Snippettesville: 600 word stories

[Alex De Kok]

Swan's Nest

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.

602 words, excluding title.

Alex

 

[Guest]

Return and First Prey—Sian Sempreviva

Before finding a place to stay, Sian Sempreviva first caught sight of the boy walking up Main Street. He looked twenty or so, pale and lithe as she favored, tall enough and plainly lewd in the deliberate stroll of his long attenuated thighs beneath scruffy jeans. He was obviously a visitor, perhaps from Europe, as he had a cultivated disheveled look among his well-worn clothes and untidy long dark hair. He also carried what would be called a rucksack rather than the ubiquitous American backpack.

He had no arse to speak of, which she preferred, and a sad tilt to his head. His nose was long and irregular in a long gaunt face, his mouth not as plump as she liked but not thin which she disliked. It would do, especially the wider more roseate lower lip. Even with no expression on his face she knew he would have an alluring smile and that his downcast eyes would light up and speak to her under the right circumstances. She knew immediately she could manage the best time and place to make him grunt and moan with her. She hoped he had a deep voice, minimally baritone.

Sian was revisiting Snippettsville, from San Francisco, to research her hometown life for a film script. She’d been away since the last day of high-school, an academic film theorist at Berkeley for over twelve years; now at 52 she wanted to test her writing on the real thing and had just resigned her tenured appointment. Her ex-lover and mentor suggested the return thinking it might provide the right environs and personalities for the tone of her story. It would also be a cheap stay of time for researching the early work of setting scenes and characters. From the moment she decided to come home she began to work at not remembering; she wanted to create the place and herself anew. She could not afford to be a memory.

As the boy ambled by Sian stood fast, midway against the shaded side wall of the General Store. He seemed introspective, or perhaps simply listless, and did not seem to notice her in the shadows. At the moment when he directly passed her standing point the Junoesque woman felt a swelling in her heavy breasts and the immediate sensation of a current zipping between her hardening nipples and her dampening cunt. She gasped only slightly but noticed the boy’s head rise as if he sensed something in the air.

Sian wondered, “Can he smell me?”

She kept still until he passed her view, then in her cultivated solitude leaned harder against the wall and fantasized him there, knew she would have him there, or against another not thoroughly secluded wall, or doorway, or tree in Snippettsville.

She laughed aloud now quickly going through her first fuck with the boy, how she would press him against the wall to straddle him, raising herself on tiptoe and placing one leg, bent at an angle locking him in and giving her leverage for the required rhythm and pace, which needed nothing of a man but that he be alive and vaunt a hard cock. Sian needed to be in control of the fuck.

With closed eyes and the sexual current further igniting her favored fantasy, she wondered if the extrinsic creature might surprise her.

“Godfuck let him kiss well, messy and hard like a fuck, tender when I leave him.”

She let herself come down, gave her thighs a quick squeeze then went round the wall’s corner to the edge of the store’s window to observe her first victim.

600 words w/o title

Final version edited for posting.

 

[gauchecritic]

In flagrente

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.

599 words Inc. title: by Word

 

[Guest]

 

[Guest]

Graduation—Sian and Hannah

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— .”

605 words

Final Edit per most of editor's suggestions, thanks.

 

[Alex De Kok]

A slight rewrite of an older story...

...originally posted in the first 600-word story thread, pre-Snippettsville. I've tweaked it slightly and it's now 603 words, excluding title.

Alex

Watching

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.

 

[Guest]

Sian Speaks

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.”

598 words w/o title

Final edit w/some good suggestions from eds., some rejected.

 

[wildsweetone]

Any authors who have a spare half an hour, please feel free to jump on the accept/decline thread and help out by reading the stories earmarked. I'd like to catch up to this thread if possible then give myself a small break.

Thanks in advance.

And more importantly, I'm absolutely loving the stories I'm going through. Well done all of us!

wso

 

[Quasimodem]

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."


(600 words + Title & Byline)

 

[gauchecritic]

Denouement

"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.

599 by Word. (Cut from 850 bloody hard work)

 

[Guest]

Sian, and Robert from Yorkshire


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.”


605 words
Final edit made per suggestions; first 3 not taken as original text is quoted (per italics); thanks for the other two.

 

[Guest]

 

[Seattle Zack]

Leaving Snippetsville

Leaving Snippetsville 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.

593 words, including title

 

[soupwarsproject]

Lost Souls [FINAL - We hope.]

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.


[599 words with title. Counted using MS WORD 2000]

 

[Seattle Zack]

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.

602 without title: MS Word

 

[soupwarsproject]

- deleted -

see below...

 

[soupwarsproject]

- deleted -

see below...

 

[soupwarsproject]

- deleted -

This story will be used in "Offstage With Cherry Villalobos", a spin off novella originating from "Lost Souls" which will be submitted in the Novel & Novella's section of Literotica.

 

[champagne1982]

Cowboys and Elaine

The e-mail Elaine had gotten two weeks ago made her heart flutter with anticipation tonight: 'meet me at the dance. i'll be the cowboy. dress to match baby and i'm sure we'll have a good time. i'm looking forward to seeing you at last. love, Theodore.'

The dance floor was crowded with freaks and aliens. Ghosts from Snippetsville's logging company past rubbed shoulders with contemporary Goth girls and Sponge Bob Square Pants. Elaine looked toward the bar where the cowboy stood, tall and lean. He raised his right hand to the rim of his black cowboy hat in a silent salute. With a nod of his head toward the side door he indicated that, maybe, the saloon girl should join the cowboy on the lodge's terrace.

It didn't take a genius to come up with the dance hall girl outfit but Elaine was proud of it anyway. She'd sewn satin, voile and feathers together for a week to get just the right amount of trashy class she'd seen in some of the library's photo archives. Now her carefully contrived crotchless bloomers were serving well, as with each pounding of his cock into her, every ruffle she'd sewn shook with the impact.

She pressed her cheek against the rough stone surface of the chimney. His cock, now filling her, pressing at her womb. Elaine gasped as the fat, round head stroked past the sensitive lips at her opening. "Fuck me!" her quiet moans barely discernible above the crinoline rustling of her elaborate costume. He needed no urging. His hips thrust, slapping his belly against her ass. He drew his pelvis back in a long, slow stroke, his shaft caressing every nerve ending in her pussy.

The cowboy pressed his cock into her. His hands held her hips tight against him. He leaned forward and whispered, "Sweet pussy! Cum for me, honey."

"So close! God I'm so close. Don't stop, baby, please!"

She felt her release building, her fingernails were almost tearing on the mortar seams as she held on. She sobbed out her orgasm with every sensual thrust of his cock. He said "I can't believe how incredible this feels! Give it to me!"

She was lost within sensation. His voice was rhythmic as he encouraged her. He let go of her waist and brought his hands up to her breasts. When he pinched her nipples, Elaine felt the solid earth beneath them seem to slip away. She fell off the jagged edge into the frothy waves of her pleasure. The cowboy grunted his joy as he plunged into the tide with her. They collapsed against the wall.

"Come home with me, lady. I promise I’m not some weirdo. Please, come with me," he kissed her cheek.

"With pleasure. Oh yes! Pleasure . . . " Elaine turned in his arms and kissed him.

She watched his hands as he turned the key to start up the truck. She smiled at him, glad he'd suggested continuing their evening at his place. Elaine looked over her shoulder in disbelief as she watched a red, late model Mustang pull up to the valet, the horn tootling a tinny rendition of Buffalo Gals. A short, balding man with a paunch got out of the vehicle. He was wearing a ridiculously large ten gallon hat and very shiny, very pointy boots.

The cowboy leaned over and chuckled in her ear, "My boss, Theodore Johnson, the proud owner of the Lazy Snips Dude Ranch and Stable. He wouldn't know a horse's ass even if the horse sat on him."

 

[soupwarsproject]

MILF

“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.

589 words with title. Counted with MS Word

 

[Guest]

The Salesman

 

[MaxSebastian]

There’s Always a Welcome at the Showboat Hotel

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!”

 

[Guest]

reconstruction

 

[soupwarsproject]

- deleted -

Will form part of soupwarsproject's entry for the Literotica Holiday Contest.

 

[Alex De Kok]

End Game

"Will you be okay?" Beth asked, concerned. She hadn't seen her cousin Gail laugh or smile since she arrived for a short break, staying with her aunt, Beth's mom.

"I'll be fine. Honest. You two go and dance." Gail watched as Beth moved away. Alan was just right for her. From the way they acted, Gail had a feeling that Beth wasn't a virgin any more, for she wasn't the shy mouse Gail had known last year. She looked around. The Masquerade Ball was fun. If only Jack were here. He'd have loved it.

"Alone?" said a deep voice at her shoulder. "A pretty girl like you?"

Gail half turned, and almost laughed. The seventh Dracula she'd seen at the Ball was smiling at her. Unlike the others, though, this one wasn't sporting plastic fangs. Tall, with the correct pallor, the man looked to be in his forties, slim and elegant in evening clothes, a scarlet-lined cloak on his shoulders, eyes darkly-bright behind his domino.

"What makes you think I'm pretty?" she asked, half smiling. "I'm masked."

"You hold yourself too well to be other than beautiful behind the mask." He bowed, gesturing to the dance floor. "Shall we dance?"

He danced beautifully, light on his feet, guiding her with the barest pressure and she revelled in the fluid movement around the dance floor. She was conscious that the other dancers were giving them room, but she was startled at the applause as the music stopped. She dipped in curtsy and her partner bowed. He held out his arm and she took it, allowing herself to be guided out to the moonlit balcony.

"Is it permitted to ask your name, my dear?" Her escort smiled.

"Gail Hansen."

"A pretty name. Permit me to introduce myself. Klaus von Drucker, at your service, Miss Hansen."

"Mrs.," Gail replied, a surge of elation rushing through her. At last!

"Ah. I beg your pardon. I saw no ring."

"I'm a widow." Gail smiled briefly. "My ring is being cleaned."

"I see."

"No," said Gail. "I doubt you do."

"I beg your pardon?"

Gail shook her head. "It's nothing."

"Just so." Von Drucker reached out and took her hand, his long fingers caressing hers. She squeezed, and he gently pulled her closer, raising her hand to his lips.

"It's too bright here," he murmured. "Shall we move into the shadows?"

"And why would we want to do a thing like that?" she asked, a half-smile on her face.

Von Drucker chuckled. "Cannot you guess?"

Gail looked at him steadily. "Are your intentions honorable, sir?"

Von Drucker gazed back at her, holding her eyes with his. "Of course not."

"So you have designs on my virtue, sir," she mocked.

"Alas, yes. I confess I do. Is that so distasteful to you?"

"Why not." Gail gestured. "Shall we?"

He led her along the balcony and into the darkness. They were alone now, the noise of the ball still in the air, no-one near. The moon was full, reflecting silver-white in Green Lake. All in all, Gail thought, the night is beautiful. Such a shame.

"Excuse me a moment," she said, freeing her hand from his. She bent, her hands moving to the sheath under her skirt.

Von Drucker smirked. This is so easy, he thought, letting the change come over him, feeling the canines touch his lower lip.

Gail straightened, turning to face him, pivoting lightly as she drove the pointed stake into his unbeating heart. "That's for Jack!"

"How?" he managed to say before he disintegrated.

How? Gail mused. Easy, sucker. I'm a 'Buffy' fan.

604 words, and fun to write.

Alex

Edited to correct location