Snippettsville: Christmas Issue

Sue was lying on the bed, enveloped in Christmas wrapping paper from neck to toe. There was a big bow tied around her waist, with a gift tag.

"Merry Christmas, Tom," she said. "Come and unwrap your present. I hope you like it."

My prick grew an instant inch.

I moved to the bedside and bent to read the gift tag. 'To Tom. Merry Christmas. Love, Sue XXX. All tags are numbered. Please attend to them in sequence.' The tag was #1.

"What is this?" I said. I think my prick knew what was going to happen before my brain caught on.

Sue smiled, but said nothing. I looked into her eyes, warm, inviting, and reached out to pull at the bow around her waist. It came undone easily. There was a little tag which had been hidden. It said, '#2. Pull me.' So I did. The wrapping paper fell away from Sue's body. Under it, she was wearing silk, in my favourite red.

There was another tag on her tummy. This one said, '#3. Please remove all wrapping paper.' Again I complied. My prick was getting stiffer when I had, because now I could see that she was wearing stockings, too, held up by lace garters around her thighs. Two more tags had been revealed. One was fastened to her bra, the other to her panties. They were numbered, too, #4 and #5.

#4 said, 'Please remove your own clothes, then open here and remove this garment,' and it was attached to the front fastening on her bra. I grinned at Sue and complied. I had a bit of a problem getting my boxers off over my erection, but I managed, after a struggle which Sue watched closely. She smiled broadly when she saw what I was offering.

When I removed her bra it was the first time I had seen her breasts in good light and I taught myself how lovely they are by kissing her erect nipples. She moaned a little and I turned my attention to tag #5. This one said, 'Remove panties by pulling towards feet.'

When I did, I saw that Sue's mound was shaved bare, with a message in lipstick, and an arrow. 'Penis to be inserted here and love to be shared at length.'

We finally ate Christmas dinner on the 26th.

* * * * *

Holiday Shift by Quasimodem

Archie McDougall hurried into the Showboat Hotel in answer to Jennifer Tillies's radio dispatch that a fight was in progress. He found two men, amid a circle of broken dishes and overturned tables, squaring off like deranged bantam roosters.

The smaller man was wailing away with a series of vicious jabs at his larger opponent's mid-section.

"Just a loving minute, there," Archie began, then made noises like a leaky accordion, as the larger man planted a roundhouse in his breadbasket.

First, the constable sat heavily upon a nearby table, and then the floor, as the table collapsed beneath his weight. Shielding his head from the smaller belligerent's kick, Archie regained his feet with a bellow.

With one hand, McDougall grasped the small combatant's shirtfront, while slipping the other hand behind the larger man's thick neck.

One second later, two heads collided with a meaty thunk, and the Showboat returned to silence.

*

"Where's the sheriff?"

"We don't have a sheriff," Jennifer replied, "we've a Chief of Police."

"Who gives a damn," the woman countered. "I want you to arrest my husband. He assaulted me."

Jennifer's gaze traveled from the woman's snarling, undamaged features and bloodstained dress, to her cowed spouse's blackened eye and streaming nose.

"Write a deposition to that effect," the Snippettsville police department's general factotum suggested, "and an officer will investigate immediately."

"Investigate? I want the bastard jailed."

"We must follow procedure. Write out your statement, then we can gather evidence - check whose blood is on your dress, see if any neighbour witnessed the attack."

"No bloody cops snooping around - I won't have it!"

"It's standard procedure," Jennifer insisted. "We must investigate your complaint thoroughly. Prove that your statement is accurate? Otherwise, we'd have to prosecute you for filing a false statement."

"I won't have it!"

"It's the law, Mrs. Gorngath," Jennifer insisted, grimacing as she inadvertently betrayed her recognition of the complainant.

"The hell you say!" Mrs. Gorngath objected, switching gears. "Come on, Cecil, we're going home. I'll give you one more chance."

"Yes dear."

*

Siren wailing, Chief Holt's patrol car followed an obviously intoxicated driver in a speeding Chevy, south on Green Lake Road.

Suddenly, the fugitive switched off his lights.

Tom slowed his vehicle, peeling his eyes to discover the drunk's intentions. A shadowy motion at the periphery of Tom's vision alerted the lawman.

The fugitive had turned down an old fire trail that serviced remote cottages on Green Lake.

Crabbing the wheel, Tom skidded, turning in pursuit along the snow-clogged trail.

"At least," Tom thought, "there's less chance of a collision. I can hang back until he's stuck in a drift."

The darkened vehicle topped a hill. Almost immediately, a rending crash and anguished screams echoed through the stillness.

Drawing closer, Tom's headlights illuminated the carnage. The Chevy had demolished two snowmobiles. One passenger appeared in critical condition, the other was beyond help.

Tom radioed Jennifer to have Cedar Grove dispatch emergency vehicles to his location, then ran to offer assistance.

Midway, Tom was accosted by a wild-eyed motorist, his breath redolent of whiskey.

"It's all your fault!" the man accused Tom. "If you hadn't chased me, none of this would have happened."

Slamming the drunk against his car, Tom handcuffed the man's wrists behind his back, then hurried to assist the injured.

*

Archie tipped shots of rum into the eggnog Jennifer had poured. Tom picked up his glass distastefully, sighed, then proposed the toast.

"To a safe, peaceful New Year."

"A safe, peaceful New Year," Jennifer chorused, as Archie added, "with just enough brangling so we're still gainfully employed next New Year's Eve."

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed