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Old 04-28-2003, 03:59 PM   #1
wildsweetone
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Smile Snippettsville - 600 word stories

Dear Authors and Readers,

Welcome to Snippettsville! We hope you enjoy reading through the Introduction written by Alex De Kok, and the stories herein submitted that will bring our township to life.

All authors are more than welcome to add their own contribution to Snippettsville. I do strongly suggest you read through any existing stories first. Standard Literotica Rules apply along with those Rules at the end of Alex's Introduction.


Hi, fellow writers,

Welcome to Snippettsville.

Snippettsville was founded in the 1860s by Zachariah Snippett who built a lumber mill to handle the timber that was being cut around that time. When the timber ran out and the loggers moved on, Snippettsville sank back into a cosy obscurity that it maintains today. These days not much more than a wide place in the road to elsewhere, Snippettsville functions mainly as a dormitory for city folks wanting to live somewhere more rural. Not as attractive a concept as it used to be, because the traffic entering and leaving the city seems to get heavier daily. The endless highway repairs don't help either.

The population is five hundred and ninety-nine, although Elly-Mae Jensen is expecting her second child real soon now. You'll find the usual things around here, diner, general store, rooms for rent and the like.

Hannah McGuire runs the diner. She gets some breakfast and lunch trade from the locals, and some of the truckers leaving the city have passed the word around that it's well worth the ten-minute detour from the Interstate for one of Hannah's breakfasts.

Jack and Ethel Carr run the general store. You might want to say hello to Jack, 'cause he's a writer too. He hasn't sold anything yet, but he plugs on. He's started to write a little erotica now, because the computer that his son Harry got for him has an Internet connection and he's found this story site called Literotica. Ethel's read some of his stories and while she quite enjoys them, she's terrified that the neighbors will find out!

A few of the residents rent out rooms on a casual basis to folks on vacation, although this isn't particularly a tourist area. However, the local county has made over the route of the old logging railroad – long since dismantled – as a hiking and biking trail and that brings a few folks in. Then there's Green Lake, which has a few cabins and where more than one of the local girls has had her cherry popped.

Feel free to explore and meet the locals – and the visitors – and make sure you have some of Hannah's cherry pie before you go. Drive carefully and watch out for Tom Holt, our local constable.

We're sure that there are tales to tell about Snippettsville, its residents, and its visitors, so please, feel free to tell them. The rules are few, and simple –

1 – The time is the present, although feel free to write a flashback.
2 – If you use someone else's character(s), keep them in character.
3 – Your word count should not exceed 600.

Have fun, and please add to the Chronicles of Snippettsville.






Refer to: http://www.literotica.com:81/forum/s...81#post4753981 if you have any questions or concerns. We'd like to keep the Snippettsville thread clear for the stories.

Last edited by wildsweetone : 07-04-2003 at 05:23 PM.
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Old 04-28-2003, 04:11 PM   #2
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Old 04-29-2003, 11:29 PM   #3
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Kindred Cunning

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!”


(599 words)

Last edited by wildsweetone : 08-24-2003 at 11:48 PM.
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Old 04-30-2003, 10:33 AM   #4
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Old 05-01-2003, 10:54 AM   #5
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Hannah and the Jammer

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.
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Old 05-03-2003, 06:36 AM   #6
Alex De Kok
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Every cloud...

“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.”

- - - - -

600 words exactly and at least partly inspired by my own recent problems. I needed an author so I used myself, although my name isn't Jack Shaw!
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'Fool,' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart and write.'

(From 'Astrophel and Stella', by Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586))
For anyone worried about ratings, I think dr_mabeuse said it best - "A moment's reflection on pop music, fast food joints, and prime time TV should prove to anyone that the correlation between popularity and quality is tenuous at best."

My web site - Go on - have a look!

Last edited by Alex De Kok : 08-22-2003 at 07:40 AM.
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Old 05-05-2003, 12:32 AM   #7
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Driving Out the Demons

“Uncle Bill! What are you doing to Aunt Jill?”

Polly, who was visiting Snippettsville for the summer, could see her uncle’s head between her aunt’s legs. Her aunt was screaming. Polly was shocked that his uncle would hurt his aunt like that.

“Hello, Polly. You’re home early.”

Bill looked up and saw Polly in pig-tails and a short blue polka-dot dress. His face was smeared with juices that dripped from his chin.

“Your Uncle was driving the demons from Aunt Jill’s body. I’m surprised your parents never explained this to you. Now that you’re 18 you probably have your own demons. In fact, I’ll bet these demons made you have impure thoughts with some of the boys at school.”

Polly turned red because what Uncle Bill said was indeed true. Why hadn’t mommy and daddy taught her how to handle these demons?

“Come here, Polly. You need to be cleansed.”

Bill took Polly’s hand and sat her on the couch.

“Aunt Jill is going to suck the demons from your body. But that means she won’t be free to help me remove my demons. Would you be willing to do that for Uncle Bill? I’ll show you how.”

Polly nodded her head. She was apprehensive, but she had learned all about demons in bible study. She would certainly do what she could to help. She was glad that Aunt Jill would be cleansing her. She would be embarrassed to let Uncle Bill see what she looked like “down there”. She lifted up so that Aunt Jill could pull down her white cotton panties with pink flowers. Polly spread her legs apart. Aunt Jill clamped her mouth over Polly’s ripe young peach.

Polly knew it was working right away. She could feel new sensations spread through her body. Her nipples were about to explode. Pressure unlike anything she had ever felt was building in her tummy. A loud moan escaped her throat.

“Oh yeeesssssss… please Aunt Jill… drive those demons away… oooohhhh…”

Uncle Bill removed his trousers and kneeled on the arm of the couch next to Polly. His massive hardness wavered only inches from her face.

“My demons can only be extracted from here, Polly. You must put you mouth around me and suck while I try to drive them from my body.”

Polly looked at the swollen flesh streaked with veins and a huge knob at the tip. She looked up at Uncle Bill and nodded. The pressure in her own belly increased when she felt his warm and hard meat slide between her lips. He put his hands on the back of her head and moved it in and out as she sucked just like she was told.

“Oh yes… oh Polly… suck those demons from me… aaaahhhhh…”

Aunt Jill did something with her tongue and fingers that caused Polly’s entire body to tense. She could feel the demons being driven away as she bucked and jerked her hips. She wanted to scream but could only moan with Uncle Bill still in her mouth.

Polly’s body was still shaking when she felt Uncle Bill swell. A warm creamy liquid filled her mouth. She knew he must have had a lot of demons because there was so much of it. She wasn’t sure what to do so she swallowed hoping it wouldn’t make more demons grow inside her. On the other hand she could just have Aunt Jill, or even Uncle Bill, drive them from her again.

Polly was glad she finally learned about demons. She would have to teach her friends back home.
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Old 05-06-2003, 12:48 AM   #8
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Old 05-08-2003, 02:01 PM   #9
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Rip Henderson

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Old 05-11-2003, 12:44 AM   #10
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Old 05-11-2003, 11:22 AM   #11
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Old 05-12-2003, 03:25 PM   #12
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Old 05-13-2003, 03:13 PM   #13
Alex De Kok
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A Natural Viewpoint

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!”
__________________
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite,
'Fool,' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart and write.'

(From 'Astrophel and Stella', by Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586))
For anyone worried about ratings, I think dr_mabeuse said it best - "A moment's reflection on pop music, fast food joints, and prime time TV should prove to anyone that the correlation between popularity and quality is tenuous at best."

My web site - Go on - have a look!

Last edited by Alex De Kok : 08-22-2003 at 07:55 AM.
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Old 05-13-2003, 06:21 PM   #14
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The Golden Oak

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.

Last edited by wildsweetone : 10-01-2003 at 10:39 PM.
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Old 05-15-2003, 01:01 AM   #15
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Senior Superiority

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.

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Old 05-18-2003, 10:08 PM   #16
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Old 05-20-2003, 05:17 PM   #17
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Liz

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.

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Old 06-05-2003, 01:16 PM   #18
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Old 06-07-2003, 11:12 AM   #19
Alex De Kok
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I get my looks from my Pa.

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.

-----

603 words, including the title
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Old 06-16-2003, 03:52 AM   #20
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Later...

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."

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

599 words. Written mostly in longhand while on a few days holiday
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'Fool,' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart and write.'

(From 'Astrophel and Stella', by Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586))
For anyone worried about ratings, I think dr_mabeuse said it best - "A moment's reflection on pop music, fast food joints, and prime time TV should prove to anyone that the correlation between popularity and quality is tenuous at best."

My web site - Go on - have a look!

Last edited by Alex De Kok : 08-26-2003 at 06:53 AM.
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Old 06-16-2003, 06:29 AM   #21
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'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.

(599 words)
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Old 06-16-2003, 10:27 PM   #22
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Stars Over Snippettsville

I have decided this story does not fit the Snippettsville ambiance. It has been withdrawn from the Snippettsville queue.

Hopefully, it will be extended, the setting changed, re-titled, and submitted separately.

Quasi,

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Old 06-19-2003, 11:45 AM   #23
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.A Stranger Rides Into Town - or how I arrived in Snippetsville
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, the only 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, “Your 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
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Old 06-19-2003, 05:34 PM   #24
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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.
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Old 06-21-2003, 12:37 PM   #25
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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.”

600 Word Count, Plus Title.

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