your work on Literotica," Sally said. "You left some gaping holes in your 'Aunt Ellen' stories. Surely you're going to write some more?"

"Well, yeah, one day." Relief went through him. At least Sally Aker seemed to be a fan of his writing. "I've been told I need to write a sequel to 'Goody-Two-Shoes' as well."

"Yes! I have to know what happens to that odious Tony!"

Jack laughed. "Okay, maybe one day I will." He gestured. "Want a coffee?"

"Please. You're my last call today. Can I stay and talk about writing for a while?"

"Only if you'll stay to dinner." Jack laughed. "Actually I was planning on eating at Hannah's. Will you join me?"

"Yes, please." She grimaced. "I've been trying to get up the nerve to submit one of my own stories to Literotica."

"You should. What about?"

Sally smoothed her sweatshirt down over the swell of her breasts and licked her lips. She looked Jack in the eye. "I haven't actually finished it yet. I need to do some research. It's about a PC repair girl who seduces one of her customers."

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed



Tales from Snippettsville Issue 02



Hello, and welcome to the second issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 2
Rip Henderson by MathGirl
A Natural Viewpoint by Alex de Kok
A Stranger Rides Into Town by jon.hayworth
The Ghost by Quasimodem

Illustrations
Header Picture, (c)BlackSnake, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Rip Henderson by MathGirl

When she returned to the diner kitchen, Hannah noticed a man standing in the alley. She couldn't see his face but recognized the leather vest, filthy jeans, bowed legs, and tatooed arms of Duane "Rip" Henderson.

Henderson was, at the age of twenty four, a junior high dropout, unemployed and probably unemployable, losing his hair, and poorly groomed. He usually rode a decrepit Harley hog but had been rejected for membership in the rather tame local pack of Hell's Angels wannabees. The sleazy bikers felt that Rip failed to meet even their bottom-feeding membership standards. Never a good speller, Rip had a 'Born to Rase Hel' tatoo on his forearm.

He maintained a very basic standard of living as the local purveyor of illicit botanicals and pharmaceuticals, also being his own best customer. Henderson had an IQ of about drafty room temperature when sober, but he was seldom not under the influence of some mind-altering substance. He often bragged that he never mainlined drugs because he was deeply religious, but he was unable to explain how and why his religion condoned all methods of illicit drug administration except intravenous. It was generally believed that he was just afraid of needles.

Rip was the only member of Saint Anne's congregation that the kindly Father Morrison refused to accept for confession or communion. He knew that Rip would lie at confession, and he refused to give wine to someone who was already under the influence of something or other. In fact, the good Father wouldn't even speak to him. Rip had been expelled from the Catholic Teens for Christ some years earlier for passing around pictures of animal pornography (human-poultry) at a Sunday evening meeting of the youth group. The priest had said that Henderson made him embarrassed to be a Roman Catholic. Father Morrison derived considerable comfort from the certainty that Henderson would burn in hell, but he felt vaguely guilty for feeling good about it. Rip's own mother, Elvina, hadn't spoken to him since the vivisection of her cat, Frieda, when Rip was twelve.

Everyone knew Henderson dealt drugs, including the local cops, but he had a low cunning that somehow enabled him to avoid the law. Actually he had been caught several times, but the only thing that had ever stuck was a simple possession of cannabis charge for which Rip had done a thirty as a guest at the Snippets County Honor Farm.

He had served the full month and left that institution with a bad sunburn from field labor, a hatred of racial minorities, and an acute case of hemorrhoids. It seems that Rip had shared a cell with one Raymond "Sugar Ray" Stallings, a three hundred pound African-American gentleman with chronic attitude maladjustment. Sugar Ray, having a long history of problems with anger control, was in jail awaiting trial for assaulting his own ninety three year old great grandmother with a straight razor during a dispute over her Social Security check. He had reached the jail after receiving treatment for a stab wound to the abdomen caused by a knitting needle in the hand of an unexpectedly quick Granny.

On their first evening as cellmates, Mr. Stallings politely inquired of Mr. Henderson if he would rather be "the husband or the wife" during their stay together. After some quick thinking, Rip stated that he would prefer to be the husband, definitely the husband. The good natured Stallings laughed heartily and said, "Okay, mothafucka, you be the husband and I be the wife, but you still be the one who get fucked up the ass. Now git them drawers down, Hubby."

Rather than directing him towards the path of good citizenship, the experience had left Rip Henderson embittered.

Hannah worried about what business Henderson might have in the alleyway behind her diner.


* * * * *

A Natural Viewpoint by Alex de Kok

Jack reached for her but she wriggled away, giggling. "Later, sweetheart. I promise you'll get no sleep until we're both exhausted, okay?"

"Promise?"

"I want to make love as much as you do, but I've never been to Green Lake before, we're only here for one night and I would like to explore a little before the light goes."

He laughed and raised his hands in surrender. "I'm convinced. Come on."

They walked for twenty minutes or so and both enjoyed it, as much for the anticipation they were building as for the beautiful scenery. It's pretty well wooded around Green Lake, with rolling hills, so they were going uphill as much as down. The hills mean the lake has a lot of little sandy coves, popular with the boat owners for picnics. And other pleasurable activities.

Some of the coves are almost invisible from the paths and Jack was startled suddenly to hear a moan. Thinking someone might have fallen he led Sally off the path, grabbed a pine branch to stop himself falling and peered over the bluff. About to call out to ask if anyone was hurt he stopped himself. Whatever else they might have been feeling the couple on the beach certainly weren't hurting.

The girl – and from the slim build and red hair he suddenly realised it was Molly from the diner – was on her back, her legs hooked behind her lover's back. He – whoever he was – was thrusting rhythmically into Molly. Sally was just behind Jack and couldn't see. She realised something had caught his attention and eased forward.

"What is it, Jack. Is someone hur - ? Oh! Oh, my!" Sally's eyes were wide as she grinned at him.

Molly didn't appear to have heard anything, but she must have caught a glimpse of movement because suddenly she was looking straight up at them, fifty feet above her. Incredibly, she grinned and gave a little wave. There was no doubt in Jack's mind that she knew who was there. No doubt either that she was enjoying herself. She put her fingers to her lips in a shushing gesture. Jack nodded and waved and he and Sally eased themselves back to the path.

Sally's eyes were sparkling and she was fighting a fit of the giggles. Jack took her hand and they moved away from the bluff. Spotting a little grassy hollow Sally took his hand and tugged him off the path.

"Lie down," she said. "I want you. Here. Now!"

As if he was going to argue! He lay down and Sally hitched her skirt up so she could straddle his legs. She loosened his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.

"Lift your ass!" she ordered.

Amused, he complied and she grabbed his waistband and jeans and boxer shorts were around his ankles in a second. Sally lifted herself and unhooked the waistband of her wraparound skirt, casting it aside.

Surprised at the absence of panties he raised his eyebrows in silent query.

Sally grinned. "I've been thinking about this all day. I took my panties off earlier; they were soaking." She reached to the hem of her sweatshirt and stripped it off over her head. No bra.

His prick was hard by now and Sally eagerly impaled herself, settling to his root with a sigh. She glanced up at him with a contemplative look.

"Who was that with Molly?"

"You know something? I have absolutely no idea."

Sally smiled again. "I wonder if she'll tell him she saw us?" she laughed. "Enough of them. Let's fuck!"

* * * * *

A Stranger Rides Into Town by jon.hayworth

Through my rain spattered visor I read the sign, Snippetsville Pop 2006 –  do the town council have a hot line to the midwife and the undertaker? I mused - the last number was freshly painted.

The town looked like the set for a low budget road movie, the Diner was on the main street, and next door stood a general store. There was even a ubiquitous, beat-up Chevolret pick-up truck, parked down the street. Outside the Diner stood a Kenilworth cab-over with shiny chrome hubcaps and a pretty custom paint job.

I looked around, half expecting to see the Snowman striding out of the Diner. I was wet and cold, at least this town could satisfy my needs for a cigarette and a hot coffee.

Pulling off my helmet I walked into the store for a packet of cigarettes, I had run out an hour back when I stopped to shelter from the rain under an interchange on the Interstate.

"You're a stranger to these parts," said the man behind the counter.

Although his words had sounded like a statement I decided to treat them as a question, "Yes just up on vacation, do you know some place where I can find a room for a day or two?"

"You from out-a-state? New York or maybe even Boston."

I smiled, "England."

I pulled out a cigarette and concentrated on lighting it to choke off my laugh when he said, "New England ain't far from Boston I knew you was a Yankee."

"I mean England across the Atlantic."

"England Europe!" He gave a low whistle, "And you come all the way to Snippetsville. If you want a room best place to go is McGuire's Diner, Hannah will know who has a room." American courtesy has never ceased to amaze me, and on this occasion Jack Carr kept to its best traditions, leaving his shop to escort me the few yards into the diner. I just hope none of the good folks I met ever come to England and ask in the local shop for change to use the telephone.

The shopkeeper introduced me to Hannah McGuire as, "This guy just rode into town from England Europe and he needs a room."

His words conjured-up visions of the trusty BMW, its engine never missing a beat as it crested Atlantic rollers for three-thousand miles.

Hannah looked me up and down, "You're the one who rode the bike into town – well you look cleaner than Henderson and you don't smell none neither."

I must have looked puzzled because Jack whispered, "Rip Henderson was the town's biker. One of Hannah's little mistakes if you know what I mean – right now he's in the county jail." I love hearing small town gossip!

Hannah returned with the coffees I had ordered. "You don't smell, you look clean, and you have an honest face. A room will cost you thirty bucks a night. You can park your motorcycle out the back."

I unclipped the Krauser panniers and carried them into the Diner. Hannah led the way to the rear of the building and showed me the room. I was pleased to note the sheets were clean, and the paintwork better than in a lot of rooms I had slept in since coming over to the States. I made a snap decision, "I'll take the room for a week – time to explore the country round here."

"You going to stay for a week?"

I surmised from her incredulous tone that few people stayed in Snippetsville for that length of time

* * * * *

The Ghost by Quasimodem

The closest thing to a ghost, found in Snippettsville, slouched over a stool at The Roadhouse bar, late one night. He was a gray, rumpled man, drinking neat scotch and taking in the ambiance.

"I've had enough!" declared the shapely redhead wearing yellow sandals, a matching thong, and a tube top that barely covered the prominent tips of her breasts.

The bartender seemed unimpressed.

"Nothing will ever induce me to go to bed with Jim Cargrew! He's . . . " She took a big breath, then continued, "I don't care what contract Kevin loses! I won't be a . . . a . . . sales gimmick!

"Do you know where the Greyhound stops?" she inquired.

The bartender shrugged and kept wiping glasses.

"It's always the same with Kevin," the woman declared. "You'd think I'd be . . . I'd grow . . . feel . . . er, ah . . . I don't know. . . . "

"Accustomed," supplied the gray man at the end of the bar.

"Right!" she smiled at him.

That single smile revealed an attractive woman in her late twenties.

"It's just that he wants everything his way. It gets so bor . . . er . . . frus . . . um. . . ."

"Fatiguing?"

"That's it! Fatiguing. Then I learn our vacation is actually to dangle me as bait in one of his business deals. I feel so . . . er, um. . . ."

"Manipulated."

"Manipulated, thank you. If I only had some place to go. Get a few hours to myself, to . . . er . . . sit and . . . er . . . um. . . ."

"Contemplate?"

"Is that too much to ask?"

"Seems nominal."

"I think so, too! But, Kevin is so . . . so. . . ."

"Demanding?"

"Is it really selfish to want your way once in a while?"

"Only if you'd planned to become a martyr."

A throaty chuckle bubbled from the woman, "That wasn't my intention," she sighed, then looked blankly ahead. "Which way is that Greyhound depot?"

"When are you due back at work?" the gray man inquired.

"Oh, I don't work. I've been looking after Kevin. I'm not too clever about work, but I'm a whiz at housekeeping."

"Ever consider becoming a housekeeper, or maid?"

"Women don't hire maids who look like me," she smiled, bitterly, "and men have . . . ah . . . what's the word?"

"Ulterior motives?"

"Exactly!" she agreed, wrinkling her nose.

"If you really enjoy quiet times, you might consider my place. What kind of pay do you get?"

"From Kevin? Occasionally he buys me a present, like clothes, or perfume. Living with him, I don't need much."

The gray man cast a curious eye over the woman's scant costume.

"Kevin's a cheap bastard," he pronounced. "I'd rather have a more formal arrangement. Room, board, salary, and a regular day off. We can negotiate that, later.

"I'm a bit of a slob when working on a project," the gray man admitted. "You best look the place over before you commit yourself.

"Paramount," he declared, "is, never touch my desk, or disturb me while I'm working. Your part is to see that we aren't starving, nor condemned by the Board of Health." He raised an eyebrow, "Sound fair?"

"Well, sure, but. . . ."

"But?"


"While you were finishing my sentences . . . with just the right word . . . It made me . . . you know?"

"No. That word you must supply."

"Well, damn it, I'm horny!"

"Oh."

"You do anything about that?"

"Not contractually," the gray man's lips twisted. "By mutual consent, certainly!"

"Good!"

"With Kevin away, this'd be a good time to fetch your luggage, though."

"Too right!" she agreed. "Er, should I know what you do?"

"Presently, I'm preparing a history of Snippettsville."

"Whatever for?"

"A local businessman has pretensions as an author. He will publish one this fall."

"What's that to you?"

"I," the gray man explained, offhandedly, "am a ghostwriter."

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 03



Hello, and welcome to the third issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 3
Preacher's Kid by PierceStreet
What A Place To Break Down by RainbowSkin
Hannah by jon.hayworth
Ker-Snap by Quasimodem

Illustrations
Header Picture, (c)Couture, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Preacher's Kid by PierceStreet

Snippettsville Church had a new minister, and eighteen year old Mike Smith was excited. The minister had a daughter, Lily.

This year all the Seniors were hooked up as couples. Mike was the odd man. Not that he wasn't attractive. Lisa Myers had made that clear several nights at Green Lake. But Lisa didn't want a boyfriend, and wanted Mike infrequently.

In those first weeks, Mike grew to appreciate Lily. In public she was shy and reserved but when they were alone walking home, he found her vivacious, candid and with a touch of blue humor. He knew a minister's daughter wasn't likely to meet his sexual needs. Even so, he was tired of being the odd man at school.

He asked her to be his girlfriend. She invited him to dinner, and promised an answer then.

That night, Lily greeted him cheerfully with a quick peck at the door.

During dinner, Lily told her parents Mike wanted them to be a couple. "What exactly does that mean?" asked Reverend Niles.

Mike explained it meant that they would hang out, have lunch together, attend parties. "All proper events," he said, making his case.

Reverend Niles weighed Mike's words, and saw the almost imperceptible nod from his wife. "I approve."

The dinner conversation continued. Suddenly, Mike felt something. Lily was playing footsie!

Her bare toes moved to his calf, then up along his inner thigh and she planted her foot on his crotch. When she flexed her toes, his cock responded. She was creating a problem. Mike's pants were profoundly tented. He hoped Lily would stop before the meal ended.

"Mom, Mike and I'll clear the table."

"What!" he thought, panicked.

Lily continued, "Your game is about to start?"

With a bustle, her parents excused themselves and rushed downstairs.

Keeping up her erotic foot massage, Lily explained that her parents were Pirates fans. They never missed a televised game.

"You saved my life," he told Lily.

Lily came around the table. "How?" she asked with mock innocence.

Mike pushed back his chair. Her eyes widened when she saw the pup tent. Lisa had told him he was one of the largest in town. She'd know.

Lily straddled him and then reached down and felt his cock. She stroked it a couple of times while maintaining fierce eye contact.

"You have a nice one, don't you?"

'What', he wondered, 'had this virginal girl seen to compare it with?'

Lily used both hands to work open his belt. She put her hands around him and stroked.

"I think it likes me."

Her touch went away. Mike heard the rustle of skirt. She bunched it above her waist. He glanced down. She wasn't wearing any panties under her long skirt. Lily impaled herself. She rocked back and forth a bit, working his size into her tight pussy. He found himself in her to the hilt without encountering any obstructions.

"Its been too long!" she sighed. He marveled at her ability to be both the virginal minister's daughter in public, and the exciting lover in private.

At the door, he asked her out for Friday. She assented, explaining "As my boyfriend, I expect utter discretion. A relationship with a PK, Preacher's Kid, need not be celibate, but I cannot embarrass my father, not again, so we have to be careful with the sex." He wondered about that 'not again', and figured there was a story there.

After kissing him passionately,"Find a place for us to be totally alone Friday night. I want to be skin to skin naked while fucking you!"

* * * * *

What A Place To Break Down by RainbowSkin

'What a place to break down.'

'Not broken down, we're just overheated...'

'You can say that again. I'm sweating like a pig.'

In the silence that followed Fleur cast her eyes over her partner's chunky bare arms and the glisten of belly that defied the Joy Division T-shirt. She knew Lesley wouldn't like it but she said it anyway: 'Mmm, I love it when you sweat.'

'You're sick,' said Lesley, not taking her listless eyes from the run-down houses through the windscreen. In the stillness she had sat here feeling liquid pool abundantly in her thighs and soak her shorts and car seat, but had no illusion what it was. Desire had been drained from her hours ago, past the last nondescript town they had stayed at. She was hungry and grumpy.

'Get in the back seat and strip off.'

'We're in the middle of the fucking street.'

'No-one's coming. It's dead.'

'They probably shoot people for having sex. Probably no-one's ever had sex in this town, ever. Do they still burn witches in America?'

'Only in places like Kansas,' Fleur demurred.

'And we're in...?'

'Fucked if I know,' she quietly admitted after an over-long pause. 'Just your armpits then. Please. Lezzie, please please may I please lick the sweat from your armpits? It would make me come.'

Lesley burst into a hoot of laughter, flashed a loving glance at Fleur, and looked away as disgusted as she could manage. The torrent in the fork of her legs was joined by new juices. She looked round for strangers then seeing none leaned in towards her lover enough that Fleur could apply herself with catlike tonguing to the golden skin of her arm. With another scan she murmured to Fleur to go on, and raised her arm casually onto the seat to allow Fleur to push the cloth back.

Of all the things they had done together this was perhaps the one that most horrified her when it was first proposed. Golden showers at least had been a fantasy beforehand, but this cleaning of her soiled and unwelcoming body had made her recoil for months before she agreed. Now it was wonderful, even if she still hated being so sticky everywhere else and unable to relieve it.

With no intention of taking herself to completion, since they had to get out and find a garage, a place to eat, and for preference a stiff cooling drink, Lesley parted her shorts and rubbed herself idly. Fleur clasped her hand, drew it out, and sucked the first finger.

'I don't suppose the Painted Desert's round the next corner?'

Fleur shook her head without even getting out the map to check, or releasing her hand, so Lesley knew it must be true. 'Lake District? Chipping Camden? Junction 10 on the M25?'

Now Fleur had to raise her head from her sloppy licking of Lesley's wrist and inside lower arm, to convey the definite shakes of negation. Lesley sighed. She was trying to remember any articles in The Guardian about recent gay lynchings, but either there weren't any or they were common enough not to rate the world news paragraphs any more. Someone crossed the street in the distance: Fleur sat up when she felt her stiffen, then switched her attention to the belly with its faint stretch-marks and three little moles. If anyone asked, she was getting her purse.

Lesley stroked her hair and arranged it to fall across her thighs and tickle her. The fluttering pressure on her belly made her giddy, and carelessly shut her eyes and edge her shorts down.

* * * * *

Hannah by jon.hayworth

I spent my first day in Snippetsville exploring the one street town and sitting in the Diner listening to people as they called by. That evening I had a lot of notes to write-up. Then I settled down to write my daily thousand words.

The tap on the door was annoying. I hate being disturbed when I am writing, it breaks the flow of words. "Yes."

Hannah took my reply for an invitation and stepped into the room. "What are you doing?" she asked looking at the lap-top.

"Writing." Despite the fact that she was wearing nothing but a bath robe I wanted her to go.

She ignored my tone, "What are you writing?"

"Its part of a story."

"My! You mean you're a writer – a real writer."

"People publish my work." I saved my work and began to close down the lap-top, it was obvious she wanted to talk.

"Jack from the store is a writer. He doesn't know that I know, if his wife Ethel found out I know she'd die of shame."

I must have looked interested, because she added, "he writes dirty stories. He don't know I have read them on the net. Tell you what, come through to my room and I'll show you on my machine."

An interesting variation on come up and see my etchings. I followed her through to her room. For some time we perused Jack's stories, I sat at the PC, Hannah stood behind me looking over my shoulder. I had to admit that he was good. Good enough to be published if he tried.

"Gee making this stuff sure makes me hot," Hannah said pressing her body against me. I could feel her ample breasts warm against my shoulder blades I noted her two pebble hard nipples. This woman was hot.

Call me a Neanderthal. Call me a male chauvinist pig. Call me whatever, but I am not one of your touchy feely New Age men who can only make love when everything is right. I have always been led by my cock's instinctive reactions and right now the warmth of Hannah's body had spurred my cock into a rock hard erection.

I turned from the PC, pulled open her robe and buried my face in her ample bosom and inhaled. The smell of a freshly bathed woman holds aphrodisiac properties that no perfumer can replicate.

She squirmed pressing an erect nipple against my lips. I pulled her to me, swirling my tongue around her nipple. She gave a low contented sigh as she tugged at my hair as she forced her breast into my mouth.

The PC was abandoned, effortlessly we had moved onto Hannah's bed. Hannah, who had slipped her robe off as we moved, tugged and tore at my clothes. As I kicked my pants from around my ankles I pulled back and looked at her.

Like many women she was brainwashed, if they weigh over one-hundred and ten pounds they think they are overweight. "No let me see you," I said as she sat-up rounding her shoulders as she used her hands and arms to cover her nakedness.

"If you look at me like that you won't like what you see."

"Hannah you're all woman and I like what I see – you're my kind of woman," I added truthfully. I have this thing for women with Rubenesque figures, I like their soft curves and something to hold onto. It has been my experience that women's libido is in direct proportion to their dress size and Hannah did nothing to disprove my theory.

* * * * *

Ker-Snap by Quasimodem

"What are you doing in my office?"

"Danielle said you wanted to see me."

The distinguished-looking executive momentarily goggled at the gangly, redheaded scarecrow with the rich baritone voice.

"You," he declared ominously, "will refer to Danielle as Miss Chilters, or preferably, not at all. I don't want to see you near my daughter, or you'll never work in this business again!"

With those words, Grayson Chilters III, separated his newest employee, Josh Billings, from his only daughter, Danielle.

"Now get the hell out of here! You're on-air in five minutes."

Josh caromed off the door jamb as he sped from Mr. Chilters' private office.

"Danielle, don't leave. Come in here."

"Ker-Snap! It's twelve midnight, and you're soaking in it! The Bat Billings' Show on 875 AM, KSNP." Josh's voice rolled majestically from the off-air feed in the deserted lobby.

"But, father!"

"No buts! I don't wish to hear another word about you and that . . . red-assed baboon," Chilters informed his daughter. "I think it's time you remember your position."

"Oh, no! Please, father."

"Great-great-grandfather, Daniel - your namesake - was the first settler after old Zachariah Snippett founded Snippettsville. Great-grandfather Grover was the prime mover behind the railroad coming here. Grandfather Grayson founded this radio station and the Green Lake Resort Lodge. Father built the electronics plant, and I incorporated our business, and positioned it on the stock exchange.

"Do you think someone with our heritage could marry a freak like Josh Billings?"

"But the railroad only carries freight, the Green Lake Lodge burned down years ago, the electronics plant can't compete with the Japanese, and we've only got a bitty thousand watt transmitter. . . ."

Crack! The sound of a blow exploded in the hushed office.

"It's time I take you in hand, my girl."

"No! Please, no, daddy!"

Sounds of cloth ripping and an almost subhuman whimpering, were followed by the unmistakable rasp of a zipper.

"No!" It was a shuddering scream at the edge of sanity, then hysterical weeping. Intermingled, were animalistic grunts punctuating the girl's screams. It seemed to go on forever.

Thump! Thump! Heavy pounding was followed by a voice calling, "Open up in there."

"Get the fuck away!" Grayson shouted.

A splintering crash, then, "Stand away from that girl, Chilters!" Police Chief Holt's tenor was burred with an authoritarian ring.

Sound then became confusing, as Josh Billings' baritone uttered soothing inconsequentialities, behind Holt's recitation of Miranda rights, and Chilters' gibbering litany of impotent profanity.

"Take Chilters in your squad car," Billings was heard to suggest, "I could bring Danielle later, when she's calmer."

Tom, loathe to disagree, was about to speak, when the State Trooper sent as back up entered the fray.

"It's still broadcasting," he exclaimed, incomprehensibly. "This is all going out on the radio."

"Because this is still on," Josh could be heard to explain. He pulled a small FM microphone from its position behind a Chamber of Commerce award, on the shelf behind Chilters' desk. "You turn it off here. . . ."

The Great Snippettsville Incest Broadcast came to an abrupt end.

*

When anyone thought to inquire, Josh and Danielle had disappeared from Snippettsville. When urged to put out an APB on the fugitives, Police Chief Holt followed a personal hunch. He called a state forensic accountant to go over Chilters' books.

There was no need to pursue the fugitive couple. The irregularities found in Chilters' accounts were enough to enroll Grayson Chilters III in the Rufe Dobson Medium Security Prison for not less than ten, nor more than eighteen years.

In this facility, Chilters is presently receiving sex abuse sensitivity training from a close personal friend.

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 04



Hello, and welcome to the fourth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 4
Scared Of Heights by PierceStreet
The Golden Oak by wildsweetone
A Peaceful Place by BlackSnake
Wishes by sailorm72003

Illustrations
Header Picture, (c)BlackSnake, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Scared Of Heights by PierceStreet

"Are you OK?" Molly yelled up to the young man standing on the cliff ledge. He was shaking like a leaf.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," she said almost conversationally.

"I'm scared of heights. I thought maybe I'd confront my fear. OK with you?"

"Boy," Molly thought to herself, "give a damn about your fellow man and all you get is attitude." She didn't know the guy, so he was probably one of the college guys that came up to Green Lake on weekends to camp. "He's kind of cute."

Molly was out fishing in her Dad's bass boat when she noticed him standing on the cliff overlooking the lake. The popular lookout had an easy trail leading up to it from behind.

His attitude sparked her mostly latent brat tendency. "If you really want to overcome your fear, jump! The water here is deep."

The guy went white as a sheet.

"Come on," urged Molly, "all the kids do it around here."

His knees where shaking now like he was doing some native dance.

"What's wrong?" she challenged, "Never done anything impulsive?" He shook his head no.

"Jump, and maybe I'll do something impulsive too."

"Why the hell did I say that?", Molly wondered. "You can be a bratty little bitch sometimes. Oh well, he isn't reacting. Time to up the stakes." She whipped off her t-shirt, and looked up at him, giving him a good look at what she was offering. Still he stayed frozen. He wasn't going to jump, and his male ego wasn't going to let him turn and walk away until she left. Molly scooted back to the outboard and started it.

A scream made her look up. The guy had taken a running start and leaped.

He hit the water and disappeared below long enough to concern her. He bobbed up near the boat. Molly laughed, "You crazy asshole."

"Shit." thought the tomboy. "What am I going to do now?" Then it occurred to her, "I've had guys exaggerate, scheme, and tell me sweet lies to be with me, but never has one done what he feared the most." She helped him into the boat, and wasn't surprised when he thought it his right to press his wet body up to hers and kiss her deeply.

"Sit down." she commanded, as she put the boat in motion. She pulled the boat into a secluded cove and tied it to a tree. They waded ashore. He turned to her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to him. His hands explored her ass while they kissed, then started working her shorts down. Molly pulled his shirt up over his head, then unbuttoned his shorts. Things were moving fast, the release of adrenaline making him frantically horny. And it was catching, and all too soon, they were on the ground, he buried in her, her legs wrapped around him.

He was approaching his climax, when Molly admitted to herself it wasn't going to happen for her. Normally it did, but normally there was more foreplay then this. It was OK, it still felt good, and he'd confronted his worst fear. He deserved a reward.

Movement caught Molly's eye. There was someone on the hillside above. At first she panicked, then recognized Jack from the diner. She motioned for him to be quiet, and not disrupt the young man's pending orgasm. Then something amazing happened, Molly felt her own orgasm come out of nowhere and overwhelm her. Molly shouted her joy to the world, or at least for Jack to hear.

And an exhibitionist was born.

* * * * *

The Golden Oak by wildsweetone

The wooden kauri penholder sat on the desk, its ink pen held in the manicured hand of Mrs Dresden, sole remaining owner of The Golden Oak.

The Golden Prison would be infinitely more correct, she thought as she signed each goatskin sheet in front of her. The new Deed completed, she folded then replaced it in the vault behind the Renoir.

Her family originally from Duchy English soil, Elizabeth recalled her mother talking about 'Home' and how Snippettesville would never equal what they'd been forced to leave behind. Having no siblings, she had inherited the property alone.

"Aunt Elizabeth, are you finished in here yet? I need you upstairs for a few minutes." That Kevin leaned with indifference against the oak doorframe did nothing to dispel his air of excitement.

"What is it now, Kevin?" Elizabeth did not lift her head.

"For God's sake, Aunt. Just leave that paperwork and come upstairs."

Unwilling to wait for her to finish her paperwork, he took Elizabeth's hand then firmly propelled her through the door and up the highly polished oak staircase.

"Kevin dear, I simply don't have time."

"Yes Aunt, you always have time for this." He led her firmly into his own room and pushed her backward onto his four poster bed. The curtains trembled as the bed rocked with her slight weight.

Unable to help herself, she smiled as she watched him kick the door shut with his foot. He undressed as he sauntered towards the bed. Clothes strewn all over the room like scattered remnants of tornado struck homes.

She watched his firm body as he straddled her. At her awed expression, he slipped inside her warm wetness without preliminary playing. Like sweet wine smeared over her skin, he slid in and out without difficulty. When the sharp intake of air paled her features, he brought her back to reality with a sharp slap across her alabaster face. Immediately she drifted into the space known only to submissives where all life ceased to exist and all thoughts cleared her mind. The hot sting from the slap kept her attention solely on him and she moaned as he lost control pumping his shaft deep inside then collapsed upon her lean body.

Elizabeth drifted then, a heavy sleep enveloping her body. She did not feel the prick as the blade slid home. With a last sigh, she lay still. The red river of blood seeping from the wound and soaking into the white sheet.

Kevin removed the stiletto from her body, wiping it on the sheet beside her then pocketed the weapon. He dressed and without looking back at her, he left the room. Once inside the study, he pulled the Renoir aside, turned the vault knob listening for the telltale clicks until the heavy door opened.

He reached inside, lifted out a wad of papers and spread them across the top of the oak desk. Grabbing the Deed, he opened it staring at the signature scrawled at the bottom of each page.

All five pages had the inked word 'Sub'. Roaring with anger, knowing the Will was void and the estate proceeds would go to the originally intended new Snippettesville Kindergarten, Kevin threw the offending document to the floor. He had no possible way open to pay off his gambling debts now.

He sat on the leather chair behind the desk, reached for the bottom drawer, opened it and gripped the cold metal gun in one hand. He lifted the barrel to his mouth, stared straight ahead at Elizabeth's portrait and pulled the trigger.

* * * * *

A Peaceful Place by BlackSnake

Kimberly could hardly believe just how peaceful Snippettsville was. In the city, she never would have dreamed of leaving a door unlocked. She opened all the windows and doors to let the morning fresh air and breeze blow through the house.

Still wrapped in her bath towel, she stood out on the back porch feeling the cool breeze against her fair skin. Everything had the feeling of a quiet poem. Her husband, Daniel had promised to find her a nice place to live once they got married, but she didn't imagine a place so perfect.

"Well Mrs. Adams," Daniel said walking up behind his new bride, "you said you wanted a place where you could run naked."

Kimberly turned around smiling at her husband as she backed onto the top step holding her towel with both hands. She spun around leaping from the steps landing barefoot on the grass and letting her towel float to the ground.

Daniel snatched his towel from his waist and chased after his naked wife. He tried to catch her before she got to the hammock, but she was in far too good shape for him. He had fallen in love the first time he saw the way her calves poured into the back of her heels like an upside down rain drop. Her beautifully sculptured thighs and curvy hips set off her plump little ass. He hadn't been much for tits, but she had enough to fill his hands, which he was very happy with.

Kimberly giggled as she climbed into the hammock and made room for her husband. She kissed him as he relaxed next to her swinging under the trees. "This place is so beautiful," she said laying her head on his chest.

"Yes, but I wonder what the neighbors are going to think seeing us naked out here," Daniel said.

"I don't care…let them look. I love this place," Kimberly said. "If they look hard enough, they may see something else." She giggled and began stroking his cock, making it hard.

"You're bad," Daniel chuckled.

"O' yeah," she said rolling on top of him and guiding his cock into her. "How about now?"

"O' you're really bad," he kissed her lips sucking her tongue into his mouth.

They were getting into motion when the blast from the sprinklers hit them. They rolled out of the hammock and ran up on the porch laughing and giggling. Kimberly wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and kissed him deeply. They fell against the doorframe passionately grasping each other's bodies. Kimberly got her legs up around Daniel's waist as he thrust his cock into her.

"Ah!" she cried out, holding onto him tight as she felt the length of his thick cock hit her g-spot.

Daniel grunted and drilled his cock into the softness of her love canal. He had married her two months after they had met and moved her to this quiet town to have her all to himself, and he had planned on having her as often as he could.

"Yes! Fuck me!" Kimberly cried out.

He loved the way she talked dirty during sex, and she really loved having sex. She told him it was because he had a big juicy dick. Everything she said to him seemed to make his dick and strokes harder.

"Fuck my pussy with that giant dick," she said rising and falling in his arms on his rock hard cock.

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" Daniel grunted slamming her against the door with each stroke leading towards his orgasm.

"That was great!" someone said.

* * * * *

Wishes by sailorm72003

The Gang had decided to go out to the lake for a barbecue and swim. Green Lake was a fine party spot, and it was appreciated during these early days of summer by the young people that didn't leave Snippetsville after graduating from high school, and those twenty-somethings who commuted from Snippetsville to jobs in the city.

Swimming and sunning, tag football and frisbee occupied the early evening hours. As the western sky began to mellow and redden, the bonfire was started. Hot dogs and chips were on the menu, washed down with plenty of cold beer from Jack Carr's store.

After eating, Staci and John slipped away from the beach picnic together, making sure that no one was looking as they ducked into the cover of the trees that backed the beach. Hand in hand, giggling and shushing each other, they worked their way around the spit of land that separated two coves.

"Dammit John, slow down, I just ripped my shirt," Staci complained.

"So what?" John answered, "No one around to see anyway."

"Yeah, what about you?" she snapped, "You're around."

"Since when do you care if I see your tits? You haven't stopped me since we graduated!" John laughed, as he took her in his arms and kissed her.

Staci felt herself melting into his embrace, and her momentary irritation began to fade into warmer, softer emotions.

"Let's swim," she whispered. Pulling away from John, she removed her clothes, dropping them to the sand and wading into the water. John lost no time following suit, and the two swam for a while, then lay in the shallows with cool water lapping around their legs and gently touched each other.

They looked up at the dark sky, watching the stars appear and listening to the sounds of their friends in the next cove. Occasional sparks from the fire drifted out over the lake, looking like miniature shooting stars as they burned out.

"I wonder if you can wish on those, do you think?" Staci asked John.

"I don't know, but you can try. What do you wish for?" he asked.

"Hmm, I wish you would make me purr," she answered, and rolled onto her side in the shallow water, facing him and reaching out to caress his chest.

John turned to her and put his hand on her waist, sending little shockwaves along her legs and around her belly. "I'll do my best!" he promised, moving his hand lower and onto her thighs, into the warm triangle between her legs. He could feel her warmth even under the water, as he used his fingertips and gently teased and twisted the curly hair there, feeling her lift her upper leg to allow freer access.

Staci sighed with pleasure, as his fingers moved onto her cleft, along the soft skin of her inner thighs, and then cupped her pussy lips firmly in his hand, pressing her clit with the heel of his hand as he pushed a finger into her. She put her own hand out, feeling his hardness and began to gently stroke him.

"Like velvet over wood," she said, and then lost all thought in the pleasure his fingers were giving her.

John rolled onto Staci, lips meeting and tongues dancing together as their movements grew more hurried, his fingers working into her faster and deeper. She parted her legs, opening herself for him and he slid his cock deep into her, feeling the warmth of her surrounding him.

Afterward, as they were dressing, Staci looked up into John's eyes, winked, and said "You can wish on embers!"

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 06



Hello, and welcome to the sixth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 6
Lisa Hitchhikes by PierceStreet
Running by jon.hayworth
In Flagrante by gauchecritic
Graduation - Sian and Hannah by perdita

Illustrations
Header Picture, (c)Blacksnake, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Lisa Hitchhikes by PierceStreet

Bill Davis thought this would be another boring drive back to college. He was taking a cutoff from the interstate to pick up a state road. His headlights caught the image of a late teen woman walking along. This was the middle of nowhere and late, and she obviously didn't belong out here. He braked and backed up to her.

"Are you OK?" She took a moment to answer, assessing him, and the danger. She stood a few feet from the car, prudently he thought.

"Yeah. Just a date gone bad. I'm walking home."

"How far is home?"

"About 10 miles down this road."

"I'm going that far, farther still. Do you want a ride? My name is Bill."

"Hi Bill, I'm Lisa. Yeah, I could use a ride." She opened the door and hiked herself up into his SUV, actually his Dad's old SUV.

After riding silently for a while, Bill had to ask, "Lisa, you said a date gone bad, and you were willing to walk 10 miles. How bad was it? I mean, do you want me to drop you off at the police station or something."

"That's sweet Bill. No I wasn't raped. It's just this guy I was out with actually used the line, 'Put out or walk home.' At first, I thought he was kidding. I mean how Neanderthal. But he was serious so I took the walk option."

Bill relaxed, and out of the corner of his eye, checked her out. She was a tall girl, about 5'9", trim waist. She had on a thin skirt that was rather long, below her knees. Lisa was getting comfortable too. She slipped off her leather jacket. Underneath, a white blouse barely contained large, full breasts threatening to burst the buttons. She was dressed to attract.

She liked what she saw out of the corner of her eye too. "Maybe tonight wasn't a total washout", she thought. "Time to give him a hint."

"The ironic thing is Bill, he was demanding what in five minutes or so, I'd have offered."

That admission floored him, so he said nothing.

"Want to take a few moments and see some local beauty?" Lisa asked as they neared town. She directed him to turn off and drive down Green Lake road to an overlook. A full moon hung over the lake.

"This is beautiful."

"This isn't the local beauty I meant" He looked over at her. She'd unbuttoned her blouse. On nights she anticipated sex, Lisa went without underwear. He had that stunned look on his face she loved when guys realized she was theirs for the taking.

He pulled her close to her and kissed her, his hands found her magnificent breasts. Her hands worked his belt open. She broke the kiss, and began giving him head.

"You're fabulous at that."

"Learned it right here." She returned to his cock and kept at it until he came in her mouth. She swallowed every drop, a matter of pride to her.

They moved to the cargo area in back. Playfully, she hiked her skirt up and flashed him her pussy. "See anything you want?"

Bill astonished her by grabbing her hips to hold her and lowered his mouth to her. He too was a consummate at what he did and soon had her squirming around the back of the SUV.

"Bill, I need you to give it to me now," she demanded soon. "Bill, do me, fuck me," she gasped.

Afterwards, "Aren't you glad my Dad expects his kids to repay every favor? We're proud people around here. Horny too."

* * * * *


Running by jon.hayworth

A week passed by and became two weeks. I only used the room I rented from Hannah to write in – night times Hannah wanted to make whoopee. Hannah turned out to be an insomniac with a libido as big as Texas, and I was unable to keep up.

At first I tried to be diplomatic, saying things like, "you can have too much of a good thing," or, "waiting makes it even more exciting," but Hannah McGuire choose to ignore my comments.

When I walked into the store for a package of cigarettes Ethel Carr saw my eyes were damn near falling shut. "How are you today? Looking kinda peaky to me," she called, "Jack this writer fella from England is looking all done in."

Jack came out of the stock-room looked over and grinned, him knowing I was a writer and him aspiring to be a writer gave us a common bond in his eyes. "Looks like Hannah's been making too many demands."

"Jack!" Ethel said sharply looking around to see if there was anyone in earshot, "she always was one for the men – demanding more than any man has, if you know what I mean."

Both Jack and I bristled at this assault on our masculinity, an unspoken alliance against the aggressive female sex was instantly formed.

"Jack, I'll tell you what I do need, some place quiet where I can do some writing. I'm falling behind on my deadlines," I added giving Jack a one writer to another writer look.

"There's the cabin up above Green Lake, but it's kinda isolated. No running water and no electricity, we hardly use it."

"Can I ride the bike up there?"

"The trail's rough but my truck gets up there."

"I'll take it."

---------------

I sneaked out of the back of the Dinner whilst there was a miniature rush about noon. Clipped the Krauzers onto the BMW and rode out of town on the road to Green Lake. I parked near the lake and settled down to wait.

I was just finishing a beer and my second cigarette when I heard a vehicle, Jack's Chevy truck pulled up. "Your supplies are in the back. Follow me."

When we turned off the tarmac road onto the trail I had to pull my visor down to shield my eyes from the hail of small stones that shot at me from the truck's tires. We passed a small cluster of cabins and the rough track narrowed, half a mile later Jack stopped next to a small dilapidated cabin.

"Told you it weren't up to much, but you can use it."

He helped me carry in the boxes of food and five gallon cans of kerosene for the lamps. "Hope you like being alone, and watch out for the bears at night."
When he had gone I explored – the cabin smelt unused but the open door and windows soon cured that. I found an outbuilding that I could put the bike in, inside it I found a rusty old generator – someday when I had time I would tinker with it, maybe I could make it run.

For the first time in days I wrote – I mean I wrote words that I wanted to keep, words that I felt enthusiastic about.

As I was falling asleep I thought to myself, this little cabin might be isolated and primitive but I like it, with a little bit of work it would make a good home - it was the sort of place where a single man could put down some roots.

* * * * *

In Flagrante by gauchecritic

Watching Jerry Springer on the TV at 2.30 in the afternoon isn't my idea of a good holiday, however naked the stripping she-male gets. Realising you're then in the studio audience and chanting Jairy, Jairy Jairy, doesn't make it any better.

Suddenly I'm on the stage dancing with her/him and she/he is undressing me in front of the nation and has her/his hand down my trousers.

Now I'm laid down on the stage and it has become a field and my Scottish friend Iain is slowly lowering his face towards my rigid cock. With his eyes firmly fixed on mine I notice, squint how I may, I can barely see his colourless eyebrows.

Now, I start to embarrassingly push my hips forward to let my cock meet his lips. Trembling and beginning to exude sweat I notice a glistening trail from his lips to my foreskin. This isn't right. I'm not gay. I'm not even bi-curious. I push, wanting his mouth to envelop me.

I open my eyes.

I'm not in a field.

This bobbing head at my groin isn't Iain's ginger head. This full-figured woman sucking on my cock isn't my pale bodied college friend.

I tore my attention away from Hannah's deep, very deep throat, her nose nubbing across my pubes, twisting her head somehow, around my now fully sheathed prick.

2.30 am

Two simultaneous occurrences made my head swivel back. A banging on the outer front door and Hannah almost choking herself as she tried to disgorge faster than she should have.

Waiting, laid in bed, with a throbbing hard on, is a difficult occupation at best. I handed in my resignation and, pausing only to admire my rangy, nay stringy, self in the mirror, I sauntered through the blackening gloom.

Amazing, the minute sounds you can hear in the dead of night. Quiet, stifled gasps. The slither of clothing falling from a body. Air hissing through teeth. Gentle moans. Sharp intakes of breath.

The sounds grew as I approached the opened doorway leading to the ghostly-lit interior of the Diner.

Movement caused me to turn and see Hannah perch herself, naked on a stool at the counter, facing the window onto the street. Slick shining outlines drew my gaze. Her wide shoulders across the dark edge of the counter, arms akimbo, extended fingers grasping laminate. Her hair, fallen forward as she contemplated something (someone?) on the floor at her feet.

I stepped forward intent on discovering her display. She drew a quick, deep breath and threw her head back as her hair made an impromptu table cloth for a gourmand to slaver over. I stopped as Hannah's rhythmic, orchestrated breathing slashed through the silent diner. I knew that sound. That was Hannah being penetrated. I knew that sound. I puzzled momentarily; I could see her hands unoccupied, silvered skin counterpoint in texture to her spread hair along the counter.

I leaned forward. Hannah's deep hung breasts rose and fell, finally bringing an accurate picture to the phrase in my head: 'heaving bosoms'. I bit my bottom lip and balanced tiptoe to seesaw a head between those heavy, heavenly thighs moving back and forth, forth and back.

I almost gasped aloud as strong, yet curvaceous shoulders, rising, pushed Hannah's thighs apart to allow a long rasping tongue through her dark, damp pussy hair, up her belly, through that cavernous cleavage to slide it's way inside her waiting mouth.

A woman. A very strong and aggressive woman. I shall enjoy this.

Her eyes flickered from Hannah's to mine, to my lips to balancing fingers. Predator they thrilled.

* * * * *

Graduation - Sian and Hannah by perdita

Sian watched the boy fake out Jack and Ethel. She could barely hear but his accent proved foreign, obviously a Brit. His contrived languages made her laugh.

"Good lad," she said to herself, "I'll make you laugh so you last."

When Hannah came out at Ethel's coarse call Sian went hot and cold at once.

"Hannah? Oh fuck! Hannah!"

Sian loved cock and penetration. Occasionally she went for women, never girls. Hannah was her first — buxom, wide-hipped, cherry-mouthed, skin like flower petals — but it was the scent that caught Sian. It trapped her like a bee to fresh nectar.

During the last week before graduation she stopped in the diner for coffee and a homemade donut. Sian had just cut her own hair, chopped it off trying to look like a femme Sid Vicious. She wanted to rid herself of girlhood and the vulgarity of being one more slut. Her ripening voluptuousness made the image difficult to achieve so she attacked her long tended mane of honey-blond waves and dyed the remaining shreds blue-black.

When Hannah set down the mug and doughnut Sian caught the pregnant scent. It was noisome but compelling. It was a heat. Sian felt its immediacy between her legs. She went up to the counter and took a chance, as she'd be leaving town within the week.

That evening Hannah opened her door wearing only an oversized black sweater with a plunging vee that exposed her refined cleavage.

"Come in, Shorn."

"You're the first person outside my family to say my name right."

Before she could say another word Hannah took hold of each side of Sian's head, holding her like a man while tongue-fucking her mouth into a near swoon.

"Come on, darlin', let's fuck til we're hysterical and you smell just like me."

Hannah led Sian down the hall but didn't stop until they reached the back door.

"Wait, where are we going? What . . . "

Hannah pulled her into an unkempt yard that looked like a small city dump.

"Don't talk, Sian. Let me do the fuck, trust me."

Though alone in the small fenced in wasteland, Sian felt excited at the exposure, at the possibility some one might be watching.

Against the wall next to the kitchen window Hannah pulled down Sian's jeans and white cotton taps. Unbuttoning the man's flannel shirt she was roused further finding only the girl's considerable breasts with half-puckered nipples.

Pressing hard against her Hannah finger-fucked Sian's moist cunt like a cock. Between her free hand and mouth she indulged all the rut and appetite she felt, petting and sucking the girl's tits and continuing the fuck in her mouth. She slavered over the nipples jutting hard from their mutable mounds, and the same inconstant lips that quivered uncontrollably.

Sian was aghast, frightened at her sensations, incredulous at the crudeness and ferocity of the woman. She climaxed hard and long, an earth's tremor of quakes and aftershocks.

"Leave the shirt on, I'm always expecting company."

Inside, Hannah sat on her recliner, spread her thick thighs and instructed Sian in plating.

"Push your tongue in—keep it in—scoop me out—um—yes baby—ha ha—a boy from Leeds did me like this—he was queer on pussy—now bring it out slow—right between the lips—ssssssss—flatten it hon—like you're licking a melted chocolate candy wrapper—or a dinner plate when the bread's run out—for sopping up the sauce—yes—Sian—you're bringing me home—lick up now—keep your tongue flat—yes—up across my clit—sssssssss—now do it—yes—do it til— ."

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 07



Hello, and welcome to the seventh issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 7
Liz by wildsweetone
Hopes for Greens by Quasimodem
Abbreviated Shower by Champagne1982
Packing The Post by Wantonica

Illustrations
Header Picture, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Liz by wildsweetone

Liz looked around as she stepped down from the bus. The choking cloud of blue smoke smothered her as the rickety bus continued its long journey westward.

She picked up her backpack, slung it over one shoulder then walked towards the nearest building. The nearest building just happened to be the only pub in town. The smell of stale smoke, beer and steak seeped through the double doorway but she snorted the stench from her nostrils as she walked into the bar.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The only lighting in the place seemed to come from the bar at the back of the building and was reflected back towards her in the mirror that covered the back wall.

A couple of people stopped talking as she trudged to the bar. One, an older man, wolf whistled low under his breath. Most probably because her high-heeled boots did look great with her skin tight stretch jeans and skimpy white cotton and lace top. Or it could have been because he'd not been with a woman in the last year. But Liz didn't really think it was the latter, after all, his wolf whistle sure managed to ruffle the fine hairs on the nape of her neck.

She dropped her backpack onto the floor beside the stool at the bar, lifted one lean leg over the seat and sat down gingerly. The bus ride had been a ride from hell, she'd almost left the bus at the last town, but decided to hang in with it until Snippettesville. After all, Snippettesville was where she needed to be.

"Gin and tonic," she told the bartender as he slipped on drool along the length of the bar towards her. She didn't encourage his obvious interest. Instead, she turned and eyed the other occupants of the bar.

The wolf whistler was deep in conversation, with what appeared to be his dog. And the dog, to all intents and purposes, appeared to be answering his Master back.

The only other people in the building were a young couple sitting in the darkest corner of the bar. The young girl sat forward on her seat, her hand in the hand of her lover. Their eyes never left each other's faces, not even for a moment. They whispered softly, secretly.

"Here ya go sweet thang." The bartender's twangy accent grated along her backbone.

"Thank you," she turned around but did not meet his eyes. "How much?"

"The first one's on the house honey."

"Oh, but that can't be ri…"

"Nope, I'm not taking your money honey. Like I said, the first one's on the house. Enjoy it." He wandered off with his lecherous eyes almost concentrating on the cloth that wiped the already polished bar free from stray droplets of water.

Shrugging her shoulders, she picked up the glass and drank deeply of the icy liquid. The lemon slice bobbed up and down tapping her slightly upturned nose. The tonic's bitterness slipped down the back of her dry throat and she sighed in pleasure as she placed the wet glass on the cardboard coaster.

Through the mirror, she watched the young couple. They were still talking in low voices. The man with the dog seemed almost to be falling from his chair. He was staring across at the young couple. It took Liz a few moments to understand. When she did, she laughed loudly.

The man's eyes were in a direct line with the young couple's knees. He was not looking at their knees though.

* * * * *


Hopes For Greens by Quasimodem

Wisteria wished Wilberforce would gather up his manhood and pop the question. Playing a waiting game had never been her forte. If only they were alone!

"Ante up, Wilberforce," Arthur directed. "This is another hand."

"This isn't a hand," Wilberforce objected, "It's an unlikely organ. I think I'll just fold."

"Wilberforce has folded his organ," Arthur announced to the room at large.

Wisteria hated when the boys played stud, they became so unruly.

"Come wiff me Will-Burr," Beatrice commanded boozily. Grasping Wilberforce's elbow, she dragged him onto the dance floor. "We can waltsh to your or-gone music."

"It'll be The Minute Waltz," Wisteria sniffed. "Any bets?"

Arthur merely observed the half-drunk couple's perverted display.

"Damn all women to hell!" Arthur exploded. Lightening his scowl, he added, "Wisteria, dear, let's get some fresh air."

That was the trouble with stud, Wisteria thought. Even a nebbish like Arthur Drutts might suddenly turn macho.

Without knowing how it happened, Wisteria found herself trotting through the brisk night air in the Snippettsville Country Club parking lot. That did not last for long.

Without warning or permission, Arthur grasped Wisteria and tossed her lightly onto the hood of an adjacent Ford Mustang. She barely had time to notice the waning moon, before she felt Arthur pluck her undersized breasts from her oversized brassiere.

A second later Wisteria's hem was hiked up past her waist and her panties skinned down below her knees.

"Funny," Wisteria stated calmly, "I never thought it could be like this, Arthur. Not in the Country Club parking lot, and especially not on Carl Witherspoon's Mustang."

For a moment, Wisteria's world rocked, the moon danced crazily to the beat of Arthur's boney shanks against Witherspoon's Turtle Wax shine.

You could not call it love. You could not call it passion. Rather, it was the worn condition of the shock absorbers on Carl Witherspoon's Mustang.

At last it was over. The zipping sound of Arthur's fly being closed was immediately followed by a tentative beep from beneath Wisteria's body.

"Well," Arthur questioned icily, "are you going to make Carl wait all night before he can drive home? He has to work tomorrow, you know."

Wisteria leapt from the Mustang's hood, drawing her dishevelled apparel about her. Before she was prepared for public viewing, Arthur had re-entered the Country Club. In the distance, a thump could be heard as Carl bottomed his Mustang passing too quickly over a speed bump, whilst making his escape.

With Arthur's ire unresolved, he launched an attack upon Wilberforce, in the Snippettsville Country Club.

Wilberforce had wearied of keeping Beatrice at arm's length. Arthur was in no condition to entertain the sight of Wilberforce oozing suggestively in a half-drunken rumba against his fiancee.

Pulling the drunk half of the combo from Wilberforce's arms, Arthur cold-cocked his friend with a sledgehammer blow behind the ear.

The festivities were over, the merry-go-round had come unstuck.

That night, Arthur stayed at Beatrice's apartment, but he permitted himself no sleep.

He was determined to prove his love to his wealthy fiancee, for several agonizing hours. He planted this love in expectations of a future bumper crop, but the portents were not promising.

Boring away over Beatrice's naked body, Arthur pulled every trick that he knew, or vaguely suspected. Beatrice obviously enjoyed his amorous toil, but not enough for the silly bitch to stop humming the damn Latin song, to which she had been dancing with Wilberforce.

Arthur's carrot grew greater, to deeply goad the moist earth of Beatrice's fertile desire, while the shadowy bunny of jealousy nibbled perniciously at his hopes for greens.

* * * * *

Abbreviated Shower by Champagne1982

Cheri walked up the flagstone walk, turning to wave at her three friends as they pulled away. "See you at eight, you guys! Don't forget me!" she shouted as the blue Cherokee sped off. She was smiling as she walked past a local contractor's pickup truck. Who'd have thought those guys would still be here? Her parents hadn't mentioned anything about work still needing to be done.

Shrugging her sunburnt shoulders, she hurried inside the house. Right then she could only think of showering and sitting back with a cold soda. She looked for the workmen and heard the buzz of a saw downstairs, satisfied about their location, Cheri went directly to her bedroom. She untied her bikini, releasing her breasts and frowned as she saw exactly how pink her skin was despite the judicious application of sunblock.

She moved through her bedroom, into the newly decorated ensuite. After turning on the water, Cheri stood on tiptoe to adjust the spray. There were several things about her body Cheri didn't like, being short was just one of them.

She wished she were a little less full chested since her bust always seemed to want to spill out of whatever blouse she wore. Her waist, flat as her tummy was, could, in her opinion, have been just a little narrower. Her ass would be okay, she supposed, if it were on someone about four inches taller.

Even the fine shower spray was stinging her burn! Cheri quickly shampooed her auburn hair, she was rinsing as the water slowed to a trickle and then stopped. "What the hell?" she cursed. Fiddling with the taps brought no result so she wrapped her hair up and pulled on her bathrobe.

She stormed down the stairs, coming up short when she saw him stretched out beneath the sink. "Hey! What's going on?" Cheri drew up indignantly, "What happened to the water?" breathing heavily, she continued, "You could at least tell someone you're gonna do shit like that!"

"Tsk! Tsk! Nice talk, lil lady," his deep voice drawled. He lifted his head to look at her, "I'll just be a second. Doctor Jessop ordered a sink for the bar in here" he explained, "and I thought I'd install it while everyone," he grinned, "was away."

"Everyone, obviously, is not away!"

He finished tightening the pipe and slid out. "Obviously not." he agreed, standing straight.

"You'd better hurry up and turn..." she swallowed, her voice fading meekly as she looked up into his eyes.

He was a foot taller than her, at least and had the biggest hands, she watched as he wiped them on a worn towel. She felt her stomach flip as he walked away from her to the utility room. Thinking that was one plumber's ass she could watch all day Cheri was almost disappointed when he returned and told her the water was back on.

"Yes, well," she stammered, moving to the stairs reluctantly, "I guess I'll go finish my shower."

Deliberately, she raised her foot to the bottom stair, her leg flashing into view, "I am sorry I was so rude."

"I should be the one apologizing, I just didn't realize anyone was here." he looked so contrite, she had to smile. "You have an amazing smile!" He held out his hand as he stepped closer, "I'm Randy McCrae."

Suddenly, Cheri was embarassed by her blatant display, she pulled her robe belt tighter and shook his hand, "Hi, Randy. I'm Cheri Jessop. If you give me ten minutes I'll be right back to start again."

"I'd like that," she could almost feel his look caressing her skin, "Very much, Cheri Jessop."

* * * * *

Packing The Post by Wantonica

Maggie would send her assistant home early. She decided as soon as the mailbags arrived.

Maybe this time she wouldn't rewrap Doreen's package after opening it. She might keep the plaything, if it worked as well as the last one. The thought made her so excited, she could hardly concentrate on sorting mail.

It would serve the bitch right, she assured herself. Doreen pranced around town wearing short skirts and letting her cleavage show. She thought she was grand, but she had her dirty little secrets.

She watched the clock creep slowly toward 12:00. Finally, she turned to the young girl working with her for the summer.

"You can take the rest of the day off." It was a demand.

The girl looked confused; this was out of Maggie's character. She didn't complain though, just shrugged and left.

Maggie turned the Out to Lunch sign, locked the doors and turned off the lights. She returned to the sorting room and took the package from its spot on the shelf. With every intention of keeping whatever was inside, she tore into the box. Going through the paper inside, her eyes grew wide. A dildo. A big phallus, with veins and a head and balls. Maggie turned it over and over in her hands. She had never seen anything like it. She had never seen a real penis.

The little vibrator she tried the last time, before washing it and wrapping it back up, was nothing compared to this. She was afraid to try the new item until she saw the small jar of Slippery Stuff. That would help. The rubber cock had suction cups on the testicle end, and Maggie stuck it on her metal folding chair. It looked so ominous, sticking proudly into the air. She pulled her slacks and panties off and picked up the bottle of lube.

Circling the chair, she appeared to be faced with a wild animal. She squirted a glob of clear gel on her palm and went to the massive erection she was about to have inside her. She rubbed it on, relishing the smooth hardness of the imitation man. This toy would be perfect practice for the real deed, she thought.

Maggie stood over the dick, a leg on either side of the chair, and ever so slowly lowered herself onto it. She spread herself open with one hand and guided the cock in with the other. When it was an inch or so inside, she let her body settle, and deeper and deeper it went into her private depths. Oh, it felt so painfully good, so filling. Maggie grabbed the desk in front of her and slid up and down on the shaft. It still hurt, but the discomfort was not as intense as the pleasure she felt. She rubbed her clit while she banged herself on the huge cock. Her juices mixed with the lube and pain became nonexistent.

The feeling inside her was wonderful. She took almost the entire length of the massive thing; her ass hit cool metal on each down stroke. Her fingers moved faster as she felt the tingly beginnings of her pleasure surface. With a cry of glee, she led her body to quivering, shaking spasms that pulsed around the toy. She came harder and longer than ever before. She was already addicted to this delightful gift.

When she was finished, Maggie put away her new friend and went out front to unlock the door. There, waiting to collect her mail, was Doreen. For the first time in their lengthy acquaintance, Maggie smiled at her.

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 08



Hello, and welcome to the eighth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 8
Get Out Of Town by Quasimodem
Mini-Mart Mate by Alex de Kok
Sam And Janet's Evening by PierceStreet
Sian Speaks by Perdita



Illustrations
Banner and Header Picture, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Get Out Of Town by Quasimodem

She had been popular in Snippettsville, but the years had been unkind. Not that she looked old, but she'd been marked by her profession. It was that appearance which alerted Tom Holt.

"This way, bitch?"

"My room's over. . . ."

"Ain't gonna be no hotel room, bitch," the man snarled, "the alley'll do."

"Here?"

The man handed the girl a crumpled bill. "Yeah, here, bitch!"

She was slammed against an alley wall, her top shoved up, her panties yanked down beneath her miniskirt. Within seconds he was inside her.

"Now . . . I got . . . you, yah filthy . . . bitch!" he snarled, ramming himself within her. "Think I don't . . . remember you . . . bitch? Too good for . . . the likes . . . of me, yeah?"

Slammed repeatedly, the girl bit her lip to keep from sobbing. Tears trickled down her face, as his foul epitaphs grew viler, the sex more violent, until finally he climaxed.

"Now," the man demanded, reclaiming the wad of bills, "I'll keep my money. Others here remember you, and how you left to be a movie star. They'll all pay to do you. I'll be your manager, see? Your job is to act like you love it."

"Don't move, mister!" a new voice commanded from the shadows.

Cold steel at his temple insured the blasphemous man's compliance.

"Give back the girl's money. Good boy. Now, hand me your wallet. That's better."

The gunman opened the wallet and emptied it of cash, handing the bills to the girl.

"Seems like you earned this, Miss," then he snarled, "Do you know me, Deffler?"

"Fucking Archie McDougall!" the blasphemer declared.

"Correct! After you left the country club, Chief Holt examined the cards you left behind. Bad move. Nobody likes a cheat. My advice is don't stop running until you've put a couple of states between yourself and the Chief.

"Our chief hates cheaters. Probably arrest you under some bunko law. I just want to save the town the cost of a trial. Now move!"

"And leave you all the fucking money!" the blasphemer sneered.

"It ain't your money!" the constable snapped. "Another word, and I'll put a bullet through you for resisting arrest. Do yourself a favour. Shut the fuck up, and move! If I see you tomorrow, it's prison for you, bucko!"

The blaspheming man made a broken dash from the alley. He'd tried to act nonchalant, but the revolver, and Constable McDougall's cavalier attitude preyed too heavily on his mind.

"You must be new," McDougall declared to the hooker, "to follow a man like Ted Deffler down a dark alley."

"Honest! I never did this before," the girl proclaimed, "I hadn't any option. I'm broke, and nobody would hire me."

"There's five thousand dollars in Deffler's wad," Constable McDougall calculated. "That should buy you room, board, and a more conservative wardrobe, in some other vicinity.

"Our chief has a special bus fare fund for people like you. It'll take you all the way into the city."

"I won't see Tom!" the hooker cried in alarm.

"Nah. He's too busy getting statements from the marks at the Country Club. I'm stuck escorting ladies of the night out of town.

"Com'on, hurry. You've just enough time to grab your duds before the next bus leaves."

*

Constable McDougall watched from the squad car's front seat, as the hooker's bus pulled away from the depot.

"Unorthodox," Archie commented approvingly, "and it rid us of two sources of vice."

"Damn it, Arch, what was I supposed to do?" Tom Holt's voice snapped from the squad car's shadowy back seat.

"Lana Tilson was my date to the Junior Prom. I can't arrest her for solicitation."

* * * * *

Mini-Mart Mate by Alex de Kok

"Sally?" The stranger was hesitant

"No, I'm Al, Sally's sister."

His face cleared. "You're - "

" - Twins? Yep, sure are." She smiled at the stranger. Middle-aged, but well-kept; a little rugged, even. "You want to see Sally?"

The man nodded. "I'm Chuck Mellor. I told Sally I'd stop by."

Alison pointed. "She's having her break. You'll find her in the stockroom."

Chuck smiled. "Thanks." He moved toward the rear of the store.

Alison checked the CCTV monitor under the counter. The aisles were clear. She sometimes wondered why she and Sally bothered staying open after eight mid-week, then grinned, switching in the extra CCTV circuit. This was one reason. The image was black-and-white, but clear and sharp. Sally was in a hot clinch with Chuck.

As Alison watched she saw his hand come up and cup her sister's breast. Sally lifted his hand away, only to tuck it inside her hurriedly unzipped coverall. Alison grinned. Like Sally, she wore little under the coverall in the summer heat; in Alison's case it was only panties. She also, like Sally, enjoyed the touch of a man's hands on her tits.

A couple of teenaged girls came in, quickly purchasing gum and sodas and going out giggling, heads together. Sally looked at the monitor.

Wow, sis! Quick work. Jeez, can you really swall - ? Damn, you can! Deep-throat Devine! Way to go! She watched avidly for a moment, admiring Sally's technique. Can't beat a good blowjob. Hmm. Damp panties.

"Excuse me?"

The voice brought her back to the store; another stranger, this one in a zipped leather jacket, crash helmet in hand. Cropped greying hair, Zapata mustache and the brightest blue eyes Alison had ever seen.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Oops! Nearly got caught.

"I'm looking for Al Stone?"

"That's me. Al-for-Alison."

The man smiled. "You advertised a Tiger 100 for sale? I'm Charlie West - I run 'Charlie's Harleys'. I'm interested in old bikes."

"It's out at the farm. It was my Dad's."

"Can I see it?"

"Tomorrow? I could show you the bike in daylight."

"If I pick you up at ten? Here?"

"Here at ten? Great. Do we go by bike?"

"Sure, if you wish."

"I'd love it!" Alison grinned. "Have you a spare crash helmet?"

"No problem. See you at ten tomorrow. 'Bye for now." He smiled again and went out.

Alison returned her attention to the CCTV monitor. Sally was naked now, on her knees, Chuck behind her, jeans around his ankles, his prick pistoning into Sally's pussy.

I wish we had sound, Alison thought, then grinned. Perhaps not; might scare the customers.

As Alison watched, Chuck jerked in climax, then bent forward over Sally's back, panting. Eventually, he eased back and out. Shit! I bet you knew he was there, Sal!

A few minutes later, Sally and Chuck came through from the stockroom. Chuck kissed Sally and moved to the door. "See you Thursday."

"'Bye, Chuck. I'll look forward to it."

As he went through the door, Sally turned to her sister, eyes sparkling. "Did you watch?"

"Most of it. I had customers."

"He's hung!"

"I noticed," Alison said dryly.

"Are we swapping?"

"Maybe. Oh! Can you handle the store by yourself tomorrow morning?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I think I have a buyer for Dad's old Triumph."

"Great! What's he like?"

"Quite a lot like your Chuck. Fortyish, droopy mustache. Runs 'Charlie's Harleys'."

"You like him?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

"Can I look forward to a TV show?"

"Maybe. Let you know after tomorrow morning."

"Well, if not, on Thursday you can be Sally, and I'll watch."

* * * * *

Sam and Janet's Evening by PierceStreet

Sam Thompson pulled into his driveway just after dark. His hour commute from the factory in a nearby town back home to Snippettsville was done for another day. Thinking he and his wife might go out for a drink, he left the car out front instead of pulling it around to the back of the house.

He was surprised to find his wife Janet already asleep in their darkened bedroom. She murmured something when he walked in. She was asleep on her side, her back to Sam. Sam stepped out of his clothes, and slid under the covers with her. He was a little surprised to find her sleeping nude. She only did that when she wanted sex. His prick hardened, delighted at the surprise. He slipped his arms around her, and fondled her breasts as he started to kiss her neck.

Janet’s deep moan of passion surprised him. She reached over and found him and started pulling at him. “I must have woken her during an erotic dream,” he thought. His wife normally needed more foreplay to get going. His hand reached lower, and confirmed she was ready. His fingers stroked her, moving to her clit when he sensed she needed it.

Before he expected it, she wanted him. She raised herself to her knees and offered herself doggy style. He was thrilled. She loved this position because of the penetration it allowed, but thought it impersonal so she rarely wanted it this way. Janet’s long dirty blonde hair covered her face as she buried her head to the pillow as he entered her.

Sam was amazingly turned on by the unexpected opportunity, and his wife’s seeming quick passion. He too loved doggy style. He loved grabbing her tits and fingering her clit while he fucked her. Both of them wanted it hard; almost brutal fucking. Janet buried her face in the pillow and screamed as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her. He was thrilled by his power tonight over her. Multi-orgasms were rare for her. He also was glad the pillow was muffling her screams. A hot night, every window was open, and if not for the pillows, the neighbors would think he was murdering her. He started to come, and like hers, his orgasm seemed to last longer than most nights. He was totally spent when it was over, and motionless, remained in her. When he finally withdrew, she rolled to her side again, and with a mighty sigh, was asleep.

Sam slipped out of bed and gathered his clothes. He dressed in the hallway and went downstairs to see what he could find for dinner.

His wife was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the news on the little TV they had in there. “Hi hon,” she said cheerfully. “My sister got in a day early. She drove the last 20 hours straight through. I didn’t have the guest room ready yet since I was expecting her until tomorrow. Jane was so exhausted, I put my twin down on our bed. I’ll make up the guest room for us tonight.

“You look hungry. Ready for dinner?”

* * * * *

Sian Speaks by perdita

Hannah was only four years older than me but it may as well have been ten or twenty. At eighteen I’d been done by a couple boys and seduced by one of the town’s gents, but Hannah taught me how to fuck and cum like a geological event. She was a “master class”.

I fell in love with her as hard as any teen crush I’d had for a teacher, only this was a bit more thorough—a fantasy after the fact—which I reckon is how a fetish is born.

Hannah seemed immune to the paralysis I endured as a living brain in a hick town where the cock pickings were slim and too narrowly spread, let alone the opportunity for good conversation. Here I am decades later and the first sight of my sex-goddess incarnate turns me eighteen again.

When Hannah returned from taking the boy to his room I was leaning against the counter like that first time I took a chance. I look nearly the same, just older and forcibly wiser. I have a grudge against gravity but I’m grateful my tits are still appreciated and I love what the San Francisco hills did for my thighs. “Good for clamping,” a boy remarked recently.

“Well look who came back to the watering hole. Thirsty, Shorn?”

We hugged and talked—mostly I talked—telling Hannah what I’d been doing, why I was in Snippettsville, and how I felt about it.

“A real film script? About Snipps? Who’s gonna play me? Kathy Bates would be cool. You, sweet one, that Lange woman if she puts on a few pounds and is willing to look like a senior dyke of a punk. God, I still love your look.”

I explained I was there for details and ambience, didn’t have plans to turn Snipps folk into stereotypical roles.

“Listen, doll, I’ve got a new guest to tend. Where are you staying—I’ve got one more room—it’s yours. Bring your bags tonight, come late as you want. I’ll be ready and wet. Let’s fuck hysterical for old time’s sake. Now give me one of your sloppiest kisses, sweetcheeks.”

I returned after two a.m. Hannah entered, her great breasts undulating under her skimpy robe which opened and closed rhythmically over her hairy mons. She let the robe go and sat on a counter stool naked and oblivious to the big window facing it. I dropped fast to my knees and began tongue-fucking her luscious puss just as she taught me, and as I’d taught a number of men.

Her orgasm was seismic but quiet for Hannah. I could feel her low growns reverberate from deep within her womb. I imagined her cervix dilated as if ready to expel a baby; she climaxed as if giving that final push. After a bit of tender coming-down licks and nibbles I flattened my tongue smooth and ran it past her still throbbing clit, up the scraggly trail to her navel and further up through her sweating cleavage and clavicle, and onwards past her throat to that luscious mouth still panting and mewing, making those special hissing sounds I’ve heard from no one else.

As I fucked her mouth I caught sight of the boy. He was watching this spectrally lit scene. Our eyes met and locked. I was overcome beyond my lust for Hannah. I stared at his shadowed form and extended the fuck to include his gaze. I wanted a cock—fast.

“Jeezusgawd, Sian, are you trying to kill me with that kiss-fuck? Let me have a breather you stop-up slut.”

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 09



Hello, and welcome to the ninth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 9
Buyer's Bonus by Alex de Kok
The Cabin by jon.hayworth
Leaving Snippettsville by Seattle Zack
Lost Souls by soupwarsproject



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)soupwarsproject, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Buyer's Bonus by Alex de Kok

"There it is, Charlie. One Tiger 100."

"Very nice, Al. Does it start?"

"It did a month ago. Haven't tried since."

"Magneto ignition, so no worries about the battery." Charlie straddled the old Triumph, pulled in the clutch lever and kicked a couple of times to free the plates, then made sure the gearbox was in neutral. He took a firm grip, half-jumped and brought his weight down firmly on the kickstart. The engine burst into life with the unmistakable roar of the parallel twin-cylinder engine. Charlie revved it up a couple of times, listening carefully to the engine, then eased it to a tickover.

"Can I try it out, Al?"

"Sure," said Alison. She stepped neatly up behind him and settled herself. "Go that way," she pointed. "There's an old barn about a mile along."

"That'll be okay. Hang on!" Charlie selected first, took a fistful of throttle and they were off. On the farm track the going was a little bumpy and Alison, conscious that she was helmetless, took a firm grip of Charlie's waist. The ride was exhilarating and she was sorry that it finished as Charlie pulled up at the old barn. He cut the engine and she stepped off, conscious suddenly that her panties were damp. Charlie pulled the bike onto its stand and turned to her.

"I'll buy it, Al. I'll give you your asking price, too."

"No haggling?" she laughed.

"No haggling." Charlie looked at her and she stared back at him. He moved an inch towards her and she echoed his movement. Again, and again and suddenly she was in his arms and their lips were crushed together in a heated kiss. Breathing heavily Alison tore her lips from his.

"The barn's not locked," she whispered.

He took her hand and led her inside. The warm gloom was broken by a shaft of sunlight slanting through a gap in the timbers. Charlie grabbed a horseblanket and flicked it open on a pile of straw. Alison gasped as he picked her up and laid her on the blanket. For a moment she just lay there then she raised her arms to him.

"Sure?" he asked.

Alison laughed, slightly shaky. "Absolutely certain, Charlie. I'm old enough to know what I want, and I want you."

"I want you, too." He threw off his jacket, reached down and pulled off her sneakers, then reached to her waist and loosened the front of her jeans. "Lift your ass."

She did and he pulled her jeans off, then sat for a moment to pull off his boots and socks, before standing to remove his jeans. She stared at the bulge in his boxers and unconsciously licked her lips as he pushed down and kicked off the undershorts before pulling his shirt off over his head. Naked he went to his knees beside her, his cock hot and hard in the warm gloom.

Charlie reached out and took Alison's hand, pulling her to a seated position and stripping her sweater off over her head. Thumb and forefinger made short work of her bra and his strong hands simply ripped the panties from her hips.

He smiled at her start of surprise. "I'll buy you new ones."

She grinned. "Pay me with a fuck."

"My pleasure, ma'am."

"It'd better be our pleasure, Charlie West."

"Yes, ma'am." He bent and kissed her, lingeringly. "Now hush."

"Or?"

"I'll think of something."

"Promises, prom - ooh!" she said as his cock slid an inch into her wetness. "Oh, fuck, that feels good!"

"Enjoy it, Al."

"Yes," she hissed. "Fuck me, Charlie!"

* * * * *

The Cabin by jon.hayworth

When I made my offer to buy the cabin from Jack and Ethel, Jack was genuinely overjoyed at the prospect of having another writer in town – although by the chronicles which have recently appeared there were many writers in and around Snippetsville.

As I worked on a short piece for a British Magazine I could hear the throb of the old generator, the slow running little engine had become the cabin's heartbeat - a comfortable disruption of the silent forest. The deeper sound of a truck's engine heralded an unwanted interruption – at times Jack was getting to be a royal pain in the ass! I shut down the laptop.

It was Ethel not Jack who stood at the door. "Just dropped by."

"Come in Ethel."

Her eyes swept the room taking in the improvements I had made – a couple of book shelves and a lick of paint. "Why you've made it real nice. Jack said you had fixed the electricity. Jack's no good with practical things," she sighed, a note of despair in her voice.

"I'm just making coffee? I have some beer – it's not cold, I still have to get a refrigerator."

"A beer will be fine."

I poured two beers, when we were seated I said, "is there something you wanted?"

"Nope I was just passing by."

A palpable lie no one but hunters or hikers could be just passing by this, and Ethel was not dressed for hiking. "It is nice to have a visitor," I said.

"Not disturbing your writing or anything."

She giggled, squirmed and flushed like a schoolgirl when I replied, "I never mind being disturbed by a beautiful woman."

"Isn't Hannah McGuire a beautiful woman?" she asked archly. My response was noncommittal, she went on to tell me how much Hannah was missing me, "she says you're a unique man, someone who not only knows the moves but also knows how to push all the right buttons."

I swigged my beer, "I also need my own space."

"Hannah said you've not called around – she's missing you. You know Jack knows the moves, maybe he knows the buttons in theory but somehow he never quite pushes them." As she spoke she wriggled in her seat causing her skirt to creep up treating me to a view of three-quarters of her thigh. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them, revealing a glimpse of her panties. In a husky breathless voice she added, "it is not that I do not love Jack, but I think it would be nice to have an uncomplicated fling with a man who knew what he was doing."

According to one of my ex-wives, my life has been controlled by my cock, "Willy-led", she called it and I guess that's true, because without considering the consequences in a trice I had moved nearer to her, taken hold of her hand and looking her in the eyes said, "Ethel if that is a proposition, I suggest we get more comfortable."

"Oh that is so British," she said as I kissed her hand.

"Come on," I said tugging her to her feet. I walked behind her, my arms around her, my hands toying with her breasts. When we reached the bed, her exposed breasts were supported by my hands.

Ethel, like a wildcat, tore our clothes off. In minutes we were rolling on the bed and I was plumbing the depths of Ethel's inventive mind as I fullfilled her fantasies. Jack Carr's faults were my good fortune – long may he write and not do!

* * * * *

Leaving Snippettsville by Seattle Zack

Allison walked past the black Plymouth, parked with its engine idling, as she approached the Farmer's Bank of Snippetsville. Another bad morning, her aunt already surly and half-drunk -- she dreaded going home after work. It was 8:53, right on time, as she unlocked the employee entrance.

A force – there was no other way to describe it – struck her from behind, sweeping her into the building. He was huge, strong, pure momentum, pushing, carrying her down the hallway. The impulse to scream was abruptly stifled by a large hand clamped over her mouth.

"Don't move." A menacing whisper in her ear. "Don't think. Don't breathe. Got it?"

Desperately, she nodded. He pulled out a silvery revolver with his free hand. Fear hammering through her, she made a muffled whimper.

"Where's the manager?" One door in front of them led to the teller cages, the other out to the bank floor. Mr. Portner would be in his office, as always at this time in the morning. She nodded towards the door to her right, finally getting a look at her captor as he relaxed his hold. Dark gray eyes through his Halloween mask – Casper the Friendly Ghost. Big shoulders, a black sweater, knapsack over his shoulder. She shuddered at the feel of his body against her.

"Lead the way." Awkwardly stumbling, she was propelled forward by his fierce grip in her hair. He opened the office door with an explosive kick and strode forward, the huge pistol in front of him. "The vault. Open it. Now!"

Mr. Portner – pale moon face, mouth open in surprise – stuttered, raising his hands. "I can't!" he squeaked. "It's on a time lock!"

Allison felt the cold imprint of the steel barrel against her temple. "Now! Or this bitch dies!"

Mr. Portner shook his head, mouth gaping like a fish. Allison's eyes narrowed as the rage welled up inside her. All the times she had felt his gaze on her, little toadlike tongue at the corner of his mouth. Standing too close behind her as she counted her till. "Fucker!" she hissed.

The robber lowered the gun, looking down at her. "He's lying?"

"Yes," she whispered balefully. "He can open it."

Once in the vault, Allison stuffed the bundled bricks of cash into the knapsack. Mr. Portner squirmed on the floor, his wrists and ankles taped. The robber must have known about the large cash drop the day before, to cover the quarterly government subsidy checks. There was easily more than a quarter-million dollars in the vault. Unable to fit all the bills, she zipped the knapsack closed.

He hoisted the bag over one shoulder, grunting with the effort. "Get back with your boss. I won't tie you up, just lock you in."

Something stirred in the pit of her belly -- he was so powerful, so masculine! "Take me with you," she suddenly blurted, stepping forward.

"Crazy bitch --" He raised the pistol, pointing it at her face.

She quivered, the exciting tingle of danger surging through her. Allison made eye contact and put her mouth around the cold steel barrel. Slowly she sucked at it, tasting the oily tang. The robber watched, fascinated.

"I'll do whatever you want," she murmured. Coyly she ran her tongue around the tip of the barrel.

He was silent for a moment. "Do you like Mexico?" he asked, almost conversationally.

Allison squealed with delight as the Plymouth tore away from the bank, tires smoking. The bag full of money in the back seat, they left Snippetsville.

* * * * *

Lost Souls by soupwarsproject

Two barbells in venom formation decorated Chino's split tongue. A forgotten frenectomy elongated the serpentine appendage by five additional inches. It swirled around the reverse P.A. on Lobo's circumcised cock that grew thick and purplish.

Past the straight slave frenum and the steel dolphin curve on the underside of the shaft, Chino slid. He ensured that the ball labret on his uvula did not catch on axiom ring of the reverse P.A. as he carefully swallowed Lobo's length. The roof of Chino's mouth tickled as he slid back up to the head. His saliva heated Lobo's jewelry to a blissful temperature. Chino repeated the action in quick bursts as a Goth-industrial remake of "Happy Shiny People" blared on the stereo.

"Snippettsville..." Lobo muttered idly as he noticed a familiar road sign. "Have you ever been to Snippettsville?"

Chino stopped and glared at Lobo. "Are we lost?"

The horizontal platinum ball transdermals that replaced Lobo's eyebrows slanted. "No."

Chino peeked up. "This doesn't look like Cuento Largo."

"This is a shortcut," Lobo growled through silver fangs.

"Shortcut my ass!" Chino returned to his seat as he chided Lobo with a hiss. "Is Snippetsville even on that shitty map?"

"We'll hit the Interstate soon."

"You had to get the free map at the rest stop instead of paying for a road atlas, didn't you?" Chino checked himself on the rearview mirror. His eyeliner looked fine, but he needed to reapply his black lipstick. His hair needed brushing too.

"Chino, shut up." Lobo had the sense to tattoo and depilate his entire head, thereby avoiding such aesthetic hassles.

"If we miss Lolita's Trail of Destruction..."

Lobo interrupted the threat. "Shit! We're running on fumes. I should've paid attention to the fuel gauge."

Chino pointed. "There's a station over there." The Station was the establishment's unimaginative name.

Chino went inside while Lobo took care of gas. A redhead, barely contained by her scarlet dress, filled her Chevy's tank at a nearby pump. She laughed at Lobo as he picked up the nozzle. He ignored her as he tended to the black Saturn sedan. The blushing woman pointed at Lobo's crotch as she spoke between gasps. "Um... Does that thing hurt during sex?"

Lobo yelped, turned around and zipped his leather pants.

Inside The Station, Chino tapped the shoulder of a pudgy geezer with male pattern baldness and a nametag that read "HERBERT" and "Manager". "How do I get to Cuento Largo?"

"There's a shortcut..." Herbert smiled warmly.

"No shortcuts," Chino snapped. "I need the Interstate."

Herbert pointed at the register. "Amy Jo, can you help this nice gentleman?" He confessed to Chino, "I never take highways."

Amy Jo shuddered at the task but said, "Sure," anyway. She eyed the stranger in black and snapped her gum. "Go north on Main and keep going straight until you hit the Interstate exit." She tried to avoid staring at the jewelry and brandings behind his mesh shirt. He had horns. She didn't want to know, so she didn't ask.

Lobo opened the glass door. "Gas pump five, Chino!"

The Goth with snake eyes acknowledged his partner and looked back at the cashier. "How much?"

Amy Jo snapped her gum. "Eighteen fifteen."

Chino dropped his change into the penny cup. The lovers conversed as they returned to the car. Lobo laughed as they drove off. "I knew we weren't lost."

Chino glared at Lobo as the engine purred. "I suppose I owe you an apology."

"Come again?" Lobo flashed his gloating silver grin.

"Exactly..." The driver grinned as his fork-tongued companion resumed their favorite activity.

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 10



Hello, and welcome to the tenth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 10
Grease Monkey by Seattle Zack
I Get My Looks From My Pa by Alex de Kok
Hometown Hotshot by Quasimodem
Every Town Needs A Roadhouse by PierceStreet



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Grease Monkey by Seattle Zack

Unable to keep still, Claire tapped her foot nervously. It was crazy to be here, but what choice did she have? It had arrived yesterday -- a photograph of them both in a passionate embrace, the neon motel sign and Carl’s Mustang clearly visible in the background. Block letters on the photo, simple and direct: “HANNAHS 3PM TOMORROW.”

She buried her face in her hands. Who could have found out? They had been so careful!

“Long time no see, Claire.” It was just Billy McClure from the Station. Filthy work coveralls, stinking of gasoline, grease caked under his nails. He eased onto the nearby stool.

She looked away, pretending to work on the crossword in front of her. “Take a hike, Billy. I’m meeting someone.”

“Claire Galveston now, huh? Big house up on Oak Hill? Must be nice.” He peered over her shoulder. “Word games? Don’t like words. I like pictures.”

Oh shit. Heart pounding, she froze, unable to speak. He took the pen from her hand and wrote on a napkin. “This is my pad. Just off Green Lake. You want the negatives, be there in an hour.”

“Billy? Please,” she whispered.

“Little Claire Lechner. Rich lawyer’s wife. Kinda old for you, ain’t he?” He lowered his voice. “Know what we used to call you in high school? Claire Lick-er.” He drew the word out with a lewd sneer.

Billy’s place was a dump -- appliances in the front yard, faded paint peeling from the siding. Shuddering, she knocked on the door. He had shed the coveralls but, alarmingly, was dressed only in boxer shorts. The main room was piled high with pizza boxes and beer cans. “Billy, what do you want?” She must be firm, resolute, take control of the situation.

He flopped down on the couch, insolently grinning. “I want you to suck me, Claire. Like you never would in high school.” Pulling his cock out of his shorts, he waved it back and forth.

Revulsion surged inside her. She shook her head.

“Way I reckon, don’t got much choice, Claire. Lawyer hubby gets them pictures of you and Carl, your ass is out of that fancy house in no time.” He snapped his fingers.

Claire closed her eyes. It was true; the prenuptial agreement was very specific about adultery. “You’ll give me the negatives?”

“That’s the deal.”

Queasily she knelt on the grubby carpet and took him in her mouth. She began moving her lips up and down his shaft, nearly gagging with disgust.

“Fuck, yeah … come-guzzlin’ slut … knew you was good at this.”

Desperately sucking harder, wanting it to be over, she fought the nausea welling inside her. Finally he groaned, spurting into her mouth, almost making her vomit. She ran to the sink.

“Wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” His eyes were half closed.

Frantically she rinsed her mouth, slurping the water straight from the tap. “Goddamnit, Billy, just give me the fucking negatives!”

He tossed a black strip on the coffee table. “Deal’s a deal.”

“Is this all of them?” she demanded.

“Nope. Got three more. Be here next week and I’ll give you the next one.” He smirked. “Oh, bring some money too. Say, a thousand bucks.”

She stared at him, furious, wanting to kill him -- his shit-eating grin, dick hanging out of his shorts. Without saying a word, she stomped to the door.

Billy picked up the TV remote. Perfect, just in time for SportsCenter. He laughed. It would be a pretty good month. And she didn’t know about the videotape yet. Hell, it might be a pretty good summer.

* * * * *

I Get My Looks From My Pa by Alex de Kok

The scar on my cheekbone from a bottle when I was fifteen, the broken nose from a headbutt when I tried to protect Mary from a beating. Why she'd never left him I didn't know, except that without any money she had nowhere to go.

After Pa broke my nose, I took off. I found work at first helping on a horse ranch near the Cimarron, then joined a logging crew on the coast. That was three years ago. I was nineteen now, knew more ways of dirty fighting than I had ever guessed existed, had money in my pocket and I had come home to keep the promise I made to Mary.

The Road House was quiet this early in the evening, only three or four customers. One of them my Pa, of course, drinking Mary's wages.

Mary came up to me as I moved to the bar. There was a fresh bruise on her cheek and my fists clenched. She moved nervously, mistaking my intent.

"What'll it be, mister?"

"Hi, Mary," I said gently. "I came back, just like I said I would."

Her eyes widened. "Alec?" she whispered, her hands clasped together. "Is it you?"

"It's me, Mary. Sorry I'm later than I planned."

She smiled tremulously. "You've grown, Alec."

I nodded, smiling. "Working in the lumber camps does that." I studied her, amazed that the life she led, and the senseless brutality of my father, had left so few marks on her. Pa had married her when Mary was just sixteen and I was ten, my own mother dead in a car crash, so that Mary was still only twenty-six. She had been good to me, and treated me as her own. It was thanks to Mary that my beatings from Pa hadn't been worse than they were. When I left I'd told her I'd come back to look after her one day. She'd smiled and said, 'do that', but I don't think she believed I ever would. Now I was back.

"Your Pa's in the corner," Mary said.

"I know. It's you I came to see. Are you ready to leave him, Mary? I've got a little ranch in Texas. It's not much at the moment, 'cos I was too busy putting a herd together, but there's a place for you there. If you want it."

"Leave?" she whispered, her eyes enormous. "I ..." She hesitated, then I could see the determination. "Now?"

"Now."

She nodded, took off her apron and came around the bar to me. "Let's go."

We were half way to the door when I heard Pa's voice. "Where the fuck do you think you're goin'?"

Mary turned. "I'm leaving you, Jake. You've hit me once too often."

"You'll do no such thing! With this punk?" he sneered.

"Hi, Pa."

His jaw dropped, then rage spread over his face and he swung. I used to think he was a good fighter, but that was before I learned how. I stepped inside his swing, sank a fist into his gut, broke his nose with a head butt and hit him again so hard that he skidded when he landed. He was out. There was quiet satisfaction in me, but not the pleasure I'd anticipated.

Mary took my arm and we went to the door. Tom Holt, the police chief, was standing just inside the door, his face expressionless.

"Going to arrest me, Tom?"

He looked over my shoulder, then at me. "For littering?" he said, fighting a grin. "No. Just don't do it again, Alec. Okay?" He moved aside.

* * * * *

Hometown Hotshot by Quasimodem

A local lad grew to become a strapping, handsome man. Maybe he tended toward sarcastic repartee and cruel humour, but that was just his way. All Snippettsville loved Jack Portner, the banker’s only son.

“Jack?” the girl called, with suppressed laughter. “Were you riding the bus?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Jack Portner, travelling Greyhound?” the girl snickered.

“Ah! Things aren’t always what they seem?”

“You on a bus,” she returned. “Things certainly have changed.”

“As a matter of fact. . . .”

“Yes?” gamin eyes sparkled upward.

“Er . . . my car . . . broke down.”

“Poor baby!” she laughed. “I’ll take you home.”

“Not yet,” he returned, sharply.

“You must tell them you’re home early, Jack. Surely you’re through arguing with your father?”

“That’s not it,” Jack replied. “I’d like a little time . . . look the town over . . . see what’s changed.”

“You were only gone ten months,” the sprite scoffed. “not twenty years.”

“Look at me, Millie,” he commanded. “Haven’t I changed?”

Millie looked as requested.

“You’ve more colour, and you’re a bit untidy, but then, you just stepped off a bus. I can’t expect you to look the same as when you left.”

“Hardly.”

“Now, where are you going?”

“To check on Willott’s Creek.”

“That’s the other side of the tracks.”

“Afraid the boogeyman will get you?”

“You’re home,” Millie declared, hugging Jack’s arm, “I’m afraid of nothing.”

*

“Pretty, isn’t it, Millie?”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“No, really?”

“I’m surprised you could find your way here.”

“You think I don’t know my own hometown?”

“This is what you once called ‘Snippettsville’s comfortless rustic hickery.’”

“Shh! I didn’t come to hear you kvetch.”

“I realize that!” Millie murmured. “You must be real horny, bringing me here to neck.”

Harsh laughter escaped the man, then the couple clasped their arms about each other.

The sun set, twilight deepened, and the stars shone forth, while the couple concentrated upon one another.

Indeed, the man hungered for Millie, but was vastly changed. Vanished was his immediate ravening demand. In its place, Millie felt a slow stoking of her ardour, until they both erupted into a conflagration.

“Oh, m . . . my . . . goodness!” Millie panted, regaining her breath. “It was never . . . you . . . have changed. . . .”

“I’m exactly the same,” he declared, drawing on his clothes. “What’s different is, I’m not Jack.”

“Not Jack?”

“No.”

“Don’t be cruel, Jack.”

“Not Jack, Earl!” the man exclaimed. “Someone must have pointed out Snippettsville’s most disreputable Danvers.”

“But you. . . .”

“Look like Jack?” he sneered. “Certainly! That’s my worst offence.”

The man rose to his feet.

“It happens sometimes in towns like this. One boy looks like his father, the pillar of the community. Don’t much matter what the kid does, he’s a golden boy.”

The man spun, pointing across Willott's Creek.

“On the poor side, another kid looks similar, has similar skills, but doesn’t get on any sports teams, or win any scholarship. Nobody will even give him a job. Why? Because he looks too much like his father. It scares the good folks.

“Get up,” Earl commanded. “No doubt, Jack will be home tomorrow. You’ll forget about me. I only stopped to visit my mother’s grave.”

*

The next morning, Jack Portner arrived home in his red BMW. Townsfolk welcomed him like a conquering hero, except for Millie DuBois, who seemed distracted.

Still, Jack’s father was conciliatory. Jack was his old self, settling into the well-worn grooves of hometown life.

Millie DuBois shocked Snippettsville by leaving Jack at the altar. Later, they learned she’d married someone on the West Coast, named Danvers.

“Didn’t some Danvers live around here?” Snippettsville wondered.

“It’s a big world,” they finally decided.

* * * * *

Every Town Needs A Roadhouse by PierceStreet

Eighty-three year old Agnes Carlson was normally quick to vault from bed as soon as she started to awake. Even though widowed and having buried one child, a car accident, she was usually eager to start the day.

Today, she reveled in the waking moments, remembering a wonderful dream from the night. She’d been at the Road House, taking dancing lessons. That much was true; she had been at the Road House the previous evening.

The Road House is an important part of Snippettsville culture. “What a name,” thought Agnes each time she drove into its parking lot. “Sounds like a dive. Guess it is, later at night.”

By day, the Road House, three miles outside of town, was a restaurant for passing motorists. Dinner time it also attracted families from town. Early evening, the place filled with teens attracted by the video games while the banquet room was often used by groups such as Agnes’ dance club. After ten, the teens were booted out, and the bar spilled over into the restaurant. The lights were dimmed and some tables were moved aside for dancing. Weekends, there was a live band.

In the dream, Agnes danced with Stanton James. He had moved back to town after recently losing his wife.

She hadn’t seen him since he came back from the war. He’d stayed long enough to woo his wife, Doris, and then they left for a life in Seattle, where a war buddy had promised him a job. The job started him on a promising career, and he and Doris rarely returned home to visit Snippetsville.

In the dream, Stanton was tall and distinguished. He’d been such a frail looking boy back in the ‘40’s. Too frail to send to war, the girls thought. The girls of Snippettsville couldn’t fight in World War II, but they found a way to contribute. If the government’s draft board regarded an eighteen year old boy as able to fight as a man, and maybe die as a man, then the women of Snippettsville would make sure he left town as a man.

The night Agnes spread her legs for him in the back of his Dad’s Studebaker out at Green Lake, she thought she was his first. She didn’t find out until later that her friend Doris had beaten her to him, so it was Doris he wrote to during the war and returned to marry.

Agnes didn’t find reason to complain. She’d had a wonderful time with him, and there were more boys to make men after Stanton shipped out. One returned to marry her, but he had passed a few years back.

Last night, recalling the dream, Stanton was there at the dance. Agnes and Stanton danced comfortably together. Later, in the parking lot, she invited him for coffee. “Funny,” she thought, “how behavior that would have been scandalous and suggestive for a younger woman, is perceived as innocent when you are in your eighties.”

They made out on her couch like teenagers. Her hands reached down and found Stanton was still a virile man. Almost as if her touch ignited something desperately needy in him, an almost violent passion erupted that would have shocked a young observer, had there been one. Their first time was on the couch, followed by another later in bed.

Agnes realized her body was responding to the dream’s memory. “I’d better quit this,” she chided herself. “There is no sex in your life, hasn’t been in years, and will never be again,” she spoke to herself sternly.

Someone touched her back. “Darling, are you awake.”

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed







Tales from Snippettsville Issue 11



Hello, and welcome to the eleventh issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 11
Denouement by Gauchecritic
Sian, and Robert from Yorkshire by Perdita
The Chemistry Teacher by Mathgirl
Senior Superiority by Wildsweetone



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Denouement by Gauchecritic

"What the fuck am I doing walking along Hicksville USA at quarter past three in the morning following some kind of Amazon bi-dyke hoping to get fucked by her in some alley-way?"

There, haloed by the street light, surrounded by gloom and clothed in passion, my imminent release. Scanning the darkened alleyway, I made entrance.

I noticed her eyes, fixed on my crotch, wouldn’t meet mine. This tall, dark skinned vision rose in fluid motion to stand. Hands on hips and with a flick of her head beckoned me on.

Her hands fell to her thighs, she moved sinuously towards the crumbling, brick façade of the building, enticing me forward.

This way ‘cock’. Over here ‘prick’

Light glinted on small, biting, teeth at sight of my erection, tenting the loose jog pants I had struggled into.

Reaching the wall and this daemon I began “Wh-“ when a long-fingered, sharp nailed hand covered my lips, scored my cheek and blazing eyes forbade any sound.

Her fingers pulled my face askance, dragging blood across my lips. I tasted sweetness. A tongue washed my face and the blood, then delved deeply between my lips seeking warmth and wetness. Palms on my shoulders crushed me into unslung, heaving breasts. Gripping her hips as her teeth bit into my neck making me groan aloud.

Fingers digging the yielding flesh of her backside, I tried to pull her belly onto my stiffened dick. She resisted, taking handfuls of my hair, pulling backwards she bit down on my jaw. She released me. I dared to look into those fomenting, liquid depths, her lips pulled wide, palms pushed my shoulders making me stagger backwards into the brickwork.

Ravening, this creature took one step and pinned me, panting, with her body, against the wall. Fixing me with her lustrous, lust filled eyes, her tongue impaled me once more. Lifting her thigh she dug the heel of her shoe into my waistband and, digging into my flesh, dragged the material covering my legs to the floor whilst leaving a welt the length of my pale skin.

An engorged prick jounced upwards into her groin as she smiled into my face.

A bare foot on the wall. Leaning backwards, away, raising the hem of her skirt revealed thick curled hair. I saw lamplit wetness and long fingers probe inwards to wipe delicately and wetly from those lips to mine.

The head of my shaft beat a slow tattoo against her mound in time with my pounding pulse.

On tip-toe, with my prick in her hand, her fingers, firm but tender around my full balls she enveloped me. Savouring the penetration, very slowly and sinuously using her hips alone, she swallowed me into that depth. Standing utterly still, with by back braced on the wall, I fell inwards.

That’s when she started fucking me. Hard. Fast. Deliberate. Fuck.

Stop.

Slide. Silky. Sussurant. The hair of her dark thatch mingling with mine. Grinding her cunt up my groin. Rubbing her clit into the bone. Frigging. Harder. Quicker. Determined. Tongues fencing. Lip-locked. Biting, shagging, urging, tasting, frigging and fucking.

She trembled as her stroke lengthened driving harder still around my prick. Once. Moaning. Twice, a low groan. Third time, shoulder-shuddering, throaty laughter. Then low keening, as tremors shook her, pressed her tightly to me, ground her soaking minge against me.

I began the stroke once more, which she picked up immediately. I held her buttocks and pressed my face into her breasts as we fucked together and drove towards her second climax and my first sweaty, evacuating, liberating orgasm.

* * * * *

Sian, and Robert from Yorkshire by Perdita


I didn’t blink. His lower lip made a slight curve as he tilted his head forward in the direction of the door. I was indecisive for a moment—Have Hannah return the fuck, or take cock?

Like Isolde beyond her anger, stopped by Tristan’s gaze, I caught a hidden self-doubt behind his eyes. I began to feel generous.

“Sorry, Hannah—went somewhere else—don’t ask—leave my stuff on the floor—gotta have a walk—you’ll taste me tomorrow—you’re a bitch still.”

Past the window I fell against the building’s corner and laughed aloud. What a lark! said Mrs. Dalloway in my head. My knock interrupted the cock and cunt. Gesucristo!

I often speak bits of my father’s tongue when excited about a new boy, about anything that arouses me. I can’t help being effusive; it seems a fault only because I’m rarely matched in desire.

I lit a cigarette and nearly skipped up Main Street two blocks to a streetlamp. I’d be able to see him leave the diner, then step into the lamplight for him. Three fags worth the wait.

“Ah, finally. Just follow Sian, mio dolce.

“Grazie dio! He’s keeping my pace. Gesu, let us not need to speak. Bene, bene. Venuto, giovane mio.”

I sat on the corner of a loading dock watching intently as he neared, keeping my gaze on his thighs, deliberately avoiding his face. I felt my cunt and tits swell, and I began to ooze.

I don’t know what got into me right at the start—drawing blood—oh, but how his eyes matched mine, though I caught a glint of fear.

Such eyes as he had: big, dark eyes! And such an expression in them—an expression! said Gretta Conroy about Michael Furey.

“Ah, jayzuss, Sian, don’t go there.”

I can see his eyes as well as well, Gretta remembered so many years later that Christmastime.

“Fuck, Christmas. Don’t go there either." But this boy, he has those eyes, as well as well.

I shoved him. I mouth-fucked him. I pulled his hair. I scratched him. I bit him. He let me.

Fixing my heel in his pants to tear them down I felt like a queen—a ripe good old Cleopatra reigning over her boy.

Oh, my oblivion is a very Antony.

Ha! I hope the welts last a bit, so he remembers. It should make him hard each time he feels them against his trousers or the sheets.

I loved his cock tapping against my cunt. I always love that, makes them so vulnerable, so alone out there in the universe: all those throbbing lonely cocks. Lost. Looking to get in.

He took to me tracing that lower lip with my milky dew, took it like a hungry baby. But the control of the penetration—it’s always the first big thing. I love that absolute moment when it begins. I go out of time like a slow-motion film. His cock was perfect—hard as my heels, sharp too.

I mewed and moaned like a bad opera singer, but with the ferocity of Callas, with the virility of a Valkyrie. I nearly purred, more of a growl, ha! He was my sleek young panther. We were two cats on a similar prowl. The heat of him inside me was terrific. I miss it already.

“Buona notte, Roberto bello.”

I grinned, cupped his crotch tenderly and left him abruptly at his door with a sunken look on his face. I nearly hesitated but kept my resolve not to share a bed.

It’s more real if I speak it.

“Robert from Yorkshire, you came so close.”

* * * * *

The Chemistry Teacher by Mathgirl

Hannah called a greeting as Emil van Zant came into the diner for his usual after school coffee. She recalled an unfortunate incident that was still being talked about around the small town.

Mr. van Zant was the chemistry teacher at Snippitsville High. As the class had started that fateful day, Emil knew he was in trouble. He had forgotten to put his noontime dose of medication in his pocket when he left home that morning, and a frantic phone call to his wife had gotten his pill to him just before the one o'clock class began. He could feel a spell coming on, but he still had hope that the drug would kick in before disaster struck.

Emil was the victim of an unusual neurological disease called Tourette's syndrome. It is characterized by uncontrolled muscular spasms, usually in the form of bizarre facial tics. Some Tourette's sufferers also experience coprolalia ( literally meaning "speaking excrement"). This manifests itself in uncontrollable outbursts of vile language. Van Zant's case involved both facial tics and naughty words. A drug regimen had been found that controlled his affliction and allowed him to lead a normal life, free from the unfortunate symptoms. Free, that is, as long as he took his Haldol on a rigid schedule. That day, though, Emil began his lecture fearing the worst.

The students, unaware of their teacher's condition, sat attentively as Emil began his lecture on the periodic table of the elements. He was using a wooden pointer to pick out the halogen elements on the large chart and telling the students about the properties of the chemicals.

He said, "These are all gasses in their elemental state, but they combine readily with other elements to form compounds with entirely different properties."

Then a massive tic struck Emil. His facial muscles contracted into an exaggerated wide smile, as if he was trying to touch his ears with the corners of his mouth. At the same time his tongue pressed against his lower lip, forcing it outwards. When he made this remarkable face, some of the students laughed, thinking Mr van Zant was making some kind of a joke.

The tic passed after a few moments, and Emil bravely continued with his lecture. "Chlorine, for example, combines with sodium to form sodium chloride. We know this as common table salt, and .... WAWAWAWAWAWA........... uh, oh ............COCKSUCKER!! ........... Oh, gosh, I'm terribly sorry. As I was saying the compounds that result from the combination of ............... EAT SHIT, MOTHERFUCKER!! .......... Oh, dear, I can't ................ Awwwwwwwww FUCK!!"

With that, the teacher ran out of the classroom and headed for the faculty parking lot. He was yelling something unintelligible and probably in poor taste and wielding his pointer as if it were a saber.

Outside, Emil was cornered by the assistant principal before he could reach his car. After the disurbed teacher called him a "shit eating cocksucker" and threatened him with his pointer, the administrator summoned a member of the campus security force. The cop, alarmed by the teacher's facial expressions and upset at being called a "pig fucking shitass," used a choke hold to subdue the troubled teacher.

Van Zant was taken to the psychiatric department of Snippitsville Hospital, given a sedative, and put into the quiet room to calm down. When he awakened, Emil wondered how he had gotten there and how his lecture had gone, remembering nothing of what had happened during his one o'clock class.

Hannah was quite fond of the young teacher and hoped he had taken his medication that day.

* * * * *

Senior Superiority by Wildsweetone

Last weekend Neil had mowed the lawn, sprayed the weeds around the edging of the lawn, stacked wood in the wood shed and cleaned the guttering and down pipes on the house.

This weekend he’d started on his workbench. His son had been playing ‘handyman’ again and almost every tool from the back board had been left lying on the bench. It didn’t worry him that his son used the tools, but it really pissed him off that he never bothered to put anything away.

He grabbed a rag from the bag, began picking up the tools, wiping each one and replacing it against the blank pattern he’d spent hours stencilling on the board.

He knew full well his son had other things on his mind. Girls. That was the latest problem to set him wandering around dopey eyed. Neil had watched the young girl when she was preoccupied in the kitchen with his wife. The way Mandy had sashayed past him had him gulping scalding hot coffee. That hadn’t been a bad thing, he’d felt stirrings in his groin and the burning liquid had sure taken his mind onto other things fast.

But the way she leaned over the kitchen bench while she chatted with his wife, whew! It brought him out in a hot sweat just thinking about it. When she’d bent over to pick a dropped fork from the floor, he’d gotten a bird’s eye view of a whole lot more than he should. Thankfully his son had seen the same thing and rushed up behind her to ‘help get the fork’ or something.

Yet even that hadn’t been as shocking as when they’d been eating their desserts. Ice cream and strawberries, and some of the strawberries had been dipped into chocolate. He’d not been able to take his eyes off her luscious mouth as she’d sucked and licked the chocolate from the biggest strawberry. When she’d caught him watching, she had waited deliberately until their eyes met before winking grandly. Her knowing grin made him squirm in his seat and swear he wouldn’t look up from his bowl ever again.

It was when he felt bare toes creeping up the inside of his leg that he fell apart. Whipping off his napkin then slamming it down on the table, he excused himself and hid in his study. It took him a full 45 minutes to calm down enough to consider going back into the dining room. He thought better of it, instead pouring himself a generous helping of brandy, he sat with his empty pipe and latest Stephen King epic on his lap unable to read a word. His eyes glazed over and he flicked the switch on the standard lamp smothering the room in warm darkness.

Moments later they sneaked into the study. Before he could announce he was sitting there in the dark, he heard muffled giggles, slurping kisses and clothes hitting the floor. With his humiliation almost complete, he placed the brandy balloon silently on the desk and poked his fingers in his ears, closing his eyes tight.

His wife found him that way an hour later. He’d fallen into a deep sleep, looking rather comical with unlit pipe in his mouth and his fingers in his ears. Marion smiled, woke him, then helped him to walk up the staircase to their room. She helped him undress then dressed herself in the only way she knew would help ease his need. His second sleep was more peaceful and the smile still hadn’t left his face a week later.

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed







Tales from Snippettsville Issue 12



Hello, and welcome to the twelfth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



[Laurel - please insert here 'SnipTales.jpg' - sent by Alex March 9]

If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 12

There's Always A Welcome At The Showboat Hotel by Max Sebastian
Reconstruction by Rhinoguy
Later ... by Alex de Kok
Dor by PierceStreet



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

There's Always A Welcome At The Showboat Hotel by Max Sebastian

It must have been that last trucker I hitched a ride with. Seemed nice enough, but when I nodded off he must've reached inside my jacket and swiped my wallet. So here I was, in a small town called Snippetsville without a cent on me.

They seemed sympathetic in Hannah's Diner on North Main Street - I was given some tasty cherry pie and the use of a telephone. But it turned out it was going to take three days for my credit card company to courier a new card to me.

"Where am I going to stay for three nights without money?" I demanded of the poor credit card people through the phone, as if they could help.

As I put the phone down, I realised I had caused quite a scene for this quiet, small-town establishment.

"Hey, why don't you try the Showboat Hotel?" an old guy said to me as I took a sip of coffee to still my nerves. "Old Bob Cassidy always offers strangers a bed for the night if they're in trouble."

So here I was, at the Showboat Hotel three blocks away. Not a bad looking place, actually, a low profile but clean enough.

"Sure, I can give you a room, sir," old Bob smiled. He seemed all right. "I always like to help out those in trouble, like yourself."

I let out a sigh of relief. "I was beginning to think I'd be sleeping on the street tonight. But I can pay you once I get my card through - "

"No need, sir." he said as he turned and picked a room key off one of the rows of pegs. "I'll even offer you some supper tonight, sir." Small town hospitality, you can't beat it! "But you'll have to do something for me in return, sir."

Ah, here it came. No such thing as a free lunch.

Well, sitting eating my "free" supper, I felt a little strange, a little weak, shaken. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe I'd agreed to it. I'd never done anything like this before. Bob gave me some red wine with my meal, and I needed it to boost my nerve.

My heart was in my throat as I approached the door, knocked, and unlocked it. What would she be like? Would she like me? What if we didn't 'click'? I was terrified.

"Hi," the girl said as I entered, she was just as wary as I was at first.

She was, frankly, gorgeous. I couldn't believe it. Was this really going to happen? She was younger than me, brunette, pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. She was, she explained, hitching across the States before starting college in Berkeley next month.

"I lost my wallet the last ride I took," she said, and the resemblance of her story to my own struck us both.

"So are we going to go through with this?" I asked.

"We don't have any other choice," she said, making me gasp as she suddenly pulled off her blouse, revealing exquisite, shapely little breasts confined within a pink cotton bra.

"But they're watching – you can see the cameras!"

"So? I'm not sleeping out in the street," she insisted, approaching me now with a real glint in her seductive eyes. "Besides, I've never made love while somebody watched before – might be kind of hot, don't you think? And with such a handsome stranger…"

"I guess…" I stammered as she undid my belt and pulled down my jeans.

"Mmm…" she purred, stroking my hardness. "Looks like we're in for quite a night!"

* * * * *

Reconstruction by Rhinoguy

Dust billowed from the back window of the brick building on the corner of Main Street. A haze of powdered plaster evenly coated the van and U-Haul trailer parked next to the enormous roll-off dumpster. A few dozen orange and brown maple leaves danced in solitary joy over the gravel.

Kate peeked through the storefront glass of the former Pharmacy. She could make out the figure swinging a sledge, the subsequent burst of plaster dropping to the floor and the cloud rising up. Kate held the neck of a chilled beer bottle and knocked at the door. No response. Trying the handle, the door swung open. "Hello! Would you like a break?". The motion in the middle of the rubble stopped. "Hello?" His voice was deep and muffled by the respirator.

"Hi....pleased to meet you." He stretched out his hand while pulling off breathing gear. "I'm Nathanial, what can I do for you?".

"Ummm....I thought you might like a break" she repeated trying not to look at his heaving chest, sweat covered, powdered and sprinkled like an obscene pastry. He was filthy, but looked so tasty. She reached out with the wet bottle.

Nathanial took the bottle, "Thank you, that's very thoughtful," he looked directly her as he spoke and realized she'd been staring at his bare chest. He set the bottle on a crate and quickly pulled on a shirt, snapping Kate out of her daze. "Ah...well....not SO thoughtful, there are any number of 'inquiring minds'... I suppose I am on a bit of a reconnaissance mission, sorry my name is Kate".

"Kate, Kate Bond 007?" he laughed.

"Ha...actually Kate McKennsie, no number." She looked at her feet to keep from staring. He wasn't handsome. He was thrilling. Was he in his 30's or 40's? How gray was his goatee once the plaster was washed out?

"Well, I'll be happy to spill the 'dirt', as there seems to be plenty of it." He smiles and gestures at the destruction. "Come on let's get you out of all this dust and I'll divulge my secrets." He turned to the stairs.

Kate grabbed the bottle "you forgot your beer."

"Ah...thank you..actually I don't drink beer."

"Oh, sorry," Kate blushed.

"S'okay," he replied. "I never liked the stuff, help yourself to it." Kate just kept an eye on his jean-clad butt as they made their way up to the second floor.

"Well, have a seat," Nathanial gestured to a pair of overstuffed armchairs near the front bay window. "Let the interrogation begin," he laughed.

"Alright, what brings you to Snippetsville?.........LIAR!" Kate laughed.

Nathanial's eyebrows shot up, his eyes opened wide, then he laughed loud and long. "Ok..ok...I'll tell you everything!"

"My name is Nathanial Droit, an illustrator, I've made my living publishing children's books."

"Would I know any of them?"

"Hmmm...'Frog Skin' and 'Rhino Wings' have been pretty popular."

"That's YOU!?"

"I confess!"

"I love those books!"

"Beyond Children's themes, I have other interests. I have come to Snippetsville to pursue them."

"And, what might those interests be? I have ways of making you talk!" Kate teased.

"I hope to escape, open a small gallery and gift store with a studio and apartment up here where I can draw and paint more adult themes."

"Adult themes?" Kate raised her eyebrows.

"Ummmm... yes...drawings which are more explicit and/or sensuous or erotic... adult.... I have a portfolio." Nathanial placed his case on Kate's lap. He reached over and unzipped the folio with a "zzzzzzzzzip". His most intimate world was opened to her.

* * * * *

Later ... by Alex de Kok

I must have been dreaming of her, because I had a formidable erection when I woke; 'piss-proud' I've seen it described. I stretched, then threw back the bedcovers from my nakedness, grasping my prick, stroking it, enjoying it and the images in my head.

There was a quick knock on the door and she came in with a coffee for me, a robe over her nightdress. She stopped short at the sight of my erection, flushing, but a strange expression passed over her face, one I could only describe as a cross between lust and hunger, a longing. She put the coffee cup down, tearing her gaze away from me and turned as if to go.

"Mary, no," I said. "Stay."

She turned, the flush still on her face, trying not to look at my erection.

"I ..." she began.

"Fuck me," I said, holding her eyes with mine.

She shook her head, her mouth working, soundless.

"Fuck me," I said again, but gently now, "we both want it."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can." I reached out and tugged at the sash of her robe. "You're not my mother, you're my stepmother."

She laughed. Brittle, harsh. "Not even that. Your Pa and I were never properly married. We said it for your sake." She shook her head in remembered pain, then looked up at me. "I never let him touch me again after you left."

Shock went through me, accompanied by -- what? Surprise? Pleasure? Anger at the bruises she bore? "So fuck me," I said again. "Make love to me." I tugged again at the sash of her robe, pulling her to the bedside. She came, unresisting, with a sigh of acceptance, her robe falling open as she moved to kneel astride my thighs.

She shrugged the robe off and discarded it, lifting the hem of her nightdress and taking gentle hold of my prick, angling it, feeding it to her pussy. I caught a glimpse of pubic hair, dark as her head, before the hem dropped again as she lowered herself onto me, her pussy surprisingly slick with her juices, a moan escaping her lips as she took my rigidity within her.

"Show me your breasts," I said.

She flushed again but reached to move the hem of her nightdress up, crossing her arms to strip it off over her head, discarding it beside her robe. Her breasts were full, slightly pendulous, the nipples thick and full with her own want. I reached up to cup the soft weight, my thumbs brushing over her hard nubs. She shuddered but began to move, to rise and fall on my aching hardness, her juices flowing freely, the squish of her movement loud in our ears.

I flexed my prick within her and she faltered briefly before continuing her ride, rising, falling ...

"Soon," I said, her movements getting me nearer and nearer.

"Me, too," she gasped as she moved, "very soon now."

I thrust up into her as she came down, moving my hand so that my fingers traced her labia before brushing lightly against her clitoris. Her belly convulsed and her pussy clamped down on me as she came, a plaintive mew of pleasure escaping from her lips, my hips moving urgently as I came in my turn and she collapsed across me as we stilled, my prick twitching in post-coital spasms. At last she turned her head and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you, Alec," she whispered, "for everything, but perhaps most of all for making me feel needed again."

I laughed, teasing her. "No, Mom, thank you."

* * * * *

Dor by PierceStreet

Corey awoke with a start. He'd been asleep on the rude bench on the farmhouse porch, dressed in only his robe. Eating breakfast and seeing his parents off to work had worn him out.

A sporty little convertible stirred up dust driving onto the secluded farm.

"Dorothea," he exclaimed when he saw the driver get out.

She laughed, throwing her blonde hair back. "Haven't been called that in a while. Even my parents call me Dor now."

Dorothea was the girl from the neighboring farm when they were little. At fourteen, Dorothea gave Corey his first kiss as she said goodbye. Her folks followed a dream to Los Angeles.

Corey was always astonished that Dor, the reigning Pop Princess, was a former Snippettsville girl and his childhood sweetheart.

In L.A., she won a local beauty contest on the strength of her singing voice and the fact that she was a tall, lithe, and well endowed blonde. She landed a role as an up and coming singer, in a kid-oriented ensemble situation comedy. That led to a recording contract, and a nationwide mall tour. Sales skyrocketed and she won a New Artist Grammy.

After two more albums and tours, she disappeared from sight, reappearing in upstate New York playing Emily Webb in a production of Thornton Wilder's "Our Town". They moved it to Broadway. Dor won a Tony.

Critics raved about her willingness to take a risk, and not rush into movies, like some of her predecessors had done with poor results. Her first film came out the month before. Dor's performance was acclaimed.

"How's America's favorite virgin?" Corey asked, quoting Time.

"Hey, that is a four year old label," said the twenty-two year old. Time had complimented her on assuring her fans that virginity was cool and you could even date a Major League pitcher while maintaining it. Meanwhile, her music videos became less and less virgin like. Her male fans were intrigued by her fit young body dancing around the stage while belting out tunes.

"How are you doing?" Her voice turned grave.

"Nothing wrong with me that a round of chemo couldn't fix."

She told him how her mother had run into a Snippettsville friend vacationing in L.A. Dorothea flew out immediately after hearing of Corey's sickness.

"I hear you are not going to fight it this time?"

"I can't."

She saw the weariness of the ages in her friend and accepted his choice.

"I was diagnosed a year after you left. I was okay much of the time, but everyone always knew. The guys never played hard against me. They let me win at games and the girls were afraid of getting cancer by kissing."

She leaned in and kissed him, not as a friend, but as a lover. "Careful," he joked, "Time might take away your label."

"I gave it away years ago." She stood and slipped out of her sundress. The body that was the wet dream of boys and men everywhere, stirred the dying man.

Dor went to her knees before him. She fondled him, and took him in her mouth. As soon as he was hard enough, she stood up, and straddled him. She guided him into her. In an act of species preservation, his wasting body rose to the challenge.

When he woke, she was gone. Her professional obligations drew her away.

His friend Jason came by later. He pretended to believe Corey's tale.

Dor concluded her Oscar acceptance speech. "This is for you, Corey. I love you!" The tabloids speculated about, "Corey who?" He had died the month before. 

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 13



Hello, and welcome to the thirteenth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 13

MILF by Soupwarsproject
Shortened Breath by Champagne1982
Swan by Alex de Kok
Something About This Crime by PierceStreet



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

MILF by Soupwarsproject

“Can we go swinging?”

“No.”

“Will you give me a fake gynecological exam?”

“No.”

“Will you spread food all over my body and lick it off.”

“No.”

“Will you whip me?”

“No.”

“May I whip you?”

“No.”

“Want to fuck my ass?”

“No.”

“A threesome?”

“Good luck.”

“Want to have normal sex?”

“I’m tired. Let’s sleep”

“You’re no fun anymore.” Penny loved her husband, but she couldn’t deal with the boredom. She loved Snippettsville, but the small town thing was getting to her. Church activities, dinner at Hannah’s and quiet afternoons by the lake were dandy, but Penny wanted more. The fact that everyone knew her by name drove her mad. She needed amusement, but she feared this indulgence because of the pernicious rumor mill that monitored everyone like a creepy Orwellian surveillance system. This is what motivated the ordinary housewife to wear her oldest daughter’s clothing and, become the seducer of two moronic high school students held back by at least two grades.

She drove a blue minivan when she spotted the skateboarders passing a joint. It was 11:47 at night in the high school’s parking lot. Her van nearly scared them off. Fortunately, her low-rise skintight jeans, a pink t-shirt two sizes too small and, the question, “Are you guys legal?” prompted them to stay.

“For smokes but, not beer…” replied one of them.

“Want a blow job?”

“Hell fucking yeah!” The young men screamed in unison.

Her suede jacket with sheepskin trim didn’t detract from the view of her wondrous belly button. “Get in the van.”

“Dude, this isn’t one of those things where the chick tricks the dudes into fucking a tranny is it?”

“Will, don’t be a fuckhead. That’s Halley’s mom.”

The guy with the ICP t-shirt screamed, “No way!”

Penny seemed alarmed. Her gig was up. Her reputation would be ruined; or, would it?

“Dude, Mrs. Hecker, you are, like, the biggest milf in this town.”

“No shit, you are totally hot.”

“You promise to keep quiet about this, guys?”

“Will you fuck us all the way if we don’t say anything?”

Penny grinned. “Yes, but if you talk, don’t be surprised if you get arrested for drug possession.”

The boys looked at each other. “Dude!”

“Theo, this is going to be the best night of our lives.”

“We’re going to bone Halley’s mom.” The two stoners in flannels and baggy jeans exchanged a high five. They hoisted their skateboards and hastily inhaled the remainder of their shared joint. She drove them to a secluded spot by Green Lake. That’s where the trio performed their dirty deed.

Will and Theo stood side by side. Their dicks weren’t the biggest or the best, but they were just the right for Penny. She gulped Will’s five inches with the greatest ease. He clenched his teeth as she sucked him. Her dainty fingers stroked Theo’s “lefty” curve. She pushed Theo to the grass and let him have a turn in her mouth. Will took out a rubber from a mint tin in his back pocket. A g-string thong that poked out of her pants mesmerized him.

Officer Archie McDougall recognized that secluded spot as the lover’s lane. He usually shone his flashlight at horny kids to foil their hormonal adventures. However, the situation was different tonight. Mrs. Hecker was a pillar of the community, and a beautiful woman. Her idiot husband obviously didn’t care about her. The policeman didn’t want to ruin her reputation. He quietly sat in his car and enjoyed the show.

* * * * *

Shortened Breath by Champagne1982

When the curvy, little redhead came down the stairs toward him, Randy's mind went blank. Cheri Jessop seemed oblivious to the effect she had on him. Her breasts didn't really bounce as she skipped down, but they looked as if they were about to and it was all Randy could do to look up into her pretty, brown eyes. Mesmerized, he watched her, all of Cheri's rounded parts seemed to sway, rhythmically, with her walk. She turned toward the bar fridge and looked back at the entranced Randy. He was staring at her heart-shaped ass with predator-like eyes.

"Would you like something to drink?" her voice weakly penetrated the fog he was in and Randy darted his eyes back up to her face. The hunger she glimpsed, when his eyes met hers, was enough to start Cheri's pulse racing. She'd never seen that in a man before and wasn't sure how to react. "I. . . We have," she corrected hastily, covering up her nervousness, "juice? Coke? Bottled water?"

"Water will be fine, Cheri," his voice caressed her name. "Thank you."

Randy stayed seated on the barstool, forcing Cheri to bring him his drink. She looked around like a trapped deer seeking escape until at last she swallowed and moved to him. As she flowed across the floor, Randy couldn't believe the liquidity of her motion, like syrup, slow and relentless leaving part of herself, her scent, clinging there, in the space behind her.

Cheri tried to move behind the bar, putting something solid between them but Randy swivelled on the stool and then stood up in her path. She lifted the bottle to his hand, he took it and set it down on a coaster. "Wow, Miss Jessop, you are really something, y’know?" his voice was low and breathy, "I think I'd better go before I do something . . ."

Startled eyes looked up at him, "What do you mean?" Cheri tried to step back but somehow his hands had moved and he held her shoulders. She looked up, “Don’t . . . ”

His mouth covered hers. Randy had never wanted a woman’s kiss like he did Cheri’s. Marveling at the sweetness of her lips, Randy inhaled, wanting to have his senses filled with her. He felt her hands pressing against his chest as she attempted to get away. When she turned her face, grunting out panicked protests, he moved his big hands to cup her cheeks and still her head. His mouth covered hers again and he froze when he heard her long, drawn out sob.

“Oh my God!” he despaired. “Shit! God! Cheri– Cheri, please, forgive me.” Randy’s hands released her shoulders and hung by his sides. He clenched them into fists and raised his head to look at her, tension and worry evident in every feature.

“Just go! I can’t think of why you did that!” Cheri’s hand shook as she raised it to touch her lips. She glared at him, anger replacing the fear she’d felt just a moment ago.

“You’re beautiful. I can’t believe . . . ”

“You? You can’t believe it!” her outrage lifted her voice higher in tone. Then she slumped as she caught the anguish in his eyes, “Why did you just think you could kiss me like that?”

“I wasn’t thinking, Cheri– Oh God, I wanted to ask you to dinner, get to know you, but I blew that plan all to hell. I’m so sorry!”

Cheri studied him silently, letting both of them slow down. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d waited until after dinner, Randy McCrae. What time will you be back to pick me up?”

* * * * *

Swan by Alex de Kok

It was Julie Trask's idea. The Green Lake Lodge Spring Ball was coming up and Jake Miller and I had both asked her to be our date. I had thought about asking Sally Jansen but she and Charlie Thomson seemed to have become an item.

"How much do you know about dinghy racing?" Julie asked us.

Jake and I looked at each other. "The pointy end is the front," I said helpfully.

"Nothing?" said Julie. We shook our heads. "Okay," she said, grinning at us, "enter the open Laser race in the Regatta on Saturday and whichever one of you finishes highest can be my date."

I almost gave up there and then, but I knew Jake had as little a clue as I did. I was sitting moping when Beth Allan came by. Skinny, mousy, unattached little Beth, everybody's friend, nobody's lover.

"Something up, Alan?" Concern in her tone.

"Yeah." I told her the story.

"Ah. That would explain why Brad Torrens just took Jake out on the lake."

I let myself settle even more into my gloom.

"Hey, come on. I can show you how to sail a Laser," said Beth helpfully.

I looked at her sharply and she flushed. I knew she was one of the best around at handling a dinghy. "You mean it?"

"Of course." Indignant.

That was how I ended up spending virtually the whole of Thursday and Friday out on Green Lake with Beth. She drove me hard, but by Friday evening I was confident that I could at least keep the dinghy going in the right direction

Saturday dawned fine and warm, with a westerly breeze which wasn't too strong. I think just about everybody knew about the race within a race and there was a lot of joshing going on. Eventually it was time for the start. Beth had loaned me her own Laser, far from new but superbly maintained and trimmed.

"Thanks, Beth. If I win it will be thanks to you."

"Good luck, Alan," she said, but she avoided my eyes when she said it and I wondered if I'd upset her.

I managed not to get in anybody's way at the start and was pleased to see that I had a slight advantage over Jake, in Brad's boat. The race settled down with the more experienced sailors starting to pull away. Jake and I weren't doing too badly, somewhere around the middle of the field, and I had about a three boat-lengths lead over him as we started the last lap.

I caught sight of Beth on the shore and thought back to our two days together on the lake. Her animation, her unexpected quick wit, her simple joy just in being out on the water. The finishing line was getting close and I let the wind spill from the sail for a moment, before hauling on the sheet and getting back on course, just half a length behind Jake as he crossed the line.

"You could have beaten him," said Beth accusingly when I got back to the dock.

I glanced across to where Jake was hugging Julie. I smiled. "Yes, Beth, I could. There was another prize I wanted more."

"There was? What?"

"Will you be my date for the Ball?"

She looked absolutely astonished for a moment, then flushed. "Yes, I will."

When I saw her slender loveliness in her ball gown I wondered why I had ever thought of her as either skinny or mousy, because she was stunning, but it was when she kissed me that she really knocked me out.

* * * * *

Something About This Crime by PierceStreet

 Something about this crime, almost non-crime really, seemed familiar to Tom Holt. A young woman had returned home to an empty apartment from a date only to find signs that someone had been there in her absence. A chair had been moved, a light left on and the TV in the bedroom was on. But nothing was stolen or broken.

She’d been fairly sure she’d locked up, but couldn’t be certain. There weren’t any signs of a break in Tom could find. He checked all the locks and walked around and found nothing odd. He filled out his report, told the girl he’d drive by occasionally, and to call if anything unusual happened.

He called her the next night and she was calmer. “I probably just left those things on myself. Really, I wonder where my mind is sometimes.”

Still, Tom couldn’t get over the nagging feeling he had seen this before. He asked Jennifer Tillies. Jennifer ran his office, knew everyone in town and didn’t forget a thing.

“Gina Tulley called and told me about something just like this, maybe six months ago. She didn’t want to do a police report, she said. Nothing had been taken, no harm done.”

Tom stopped by the latest victim’s workplace. He asked Tina Baker who she’d been out with that night. “Zack Allen. It was our second date.” He asked about other guys she’d dated. Then he went and asked Gina Tulley the same questions. The two women had never dated the same man, so Tom ruled out a stalker. There was one oddity. Gina had been out on a date with Joe Kinney the night someone let themselves in her place. Joe and Zack had been best friends since elementary school and they were partners in the locksmith shop.

“Gina, you didn’t call our office until the next morning. Wasn’t it scary to spend the night in your apartment?”

Gina hesitated then explained that she’d called Joe. “He was real sweet, and understanding, and offered to come over and look around. Instead, I asked him if I could spend the night on his couch. He was so nice, he had it all made up for me when I got there. He was a total gentlemen. We’ve been going out ever since.”

“And let me guess?” ventured Tom, “you didn’t stay on that couch all night did you?” Gina’s blush was his answer.

Tom had Jennifer call Tina. He overheard her end of the call. “Just a couple follow-up questions, hon. After Tom came by and took your report that night, did you call anyone? Uh, huh, Zack, yeah that’s right, you’d just been out on a date with him. Did he come by to comfort you? No, you invited yourself over to his place.” There was a long pause, “You did, did you? That would make a girl feel safe alright.”

Tom knew Zack and Joe were at Hannah’s for breakfast most mornings. He joined them.

He sat down at the table and told them about the odd case he was working involving Tina. Tom then mentioned how Gina had the same thing happen a few months before while out with Joe.

Tom almost laughed when he saw the looks on the boys’ faces. These were no criminal masterminds, just two horny lads that had figured out a way to make a woman feel vulnerable, then safe and grateful. Their knowing he knew, would be sufficient deterrent to keep them from doing it again, he was sure. Enjoying himself, he left them sweating and went on about his day.

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 14



Hello, and welcome to the fourteenth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 14

Swan's Nest by Alex de Kok
Yesterday I passed... by BooMerengue
Bedroom Cooking by Soupwarsproject
Shallow Desires by Champagne1982



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Swan's Nest by Alex de Kok

The little bay was beautiful. A tiny pebbled beach; a grassy bench surrounded by cliffs and trees. The bay entrance was formed by overlapping spurs with trees and scrub overhanging, so that I could see why Beth had said a mast would get in the way.

"What do you think?" she asked as we beached the canoe.

"I think it is the most beautiful little place I have seen."

"I do, too. Let's get the tent up, then we can relax." With two of us it didn't take long, despite neither of us having pitched it before. When I unrolled the borrowed double sleeping-bag she looked sideways at me, but she didn't unroll what was obviously her own bag. Were we just going to sleep, or did she have a further purpose in bringing me here? My prick twitched and I dared to hope.

"How did you ever find this place?"

"I was sailing nearby and I dunno, it just seemed wrong, so I tied my dinghy to a tree and swam in to explore. I come here to sunbathe. Naked." She grinned. "No tan lines."

"I'd like to see the proof."

"I bet," she said dryly. She grinned. "Fancy a swim?"

I grinned back at her. "No suit."

"Surprise, surprise. So we skinny-dip. You do want to see me naked?"

"Very much." I held her gaze with my own.

"You will. Very soon. Come on, last one in the water cooks tonight's meal!"

She beat me easily, as I was watching her undress. There wasn't much to take off. Sweatshirt, shorts, skimpy bra and panties. I'd seen her in her modest bikini, but naked Beth made my pulse pound. Small, pointed breasts, with conical areolae and erect nipples, slim waist, narrow but unmistakably female hips. No tan lines. Beautiful.

I still had my boxers on. Her eyes dropped to the bulge in them and she flushed, but her eyes stayed there as I shucked my underwear. She gave a half-gasp as my semi-hard prick was revealed. I stepped out of my shorts and moved to take her in my arms.

The kiss was torrid. We'd kissed plenty since the Ball, but this was different. Hot, wet, wanting. At last Beth broke it, resting her forehead against my chest.

"Alan, I'm still virgin," she said, a tremor in her voice. "Until you, I never had a real boyfriend, but you make me feel so good, and I want you to be my first. I want it to be special and this is my special place."

Time stopped until I could gather my scattered wits. "You're sure?" I said, hugging her.

She gave me a crooked smile. "Absolutely certain. What's wrong?" she asked as my face fell.

"No rubbers."

Her face cleared. "We won't need them. I went on the pill the day after the Ball." She smiled. "I knew then you were the one I wanted."

I picked her up and carried her to the grassy bench, laying her down and caressing her, kissing her lips, her breasts. She tugged at me and I moved over her, pressing my hardness to her opening. She gasped in brief pain when I entered her, but her hips were already moving against me. I managed to hold on long enough to make sure she came first, exulting at the joy on her face and in her voice as she cried out in ecstasy.

"Oh, my darling! It was special, wonderfully special," she whispered as we got our breath back. She kissed me hard. "Can we do it again?" she asked eagerly.

* * * * *

Yesterday I passed... by BooMerengue

Yesterday I passed through Snippettsville. That should have been the end to this tale cuz there sure ain't a whole lot there! Well, theres one less of a whole lot now!

I had to pump my own gas which was okay it bein a nice day. I had thrown an old tarp in the truck bed and tho it was a perfectly calm day I saw that old tarp move! Not usually a suspicious person I lifted the cover and there laid the prettiest girl I had ever seen in these parts- or any other parts, to be totally honest!

Well I was pretty cool. I finished pumping my gas, walked inside and paid for it, went back out and got in the truck and pulled off. Never uttered a word. About 2 blocks farther on I pulled in to Hannah's Diner, stepped out the truck and just walked inside. Hannah, the owner, brought me a menu but never opened it cuz she knew I only wanted coffee and cuz she was watching an apparition crawl over my tailgate.

Now, I'm not one to go long winded over anyone's looks, but godalmightydam this girl was something! She stood about 5'8" in her boots, long legs wrapped in snug denim and a man's shirt tied over a chest that shoulda been on a WW2 bomber. I didn't know I'd been holding my breath til I looked at her face and let it all out in a big whoosh like I'd been punched. Tousled flaxen hair in a loose pony tail framed a face straight from a valentine's card. Heart shaped lips, a cute button nose and eyes like a wounded deer. I told Hannah I thought I might need the menu.

Sure enough, the goddess came in and sat down like she belonged there. After perusing the menu and ordering a breakfast too big for most loggers, she settled back with her Cherry Pepsi and studied me. I squirmed a little, but only for a minute cuz once she started talking I was plumb mesmerized!

"My name is Doreen, but you can call me Desiree cuz that's the name I'm gonna use when I get to New York and get hired as a dancer in a Broadway show. Oh I know… everyone laughs when I say that, but I know it's true cuz my Uncle Jake who isn't really my uncle said I was better than any dancer he'd ever seen and he's seen 'em all since he spent a lot of time in New York when he was in the Navy.

Ya see, Uncle Jake is one of the new writers staying in Snippetsville looking for enlightenment. He taught me all the important moves of dance. I mean I knew the steps and all but he said I needed the emotions… the kind you can only get from bein in love and havin sex and stuff like that. So of course he showed me all about those emotions and I wasn't too keen on it but he insisted and well you know how it is with some guys- they just don't hear the word No no matter how loud you say it.

Well I just figured I better learn all I could about emotions so I hitched up here last night and found Jake and I studied him real hard as I watched him fall over from being knifed in the back. Man! That's gonna be a hard thing to pretend you know?"

14 hours later and she's still under the tarp and we're goin east. To New York.

* * * * *

Bedroom Cooking by Soupwarsproject

Dana was a local independent kitchen advisor for The Indulgent Cook. She sold her wares by doing in-home demonstrations for small groups of housewives in Snippettsville, Mayson, Cedar Grove and sometimes Cuento Largo. Dana was passionate about kitchen tools.

"How many of you have The Indulgent Cook products at home?" The response was unanimous.

"Excellent! So, what are your favorite gadgets?" Dana discovered that by asking this question at the demos, the guests would provide testimonials that often influenced their friends to buy similar items.

Connie Ann raised her hand.

"Yes, Connie."

"The Crank-It Grater is fantastic. It makes shredding cheese fun and it's easy to clean!"

Her daughter, Connie Magdalene, added, "Yeah, you should see her making ham and broccoli hotdish. She's a wild woman with the cheddar."

"Yeah, and Little Maggie knows all being a wild woman. I bet that her favorite tool is the Big Bar Pan."

Connie Magdalene shot a dirty glance at the older unrelated Maggie. She dumped the freak a while ago. However, based upon the giggles in the room, it was obvious that she wasn't going to live down that affair or the notorious 'lemon bar' incident any time soon.

I'm sure that you two are not as wild as I am with the Crank-It Grater or the Big Bar Pan, Dana thought to herself. She remembered the time her husband, Harry, arranged six types of wrapped chocolate kisses on a Large Bar Pan full of rose petals. He loaded several unwrapped kisses into the hopper of the Crank-it Grater. The chocolate flakes fell upon her belly like dark snow. As the sweet candy melted against her skin, he cleaned it off with long strokes of his tongue. "I love those two products. Yes, Penny?"

"I appreciate the Cob Butterer," Penny Hecker said enthusiastically, "The corn glides through it without making a mess. It's wonderful for my family"

That testimonial reminded Dana of the time she ran her Cob Butterer on Harry's cock before sprinkling it with cinnamon and sugar. It made for flavorful fellatio. "The Corn Butterer really simplifies life." The kitchen advisor pointed to the back of the room. "What do you like to use, ladies?"

The twins, Al and Sal, looked at each other and announced in unison that, "The E-Z Decorator Gun is the best."

Harry liked using the E-Z Decorator Gun to create edible and erotic drawings on his wife's body. Dana loved the time he made vanilla frosting star peaks on her nipples with cherries on top. The combined sensation of his mouth, the rolling fruits and the creaminess of the frosting was simply tantalizing. "Great choice…" Dana noticed another raised hand. "It's nice to see you again, Elaine. What's your favorite tool?"

"I find the color coded Stay-Fresh Clippers do a great job for organizing letters, keeping my bagged foods fresh and replacing those awful twist ties. These simple tools are absolutely indispensable."

Roberta Henderson added, "Those clips also are great for keeping track of yarn counts when you knit."

"Those are great uses." Dana found that the Stay-Fresh Clippers made an excellent substitute for titty clamps. Dana's nipples hardened at the thought. "Now, it's time for the hostess with the mostest to tell us about the one tool that excites her most!"

"I can only pick one?" The women giggled as Violet Sampson briefly stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes up as she pondered the answer. "I like using the One-Handed Pastry Roller for making pie crusts."

Dana grinned. She hadn't tried the One-Handed Pastry Roller in her bedroom, yet.

* * * * *

Shallow Desires by Champagne1982

I was trembling as he tugged me into his embrace. I was in awe of the response his body drew from me. All through the three serious boyfriends I'd had in high school, not one had elicited as powerful a reaction as Randy did through his smile alone. I shook my head, realizing how near I was to giving this man my virtue.

His kisses were wonderful. I savored the taste of his soft lips on mine. The sweet taste of the cherries we'd shared in his truck just a moment ago yet lingered between us. I could feel my heart skip a beat as his fingertips met the bare skin of my shoulder, just beside my neck. I could feel my pulse fluttering beneath Randy's touch and I realized that I really should be slowing us down.

Shakily, I turned my mouth from his, gasping as his hands swept down over my breasts. I struggled to find a way to be graceful, but I felt woefully inadequate. Maybe it was the self-assured way that he steered my actions and emotions, but I wanted this man, like I'd never wanted anyone before. Randy had swept me along with him for the past twelve hours, from our first kiss in my parents' rec. room, through our dinner date and the party at the beach and now here, as I bade him good night.

"I had a wonderful time, Randy. Did you?" I was hoping that he had, that he'd want to see me again.

"Cheri, don't leave me yet!" His voice was low and sounded urgent. He pressed to me and I was startled to feel the hard evidence of his burgeoning arousal against my belly.

"Oh, God! It's so soon." I protested weakly. I wanted him, too, though.

All that long afternoon and evening we'd talked. He told me of how his business was growing. Snippetsville was really booming and Randy McCrae was riding the shockwave in front of the blast. In my turn I'd told him of my plans to become a teacher. That need burned in me as hot as a cherry-red coal in the bonfire pit on the beach.

Reaching around me, Randy opened the door. He pressed his lips to mine and our lips danced in sensual choreography. I felt my knees buckle when his strong hands drew forward and cupped my breasts.

"Let me, sweet Baby. Cheri, I need to make love to you."

My blood chilled with his words and I moved back from him, "Is this what it sounds like? If I give in to you now, Randy . . ." I choked. All I could think of was that he may not want me for anything more than quick, easy sex. I could barely hold the tears from my voice, "Am I just a one-night stand?"

"Cheri! Please don't think that. God, Baby! You're so beautiful and smart. I want to know you better."

"Yeah, better." was my sarcastic reply.

"Don't be like that. I'll stop," his voice was ragged as he stepped back, giving me a bit of space, "Every part of me is screaming that I keep asking, Cheri. I know better though, Baby. You can have your time."

"Randy!" I flung myself forward against him and reached up to wrap my arms around his neck. "You couldn't have said it better." I kissed him, trying to make him feel my promise of more, through the intimate caress, "Soon. Randy, you have to teach me how much better it is to know more."

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 15



Hello, and welcome to the fifteenth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 15

Damn Husky! by Soupwarsproject
Watching by Alex de Kok
The Legendary Boater by Quasimodem
Grace by Lancelot Knight



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Soupwarsproject, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Damn Husky! by Soupwarsproject

Gladys saw the flyer at Hannah’s bulletin board. “Free huskies to nice homes. Good with cats. Call 555-4759.”

The farm laborer’s wife was thrilled. She had been on the lookout for a husky ever since that damn hunter shot Moondog thinking it was a coyote. She called the number and drove to the white house across the bridge. Runty’s owner had been a musher in his youth. Unfortunately, heart problems forced him to quit. He needed new homes for the pooches. The prettier huskies had already found homes. All he had left was a cowardly husky with eyes mottled in yellow, blue and green. Despite the weird eyes, Runty had a wild appearance and a gentle disposition. It was the perfect pet to accompany Gladys in getting the mail and hauling small logs to the house.

As expected, Runty frightened the rabbits and Ghost Kitty. The noisy guinea hens didn’t seem particularly concerned. Sean the Orange Bastard loved the dog. The puny cat greeted the newcomer with a swat to the nose. The tall dog huddled at the corner of his kennel in terror.

Geoff returned from hauling corn at 8:00 PM. He was displeased. “What the hell is that thing in my yard?”

“It’s a husky.”

“That thing is not a husky. It’s two steaks and sausage away from being a wolf.”

“Runty is a good dog.”

“Runty? That thing is more like Cujo!”

“He’s a softy and Sean likes him.”

“That cat likes eating rabbit turds. Ghosty is terrified of that monster.”

“Ghosty and the bunnies will get used to Runty. They got used to Moondog. I thought you wouldn’t mind having another dog.”

“Take that thing back. It’s too big and it’s nothing like Moondog.”

“But, Geoff,” Gladys tears rolled from her eyes, “I love Runty.”

“I want dinner.”

Gladys sobbed and sniffled. “You don’t care about my feelings.”

“You’re right. I don’t care. That dog needs to go.” Geoff washed his filthy hands and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll fix dinner myself.”

“Fine!” Gladys wiped her tears. It was time for drastic action.

She walked to the bedroom and grabbed the shoebox that she hid on the top of the closet. She stomped to the living room, sat on the couch and denuded herself. Tonight was football night. Since Geoff was making dinner for himself, she was certain that he would make a sandwich to eat in front of the TV. He would be at her mercy.

“Woman, put your clothes back on! You’re too old to run around like Lady Godiva when the lights are on. If you want to do that let’s go to the bedroom.”

“I’ll do anything you want, if you agree to let me keep Runty.” Gladys lubricated some anal beads and attached clamps to her nipples.

“Where do you get those disgusting things at?”

Gladys walked in front of the television. “Same place where you got ‘Just Turned Legal Number 19’, you old fart.” The wife kneeled on all fours. Her ass was facing him. She took a deep breath and slowly pushed the five beads into her body. She exhaled as each ball wriggled inside her.”

“I want to see the game!” Geoff wanted to get the remote, but he didn’t want to go anywhere near his wife. “Please move.”

“Ahhhh!” Gladys pulled one bead, “Uh-Ohhhh,” two more, “UGH,” and another, “Hmmm…” and the last one she pulled with a sigh.

“That’s sick! Stop!”

“I’ll do it again…”

“Fine, you can keep the mutt. Just don’t do that again, please.”

Gladys smirked. She won the battle.

* * * * *

Watching by Alex de Kok

We walked along in the sun, holding hands. Midweek, this far from the Green Lake campground, there wasn't another soul around. The late spring sun was hot on our backs and when we spotted a little grass-filled hollow beside a rushing mountain stream it was too hard to resist. We drank from the stream and then sprawled in idle contentment.

It's your birthday tomorrow, Ben. What, above all else, do you really, really want?" Jackie's eyes were sparkling and there was a wicked grin on her face.

I didn't hesitate. "You."

"Me? And how would you want me?" Her grin never faltered.

"Naked, ready and wanting to let me finally make love to you."

She giggled. "That makes two of us that want that, then." She squeezed my hand. "Yes, Ben, tomorrow I cease to be a virgin. Is there anything you'd like today, to keep you interested, anything except my cherry, that is?"

I made a pretence of thinking about it, but I knew what I'd like to see.

"I want us to be naked, and I want to watch you make yourself come."

Jackie flushed, but her answer was immediate. "Okay, but only if I can watch you at the same time."

"I'd like that."

She stood and stripped off her sweater. "Unhook me," she murmured.

My hands were shaking as I unfastened her bra, but undressing each other was fun and I was trembling at the lovely sight of Jackie naked, as naked as she would be again tomorrow. She made herself comfortable on her back and spread her legs so that I could see properly. I knelt between her spread legs and took hold of my dick, already as hard as it had ever been. She smiled at that and blew me a kiss, before letting her hands roam over her breasts, tantalizing her nipples, teasing them to hardness.

As she did this I began to stroke my dick, that aching stiffness that really ought to have been seeking a soft, wet, hot pussy to bury itself deeply inside. Jackie's hand left her breast and moved down to stroke lightly over her neatly trimmed bush, before stroking lightly the full length of her slit, moving gradually deeper as she moistened. I was giving myself long strokes by now, that familiar mix of expectation and - almost - anxiety beginning to build in me.

She moved her other hand to her sex and stroked lightly down the side of her clit, which was peeping shyly from its hood. Her other hand changed motion slightly, a finger burying itself in her core, quickly joined by another, their motion mimicking the anticipated thrust of my dick in her pussy. Her breathing quickened and a faint sheen of sweat appeared, for the hollow was warm in the sunshine. Her fingers were moving faster now and I could hear the squish of her juices.

"I'm getting close, sweetheart," she said, her breathing heavier now.

"God, me too, love," I replied, my strokes quickening, my being tightening, readying for my climax.

"Oh, Ben," she cried, "I'm coming!" And she did, trembling, gasping, her face luminous in its passion, lifting me, spurring me on.

She could tell I was close, for she smiled at me and whispered, "Come on me, my love, come on my belly, come on my breasts."

And I did, gasping as each spurt emptied me, almost collapsing across her, my wilting dick resting on her tummy, my knuckles tickled by the springy softness of her bush.

She drew my head down and kissed me gently on the forehead. "I love you," she said.

* * * * *

The Legendary Boaters by Quasimodem

The Green Lake Public Launch was the site of great wonderment as the biggest cruiser seen in those parts was eased down the ramp by an out-of-state towing firm.

Nine men climbed out of several expensive vehicles and began stowing their gear aboard. By the time the sun had begun to set, the cruiser pulled away from the Green Lake community dock.

Natives, and cottage boaters alike, gritted their teeth as the big vessel slid far too close to the buoy marking the dangers of Snippett's Rock.

The fates were kind. No bottom was gouged, nor any cotter pin sheared, and the craft slowly disappeared behind the thin screen of trees.

"I saw them drifting at Dead Man's Point," Sam Leathy declared, while displaying his morning catch of bass. "Why they didn't tear the bottom clean out, I don't know, but they'd left by the time I came back, about seven o'clock."

Old man Pender sniffed, and wrote them off as shiftless. They hadn't bought their bait from his bait shop, although he still kept a weather eye out for the Zodiac outboard they'd towed behind as a tender.

Maybe they would still discover their oversight, and send it back for a large purchase.

By the evening of the first day the Zodiac had returned. A Beamer tore out of the parking lot in a dead panic toward Snippettsville.

Archie McDougall had been in the drug store and could report that this envoy had purchased a large bottle of sun blocker.

The whole dock saw the six cases of beer that were tied down between the Zodiac's passenger seats.

For a day the craft went unsighted, and some busybodies were apprehensively discussing the need to alert the authorities toward having Green Lake's bottom dragged.

Clem Leggit paddled his canoe up to Pender's Lucky Bait Shop for some steel leader, and to brag about the sizeable pike he'd hooked into early that morning. In his excitement, he made only glancing mention of the huge boat he'd seen running the shallows behind Bagget Island.

Why they got so excited about that, when pike were making a comeback, Clem could not understand.

Jimmy Dorset, a nerdy teenaged astronomer, long suspected of training his telescope on sunbathing cottagers, gave unexpected affirmation to this suspicion, when he described his observation of the previous evening.

"Their boat was running with all lights lit, music blaring, bucking a headwind off the western shore," he described, "when, somebody staggered drunkenly onto the foredeck. First, he tried to pee, and then threw up, over the prow into Green Lake."

Jimmy goggled at his audience, then added, "He missed, both times."

All week, the Green Lake folks marvelled at the big boat's amazing run of luck in chancy waters, and its crew's iron constitutions. Three times the Zodiac plied the waters, with a haggard pilot, for more beer and the occasional ardent spirit.

Eventually, as it must, the boaters' luck ran out. As the large craft pulled alongside the community dock, a hatchet-faced harridan ascended from an elegant limousine.

"Alfred, you're as drunk as a wheelbarrow! Get out of that ridiculous boat and into this car," she demanded in a strident voice, then added ominously, "Mother's waiting."

Old man Pender, whose ears were the longest, reported later what he overheard. "Seems that it was a kind of groom's party. The half-burnt sandy-haired fellow is all set to marry that gimlet-eyed female with the hackle-raising voice."

"Well, no wonder!" Sam Leathy vowed softly. "Just look at him. I wouldn't a give him credit for having that much sand in his craw."

* * * * *

Grace by Lancelot Knight

As he left the Interstate and took the county road to Snippetsville, Brian saw all the familiar sights of his youth. There was Hannah’s Diner, the General Store, the old mill. Memories flooded in.

One memory in particular: Slender, with light green eyes, high cheekbones, and budding breasts, the memory’s name was Grace.

During that gold and green summer, the last he had spent in Snippetsville, she was innocence personified.

Having graduated from the Snippetsville High School three months before, Brian had won a scholarship, those many years ago, to a prestigious Ivy League school; he was leaving in a few days.

They held hands that evening down by Green Lake, in a light caressing way that lovers will when they think they have forever. Under his arm he had carried a blanket. Although neither of them said anything, both knew what the blanket was for.

He spread it under the milky moonlight, and they had laid down, just petting at first, until an urgency grew in him. He tugged off her blouse and bra. Grace had held her hand to her breasts until he brushed it aside to feast on the small mounds.

He kissed his way from her breasts down to her fleecy mound. He felt her shudder, hesitate, then open her thighs for him. He mounted her with all the energy and exuberance of youth and had taken her with powerful strokes that did him justice if he did have to say so himself.

Afterwards, the moon dipping behind the pines, Grace sobbed softly. The blanket was stained with blood.

“I didn’t know,” he said helplessly.

On the way back to the car, there was silence between them. Finally, when he kissed her good-bye at her door, she said, “You’ll write, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“And call once in awhile.”

“Sure.”

At first, a steady stream of love letters arrived at his dorm. He would reply to one out six. After all, he was busy, and school sure as hell wasn’t easy. She would call too, so often that Brian had to get his roommate to finally brush her off. The sophisticated girls of his school quickly put Grace in the back of his mind. He had even married one of those sophisticated girls. The marriage lasted perhaps six years longer than it should have. One of his partners in the law firm handled the acrimonious details of the settlement.

Through those years, he never quite forgot Grace, and when the twenty-fifth high school reunion was announced, Brian decided to go back home.

Driving through the small town, it did still seem like home, though he had been in New York City for twenty years.

He wondered if Grace had finally forgiven him. Had he ruined her life? Was she a bitter old maid, perhaps, teaching in the school they had both attended?

Guilt, always in the background regarding Grace, filled his mouth with bile. He saw a payphone by the filling station and pulled over. He talked to the guy in the station; Brian didn’t recognize him until he told him he was old man Shannon’s son.

“Is Grace still around?” asked Brian.

“Grace? Sure. Why?”

“You don’t happen to have her number by any chance?’

“It’s around here somewhere.”

Dialing the payphone with apprehension, Brian listened to the ring, shifting from foot to foot.

“Hello?”

“Grace? Is that you, Grace?”

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“Brian . . . Brian Morrison.”

"Brian Morrison?" Puzzlement, silence for a moment, then "Brian!" A soft, tinkling laugh. "I haven’t thought of you in years!”

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 16



Hello, and welcome to the sixteenth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 16

Koadi and the Cop by Quasimodem
The Bright Edge by Lancelot Knight
Holly and the Ivy Leaguer by Alex de Kok
Petite Fulfillment by Champagne1982



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Koadi and the Cop by Quasimodem

Early one afternoon Archie McDougall sauntered into the Showboat Hotel, and stepped up to the bar.

“A splash of Jack Daniels, my good man,” Archie requested.

The bartender poured two fingers, then passed them to the constable.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Nivens,” a female voice could be heard coming from beside the stage. “Last time Constable McDougall was in here, he practically wrecked the joint. Cassidy won’t be happy seeing him back.”

“Was that fat prat your boyfriend, Koadi?” Archie inquired disparagingly.

“No!”

“That’s right, yours was the ugly goon,” Archie agreed. “You go for big dumb bastards, don’t you?”

“That can’t be right, Archie-balls,” the girl replied, “otherwise, I’d be crazy for you.”

“You know what they say about hookers and cops.”

“I am not,” the girl vehemently exclaimed, “a hooker.”

“Close,” Archie interjected.

“I’m a showgirl!”

“Whose talent is reflecting light,” Archie agreed, “without her clothes on.”

With clenched jaw, the girl turned to the jukebox.

“Archie-balls is here, Nivens, to protect this one-horse town from my evil influence. Isn’t that right, Constant Bull?”

Hips swaying aggressively, the stripper sashayed up to the jukebox. Bending over to select her tune, perhaps accidentally, she betrayed a lack of underwear beneath her excessively short skirt.

As the jukebox started to play, the stripper gyrated to the music, in the most provocative way she could imagine.

Archie leaned back against the bar while he sipped his Jack Daniels, eyes never leaving the undulating girl before him.

“So, Archie-balls,” the stripper asked, mischievously, “what can I do you for today?”

“You seem to be doing as much as I can accept,” Constable McDougall replied, stolidly. “At least, while in uniform, Miss Koadi.”

“It’s not Miss Koadi,” the stripper feelingly declared.

“Missus Koadi?”

“Oah!” the girl exclaimed, “Not Missus, either.”

“First name, is it?” Constable McDougall enacted his celebrated ‘hick cop’ role. “What’s your second name, Ack?”

The stripper made a sound like an exploding kitten.

“My name is Koadi,” she insisted. “Just one word, like Madonna, or Cher.”

“Or Meatloaf,” McDougall added, helpfully.

The girl made another strangled sound, as Constable McDougall tossed back his Jack Daniels.

Placing an arm across the girl’s shoulders, he compelled her to accompany him toward the exit.

“I’ve just finished putting in a long, tiring shift,” the Constable confessed, “and dropped in to unwind before bed. I don’t know why, but I find your dancing almost soothing, Miss Koadi.”

“Fun-ny!” the girl replied. “Where are we going?”


“Nowhere,” Constable McDougall, replied. “Like I said, I’m going to bed. I thought you’d enjoy walking me to the door, maybe even give me a good-bye kiss.”

“I’d rather kiss a mule,” the girl vowed.

“Working up a new act?” McDougall inquired. “It’s about time.”

Archie halted before they reached the exit, then turned to gaze into the stripper’s eyes.

“I have no knowledge of you breaking any law, Koadi,” Constable McDougall confirmed. “I just stopped in, this afternoon, for a nightcap.”

Slowly, the constable moved closer, until his lips almost brushed against the girl’s ear.

“But, if you think you deserve punishment,” Archie whispered, “I’d be more than happy to accommodate you.”

He suddenly brought a cupped hand up beneath the girl’s short hem. It impacted loudly, if not painfully, against the girl’s naked bottom.

“Good afternoon, Miss Koadi.”

Archie’s chuckle followed the stripper’s squeak of surprise, then he sauntered through the exit of the Showboat Hotel.

Her hands clutching her abused bottom, the stripper followed Constable McDougall with her eyes, while a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Bloody cop,” the stripper murmured, unconvincingly.

* * * * *

The Bright Edge by Lancelot Knight

Jack had to admit that he had given it his best try. But twenty-two years of married life would dull anyone’s sensibilities. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Ethel-he surely did-it was just that after awhile you grew to know every inch of the landscape. He had memorized every nook and cranny of his wife’s body. He knew if he caressed the undersides of her breasts that she would shudder with delight, if he lightly grazed the inner portion of her thighs that she would whimper softly. He knew intimately the valley between her breasts and what she would do if he planted wet kisses there. He knew how she would squirm when he circled her clit. He knew all of this over and over again.

In the first decade, even two, of their marriage he had reveled in his wife. But finally, finally, their love-making had lost its bright edge.

In a phrase, Jack was bored.

To compensate, perhaps, Jack began to write erotica. Not long after Harry showed him how to use the computer and the internet, he discovered a site called Literotica. He couldn't remember how he found it He was fascinated by the freedom others had to express all sorts of fantasies. In the small town of Snippetsville, no one talked about fantasies!

Jack began to write stories himself and was amazed when readers would write to him, commenting on them. He was especially intrigued by one response, a reader who called herself Lara. They had begun a e-mail correspondence that quickly escalated from innocent flirting to the outright down-and dirty.


Ethel had long sensed the boredom in her marriage. But she was at a loss about what to do about it. Snippetsville didn’t offer any insights. She had tentatively raised the issue with her best friend Sarah, but Sarah responded incredulous by saying, “You’re talking about sex!”

Ethel had turned a bright red and ended the conversation.
Maybe, she thought, she could get some ideas from the new computer Harry had given them. She chanced on a site that printed erotic stories, and she was immediately captivated about the graphic details of the stories. She even found herself becoming aroused by some of the stories, her nipples hardening in her bra. After awhile, she worked up enough courage to write to some of the writers-first, women writers, then some men. She signed herself Lara. She even found herself exchanging erotic e-mails with one of the men.


One day the inevitable happened. Jack had to run into the general store quickly about something or another, so Ethel went into the room that served as their library, computer room, TV center. The screen was lit with that eerie ghost light computers have; the cursor was blinking. There on the screen she saw a reply that Jack had begun to an e-mail. What astonished Ethel was that it was her e-mail.

She heard a sound behind her.

It was Jack. “I can explain-” he began.

Ethel smiled. “There’s nothing to explain.”

She leaned back against the desk. Slowly she lifted her skirt to reveal legs that were still shapely. She wasn’t wearing any panties. “Didn’t you tell me I shouldn’t wear any panties?”

“You’re-?”

She drew him into her arms. “And in one e-mail didn’t you say something about wanting to try a nooner?”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think I did.”

And as she drew him into her arms, as they merged into understanding, Jack and Ethel, holding more than hands, entered into an entirely new world of possibilities.

* * * * *

Holly and the Ivy Leaguer by Alex de Kok

Holly Patton pressed her thighs together as the Porsche took the corner twenty miles an hour faster than she'd ever dared in her Mustang. She felt her panties getting wetter, the adrenalin stimulation turning sexual.

The driver glanced at her. "Where do I turn?"

"Not the next left, but the one after, then it's second right."

Five minutes later, they pulled up outside the cabin. Helping her out, he reached behind the seats for her overnight bag and placed it on the gravel beside her.

"Thanks for the lift, David. Would you like to come in for a coffee?" she said, trying to sound casual.

He grinned, that lop-sided grin she remembered from Snippettsville High, before he went East, the too-long hair still falling over his eyes.

"I'd love to," he said, picking her bag up again.

She led the way inside, but when she turned to give him directions he was right behind her and they almost collided. Startled, she stared at him, uncertain. He stared back, and she realised that there was want in his look. She raised her hand, hesitant. He dropped her bag and suddenly she was in his arms and they were kissing, tongues duelling, her own want rising, fuelled by his. She broke the kiss and shuddered, her head against his chest, thrilling as his hands came up to cup her breasts. Gathering her scattered wits, she took his hand and led him into the bedroom, the wetness between her legs growing.

She pushed him back on the bed, bending to pull off his loafers, reaching to undo his belt, pulling the zipper down. "Lift your ass," she commanded, a faint smile crossing her lips as he complied. His prick was already hard, hot, proud in the late afternoon light through the window.

"Are you - ?" he began, as he threw off his t-shirt, but broke off as she kicked off her shoes and knelt astride his thighs.

Suddenly she wanted to be naked for him and fumbled at the buttons of her dress, casting it aside, springing her breasts free from the confines of her bra, ripping off the wisp of soaked panties. She shuffled forwards on her knees, taking his hardness in a trembling hand, guiding him into her.

A wriggle or two and he was deep inside her. She paused for a second, avoiding his eyes, and then began to fuck him, rising and falling, her heat building until she could hold off no longer and let herself come, pulsing around his prick, collapsing onto him as her convulsive movements eased.

As awareness came back she was suddenly fearful of what he might think, and pushed herself up, willing herself to look at him.

"I - " she began, but he stopped her with gentle fingers, his thumb rubbing across her kiss. His hands went to her breasts again, cupping their weight, exploring their softness, the hardness of her nipples. His eyes were warm on her as his hips began to move, thrusting his hardness up and into her.

He was slow at first, his hands dropping from her breasts and holding her hips, holding her in place on him, but he began to move faster and she realised that the moment was getting to him too, and she thrilled that she could do this to him, exulting as his thrusts quickened, lengthened, crying with him as the passion took hold and climax lashed through them both.

She collapsed across him as he quieted and she felt his gentle kiss on her ear.

"You always were my favourite teacher," he said.

* * * * *

Petite Fulfilment by Champagne1982

Cheri couldn't stand it any longer. She picked up the phone and called Randy's cell. When she got the - Hey! You called me. Leave a message - recording, followed by the damned, hated beep she wanted to scream. Instead, she said, "Hi, Randy. It's time. Come and get me, I'm waiting."

She paced, she flung herself onto the sofa and fidgeted; picking up a magazine and then tossing it back onto the table when nothing appealed to her. What she really wanted was Randy. Where was he anyhow? Cheri got up and looked out the window, down Hope Creek towards the rail crossing, and her heart gave a glad, little leap when she saw Randy's pick-up coming towards her driveway. He turned at the pines and into her parent's yard. Seeing his truck, at her home, reminded her of their meeting last year, when he'd turned the water off, leaving her half-showered.

Cheri grabbed her pack and pulled on her jacket calling down the hall to her mother, "Don't wait up!" Katrina Jessop's reply was lost in the slamming of the door as her only child raced out the door to Randy.

He turned towards her as she climbed into the seat, "Hi, sweet baby. I got your message, I was just in the bank when you called. Time for what?"

She felt her cheeks warm and busied herself with her seatbelt. Looking up at him, her brown eyes blinking nervously, she murmured, "Time to make love." She turned, hiding her blush from him.

"Baby? Look at me." He tipped her chin up with his finger, "Cheri, you know what you're saying? Ever since I've met you no other woman has appealed to me in the slightest and now, you offer me the greatest gift I could ever dream of. Thank you, my love."

Cheri was beyond words and Randy tugged her lips closer. He claimed her mouth in a kiss full of promise. She barely spoke all through the short ride to his place. He followed her up the icy walk and then leaned past her to open the door. Tossing their coats onto a bench as they kicked off heavy footwear, he smiled, then, Cheri's hand clasped in his, led her through the house and up the stairs.

Randy had opened up the entire top floor of the little storey-and-a-half creating a large master suite. Cheri hesitated on the top step, drawing a shaky breath. As she exhaled, she demanded, "Oh, baby! Tell me you love me, please!" She needed to hear him say it again.

"I love you, Cheri Jessop. I need to make love with you, sweet baby."

"I want you, too. It'll be okay, won't it?" She was so worried that she wouldn't please him, "I don't know what to do!"

"It will be okay, baby. You will do everything perfectly. There are no right and wrongs in our love, sweetheart. There won't be any when we share it, either." Randy held his arms open as he stood facing her. "Come here, baby. I love you.”

Cheri smiled and stepped into her lover’s embrace. Randy was who she wanted, she was certain. She was also sure that it was time to take their relationship this next step. Her instincts were a woman’s as she stood on tiptoe to press her kiss on his mouth. She slid her tongue across his, as he deepened their kiss, exploring his mouth and anticipating the exploration of his body. This was her man, now and for always.

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 17



Hello, and welcome to the seventeenth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 17

The Question About Umbrellas by Quasimodem
Rhonda At The Roadhouse by Alex de Kok
The Titless Wonder by Boxlicker101
Umbra's Lady by Wildsweetone



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004

Now read on...

* * * * *

The Question About Umbrellas by Quasimodem

Something wasn't kosher at Dusty's Video.

Dusty's had only one hundred video tapes. The store's doors were locked more often than most submarines. It was easier to qualify for the Olympics than for one of Dusty's memberships. And, finally, Dusty's Video charged twice the rental fee its competitors did.

Still, it had never caught the attention of Archie McDougall until Jennifer Tillies asked him the question.

"Why does Dusty's Video have two copies of 'The Umbrellas of Cherbourg'?"

"You rent at Dusty's?" Archie responded.

"No, I was buying milk in the convenience store, when I saw Gray Chilters leave with that movie tucked under his arm. When I glanced in Dusty's window, there was another copy on the counter."

"Is that one I missed?"

"It's from the sixties," Jennifer answered, "and I doubt whether either you or Grayson Chilters would consider it worth watching. Not one single car chase."

"Okay, Jenny," Archie replied. "I'll check it out."

*

"Will their love endure the long separation?" Archie read from the plot outline on the Internet Movie Database, then continued. "All the dialogue is sung. . . ."

Archie shot to his feet and exited the police station. Jennifer was correct. Something was rotten at Dusty's Video.

Responding to Archie's request, Jennifer searched back issues of the Snippettsville weekly newspaper where Dusty's advertisements listed contest winners.

"Someone wins twenty-five free rental coupons each week," Jennifer reported. "Here's the list of the last three months' winners."

Archie snorted, "I've been keeping watch. That list names every one of Dusty's recent customers. No wait! Everyone except Gray Chilters."

"That's strange! It was Chilters I saw renting 'The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.'"

*

"Chief Holt, I object to this unwarranted persecution!" Grayson Chilters IV complained.

"Prosecution," Tom corrected, "I'm bringing charges, Grayson.

"Do you have the tape, Jennifer?"

Jennifer slipped a tape out of its container and pushed it into the VCR, then pressed fast forward. A moment later, she stopped the tape, to play it at normal speed. Loud buzzing could be heard from the speaker.

"At this point," Jennifer explained, "we would have to transfer the actual tape in the plastic shell to a half-inch computer tape backup cartridge. Here's another tape which Constable McDougall confiscated earlier this week."

Jennifer switched on the back-up tape. All watched as the computer scrolled through lines of machine language on the monitor.

"Does that look familiar?" Jennifer asked the rumpled individual overlooked by everyone previously.

"That's the design for our next video game, 'Mad Gunnar.' How did you get it?" he demanded, in evident agitation.

"Ever wondered how Chilters Data could beat you to the market with so many new products?"

"Yes! I certainly did! Even had a security firm do background checks on our people, but they couldn't find anything," the rumpled man admitted. "We decided it was a case of simultaneous development."

"You have a mole," Archie declared, "a programmer named Lembeck, who makes weekly reports to Chilters."

"Their only link is through Dusty's Video. Both rent this same video tape alternately. They don't even frequent Dusty's store on the same day," Archie concluded. "No wonder your security people couldn't put them together."

"So what?" Grayson Chilters IV sneered. "This is nothing!"

"The laws on intellectual property rights have changed rather dramatically," Tom Holt interjected.

"Try and prove it," Chilters scoffed.

"Dusty's operated for nearly three years," Tom observed. "Which means your father probably was involved in the business initially. From what I gather, he's becoming rather anxious to change accommodations.

"Jennifer," Chief Holt instructed, "book an appointment for me with Grayson Chilters III at the Rufe Dobson Medium Security Prison."

* * * * *

Rhonda At The Roadhouse by Alex de Kok

He looked across again. It was definitely Mrs Jackson - Rhonda - from next door. Divorced, kids off at summer camp, and looking red hot in her short summer dress. She looked uncomfortable, too, because the trucker had obviously had too much to drink and was pawing at her. Jerry turned to his friends who were playing pool.

"I have to go and see if she's okay."

Tom Forrest looked over at the booth. "That trucker looks like he could get mean."

"I'll take the chance," Jerry said with a grimace. He turned and went across to the booth. Rhonda Jackson saw him coming and gave him a warm smile.

"Hi, Jerry. Have you come to give me that lift? Is it that time already?"

Jerry took his cue. "Sorry I'm late, Rhonda. Couldn't get the car started at first."

"You can't leave, we just got started," the trucker said, angry now that he could see what he thought was a choice piece of ass moving out of his life.

"And now we're finished," Rhonda said, her tone like ice. "I'm ready, Jerry, let's go." She pushed at the trucker, who tried to stop her. "Get your hands off me," she yelled, startling the trucker into letting go. She quickly slid out of the booth and took Jerry's arm. "Get me out of here," she hissed. Obediently, Jerry headed for the door.

Outside, Rhonda took a deep breath. "Thanks, Jerry. I owe you."

"That's okay, I thought you looked a little uncomfortable."

Rhonda grimaced. "I was. I didn't realise that jackass could get so drunk so quick. Have you got a car, Jerry?"

He shook his head. "I came with Tom and Joey."

"Will they miss you?"

"I doubt it."

She reached into her purse and took out her car keys. "Drive me home?"

"Sure."

In the car, as he started the motor, Rhonda put her hand on his arm. "Sorry if I spoiled your evening."

"It's okay. I don't even know why I agreed to come. The Roadhouse isn't my favourite place."

Rhonda gave a brief, amused snort. "Mine either."

"Why'd you go then?" said Jerry.

"To meet my so-called friend, Cindy, who never turned up." Rhonda heaved a deep breath. "Please don't get me wrong, Jerry. It's been a long time since I had sex and I'm a woman who has needs. I think I just hoped I could get laid by somebody nice, but there was nobody there who fits the description." There was a pause. "Except you," she said in a completely different tone.

Jerry glanced across at her. She was looking at him with an expression he couldn't fathom, hesitant, yet expectant. Excitement took him. Whoa boy! "I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. "Did you just invite me to make love to you?"

"Not exactly," said Rhonda, "I think I just asked you to fuck me, but if you want to make love, I won't argue."

Jerry put the car into gear and eased out of the Roadhouse parking lot. "You know something?" he said.

"What?"

"I'm nineteen tomorrow. You've lived next door for four years now and I think I've been a little bit in love with you since that very first day."

Rhonda laughed. "Does that mean you want to fuck me?"

"Yes," said Jerry.

Rhonda put her hand on his leg. "Don't break the speed limit, don't take chances, but get me home, because suddenly I want very much to be fucked by you." She laughed. "Jerry, suddenly I feel very good, very wet, and very horny. Have you got all night?"

* * * * *

The Titless Wonder by Boxlicker101

Jake Olson, a 45 year old widower, is raising two sons who are students at Snippetsville High. Usually they walk to and from school, less than a mile from home, but one day, when the younger son, Ronald, had a sprained ankle, Jake drove them. The school wants to avoid trouble and has a strict policy against weapons, or anything that might become a weapon, so Jake went with Ronald to the office to explain his cane.

There was a new face in the office, very pretty, featuring a beautiful smile and velvety brown eyes topped by soft, dark brown hair. Her nameplate said the owner of the face was Kathy McCormick, and Jake felt like a sophomore before this lovely lady as he explained why his son would need a cane for a few days.

"No problem, Mr. Olson. Ronald is one of our best students and no troublemaker. Just sign this form at the bottom. I will too and it will be his pass." Kathy was impressed by the quiet, handsome man, obviously a devoted father. Seeing no trace of a wedding ring, her smile increased in wattage.

Business was light at Jake's Hardware Store and he spent most of his time thinking of the lovely lady he had met briefly. When he left for lunch at the pub across the street, he was determined to learn more about her. Jake isn't much of a drinker, just having a beer and a sandwich at lunch and occasionally a beer after closing his store, but he is popular with the barflies because he sometimes buys beers for them. This was one of those times.

"Anybody know that new woman working at the high school?" Jake asked the men drinking the beer he had just bought.

Brian Shively, who drives around town picking up junk, also picks up gossip and he knew about her. "Her name is Kathy McCormick. Her husband left her last summer. Don't blame him."

"Why'd he leave her?"

"She's titless. She had cancer and the doctor chopped 'em off. Her old man decided she ain't a real woman without tits and I don't blame him."

Levi Oates agreed. "I sure wouldn't stay with a woman without tits. A man needs something to play with."

Jake was perturbed at hearing that about the woman who had made such a strong and good impression. Although not so shallow as to judge a woman on the same basis as the men he had just spoken to, some of his fondest memories were of making love with his wife and kissing and fondling her lovely breasts. They were the first thing he had noticed about her but he had loved and married all of her.

Kathy also thought about Jake and she was in a better position to research the quiet man who had impressed her so much. School records on Ronald Olson listed his mother as deceased and his father as a store owner. "A widower, and he seems like a swell guy but what would he think of a titless wonder like me?" she asked herself. "I hope I see him when he picks up his son."

Neither Kathy nor Jake was a mind reader but their thoughts were similar. "She seems all woman to me, breasts or not. I know I'm thinking about her like I haven't thought about anybody since Nancy died. I think I'll try to get to know her better. Maybe ask her out when I pick up the boys." Thoughts of dating Kathy were so pleasant that Jake decided he would do exactly that if he had a chance.

* * * * *

Umbra's Lady by Wildsweetone

Liz looked over her shoulder; it didn't seem as if he was watching her. With his book held up to fend off the afternoon sun and laying on his back like that, he looked the perfect vision of relaxation. Only one thing gave the game away. His pink cock was lifted slightly from his belly, and as she watched he drew his legs up allowing the sun to dance on his body successfully blocking the view of his cock from her eyes.

Drawing air into her lungs, she turned on her heel then walked down the beach, away from him, away from civilisation, just away.

Further around the island the bush became dense. There were no footprints on the white sand, no trails of human life. She stood on the beach, looking across the Lake. She could see the tip of a white sail, a sparkling diamond in the water.

Liz drew off her flowered dress throwing it down then plonked herself under the shady edge of a spruce, her polaroids turning the world rich. Laying back, she felt the heat of the sun finger its way through her body relaxing the last of the tension from her muscles, massaging mind and soul, tickling the edges of sleep.

She dozed lightly, waking only as a dragging sensation tugged at the corner of her mind. Realising it was more than the corner of her mind being tugged, Liz opened her eyes to long dark hair teasing the inside of her thighs and the rough sensation of tongue dragging along her labia. Clenching the dress, Liz groaned spreading her knees open wider encouraging a deeper intimacy.

He ignored her silent plea, his tongue searching and finding her clit, lifting it a little from its nestling then stroking it, tormenting it until Liz growled,

"If you don't stick that tongue in me right now I'll scream until hell opens and swallows you whole!"

He chuckled, teased her for a few more long lingering moments then thrust his tongue into heaven. His strong fingers massaged the inside of her thighs and her body squirmed under his onslaught.

"Yes! God that's good. Don't stop! Please, don't stop," the last spoken on a whisper of wind as his tongue traced her golden gates.

He licked her then, smiling as her bottom lifted, smiling as her groans became mere wimpers of need and smiling as she gasped grabbing the dress. He didn't stop his tongue from sliding slowly over her clitoris, even when she begged him to "Just fuck me!"

He wrote the alphabet with his tongue, she made it to 't' before her whole body tensed and she grabbed his hair pulling his head hard against her. Within moments her breathing calmed, she released his head from her grip and smiled as he looked up to check she was all right. His left eyebrow raised as she laughed.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. "I'd do it again in a flash."

"You would?" direct eye contact tingled, she looked down.

"Oh yeah, in a flash."

"Well, that'd be great, but I think next time it's my turn."

"We have to take turns?"

"Well, yes. Especially now."

"What do you mean especially now?"

"Well, you did me the honours so I simply have to repay you."

"Hmm, when would you like to do that?" he asked.

"I'm staying up at one of the cabins for the weekend. Would you like to come for dinner and...?"

His brow creased in thought, his lips pouted and one finger tapped the little goatee he grew beneath his bottom lip.

"Yes."

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed; nay, treasured. Votes are nice, too.





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 18



Hello, and welcome to the eighteenth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 18

Jessop Quickie by Champagne1982
The Answer by Lancelot Knight
Always a Snag by Alex de Kok
Kathy and Jake sitting in a tree by Boxlicker101



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004

Now read on...

* * * * *

Jessop Quickie by Champagne1982

"Don't wait up!" Cheri shouted as her mother heard the front door open.

"Just a sec--" Katrina lapsed into silence when she realized that her daughter had escaped out the door. She looked out the window in time to see Randy McRae's truck cross the bridge over Hope Creek, going south out of town. Turning to her husband, Jordan, she said, "I wonder what she meant by not waiting up. I tell ya, Jordan, I hope she's making the right choices."

"You are the best mother in the world, darling. I've no doubt that Cheri knows exactly what she's doing." He stood and took his wife into his arms, "That young Randy seems to be dependable and intelligent." Jordan frowned as he looked out the window, "McRae's place is just down by Willott's Creek isn't it?"

"I think so. Why, baby?" Katrina turned around again following Jordan's gaze.

"He'd better not hurt my little girl. Ever!" He growled against his wife's neck, trying to suppress his thoughts. Unwelcome visions of his daughter and Randy, naked and enraptured, in passion were, perversely, exciting him. He could imagine Cheri's red curls spread across McRae's chest as she kissed her way downward --

"God! I want you." He sucked at Katrina's earlobe, his palms swept upwards over her breasts. Her soft flesh filled his hands and he squeezed, whispering, "I love you. Let me." Her nipples stiffened in response. Jordan moved to press his erection against Katrina's luscious ass.

With the ease of familiarity, Katrina leaned back against her husband, unfastening her jeans. Jordan's fingers had already opened her blouse and were reaching between her breasts to unclasp her bra. She pushed the denim down and off, as Jordan smoothed her top garments over her shoulders and arms.

Without missing a beat, he rid himself of his pants and underwear. His cock was hard and proud as it stood up from his own auburn curls. Grunting, Jordan held his thick shaft in his fist, stroking it, testing it and slid it against his wife's crease.

While he thrust into her welcoming heat, his eyes closed. Again an image of Cheri, splayed and ready for fucking, invaded his mind. He could almost imagine sinking into -- "Fuck me Katrina!" His palm moved and slapped her hip, stinging his hand with the sharpness of the impact.

Not suspecting where her husband's thoughts lie, Katrina rocked back against Jordan. She loved being filled by his thick cock and moved sensually. They fucked. Both husband and wife luxuriated in it, drawing their pleasure out as long as possible. Katrina was panting and rolling her hips with more urgency.

Jordan reached down around her, through her kinky bush to find her clit. He knew with a certainty how to touch her. Katrina let out a low, guttural moan and stilled. Jordan felt her clench around him and with a twisting grind, deep into her, he held his cock still. The ripples of her orgasm almost sucked his prick and he could feel his cum rising.

Leaning back, Jordan looked up at the ceiling and was assailed with another glimpse of fantasy. The brown eyes of his daughter closed as the first scalding drops of his semen landed on her lips, "No!" Jordan's shout came tortured up from his soul as his cum spurted around his wife's womb. His breathing sobbed against her shoulder when he bent forward over her back. Holding Katrina close against him, Jordan murmured, "I love you, darling."


* * * * *

The Answer by Lancelot Knight

When his Aunt Louisa died, Dan wasn’t sure how he should feel. They’d never been particularly close. A couple pastoral summers in Snippetsville when he was a kid was all he vaguely remembered. Occasionally he'd scrawl her hurried letters or postcards when he vacationed in Hawaii. So all he felt was an impersonal, ominous question: “Why?”

His mother had wanted him to go to the funeral in Snippetsville, so for her sake he was pulling off the interstate, taking the county road.

It was easy enough to find St. Anne’s: it was just a block off Main.

A number of relatives and friends were standing about awkwardly in front of the church. Mechanically, Dan shook hands with those that he knew and introduced himself to those he didn’t. He hugged his mother when she broke into fresh rivulets of tears every so often.

Dan noticed a woman, with hair the color of rain darkened cedar, standing by herself in the corner. She wore a black dress that went a bit above her knees, revealing, in a casual manner, stunning legs. Perhaps the dress wasn’t especially expensive, but she gave it a nimbus of elegance. Her coral-colored lips were full. Like the dress there was a hint of something else about her mouth—an unconscious sensuality. Every now and then she talked to one or another of the locals, but that was the extent of her conversation. Dan watched her narrow tongue graze her luscious lower lip.

After the burial, there was a gathering at Aunt Louisa's house. The lovely woman sought him out in the crowd.

“I’m Carol,” she introduced herself. “I took care of your aunt the last few years.” She handed Dan a shoebox.

“What’s this?” He opened it tentatively.

“It is all the letters and postcards that you sent your aunt. She saved them all.”

“But they were just casual throwaways.”

“I know that and you know that, and probably so did your aunt. But she pretended not to.”

Dan lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Every so often she would take out the shoebox and read all your cards and letters from years before as if she had just received them. She would say, ‘Look what Dan has sent me. Such a thoughtful boy.’” Carol added, almost coyly, “I think she was in love with you, just a bit.”

The revelation depressed Dan. The vague feeling of apprehension loomed larger. Why? he wondered. Why?

Carol took him by the hand. “Can I show you the upstairs?”

They found a shadowy room. Suddenly Dan had Carol against the wall, her black dress hiked up to her waist. She was wearing black stockings that looked sensual against her white thighs. Dan was grinding his mouth against hers, as if he could lose himself in her mouth.

Carol responded, softly moaning, pressing her breasts against his chest, undulating her hips against his leg, panting. He found that he was immediately rock-hard. His fingertips grazed her dampness.

He pulled her panties aside, and his shaft penetrated her swiftly. She sighed into his ear. Serpentinely, she wound a leg around him, leaning back against the wall, welcoming his thrusting desire with a soft smile. As Dan’s cum pulsed deep into her pussy, she shuddered, holding onto his shoulders, and came with him.

Dan, as he climaxed, lifted his head like a stallion into the shadowy air. He thought of Aunt Louisa, lying in the cold ground. He felt Carol’s warm, moist breath on his cheek, heard her soft whimper of surrender, and he realized that he had found the answer.

* * * * *

Always a Snag by Alex de Kok

To a casual observer the floating snag would seem innocuous, as would the bubbles around it, about thirty feet out from the grassy bank where Barbara Abbott was sunning herself alone this Tuesday afternoon. Most of her friends were in college, or working, but Barbara had some time free so she was taking the sun. Barbara was young, slender, brown-haired. And naked, for this was the Lady Iothane Institute on Umbra Island. A nudist camp.

Barbara watched the snag for a while, wondering why it bothered her, and then realised. While the other occasional floating debris drifted slowly along with the current, this one didn't. Barbara was curious and as a straight-A student, she liked to satisfy her curiosity. On an impulse she could never explain properly, Barbara got up, ran down into the water and launched herself into a flat dive into the lake. A strong swimmer, she took only a few strokes to reach the snag, where she was startled by a sudden splashing.

A head broke the surface, cyclopean diving-mask reflecting the afternoon sun. Barbara reached out and grabbed the figure by the arm.

"Let go! I'm stuck. A damned branch has caught my harness."

Startled, Barbara realised she knew the voice. "Cheryl? Cheryl Benoit?"

"Hi, Barbara." Resigned tone, apologetic look on the pretty teenager's face as she pushed her mask up. "Damned snag."

A few yards away another head broke the surface. Barbara beckoned and the figure swam closer.

"Give me a hand here, Billy. Cheryl's got herself caught." Billy Daniels swam over and between them they freed Cheryl from the branch.

"Come on, the two of you. Over to the beach," said Barbara. On the beach the two teenagers discarded their scuba gear. Cheryl was wearing a bikini, Billy swim shorts. "Why?" said Barbara.

"Blame me," said Cheryl. "I wanted to know more about this place. Billy suggested the snag as a shield."

"Next time go with the current," Barbara said dryly. "Okay," she said, "strip!"

"Huh?" said Billy, trying not to stare at Barbara's nakedness.

"Strip. We're going to the office."

"Are you going to report us?" said Cheryl, her tone resigned.

"Hell, no," said Barbara. "I'm going to get you visitor passes and show you around. You'll never find out what naturism is about by skulking offshore. Why didn't you ask me?"

"I didn't know you were a member," said Cheryl, finally allowing herself to really look at her friend. "All-over tan suits you."

"I like it. Come on, get your clothes off."

Billy and Cheryl looked at each other, then at Barbara. Barbara laughed. "Never been naked together?"

Cheryl flushed and shook her head. "Not yet," she said, with a meaningful smile at Billy, reaching behind herself for the fastening of her bikini top, discarding the top and then pushing down the bottoms.

Billy stood, embarrassed. Barbara looked at Cheryl. "Grab him!"

A moment later a mortified Billy stood naked, his swim shorts round his ankles, his prick well on its way to a sizeable erection. Both girls stared at it.

"Had him yet?" asked Barbara.

Cheryl shook her head. "Not yet."

"I can't take the two of you to the office with that flag flying. Take him into the bushes, Cheryl. Fuck him, blow him or jack him off, whatever, but get him soft. I'll wait here," Barbara said, making herself comfortable.

Billy and Cheryl looked at each other. Cheryl smiled, and held out her hand. "Let's go, Billy. Your choice, lover, but if it was up to me, I'd opt for the fuck."

* * * * *

Kathy and Jake, sitting in a tree by Boxlicker101

As owner of the only drug store in town, Henry Patterson probably knows more about the citizens of Snippetsville than anyone else; fortunately, his integrity and professionalism keep him from gossiping. He knew about Kathy McCormick’s impending mastectomy from her medications and after her operation, he sold breast prostheses to her. From ordinary gossip, which he never passed along, he knew when her husband left, and thought him a stupid asshole for doing so. The operation and abandonment by her husband saddened the pharmacist for he considered Kathy one of the nicest persons around. To say he was elated when he sold her birth control pills would be exaggerating, but he was glad she was regaining control of her life.

Kathy was glad too. Ever since Jake Olson had brought his injured son, Ronald, to the high school office, Kathy had been thinking about him. She smiled every time she remembered Jake, stammering like a sophomore in trouble, asking for a date. Kathy had accepted with alacrity. The first night they went to dinner and talked like life-long friends. They had gone out several times since, but not to bed yet; both knew they had something special and rushing things might ruin the relationship. Kathy had met Thomas, the older son, and Ronald. Both knew her from her job at their school and already considered her to be cool but this was their first time meeting her socially and all quickly developed a fondness for one another.

Kathy was disinclined toward casual sex. Except for a short interlude with a friend from pre-marriage days, she had not been with anybody since her husband left, and she considered the time with the friend to be therapy, not lust. Besides her attraction to Jake, which grew stronger every day, she was feeling sexual urges and the birth control pills were in anticipation of when the time would be right with Jake.

Jake was feeling horny too. Since his wife died, he had masturbated occasionally but that was getting to be less satisfying, especially after being around sweet, beautiful Kathy. His feelings were growing for her too, and he knew it was almost time to take their relationship to the next level, making love, probably in the small house where she lived alone. Being aware of her lack of breasts, he had some trepidation, not because he thought her deficient but because he dreaded making some blunder.

One night they were dancing, he moving across the floor awkwardly and she gracefully, when he decided the time was right. As he held her, he fully realized she was lacking nothing; she was all the woman he could want. “Tonight is the night” he told himself. “But how do I ask Kathy?”

As those thoughts passed through Jake’s mind, Kathy looked into his eyes asking, “Jake, do you want to stop at my house for coffee?”

Neither drank any coffee. There had been kisses before but none like the ones they shared just inside her door, nor like the ones shared in her bedroom. Jake kissed her mouth and down her throat as he removed Kathy’s blouse but not her bra. He passed over where her breasts used to be, kissing his way down her body, while removing her skirt and panties.

Jake ate Kathy’s pussy, bringing her to a loud climax; then he entered her with his condom-clad cock, fucking slowly, both of them moaning from pleasure and whispering of love, until she climaxed again and he followed seconds later.

As they lay snuggling after making love, they agreed that waiting had been wise and the time was right.

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed; nay, treasured. Votes are nice, too.





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 19



Hello, and welcome to the nineteenth issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town. A bonus this time, five stories instead of four.



If you want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 19

The Open Window by Lancelot Knight
A little closer (a Randy and Cheri episode) by Champagne1982
Swan's Next Step by Alex de Kok
The Parachutist by Lancelot Knight
Tiny Movement (a Randy and Cheri episode) by Champagne1982



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004

Now read on...

* * * * *

The Open Window by Lancelot Knight

Although the dark was descending, Jenny did not turn on the light. Instead, she sat by the open window, her hands folded primly in her lap. A warm breeze gently caressed her body.

In the house beside Jenny’s a light went on, mellow, soft. As if it were a picture, a room was framed: a bedroom.

Into the bedroom came Jim. After stretching, he removed his shirt, tossed it into the hamper, sat on the bed and slipped out of his blue jeans and shorts. Stretching again, the muscles across his shoulders rippled.

Jenny’s hand crept down to the hem of her short summer dress. Gradually, she pushed it up until her thighs were bare.

Jim lay back on his bed. He was watching something on his television, but what Jenny couldn’t see. Not that she cared. She was more interested in what Jim was doing than what he was watching.

While Jim watched the TV he slowly began to coax his cock to an erection, stroking it sensually. It gleamed almost wetly.

Jenny’s hand crept between her thighs as her legs drifted open. She pushed her dress up until it was about her hips. Jenny had no panties on.

Jim wasn’t huge perhaps, but his cock was, Jenny decided, more than ample as she watched his shaft grow in his hand, becoming bright red and incredibly hard.

Unconsciously, Jenny ran her tongue over her dry lips as she stared at the swollen member. Lightly, lightly her fingertips drifted over her mound. Every now and then, with her other hand, she massaged her breast.

As Jim’s eyes fastened on the television screen, he squeezed his cock. Every so often he would reach down with his other hand and lightly tickle his ball sack. Whenever he did, his erection twitched with pleasure.

As his hand began to pick up the pace, his cock jerked. At the tip a clear bead appeared. Jim used the lubrication to make his cock slippery. A small smile drifted across his lips as he savored the feel of his hand.

Jenny was spellbound. She dragged her middle finger up her slit in slow, sensual strokes. Time after time, her finger drifted higher and higher, nearer and nearer the nub of her clit. Finally, she grazed the sensitive pink pearl, and shuddered in voluptuous delight. Jenny sucked in her full lower lip to keep from crying out.

Jim’s hand was a blur now. His powerful chest heaved for breath as he stroked his cock.

Jenny stroked her clit with short flicks, feeling her heart pounding under her aching breast. She rubbed and massaged the sensitive bud and felt her climax churning and rising.

Jim lifted his muscular ass off the bed. A thick spray of sperm erupted from the tip of his cock and landed on his thigh. Slumping, gasping, he continued to milk his cock until he drained all of the milky fluid.

Jenny’s climax sent electric sparks throughout her body. She writhed by the open window, panting in the quiet night air, squeezing her thighs together, her painted toes pointed.

After a time, having regained his strength, Jim reached over to the nightstand beside the bed. Taking a tissue, he wiped the cum from his thigh and limp cock. He glanced just once towards the open window, and maybe he smiled and, just maybe, he made a small kiss in Jenny’s direction.

And maybe Jenny kissed him back, though it would have been difficult to tell in the dark.

Even in towns as small as Snippetsville there is room for all kinds of love.

* * * * *

A Little Closer (a Randy and Cheri episode) by Champagne1982

I stood in the doorway, feeling the humidity of the bathroom behind me as I tried to remember to breathe. Cheri sat smiling at me, her brush midway along a shining curl of her copper-colored hair. She pulled the bristles free and pushed the brush and bag off the side of the bed stretching, catlike, on the edge of the mattress.

"Randy?" Her voice had that rich timbre that always took me by surprise when she spoke, "Do you want me?" She was still in her jeans and sweatshirt, looking so sweet and tempting. I sat on the foot of the bed, acutely aware of my near nudity and how much I wanted her as bare as I was. Cheri moved closer, up against my back, placing her hands on my shoulders, stroking my neck. She whispered in my ear, those full, rosy lips barely brushing against me, "I love you, Randy McRae."I turned to her, twisting my body around, directing her tumble, back, onto the middle of the duvet.


She fell, her hair spreading in a red-gold halo around her head and smiled up at me. "Jesus, Cheri, I need you!" I let my groin press against her hip, showing her just how much I did. Her sighs and quiet murmurs, as we kissed, were turning me on so fast, I could hardly speak. I knelt beside her, my erection tenting my boxers. I'd been wanting this woman for months now, ever since I'd stolen that first kiss in her parents' basement. She was so delicious! She held her hands out to me and I grasped her wrists, pulling her up into my embrace and sat back on my haunches. I took her mouth with a kiss that shook me to the core.

With her arms wrapped around my neck, I let go and slid my hands down over the rounded curves of her ass, gripping the cheeks as I massaged them. My touch swept up along her sides, pushing her heavy sweatshirt over her breasts. Cheri pulled her mouth from mine and moved her arms over her head, inviting me to take her top completely off. Her denim clad thighs were on either side of my waist and her ass was wiggling against my cock. I could barely think as I grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and got rid of it somehow.

She was so warm against me, skin to skin for the very first time. Cheri's breasts spilled over my palms as I squeezed them. Her nipples were a glorious, bubble-gum pink that matched her mouth, I couldn't help but wonder if her pussy lips were going to be a similar shade, too. Somehow, I was stretched out on the bed beside her and my kisses had replaced my hands on her chest. Her skin was sweet on my tongue, tasting of her, a mix of honey and musk. She squealed when my teeth caught a hard, little nib, holding it secure while my tongue flicked across it.

I nursed on her nipples, suckling them as I sealed my lips on one then the other. Her response to tit play was incredible. I imagined how, with more experience and time, Cheri might be able to cum from nipple stimulation alone. The thought was unbearably sexy and I reacted almost violently. Voraciously, I drew as much of her breast as I could into my mouth. We both groaned, our desire continuing to build. My cock strained against my boxers as I felt the thrill of knowing where this was going to lead.

* * * * *

Swan’s Next Step by Alex de Kok

The morning mist was still low over the lake when I crawled out of the tent and stretched. Beth followed me out and put her arm around my waist, resting her head against me. I bent to kiss her, taking the opportunity to caress her breast, the nipple stiff in the cool of the morning. She giggled.

“What?” I said.

“I can feel you running out of me.” She squeezed me. “I’m not surprised, having your wicked way five times with this poor virgin.”

I laughed. “Virgin to raving sex maniac overnight.”

Beth pouted. “I blame you, for making love so well.”

“And I blame you, for inspiring such passion in me.”

“Well, that’s okay.”

We stood in silence for a while, then Beth disengaged herself and began to gather breakfast things together.

“What do you want to do today while I’m recovering from your assault?” I asked her, moving to help her get the stove going.

“Alan, I’ve been thinking.”

“Sweetheart, I know you can, so I guess I have to ask, what?”

“Umbra Island?”

“Yes?”

“The nudist camp?”

“Yes?”

“Do they allow visitors?”

“I have absolutely no idea, sweetheart, but there’s one way to find out.”

“Go and ask?”

“Precisely. D’you want to?”

“I’d like to know what it’s like. It’s been great here, naked with you, making love, but we’ll always wonder if someone is going to find our little hideaway. Amongst other naked people, I think I could be even more relaxed.”

“We’d still need privacy for the love part. I’m not planning to share you.”

Beth giggled again. “I wasn’t planning on sharing you, either.”

It was about ten when we left our secret little bay after I’d hidden our valuables. It took us about an hour to reach Umbra Island. We knew, from Beth’s exploration, that there was a dock at the Western end of the island and that’s where we went. We tied up at the dock, and waited, for we knew we’d been seen. Sure enough, in a couple of minutes a woman came along the dock towards us, lithe, barefoot all the way up.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Apart from the fact that she wasn’t wearing a stitch, she was just an ordinary woman, obviously comfortable in her nudity. About forty, I guessed.

I took Beth’s hand. “We were wondering about the camp. We’d like to know more.”

“We’re happy to show you. We prefer it if you undress.”

Beth and I stripped off our t-shirts and shorts and dropped them into the canoe.

The woman chuckled. “You came prepared. That’s good.” She held out her hand. “I’m Elaine Larson. I’m duty member today.”

“I’m Alan Johansen and this is Beth Allan.”

“I thought I recognised you both. I’m Jenny’s mom.”

“Of course! Now I know where I’ve seen you before,” said Beth. “How is Jenny?”

“You can ask her yourself, she’s here with her dad and me.” Elaine gestured. “This way, please.”

I don’t know what I expected, but the Lady Iothane Institute Campgrounds were just like camp grounds anywhere, except that everyone was naked. A central building that was bar, restaurant and social centre, several toilet blocks for men and women, a few cabins, tennis courts, a putting green and little clearings scattered everywhere, each just big enough for three or four tents. Those nearest the facilities were full. Some, further away, empty.

“Alan, I like this place,” said Beth.

“I do, too, sweetheart.” I turned to Elaine Larson. “How much does it cost?”

Elaine Larson smiled. “Come over to the office and I’ll show you.”

* * * * *

* * * * *

The Parachutist by Lancelot Knight

Vince opened a bleary eye.

Places can have different languages, different customs, different foods, but garbage trucks sound the same the world over. Vince winced at the clanging of the truck that seemed just outside his door; he listened to its hydraulics as it pounded, pounded into his headache.

He rolled over and was not startled to see a slim young blonde beside him. She had a narrow chin, and in sleep her light hair trickled over the pillow like sunshine. The sheet was pulled up, but he caught a glimpse of a firm, apple-sized breast. At least he had good taste, drunk or not, he thought.

As if his gaze had been a caress, she blinked her eyes open.

Vince shifted himself onto his elbow. “Where are we?”

“In a motel,” she replied.

“No, I mean, in what country?”

“The United States.”

“Ahh.”

“Say, don’t you remember anything?”

“Not very much,” Vince admitted.

“Doesn’t that beat all? Here you parachute into the middle of Snippetsville-”

“Where?”

“Snippetsville.”

Vince nodded weakly. “It’s coming back now. 101st Airborne ten years ago. I had to prove I could still do it.” He paused, rubbing his whiskered face. “So I parachuted into Snippetsville. Did I cause a stir?”

“You bet! It was the first time it had ever happened. Mrs. Murphy thought you were an invading force from . . . from somewhere. She wanted you thrown in jail. Then they decided you were a conquering hero and carried you on their shoulders like you were Lindbergh or somebody, and it kind of turned into a parade down Main Street.”

Vince smiled. “Lindbergh, that’s good.”

“They carried you to the bar, where everyone in town, it seemed, had to buy you a drink. That’s where,” she blushed slightly, “that’s where we met.”

“I remember now,” Vince said. “Or at least I remember most of it. What did you say your name was?”

“Still is-Sandra.”

As they chatted, Sandra unselfconsciously got up from the bed. Naked, she padded over to the coffeemaker and brewed some coffee. Vince watched the flexing of her fine buttocks as she went about the work.

“I’m a waitress at the bar,” she said as if that explained everything.

As they sipped coffee, he told her about all the countries he had been to, all the sights and marvels he had seen.

“It sounds wonderful,” said Sandra, dreamily.

“It gets old after awhile,” he answered.

She told him of the small town life of Snippetsville, of the crickets in the summer and the sound of ice cracking in the winter, of the breezes and blizzards, of gossip and goodness.

“Sounds wonderful,” said Vince.

“It gets old after awhile.”

Setting aside his coffee cup, Vince stretched and rose from the bed. “I think you better get dressed and get going,” he said. “I have a friend who said he would drive out here to pick me up.”

“You told me,” Sandra said. “I got all my things together.” She nodded at a suitcase in the corner. “You said you would take me with you. Don’t you remember? See all the sights of the world.”

Vince scratched his head. “To be honest with you, I was thinking of staying here for awhile. Maybe permanently.”

For a long time there was a silence in the dingy motel room. Then Sandra said, “This friend of yours--do you think he would take me with him?”

Vince smiled softly. “Oh, I think so.”

Later, as Vince waved good-bye to them, he murmured, ruefully, “Who knows? Perhaps our paths will cross again someday.”

* * * * *

Tiny Movement (a Randy and Cheri episode) by Champagne1982

His lips hovered over hers and, for a brief instant, his mouth stayed poised above her, like a butterfly about to alight on the petals of her kiss. She whispered, "I love you," just as he landed. He swallowed her feeling and made it part of the moan that rose from his chest.

Randy's kiss was his testament his love. He pushed her lips open and sucked them inside his own. Cheri could feel his teeth bump against hers as he pressed her into the comforter. She tensed the muscles around her mouth and formed a soft pillow for him to settle on. As far as Cheri was concerned, this connection between them should never be broken. She savored the kiss and protested when Randy broke away and drew his mouth down her skin.

He moved over the roundness of her, tasting her and experiencing an excitement he'd never known before. Cheri was his and his alone. Noone had ever given her the pleasure that he hoped, fervently, to share. He was her first lover and felt the responsibility of the moment, realizing that her enjoyment today would color their sex lives for as long as they were blessed to be together.

Cheri wanted his kisses on her nipples. She arched her spine, lifting her breasts up, into Randy's palms. His big craftsman's hands grabbed her sweatshirt, even as he lifted her onto his lap. She raised her arms and ground her hips against his hard bulge. At last, with a toss of her head, she was bare, skin to skin with her man.

Randy's lips were so soft and warm. Slippery wetness surrounded the tip of her breast and Cheri gasped, feeling a welcome longing suffuse her limbs, robbing her of the strength to deny her lover anything. He moved his lips back and forth between her nipples and she heard his chuckles through a fog as each time she murmured for him not to stop.

Dextrously, Randy unfastened the buttons of Cheri's jeans. She helped him strip them off her hips and down her legs blushing as she heard, "Oh God! Beautiful, beautiful --" Randy pushed her knees apart and moved between her feet, lifting one foot to his cheek and then suckling her toe. Cheri giggled as his mouth tickled but then moaned as awareness of his tongue swirling around it brought a different longing inside her.

Cheri's skin was as golden as liquid honey. He marveled that she was virtually freckle free. Randy couldn't keep his lips away from her smooth complexion and he braced his body above her and brought his mouth down once more to cover her hot-pink one. He settled down between her legs with his bulge, hot and hard, suggestively trapped between them.

His hips moved in a slow grind, rubbing his cock against her panty clad pussy. He wanted to look at her again and rolled over beside her, sitting up and slowly stroking her inner thigh with his fingers. "Please." Cheri's desire was shapeless. She suspected she knew what would ease this need and decided to hasten their satisfaction. Her fingers slipped beneath the elastic of her tiny, bikini panties as she raised her hips off the bed.

Randy paused in caressing her tummy and stared as the silk moved away from her body. Her bush was a neat, little, upside down teardrop shaped flame. The red-gold of her pubis was brighter than the curls that framed her face. Randy heard a soft whine and realized that it had come from him.

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed; nay, treasured. Votes are nice, too.





Tales from Snippettsville Issue 20



Hello, and welcome to the twentieth, and final, issue of Tales from Snippettsville, Short Stories From A Small Town.



If you want to know what it's all been about, go to Snippettsville Group

If you have any feedback on the stories, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.

Contents of Issue 20

The Outbreak Of The Great Snippettsville War Of The Sexes by Jon Hayworth
Tripping Triumph by wildsweetone
The Ecumenical Hoodwink by Quasimodem
A Matter Of Business by Champagne1982



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Couture, 2003
Lake picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004
Door picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Lake picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004

Now read on...

* * * * *

The Outbreak Of The Great Snippettsville War Of The Sexes by jon.hayworth

I had spent a quiet Christmas up in my cabin, not wanting to join in the communal festivities of an event I did not believe in, I had given folks the impression I had gone home for a few weeks. Secretly I had been doing some serious writing without the distraction of Snippetsville matrons.

It was the first week in January when I rode the BMW into town, riding through deep snow was certainly an experience for me. The bike was fine, all the R&D on the Russian Front in WW2 had paid off.

I sensed the tension in the air the moment I entered the store. Seeing Jack's hang-dog demeanour I thought he had failed to perform his matrimonial duties over the Christmas period, Ethel could be very demanding sexually - one reason why I had avoided anyone.

Although Ethel smiled, I could sense there was something else on her mind. A few moments later when she brandished the clipboard in my face I knew what it was. “Will you sign our petition to keep our community pure.”

How I stopped myself from laughing I do not know. Keep the town PURE - first there had been Hannah, then Ethel knocking on my door and since then - well I will tell you about them some other time.


I looked at the petition, before I read the text I noted most of the signatories were women, Father Morrison and Mr Niles the minister were the only males who had signed. I always read the text before I sign a petition, ‘We the citizens of Snippetsville object to the idea of a Massage Parlour being located in Snippetsville.’ I shook my head and handed back the clipboard, “sorry Ethel I can't sign.”

“Why not?”

“I live at Green Lake; it’s not really Snippetsville.”

“You mean you’re like him,” she jerked her head in Jack’s direction. “Everytime he sees her his tongue is hanging out - I only wish he could show the same enthusiasm for his wife.”

“Now Ethel ...”

“Don’t you go now Ethelling me ... now look what you gone made me do! I told you Jack Carr I ain’t speaking to you.” ‘See you tonight,’ she mouthed. I nodded my head.

In post-coital bliss, while Ethel toyed with my sated, limp cock. I reciprocated by tweaking her nipple while marvelling on the pioneering spirit of American women, who will drive along snow covered tracks for a few hours of illicit sex - women I knew in England wouldn’t drive to the supermarket when snow had fallen.

We both heard the motor and the tires scrunching on the snow. My first thought was Jack had at last worked out where his wife was. I guess Ethel shared that idea, she dove under the bedclothes.

Going to the door, I wondered if Jack had a gun.

A wave of relief swept over me when I saw Hannah. “Hi,” she said, “I saw you were back and thought I’d be neighbourly. I see you gotten company.” I must have looked startled, because she said, “I saw Jack’s truck outside.”

She saw the empty room, then she clicked. “Well I’ll be damned,” she said striding to the bedroom door. “Ethel! Ethel Carr how dare you, he is mine.”

“Hey I’m not a lump of meat!”

“Shut up!” the viragos chorused.

“I can share if you can share,” Ethel offered.

“Has he got the stamina for the two of us?” was Hannah’s answer.

One guy, two women - every man’s dream but it is hell in reality, and I still haven’t signed the petition.

* * * * *



Tripping Triumph by wildsweetone

“Helloooooooo!” Liz shouted along the empty road.

Not a soul answered, which felt odd considering it was midday and she strolled along Snippettsville’s Main Street.

“Hellthefuckinglooooo!”

No answer. Not a bird stirred. Utter silence.

“Well,” Liz shrugged red woollen covered shoulders at nothing in particular. “Be that way. See if I care,” trudging along the snow dusted street. “This town sure could do with a little Life. It’s like a morgue.”

Walking past 10 Main Street, something bright purple caught Liz’s eye. Turning, she realised a notice was stuck in the doorway of the empty building.

‘Massage Parlor
Opening Soon’

“Well, holy far out. A Massage Parlor in Snip eh. That’ll cause chaos for the cronies,” she chuckled, pushed the door open then walked inside the building.

Dust and cobwebs assailed her, along with “Hey what are you doing in here, it’s not safe, get out!”

Startled, Liz squinted through the darkened room spotting a vague shape on the other side of the building. Walking towards it, she tripped on a piece of four by two laying on the concrete.

“Oops sh...”

“Now, now, mind your language young lady. I’m a godfearing man and don’t need to hear bad words coming from a beautiful woman’s mouth.”

Luckily Liz was still unable to make out the man’s expression, or she might have seen the twinkle in his eye as he admonished her. Luckily for him that is. She was in no mood to pussyfoot around today.

“What are you doing in here? Obviously it’s not safe for either of us to be here,” Liz’s arm waved about the building.

“I’m a builder, contracted to get this place up to scratch for the opening day.”

“When exactly is the opening day? I can’t believe a hick town like Snip is going to allow a Massage Parlor in its midst,” she snorted.

“Oh, it’ll not be for some time yet,” he said, “there’s lots to decide and lots to do in here before it happens.”

“Yes I can see that.” Her eyes having become accustomed to the dimness within the building, now saw the mess that surrounded her. “It looks like the Parlor won’t be opening for another year at least.”

Moving about the building, Liz tripped again, only this time, she sprawled right out across the floor. The contractor rushed to her side checking that she was all right. Liz grinned, “It’s okay love, I’ve twisted my ankle is all. I’ll be fine in a few minutes. Give us a hand up.”

He helped her up, then grabbed a solid wooden box and seated her on it.

“Well now, this is a fine state of affairs,” he took off his cap, scratching his head.

“No matter. Like I said, I’m fine. It’s just twisted.”

Liz reached out, grabbing his overalls, hoping she could lift herself up. Instead, she found the overalls peeling from his body. She ran her long fingernails down the front of his exposed chest stopping only as her hand became caught up just below his belly button.

“Oh goodness dear. Please stop that. I don’t even know you.” The man flustered.

“It’s okay, I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before,” Liz winked and grinned, then showed him exactly what she knew how to do best.

“Now,” she spoke as he breathed deeply, “do you think I’d be any good as a massage assistant?”

“Any good? Hell, I’ll book you now as your first customer! Don’t tell the wife though, she’s in a meeting at the Town Hall now. Maggie’s on the Massage Parlor Petition Committee.

* * * * *



The Ecumenical Hoodwink by Quasimodem

“Matthew Prentiss plans to hold a crusade in Snippettsville,” Father Pete exclaimed to Reverend Niles. “He’s coming this weekend to meet with patrons in our community.”

“Why? There’s no need.”

“Prentiss always picks small-towns,” Father Pete explained. “That way there’s no competition for press coverage.”

“But, why Snippettsville?”

“Somebody wrote Prentiss about the massage parlour.”

“Most cities have them,” Reverend Niles objected. “Even towns our size.”

“True, but these people use ‘massage parlour’ as a code word for prostitution.”

“Prostitution!” Reverend Niles exclaimed. “They haven’t even opened yet.”

“Which exactly suits Prentiss,” Father Pete explained. “He can make any claim he fancies, with no fear of contradiction. Meanwhile, his broadcasts attract contributors, and Snippettsville receives an unwarranted black eye.”

“We must report this to Chief Holt,” the Reverend Niles declared.

“Chief Holt is an admirable public official, but his hands are tied by legalities,” the priest countered. “Our best hope lies with a person from your congregation, provided we give him a free hand.”

The middle-aged Presbyterian pastor shook hands with the young Catholic assistant priest.

*

“So, you’re leaving town?” the john inquired.

“Too much competition,” Koadi admitted. “I could freelance in a hick town like this, but with the massage parlour, I must work for some madam. I’d rather move along.”

“The massage parlour will never open.”

“Men make promises,” Koadi advised, “that I’ve learned are better off ignored.”

“This will be our only time, then?”

“Afraid so,” Koadi agreed.

“Well, what do you offer?”

“Straight, half-and-half, head, or a hand job.”

“I’m just a country boy.”

“Right! Vanilla sex,” Koadi offered, “one-fifty.”

“I dislike using condoms.”

“Get used to it.”

“You’ll put it on me?”

“One-seventy-five.”

“Okay, where?”

“Right here in my room. I’m paid up till tomorrow.”

*

Once stripped and neatly fitted, the john was not gentle. He shoved the girl back onto the bed, leaping upon her.

“No! Wait! I’m not ready!” Koadi cried.

“Well, get ready, bitch!” the john snarled.

Yanking the girl’s thighs apart by her knees, the john positioned himself for entry.

“They said you were a preacher,” Koadi wailed. “I thought you’d be gentle.”

The john’s open hand struck Koadi’s cheek.

“Learn not to speak about your betters, cunt! I’ll fuck you however I want. If you’re good, I may let you leave town. If not, I’ll introduce you to somebody who’ll teach you better technique.”

A surprised cry filled the room, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

Archie McDougall’s size twelve rested across the john’s throat.

“Beat it kid,” he advised Koadi.

“He owes me one-seventy-five,” she objected, holding her reddened cheek.

“You didn’t deliver,” Archie snapped, “beat it.”

Koadi left, muttering dire imprecations.

“Now that we’re alone, Reverend Prentiss, I have some advice. If you ever fuck with another small town, try keeping your dick in your pants.”

“Let go, you cheap hood.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Archie advised. “Hey, Biff, get the video tape.”

Unrecognizable in a misshapen wool cap, leather jacket, and black denim levis, Father Pete entered the Showboat Hotel room. He withdrew the video cameras from their hiding place, and carried them away.

“You best forget Snippettsville, Rev. You even think about it, and your next job will be as a porn star. Those videos will be posted all over the internet.

“And don’t try bribing me or the hooker,” a private smile twisted Archie’s stern lips, “Biff runs this show. Burning sky pilots like you is an old hobby of his people.

“You best clam up and beat it.”

Archie took his foot from the crusader's neck, and strode from the room.

* * * * *



A Matter of Business by Champagne1982

She was worth selling his vote for. He'd promised her that he was all for her massage parlor business. Maybe he'd give her a cash bonus. Reaching down Larry tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled upwards. "Lick my cock, honey. I want you to make it all wet so I can slide into that sweet little cunt nice and easy." The hooker looked at him with a little trepidation.

He smiled at her. Most women would never guess he was carrying around the package he had. Larry recalled the look on some of his more handsome friends' faces when he'd walk into a party with a beautiful woman who couldn't keep her hands off him. Knowing how to use what the Good Lord gave him was the chief reason, he reflected. Amused, he couldn't help but think that being a millionaire and a local councilman, didn't serve a fella too far wrong either.

But now, that sexy tongue was circling around his hard shaft and all thought left him. Larry knew he'd have to make her ready. Even though she was a professional woman, his was a cock that took some prep for. "Come up here, baby. Let me kiss those pretty nipples." She crawled up and straddled him, dangling her breasts just over his lips.

Larry squeezed the round globes of her tits and his fingers sank into their softness, he gasped with delight of his discovery that these were natural beauties. He pulled first one nipple into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue, then the other, treating it to the same pleasure. Keeping his lips around the woman's nipple he heaved up and pushed her over onto her back.

Those tits were shining with saliva by the time he tipped his face up to watch her expression. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open, lips slightly pursed to make an 'o'. Larry slipped his palm down her flat tummy twisting his wrist so that his fingertips would encounter the kinky spring of her pubes first. He pressed on, down around the soft curve that led him to her clit. He moved over to her side and leaned in close.

Her legs splayed wide as he dipped his finger between the folds of her double set of lips. Her slit was amazingly moist when he pressed into her opening. Slow fingering was heating this sweet piece up and Larry couldn't wait to fuck her. He circled her clit for a few moments, whispering encouragement to her.

"That's it sweety, cum for me. You like cock don't ya, baby? You gonna fuck ole Larry's cock and cum all over him?" He moved his heavy frame between her slender thighs. Her hips surged upwards as she arched, gasping, she shook through her orgasm. Larry moved his very wet fingers to his cock and slipped it between her labia.

He thrust at her feeling the wet velvet of her cunt wrap around him. Her pussy welcomed and pulled his length inside. He sank up to the hilt, amazed, he stayed steeped in her for a long moment. At last he moved, fucking her with purpose. She lifted up to him, answering his need. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and heavy sighs and groans, filled the room. Larry felt his groin tighten and his cum spurted into her. He fell back, stunned that he'd forgotten protection, but he'd never been fully inside a woman like that before. The councilman was glad she'd chosen Snippettsville for her business venture.

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed; nay, treasured. Votes are nice, too.



A note from Wildsweetone and Alex De Kok:

This is the last Issue by the Snippettsville Group. This project has been exciting and challenging and we would like to take this opportunity to thank all our readers and writers. We’ve managed to bring you 103 stories over the course of the year. It’s been fun. Please feel free to continue to support these writers by checking out their other work via their profile page.

We hope you have enjoyed spending time in Snippettsville and hope you return to these stories from time to time. After all, just because we stop writing about Snippettsville does not mean the characters don't continue on with their lives...