Snippettesville: 600 word stories

[Quasimodem]

Hopes for Greens by Quasimodem

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

“Ante up, Wilberforce,” Arthur directed. “This is another hand.”

“This isn’t a hand,” Wilberforce objected, “It’s an unlikely organ. I think I’ll just fold.”

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

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

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

“It’ll be The Minute Waltz,” Wisteria sniffed. “Any bets?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(600 Word Count, plus Title.)

 

[Quasimodem]

Ker-Snap by Quasimodem

“What are you doing in my office?”

“Danielle said you wanted to see me.”

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

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

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

“Now get the hell out of here! You’re on-air in five minutes.”

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

“Danielle, don’t leave. Come in here.”

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

“But, father!”

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

“Oh, no! Please, father.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s time I take you in hand, my girl.”

“No! Please, no, daddy!”

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

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

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

“Get the fuck away!” Grayson shouted.

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

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

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

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

“It’s still broadcasting,” he exclaimed, incomprehensibly. “This is all going out on the radio.”

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

The Great Snippettsville Incest Broadcast came to an abrupt end.

*

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

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

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


(600 Word Count, plus Title and Author’s Note)

___________________Author’s Note_____________________

KSNP 875 AM in Snippettsville differs in three major ways from KSNP FM 95.3, Burlington, KA. Different Frequency, Modulation, and that - of the Station, Personnel, and the Communities they serve - the Former exists only in Fiction, while the Latter exists actually in Kansas.

 

[wildsweetone]

Georgie Pie

*wso working*
needs to be rewritten:
change this Tom Holt to:
George Sanders.
The pies will land on him from a truck and he is not waiting for detectives to arrive, but rather an ambulance.


Tom Holt knew the sound of a woman moaning. He didn’t rush to see if he could help, after all he was standing in the middle of Snippetsville’s main street covered in cream pie. That he was wearing cream pie all over his face wasn’t detrimental to his urge to go and help the woman. Not at all. The cream pie was simply another garnish to this unusual day’s workload. Rather, it was the way she moaned that caused him to hesitate.

The utter silence encompassing him was a sudden and surreal backdrop. He’d spent the day cordoning Snippetsville’s entire population away from the crime scene. And now, all the whispers and nasty innuendoes had died away, leaving only the sound of the woman’s moans.

The crime was, by Snippetsville standards, horrific. For a sleepy town to have a murder in its midst, was a shocking statement that the reality of the outside world had finally breached the carefully constructed boundaries of the normally quiet town.

People stared, shock finally pervading their senses to stillness, at the lifeless body sprawled across their pavement with its dull eyes staring unseeing at the sky.

Tom bent down beside the young female’s body, dressed in a short skimpy denim skirt, with a top that left half her midriff showing in a blatant attempt to attract a man’s roving eye. Tom hadn’t set eyes on her before today. She wasn’t local, probably come into town on the bus earlier. She had no identification, no wallet, or handbag, in fact nothing that could help him to identify who she was or where she’d sprung from.

That she’d died on his street caused him an immense amount of anguish. Who could have killed her? And why? Why use a knife in such a degrading manner, then leave it in the victim’s own grip? Many things crossed his mind as he waited for the detectives to arrive. The scent of her body in the heat of midsummer permeated his nostrils. He screwed up his face in disgust, then stood.

The woman’s groans increased. It was odd that nobody else heard the moaning.

“Archie, stay here. Keep an eye on the scene. There’s something I have to see to,” tossing the instructions over his shoulder to his deputy, he hurried down the road. All of Snippetsville ignored his departure. Nobody saw Tom slip down the narrow alleyway. Nobody saw him as he moved, quietly closing the distance to the moaning.

She moaned loudly. His eyes, becoming accustomed to the darkened corner, realised what the vision before him was achieving. With her hand moving quickly over her nether lips, and her mouth parted, panting, expelling the deep guttural sounds of near orgasm, he hardened.

Without comment, he dropped down on his knees in front of her, holding her knees apart with his hands, he nudged her hand away with his face. His tongue, slick, hot and wet licked her wet pussy. The sound of her moans dulled as her thighs imprisoned him. As she came, she screamed. His tongue probing and licking gently until the shuddering of her body stilled.

She returned the favour, unasked. Within moments, she trapped his hard member inside her hot mouth and she sucked him ruthlessly until he spurted down her throat.

Spent, they collapsed beside each other. Reaching across, she scraped pie from his chin with her well-manicured fingertip, then licked it.

“Nothing quite like a bit of cream pie for dessert,” she grinned.

 

[Alex De Kok]

Mermaid by Moonlight

I couldn't settle in the heat. I wandered out onto the dock, naked. There's only our cottage in the bay and access is either by boat or by a private back road, so I didn't fear being seen. The moon was near full and on impulse I stepped down into the boat, hoisted the sails and cast off. It was a little cooler out on the water, but not much. The breeze was light, warm, and the boat ghosted along at a couple of knots. I knew where the hazards were and I didn't anticipate any problems.

Along the bay I could see the dying glow of a campfire on one of the beaches. I could see figures moving and I watched until they were out of sight. Near the main holiday cabin area I went about. I'd sailed down on a reach and I knew I was going to have to tack back.

I was startled suddenly by a soft hail. "Hey, Charlie!"

I looked around, wondering where the call came from because sound can carry a long way over water, when I heard a gentle splashing. I peered into the darkness and could just make out a figure swimming strongly towards me. I turned the boat into the wind and the way fell off. A few strokes brought the figure to the side and a familiar face grinned at me over her hands grasping the side.

"Hi, Charlie, surprise!"

"Sally! What are you. . . I mean. . ."

"What am I doing here? Waiting for you."

"Me? Why?"

"I saw the boat before and guessed it was you. I figured you'd be coming back, so I waited, then swam out. Can I come aboard?"

"Hell, yes." I reached out a hand to help her over the side and just about the time I remembered I was naked, saw that she was, too. The night hid my flush and I busied myself in dropping the sails. The breeze was gentle and I knew we would only drift slowly. Sally Jansen settled herself and grinned at me, comfortable in her nudity.

"Charlie, can I ask a favour?"

"Sure."

"Are you alone at the cottage?"

"Yeah."

"Can I stay with you until next weekend? I'll help with food costs," she said earnestly.

"Can I ask why?"

"Nine of us came up for the week, but the others have all paired off. I don't want to go home yet, but I feel like a spare part." She made a face. "All I hear is the sounds of fucking."

I laughed, jealous suddenly. "Yeah, you can stay. Have you got a sleeping bag?"

"Yep."

"How about I pick you up at the main dock in the morning?"

"Great. About ten?"

"Okay."

"Doing anything special up here, Charlie?"

"Some painting." I let myself look at her, silvered by the moonlight. Slim, athletic, beautiful. Emboldened by the dark I said, "I'd like to paint you, just like that."

She looked at me for a moment. "Nude?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Can you paint me so that no-one will recognise me?"

"Easily."

"Okay, then." She grinned, then sobered. "How's Nancy?"

"It's over. She's gone off to the West coast to try to make it as an actress." My ex. I missed her glorious body, her zest for fucking. I'd realised I wouldn't miss her pea-sized brain.

"I'm glad," Sally said quietly.

My heart leaped and life began to look good again. Sally stood, glorious in the moonlight.

"What else are you doing besides painting?"

I shrugged.

Sally grinned. "We can always fuck," she said and dived neatly over the side.

- - - - -

600 words exactly, excluding title. Wildsweetone threatened me with dire penalties if I didn't write another Snippett, so you can all blame her.

Alex

 

[Quasimodem]

Evidentiary Proceedings by Quasimodem

(Follow-up to“The Golden Oak” by wildsweetone used with the author’s permission.)

Moving like an old man, Tom Holt lowered himself into the swivel chair behind his desk.

“Anyone who fucks up an important case like you have,” State Police Detective, Derrick Sarns began, “will be lucky to find work selling fishing licenses at Green Lake’s Ranger Station.”

Sarns then exited, slamming the door with a bang.

“What’s his problem?” Jennifer Tillies, Police Chief Holt’s secretary and general office factotum inquired.

“Snippettsville has had its first homicide in nine years. Sarns is pissed because the investigating officer screwed up.”

“Oh! You mean at ‘The Golden Oaks.’ I thought that was a suicide.”

“What it was, according to Sarns,” Tom enunciated bitterly, “was ‘a homicide and a suicide.’”

“Oh, dear!” Jennifer replied, laying soothing hands on Tom’s shoulders.

“When I saw Kevin with his hand grasping the revolver, I knew it was suicide,” Tom explained, blankly. “I was even thankful the old lady wasn’t there to see him like that.”

“That’s typical,” Jennifer avowed, stoutly. “You’re the most considerate man I know.”

“Ha!” Tom snorted. “That’s not Sarns’ opinion. While I was downstairs with Kevin waiting for the meatwagon, Elizabeth Dresden was upstairs, murdered in her bed.”

“Oh, no!”

“I held a half hour seance with the nephew, while his aunt’s murderer made a clean getaway.”

“Oh, Tom!”

“The way Sarns sees it, Kevin came home, found his aunt murdered, and became so unbalanced, that he committed suicide.”

“Kevin?” Jennifer’s voice filled with disbelief. “Kevin Dresden committed suicide over his aunt’s murder?”

“Well, the two were kind of close.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Why? What do you know about Kevin?”

“Thankfully, very little,” Jennifer began. “Just take my word for it, if Kevin committed suicide, it was to escape something far worse than grief. He cared for nothing but playing the horses.”

“Are you sure? Of course, you’re sure! Jenny, get me the coroner's office at Mary and Joseph General Hospital. I’ve got to make certain Doc Haliburt doesn’t overlook a certain stiletto I found.”

*

“Find another desk, I’m taking over here,” Detective Derrick Sarns snarled. “I’ve set up roadblocks around a fifty-mile perimeter of Snippettsville, put out an APB, and released a statement through CrimeStoppers via the media. I’ll need your office to coordinate from.”

“Busy little beaver,” Chief Holt observed shortly.

“At least, I know my job!” Sarns sneered.

“You may coordinate the recall of all your meddling from your own cruiser, Derrick. I’ve already got the perp. We have the murder weapon, with the doer’s fingerprints and the vic’s blood, found in the murderer’s possession.”

“There have been no calls for an arrest. I’ve monitored all radio traffic.”

“No doubt,” Tom responded, “There was no need. We already have the perp. in custody at the morgue.”

“Whu. . . .”

“Seems like it didn’t go down, quite according to your theory,” Tom explained. “Kevin Dresden killed his aunt, then took his own life.”

“Don’t give me that,” Sarns exploded, “the old broad was raped.”

“Maybe,” Tom conceded, “maybe not. At least she had no defensive wounds. Doc Haliburt ran a rape kit on her. Preliminary evidence confirms that the perp. was Kevin Dresden. Once the DNA comes in, the case will be airtight.”

“I don’t believe. . . .”

“I don’t give a good God damn what you believe, Derrick,” Tom growled with suppressed fury. “Just get out of my office, call off that dragnet and your other foolishness. And stop,” he suggested, “wasting the taxpayers’ money!”

Behind a hastily slammed door, Chief Holt, in a compromising position with his general office factotum, added, “I almost feel sorry for old Derrick, but damn, that felt good!”


( 600 words, plus Title & Credit)

 

[Why]

Where the fantasy begins



We squirm on the coat, keeping forever within its large expanse. He, like I, seems loath to move onto the cold harsh duvet. The coat breathes scents and sensations with each fibre we crush. Warm soft sand, rasping skin and heady thick essence of honeysuckle blend in my mind and fire my senses, but most of all the sound of lapping of water in reed strewn fens sets my longing alight.

His lips burn on my skin as they tease my nipples, I am alternately cursing and welcoming the racing of my heart. It has been a long time, but never had the heat in my loins burned in such a way. I am begging, almost pleading for him to enter me. All thought of careful sex had gone with the first touch of his flesh against mine.

Rhisiart’s breath is coming in short harsh gasps, his hair damp with the sweat of our exercise. I run my fingers down between us and spread my legs, inviting him in. Words linger on his lips but I can’t hear them. All I hear is the roar of my blood as he enters me.

Each plunge of his flesh into mine sends my senses reeling. My nipples harden and surrender to his questing hands. I try to catch his half bitten words as his mouth brushes my ear, but they are lost in the passion.

I giggle, thinking they are some sort of lover’s talk and make to answer, but his mouth clamps on mine sucking my breath away. The lust in me is peaking, a throbbing, gut shuddering crescendo, which blossoms in sweat dripping off my skin. Rhisiart too is reaching the climax of his act. I feel him shake and gasp as his release takes him. My own plunge follows and is gripped in the silence of my heart’s stopping.

The palpitations seize my inner battered organ and my mind starts to laugh crying, “you bloody fool you are going out fucking yourself silly.” I try to move my arms and beat on Rhisiart’s chest, I have to get to my vials, my prescribed medication of survival.

“No Ruby, breathe slowly. I have you safe. You are mine…. Come what may…..” Rhisiart rasps, his eyes still wide and face muscles taut with sexual arousal, as he, still inside me, raises himself on his arms and drags the black coat around us both. He is entombing us in black folds of wool, as if he intends to share my crypt.

“You bloody fool I need… I need…. “ The words blast from my lips. My eyes widen as my system starts to close down with the failing of my heart. The room behind Rhisiart explodes, as my mind begins to hallucinate. A wrenching tearing, bellowing cloud, blood red, peppered with grasping clawed hands, forms. I put my head back and my mouth starts to stretch in a bitter final laugh. It is hell waiting for me. My limbs fail and fall.

Rhisiart half turns, as if in some way he senses my oxygen starved brain’s nightmare vision. He raises his left hand to ward off the frothing creatures crawling out of my mind’s dying madness. I notice with my failing eyesight his fingers are webbed. His voice cries out, laced with purpose and anger.

“Cali, the act is done. End it!”

My failing mind roars with brittle anguished laughter, “what a fucking way to go, ushered on by a scene from a fantasy novel

 

[Alex De Kok]

Swan

It was Julie Trask's idea. The Green Lake Lodge Spring Ball was coming up and Jake Miller and I had both asked her to be our date. I had thought about asking Sally Jansen but she and Charlie Thomson seemed to have become an item.

"How much do you know about dinghy racing?" Julie asked us.

Jake and I looked at each other. "The pointy end is the front," I said helpfully.

"Nothing?" said Julie. We shook our heads. "Okay," she said, grinning at us, "enter the open Laser race in the Regatta on Saturday and whichever one of you finishes highest can be my date."

I almost gave up there and then, but I knew Jake had as little a clue as I did. I was sitting moping when Beth Allan came by. Skinny, mousy, unattached little Beth, everybody's friend, nobody's lover.

"Something up, Alan?" Concern in her tone.

"Yeah." I told her the story.

"Ah. That would explain why Brad Torrens just took Jake out on the lake."

I let myself settle even more into my gloom.

"Hey, come on. I can show you how to sail a Laser," said Beth helpfully.

I looked at her sharply and she flushed. I knew she was one of the best around at handling a dinghy. "You mean it?"

"Of course." Indignant.

That was how I ended up spending virtually the whole of Thursday and Friday out on Green Lake with Beth. She drove me hard, but by Friday evening I was confident that I could at least keep the dinghy going in the right direction

Saturday dawned fine and warm, with a westerly breeze which wasn't too strong. I think just about everybody knew about the race within a race and there was a lot of joshing going on. Eventually it was time for the start. Beth had loaned me her own Laser, far from new but superbly maintained and trimmed.

"Thanks, Beth. If I win it will be thanks to you."

"Good luck, Alan," she said, but she avoided my eyes when she said it and I wondered if I'd upset her.

I managed not to get in anybody's way at the start and was pleased to see that I had a slight advantage over Jake, in Brad's boat. The race settled down with the more experienced sailors starting to pull away. Jake and I weren't doing too badly, somewhere around the middle of the field, and I had about a three boat-lengths lead over him as we started the last lap.

I caught sight of Beth on the shore and thought back to our two days together on the lake. Her animation, her unexpected quick wit, her simple joy just in being out on the water. The finishing line was getting close and I let the wind spill from the sail for a moment, before hauling on the sheet and getting back on course, just half a length behind Jake as he crossed the line.

"You could have beaten him," said Beth accusingly when I got back to the dock.

I glanced across to where Jake was hugging Julie. I smiled. "Yes, Beth, I could. There was another prize I wanted more."

"There was? What?"

"Will you be my date for the Ball?"

She looked absolutely astonished for a moment, then flushed. "Yes, I will."

When I saw her slender loveliness in her ball gown I wondered why I had ever thought of her as either skinny or mousy, because she was stunning, but it was when she kissed me that she really knocked me out.

- - - - -

599 words, including title.
Can I rest now, WSO?

Alex

 

[Quasimodem]

Hometown Hotshot by Quasimodem

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

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

“What’s wrong with that?”

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

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

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

“As a matter of fact. . . .”

“Yes?” gamin eyes sparkled upward.

“Er . . . my car . . . broke down.”

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

“Not yet,” he returned, sharply.

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

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

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

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

Millie looked as requested.

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

“Hardly.”

“Now, where are you going?”

“To check on Willott’s Creek.”

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

“Afraid the boogeyman will get you?”

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

*

“Pretty, isn’t it, Mille?”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“No, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not Jack?”

“No.”

“Don’t be cruel, Jack.”

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

“But you. . . .”

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

The man rose to his feet.

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

The man spun, pointing across Willott's Creek.

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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



( 600 Word Count plus Title )

 

[wildsweetone]

Heads Up Please: A short deviation

I would like to know how many people are reading these stories our Authors have been busy wee bees writing. Please PM me privately, or post on the other thread - I'd prefer to keep this one clean and strictly for stories.

Here is a quick link to the other thread for your ease:

https://forum.literotica.com/newreply.php?s=&action=newreply&threadid=165574

 

[BlackSnake]

"When I got home today..."

..sorry

 

[jon.hayworth]

Running

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ride the bike up there?”

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

“I'll take it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

600 words exactly - jon

 

[evenwithitall]

Trouble

Average breasts shook braless in a tight white T-shirt swaying from side to side as she walked up to the diner.

Tom Holt had watched her cross the street. Once she got inside he had recognized her. A little under ten years ago he had held her in his arms trying to comfort a child that would not be comforted. Now years later she was back. All Tom knew was he didn’t want her to be there.

Back in his first year as the law in Snippetsville the Wilson family had moved into town. Unlike most new inhabitants in small towns, the Wilson’s were liked almost immediately. They fit perfectly into niches not filled in the town for decades.

Daniel was a glad-handing slap your back kind of guy with stories to tell and drinks to buy. His wife Ellen immediately took the vacancy of socialite busybody and gossip gatherer.

Sandra, their daughter, did not know quite what to make of her parents. She just faded into the paint of her house while her folks enjoyed their life and the townsfolk.

Tom remembered the scene in detail. Daniel Wilson was on the bed on his back. Blood covered his face obscuring a rictus grin. In the center of his forehead was a small hole. Tom had wondered how the small hole had leaked all that blood on his face and chest. Looking over the bed he found another pool of blood. The sheet was soaked with it halfway down his body. The constable was glad for the regulations about not disturbing a crime scene.

A small cough made him jump and pull his gun. Maya Wells lay naked on her back with a hole the size of a golf ball in her belly. After seeing her eyes were open Tom called out to her. She did not move. That’s when the constable noticed the gunshot wound. The cough had been her last.

Tom holstered his gun and checked for a pulse when he heard another cough. He momentarily aimed at the girl who had so softly phoned him earlier. She didn’t blink as she stared at her Father.

Sirens sounded outside and a moment later red lights lit up the walls as the volunteer fire crew showed up. He took her outside while the EMT’s failed to help Maya Wells.

Sandra’s mother had been at a friend’s house that evening. Ellen Wilson might have had an alibi if it weren’t for the borrowed sleeping pills. The gun was never found and there were no witnesses. Sandra had heard one shot and pulled the covers over her head. Whoever had discovered the couple had shot Maya Wells in the back. Poor Daniel was lined up perfectly. The autopsy found his semen inside Maya. Many jokes were made about that fact.

The papers in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia took an interest in the story. TV followed it for a while as well. Ellen Wilson was widely believed to have committed the murder but three unsuccessful grand jury attempts at an indictment left her free. Her daughter was sent to her Father’s sister in California.

Now the daughter had returned home and was standing at Tom Holt’s table looking down at him. He looked up at her seeing the large tight nipples under her shirt before meeting her eyes.

“I didn’t thank you for helping me.” No hesitation or uncertainty.

“There was no need,” he replied. “Have you gone to see your Mom yet?”

“No. Do you think I should?” Her smile was wicked.

He slowly shook his head side to side.




599 w/Title

 

[destinie21]

600

Karen was quite literally the woman of my dreams. My own personal Cytherea, Her face invaded my psyche . I could still see her long ebony curls cascading halfway down her back, and framing what I still thought of as the most beautiful face I’d ever seen. Her hazel eyes were large and wide set, ready to take in the whole world with one glance. With full soft lips and a nose that was slightly large but only served to make her more beautiful. Giving her face character instead of the perfection that would have made her beauty traditional instead of extraordinary.




They say time heals all wounds and to forgive and forget. Yes everything had changed for the best, and I had forgiven her or at least that’s what I told myself everyday, but I would Never forget. coincidently I was reflecting on this when the phone rang breaking my reverie


“Hello ” said the voice on the other end of the line sounding distinctly familiar yet somehow foreign.
“It’s Karen “


I remembered the days following her departure when
I had lay on the floor of my apartment crying and moaning . As if with every groan contraction and scream of pain I could give birth to my naked sorrow and thereby purge myself of the anguish that clung to the inside of my gut.

It was at that time that I could fathom the reason that people got hooked on drugs or alcohol as a release or an escape method. I’d have given almost anything to escape the only thing that had saved me from going down this path of destruction were the words my mother had constantly drilled into me
“ engaged to addiction you’ll die as his wife”
And so memories, regrets and pain formed the threadbare tapestry that would illustrate my survival.


“So you thought you’d just give me a call and, then what Karen
we’d meet at the Ice cream shop for chocolate sodas ? Then maybe I’d invite you over for a sleep over then we’d do each others nails.”

“No I just wanted to see how you were doing...”
“Fine” I snapped as if one word could sum up the last half decade of my life


“will you meet me somewhere”

What the hell for”

“I miss you ,and...I need to know if there could ever be anything between us ,again”

I was stunned. there was a time when I would have given anything to hear those words two years ago I would have said yes in a heartbeat but now ?”

“ Jesus, Karen. Do you have any idea how you hurt me ? I loved you and you tore my heart out and never looked back now I’m just supposed to forget . A few years ago I would have said yes but not now Karen . I can’t take the risk I can’t trust you again.”

“I know” she sighed “I know”
but it was already to late even as I hung up my heart was opening up to her .

It had been three weeks since I’d spoken to Karen and I couldn’t get her off of my mind. She was my star in a thousand midnights, and when we were apart I couldn’t shake her image from the walls of my imagination. More than once I’d idly wondered if there was any chance that we could just have a sexual relationship without the complications of an actual emotional connection being formed. I had done it with countless others but I knew Karen would be different .

 

[jon.hayworth]

The Cabin by jon.hayworth

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

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

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

“Come in Ethel.”

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

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

“A beer will be fine.”

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

“Nope I was just passing by.”

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

“Not disturbing your writing or anything.”

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

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

I swigged my beer, “I also need my own space.”

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

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

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

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

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


__________________

 

[evenwithitall]

Taking a Hike

Samuel Williams was taking his weekly hike in the woods. Last year as a scout he had won much praise for a survival video he made. Sam had chosen to live in the woods for a week with nothing but a video camera, some batteries and a knife. They made him take along a radio and check in but it was not necessary.

As he pushed aside some branches to make his way into a clearing, Sam stopped short. In front of him was a woman sunning herself on a large sheet. Without thinking, Sam put his pack down like he had a hundred times before.

He took in her body. She was older but her body was firm and her tan was all over. Excitement began asserting pressure inside his shorts.

“I normally rest here when I hike on the weekend.” Sam’s manners had not caught up with his eyes and libido yet. The lady did not mind.

“I know. But I got here first so either you leave or you strip so I’m not the only naked one here.” He finally noticed she was looking directly at him. Sam didn’t immediately register her words.

“Are you a tourist? I can’t remember seeing you in town although you do seem familiar.” Sam was trying hard to place her face and was having no luck.

“I don’t go into town much. Now are you going to leave or are you going to join me in the sun?” Her eyes seemed to bore through him.

“Huh?” Sam said.

“The clothes, take them off.” She waved her arm in his direction trying to emphasize the point.

“Oh.” Sam gave her a sheepish grin and obeyed pulling his shirt off. Finally his mind caught up, screaming a warning. He froze.

“Those too.” She pointed at his shorts and smiled for the first time. Sam finally noticed she had a pretty face to go with the body he was quickly starting to lust after. His lust was readily visible to both of them.

Sam had never seen a woman’s body much less been near one as attractive as hers. In an act of confidence with women he rarely felt, Sam kicked off his boots and pulled down his shorts. He was amazed to see the woman lick her lips, her eyes focused on his crotch. She patted the sheet and Sam dropped down next to her.

“You’ll burn with all that pale skin. Let me put some oil on you.” The woman sat up and reached for a squeeze bottle.

Sam rolled over by reflex as she rubbed oil on his back and legs paying special attention to his ass. She rolled him over and began spreading oil on his chest. Her fingers trailed down to play in his hair. The hand wrapped around his cock and began stroking. Her other hand grabbed Sam’s bringing it to her breast.

Sam palmed her globe and pinched the nipple eliciting a moan. Her mouth had replaced her hand as Sam received his first blowjob. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful.

She swung her leg over him and backed her pussy up over his cock, another first for Sam. She rocked up and down on his cock with little control moaning over and over, “It’s been too long.”

Sam exploded in her and she followed, falling on his chest in a quivering mass. He put his arms around her.

“What’s your name,” Sam asked?

“Ellen Wilson, and you are?” She responded.

Sam recognized her now and pleasure turned to fear.

 

[Quasimodem]

The Legendary Boaters

The Green Lake Public Launch was the site of great wonderment as the biggest cruiser seen in those parts was eased down the ramp by an out-of-state towing firm.

Nine men climbed out of several expensive vehicles and began stowing their gear aboard. By the time the sun had begun to set, the cruiser pulled away from the Green Lake community dock.

Natives, and cottage boaters alike, gritted their teeth as the big vessel slid far too close to the buoy marking the dangers of Snippett's Rock.

The fates were kind. No bottom was gouged, nor any cotter pin sheared, and the craft slowly disappeared behind the thin screen of trees.

"I saw them drifting at Dead Man's Point," Sam Leathy declared, while displaying his morning catch of bass. "Why they didn't tear the bottom clean out, I don't know, but they'd left by the time I came back, about seven o'clock."

Old man Pender sniffed, and wrote them off as shiftless. They hadn't bought their bait from his bait shop, although he still kept a weather eye out for the Zodiac outboard they'd towed behind as a tender.

Maybe they would still discover their oversight, and send it back for a large purchase.

By the evening of the first day the Zodiac had returned. A Beamer tore out of the parking lot in a dead panic toward Snippettsville.

Archie McDougall had been in the drug store and could report that this envoy had purchased a large bottle of sun blocker.

The whole dock saw the six cases of beer that were tied down between the Zodiac's passenger seats.

For a day the craft went unsighted, and some busybodies were apprehensively discussing the need to alert the authorities toward having Green Lake's bottom dragged.

Clem Leggit paddled his canoe up to Pender's Lucky Bait Shop for some steel leader, and to brag about the sizeable pike he'd hooked into early that morning. In his excitement, he made only glancing mention of the huge boat he'd seen running the shallows behind Bagget Island.

Why they got so excited about that, when pike were making a comeback, Clem could not understand.

Jimmy Dorset, a nerdy teenaged astronomer, long suspected of training his telescope on sunbathing cottagers, gave unexpected affirmation to this suspicion, when he described his observation of the previous evening.

"Their boat was running with all lights lit, music blaring, bucking a headwind off the western shore," he described, "when, somebody staggered drunkenly onto the foredeck. First, he tried to pee, and then threw up, over the prow into Green Lake."

Jimmy goggled at his audience, then added, "He missed, both times."

All week, the Green Lake folks marvelled at the big boat's amazing run of luck in chancy waters, and its crew's iron constitutions. Three times the Zodiac plied the waters, with a haggard pilot, for more beer and the occasional ardent spirit.

Eventually, as it must, the boaters' luck ran out. As the large craft pulled alongside the community dock, a hatchet-faced harridan ascended from an elegant limousine.

"Alfred, you're as drunk as a wheelbarrow! Get out of that ridiculous boat and into this car," she demanded in a strident voice, then added ominously, "Mother's waiting."

Old man Pender, whose ears were the longest, reported later what he overheard. "Seems that it was a kind of groom's party. The half-burnt sandy-haired fellow is all set to marry that gimlet-eyed female with the hackle-raising voice."

"Well, no wonder!" Sam Leathy vowed softly. "Just look at him. I wouldn't a give him credit for having that much sand in his craw."


(600 words, plus Title)

 

[BlackSnake]

"A peaceful place"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re bad,” Daniel chuckled.

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

“O’ you’re really bad,” he kissed her lips sucking her tongue into his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was great!” someone said.



600 words plus title

 

[gauchecritic]

Another Furriner

"Parley Fronsays?" Enquired Jack across Ethel's pinafored shoulder.

"Je ne ce pas," intoned the boy in his best broken accent "Je suis comprend Francais? J'amais."

Turning her excited face towards her husband she urged "Try the poor mite with German." Jack's brow furrowed with thought.

"Spracken see doij?"

"Nein. Nein, nich sprechen. Uber. Ich bin ein donut."

Jack frowned once more. "Donut? Did he say donut? I think he said donut."

"HANNAH" shouted Ethel across the counter of the diner. "Hannah. He said donut."

"Donut?" Asked Hannah, coming from the kitchen wiping her greased hands on her non-existent tunic top. "Oh damn and to hell." Her large hands fluttering like sausage-butterflies over the bright stain. "He wants a donut? I'll get him a donut."

"Well, this ain't getting us nowhere fast." Jack scowled as he dredged his mind for generations unused 'foreign'.

Hannah returned with donuts. Offering them to the boy, he took one in each hand, his eyes never leaving the grease stain which had forged a transparency through blouse and bra alike giving him a misty clouded show of her large, dark areolae. Ethel, noticing where the boy's gaze was riveted, glared at Hannah.

"Give me those," Ethel’s liver-spotted hands dragged the tray of sweetmeats from the hefty short-order cook. "and cover your embarrassment." She nodded towards Hannah's smeared frontage. Stealing a glance and then a reprimand from his wife, Jack coughed and spluttered.

"Ok. What about this?" He addressed the boy once more. "Poe Russki?"

"N'ye n'ye n'ye," the boy vehemently denied "Eh Russki zapruski."

"I think that means no." supplied Jack, crestfallen.

"Well what language does he speak?" Ethel mused aloud.

Hannah strode from the kitchen with determination on her countenance and a clean blue tunic covering her chest.

"Did anyone think of trying English?"

Spluttering stridence the old married couple declaimed over each other. "Of course we tried English. We speak English. We tried English,"

"Spanish, Frenchy,"

"German, Italian and "

"Russian," finished Jack proudly. He even hooked his thumbs into his threadbare vest.

"No," Patiently from Hannah, "I mean English. Not American."

The pair looked non-plussed. It suited them.

Hannah turned to the young man again. “How do you do?” she asked with as little accent as she could convey, extending her hand.

The boy extricated the half eaten donut from his right hand, wiped his palm on his chest, paused and looked at the now covered chest before him, then into Hannah’s willing expectant eyes, watching her cheeks begin to flush at his obviously sorrowful gesture. He took her fingers in his palm and said with sincerity, “Hardyado.”

The Carr’s voices drifted towards the door along with their hopeless expressions.

“Two straight hours”,

“Every language we can lay our tongues to.”

“Give him a room Hannah.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight”

The boy called, “Nanite.”

It had been a long day. It had been several long days since Hannah had, you know. And now here was this hungry young man thrusted on her doorstep. Money. Yes. Clean. Yes. Handsome. Devilishly for one so young.

Without hope Hannah asked, “How old are you?”

“Twennytoo.”

“You know what I’m saying don’t you? You understand every word.”

He nodded and around a mouthful of donut exclaimed “MmmMmyeah.”

With great interest and some anxiety Hannah stated rather than asked, “English?”

And with some slight exasperation the young man replied, “Yeah.”

“You don’t sound exactly English.”

“That’s probly cos I talk Yorksher.”

“Well I’ve always wanted to learn foreign.” She held his gaze, raptured, inveigling. “Can you teach me something?”

He smiled, slowly. “I doubt it.”


597 by word (including title)

Gauche

 

[MathGirl]

Rip - 600 words

RIP HENDERSON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[MathGirl]

Emil - 600 words

THE CHEMISTRY TEACHER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Guest]

Sian Venera Sempreviva

Note: This story and the one below will not be eligible for final submission to the posted selections. After inquiry to the Snipps. team I learned belatedly that stories to be considered for formal submission should only be about life in and around Snippettsville. Back story should be limited to a brief sentence or two.


At 5:30 a.m. in the San Francisco fog Sian Venera Sempreviva left her young lover in angered frustration. She’d been celibate for a month and refused to break her sexual fast simply because she was leaving town for another few weeks. She was going to Snippettsville, a small town in God’s proverbial country, to do research for her film script, excited about filling in the stories already sketched. She’d been an academic film historian and critic since receiving her doctorate at Berkeley in her latest prime—she was now forty-eight—and wanted to test her writing on the real thing, but this early morning scene was too real for her.

“Sian, love, take my cock, hold it for me. Leave me a touch, a few strokes.”

“O fuckit Fume, don’t do this. Kiss me ‘addio’ and wish me a safe trip. It’s fucking crap I have to leave this early. If I can manage to go without— look, this is important, you know it. I want to— “

Fumio grabbed her hard and locked his mouth on hers, pressing her lips so she whimpered with the instant pain, but the shock excited her too and she felt as if a small lightening bolt had just torn through her cunt. While he pried apart her lips with his tongue he stuck a hand up one leg of her tap pants and slid his longest finger into her slit.

“You’re wet, you cunt. Give it up, Sempreviva, you whore.”

She folded her arms upwards and dug her elbows into his chest to separate herself.

“Damn it, stop. So my cunt is oozing, big fucking deal. That was a hot kiss, but you hurt me you shit. Let me—“

The Japanese man, a few inches shorter than his statuesque Irish-Sicilian lover, had the strength and determination of a rapist, but counted on the most libidinous woman he’d ever known giving in to her body’s exceptional needs. He loved her overt sexuality, how utterly uninhibited a nature she possessed. He kept his mouth on hers, harder this time, his finger at its simple fuck, and began to rub just so, with his wide thumb, her abnormally large clit.

She couldn’t help mewing into his mouth, wanted to give in, have a good hard big-O on the spot, but resented that he’d ambushed her and would leave her to wend her way enervated to the taxi instead of her usual post-coital cigarette and the ensuing coma-like cat-nap.

She tore her mouth away, as if there really were a ripping apart of something, and butted her forehead as hard as she could at the top of his.

“You fucking prickshit! God, I can’t believe this. What a game, Fume—, what a baby game.

“You want a slut? You want fucks on a dime? Watch me, man. I’m gonna do overtime deep slutting in this hick Sniptown. I’ll send you a postcard you fucking dickbaby. I’ll research every cunt and cock that’s legal, and maybe some that aren’t.

“Get out. Take your unimaginative dick to your old Auntie Yuki pukey. She’ll always take you; just grab those tiny wrinkled nips but don’t for a fucking minute think she’ll slut you like me.

“And for godsfuckingsake, get my name right for once. It’s pronounced shorn, like my hair, not like the fucking holy mountain."

Sian knew she’d gone too far but the red-faced man standing limp in front of her needed one last push.

“I need to brush my teeth and change my taps. Leave your key on the bed after you move your stuff.”

600 words

 

[Guest]

Olga Tsvetaeva Nevskaya

Note: This story and the one above will not be eligible for final submission to the posted selections. After inquiry to the Snipps. team I learned belatedly that stories to be considered for formal submission should only be about life in and around Snippettsville. Back story should be limited to a brief sentence or two.


Olga was always in control of the fuck. She had a penchant for slim young men, pale and wan, not particularly muscular but always firm of thigh. As she was five-ten she preferred they meet her eyes, but once in a while she would take a boy or young man who came only chin height.

She liked guiding them to favorite dark corners or hallways, backing them up to straddle them, then raising herself on tiptoe and placing one leg, bent at an angle, firmly on whatever her partner leaned against. It provided her the best footing and placement for her cunt so that her chosen cock had nothing to do but be hard and alive. She made all the moves and kept to her required rhythm and pace. The men rarely offered anything more than their prized tool, Olga’s favorite term for a penis. It contained the consonants enclosing the double vowel, similar in sound to the softness of her mother-tongue. With a man of intelligence she might allow something different, but that was rare. At fifty-eight she was still hoping to meet a man who would surprise her.

Olga Nevskaya had lived semi-reclusively in Snippettsville for nearly twenty years. Her parents had been Jewish emigrants from the Crimea; refusniks they had been labeled. Dead now, it was a strange comfort to Olga who had helped see them through disillusionment in their new land. The three of them had felt like their own lost tribe; it was a tragic trinity they composed when first arriving in San Francisco. Their flat in the foggy Sunset district was always silent but for perfunctory speech; the climate suited their collective melancholy. After their daughter finished at university and set on a profession, the Nevskys died together in a planned and peaceful partnered suicide.

Olga moved north to become the girls physical education teacher at Snippettsville High School. She was aging finally but still rather fit after a lifetime of active sports, including coming in just below bronze status in one summer Olympics of her youth. She had been a swimmer in formal competition but enjoyed team sports for more intense matching of her ambitions; they provided a unique form of communication for her.

Olga’s breasts were small, like upturned saucers with puffy pink nipples, fading now into the surrounding tawny hue. They drooped the little bit gravity demanded but she did not need to wear a brassiere. Her pubic hair was sparser now but still crept like messy entangled vines halfway up her belly and navel. Her buttocks were wide but firm; like the rest of her body the skin had begun to loosen and feel papery, seemingly unconnected to what lay beneath.

Through sporting events she met her quota of fucks and never had to deal with changing sheets or offering coffee, or the kind of man who might want to spend the night or ask about her history or hobbies.

Her close-cropped dark blond streaked hair, now filling in with grey, and her young female boarder made for some talk in the town but it was of no concern to Olga or Zina. Several years ago Olga took in to her small house a fellow russkaya evraika, Zinaida Zaklinsky. Both women felt fortunate to have found each other in such a small American town.

Both women preferred men for sex and romance, but Olga was the butch to Zina’s femme, in appearances at least. Neither knew of the other’s fantasies for their own sex, and both were as practiced in disguised public self image as and with the other.

599 words

 

[sailorm72003]

wishes

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

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

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

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

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

”Yeah, what about you?” she snapped, “You’re around.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, but you can try. What do you wish for?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[champagne1982]

Abbreviated Shower (a Randy and Cheri episode)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Everyone, obviously, is not away!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Wantonica]

Packing the Post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


(600 words plus title, per MS Works)