tagChain StoriesSnippettsville: Masquerade Ball

Snippettsville: Masquerade Ball

bySnippettsville Group©

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



For any of you who haven't come across us before, and want to know what it's all about, go to Snippettsville Group

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

Contents of Masquerade Ball Special Issue

Editorial - From Snippettsville Times by PierceStreet
Sian and Hannah - Prelude to the Ball by Perdita
Cowboys and Elaine by Champagne 1982
End Game by Alex de Kok
Blue Tango by Alex de Kok
Joel Davis Comes Home by PierceStreet
Sian and Robert - After the Ball by Perdita

Illustrations (c) Alex de Kok, 2004

Now read on...


* * * * *

Editorial - From Snippettsville Times by PierceStreet

Hello Neighbor by "Buck" Yeager

I just looked at a journal entry I made last year, "I woke up hung over and not completely sure what I was involved in last night. At Hannah's for breakfast, I wondered why everyone would glance my way, smile and then whisper to their friends."

Any Snippettsville adult immediately knows I wrote that the morning after the Masquerade Ball. I'm still not sure what I, or should I say The Green Lantern, did last year, but mercifully, there seems to be a one day statue-of-limitations on the gossip surrounding that evening.

It's probably born from the "Men who live in glass houses" concept of fair play. What is there about donning a costume that lets us truly believe we can act not-as-ourselves? At least it seems to bring out good sides of ourselves. Count Dracula didn't bite anyone but he did grab a few asses. Pristine maidens by day, dressed as naughty nurses were often seen sidling up to old Vlad eager to get the butts pinched, or so I've heard.

I guess we all have the need to crawl out of our own skin once in a while. The Ball lets us do it safely. A few marriages have started Masquerade night, and a lot of building steam has been vented from many marriages, no doubt prolonging many.

I've looked back in the files at early news reports. It appears the Ball got its start with the first Lumberjacks who came to town. The first report, when the town was just two years old, reports many Abe Lincolns, Mark Twain and even a Randolph Hearst. It also reports many Nurses, Saloon Girls, and Damsels in Distress. Wait a minute? Didn't men far out number women in Snippettsville back in those logging days? How did that tune go? "I'm a Lumberjack and I'm OK."

* * * * *



Sian and Hannah - Prelude to the Ball by Perdita

Sian couldn't be bothered with a real costume. If anyone asked—she was an eighties Castro Street fag. Real Levis tautly traveled the length of her thighs dipping below her calves into tan-effect rigger boots with thick red woolen socks rolled over the tops, and a mauve-plaid lumberjack shirt opened for deep cleavage, the long sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her choppy boy's cut framed her face nearly prettily. For the occasion she wore a blue-red lipstick, a gift from her last fuck before she left the city, and an old Mexican silver earring, a half-moon dangling from her left lobe. A band of black silk with horizontal diamonds cut out for the eyes was tied at the back of her head.

Robert had inspired Hannah's British Matron uniform but for the form-fitting, two-sizes-too-small aspect. The buttons on the bodice of the dark blue dress, with white apron, appeared about to snap open, holding tight her loose pendulous breasts. She wore no undergarments, but garters held rolled-up black stockings just below her knees. Black nun-type shoes had been rummaged from storage. Hannah recalled her grandmother wearing them to church on Sundays. It surprised her that they fit her feet perfectly, causing wonder at how she could possibly have been descended from that old fundamentalist bitch. Directly covering her left nipple was a rectangular badge, spelling out on two lines—



Hanging around her neck, easily mistaken for a stethoscope from a distance, was a 'silver bullet' vibrator. She refused to wear the sister's veil, telling Robert it looked frumpy and hid her newly red hair. The boy was disappointed but kept the veil for a personal scene later—he hoped.

Hannah and Sian rode together to the Lodge, having had a shower and cum-feste with Robert before dressing for the party. He planned to arrive later if he could figure out a costume. Sian avoided him after the shower but felt his constraining gaze as she dressed. She could not think of an excuse to stay. She left without a look or word to him.

"So, sugarpuss, meet anyone 'sides Yorkshire-boy yet? Weren't he a find? So willing to follow. What's that word you called 'im? Not marriageable— "

"Malleable."

"Yeah, mall, that was Bobbo alright. But so secreting, too mysterious for twenny-two. I never did learn any Yorkshire, 'cept for those names he called me. I loved mucky bessom. Did he call you that? He never did explain it but I understood it, sure did sound like I felt. I told 'im I was gonna have it printed cross the front of a tee. He liked that, made 'im smile. Didn't you just love that smile, Shorn? Made me wanna eat 'im right up—what a fine young cock."

God I wish she'd shut up.

"An the way he said whore, like it had two sibyls. Turned me on it did. HOO-arrr! I sure liked it, felt like a good ole one, made me real wet. He called me a ripe Cleo-PATTER-uh. Made me feel pretty, real sexy like.

"My opinion is a very Antny. Didja know that's Shakespeare, babe?

"HOO-arrr! I could hear that all night."

As Hannah went crudely on Sian felt something—out of the past—more than she dared.

He called her ripe. Great. I gave him that word, told him about my Cleopatra, my Antony. Fuck, I've got to get him out of my head. He lives in fucking England. He's twenty-two. I can't fuck with him. I can't fuck with the past.



"Shorn, what is it? OK, doll. Let's not get too fussed up."

* * * * *

Cowboys and Elaine by Champagne1982

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."

* * * * *

End Game by Alex de Kok

"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.

* * * * *

Blue Tango by Alex de Kok

"I think they noticed us," Sally murmured to her sister as they entered the Lodge ballroom for the Masquerade Ball.

"Hard not to. I don't think I've ever showed so much tit without actually being topless."

Sally giggled. "I feel eyes."

There was a snort from her sister. "Dagger eyes, or lust eyes?" Alison looked around, noting the almost total absence of friendly looks on the female regards coming their way. "I don't know what they're worried about. We don't touch married men."

"Not while there's an adequate supply of the other kind," Sally laughed. "Shall we wiggle our asses to the bar?"

"Good idea."

"What'll it be ladies?" The red-headed young bartender's eyes flickered between them and he seemed almost mesmerised. Sally snapped her fingers and he jumped, flushing.

"I'm sorry, ladies," he stammered, "it's just that to see such beauty in duplicate is quite overwhelming."

"Son, look your fill," said Alison, with a wink. "We didn't dress like this to be ignored." If she hadn't seen it herself she would have sworn his blush couldn't deepen. It did, but he managed a smile, and he looked.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Body and clothes, both."

"Well done," said Alison. "Most guys would sneak looks and pretend they weren't."

"I'm an art student. I appreciate beauty. I'd love to paint you both."

"Oh, yeah," said Sally.

"Nude, of course."

There was a silence. The twins looked at him, then each other.

"Do you have a name?" Alison asked.

"Charlie Thomson."

"Okay, Charlie, call by the store," said Alison. "We'll discuss it. For the moment, two glasses of red wine."

"Coming right up!"

Glasses in hand, the twins moved away from the bar. "Do we?" asked Alison.

"I want to see his work first, but maybe," Sally murmured.

Alison laughed. "Okay. Maybe."

"I think I see Chuck," said Sally. "He seems to be coming this way. Me or you?"

"To be Sally? Go with your birthright, sis. I'm hunting. See you around." Alison moved away, smiling at Chuck Mellor as he paused, uncertain."Sal's the other one, Chuck."

Mellor laughed. "Thanks, Al. Hey, did you sell the Tiger?"

"Yeah. Charlie bought it. Is he here? He said he was coming."

"Not sure. There was a lumberjack that might be him."

Alison scanned the crowd. The Ball seemed to be a sell-out. Despite the masks she recognised many of the people; friends and customers. There were a couple of lumberjacks around, but neither had Charlie's build, that build she was so familiar with now after the trip to the farm. Her pussy gave a brief spasm.

"Looking for me, I hope," said a familiar voice. Alison turned. The outfit he wore was pure Disney lumberjack, but it suited him.

Alison smiled. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Wishful thinking?"

"Wishful thinking my ass! You know I was looking for you. Can we go for a ride again tomorrow?"

"Of course." Charlie smiled. "Same destination?"

"No. Better. We have a cottage at Green Lake. Pick me up when we close the store at eight?"

"Eight it is. Wanna tango?"

Alison laughed. "Wait for something slower. If I tango my tits will make a bid for freedom!"

"Now, that I'd like to see."

"Tomorrow, Charlie. You can be the escape comittee."

Charlie smiled, a longing in his look. "Yes, please. When do we come back from Green Lake?"

Alison flushed. "Morning. Early enough for me to be at the shop."

"You're inviting me to spend the night with you at Green Lake?"

Suddenly anxious, Alison looked away.

"I want to, Alison," Charlie said softly, "very much."

* * * * *

Joel Davis Comes Home by PierceStreet

I almost didn't attend the Masquerade Ball at the Lodge. After college and the Navy, Snippettsville was again home after an eight year absence. I'd been home for a week now.

My plan was to arrive at the party about eleven. I wanted to reconnect with old friends who were still in town. I wasn't sure I'd recognize any of them in costume so I was looking forward to the unmasking at midnight.

I found a mime costume at the store. I put on a little white pancake on (and don't think that wasn't embarrassing to buy) and headed out. The party was certainly in full swing. Lumberjacks seemed a popular outfit still. A young red haired woman in rather revealing lingerie caught my eye. And so did a pair of scantily clad twins sitting at the bar.

I threaded my way through the crowd, not seeing anyone I knew.

I came to the edge of the dance floor, and was astonished to see another mime across from me. From the well developed figure, I could tell it was a she mime. When our eyes met she threw up a hand, as if finding a wall before her. I did the same, and then we each put up our other hand. Acting almost as if we'd rehearsed, we shoved our walls together. The dancers moved aside for us, as we expanded on our improvised routine.

We did simple stuff, climbing a rope, getting into a box, that sort of thing. Before our amateur effort lost its appeal, she pretended to tie me up and drag me from the room. We exited out to the porch to the sound of applause.

Her playfulness amused me and I opened my mouth to tell her. Lady Mime flashed me a wicked look, and sternly raised her finger to her lips to shush me without the shush. When I sheepishly complied, she dazzled me with a smile and walked down the steps and out unto the yard. She looked back at me. She made a fist and put it down in front of her below her waist. One finger popped out suddenly. Slowly she raised the erect finger, as she stared at it intensely. She brought it up before her face, where it stood straight up, quivering a bit. Then suddenly she moved her head, and wrapped her mouth around the finger. She sucked her finger in and out, closing her eyes and getting a dreamy look on her face. She pulled the glistening finger from her mouth, smiled up at me and melted away into the forest, out of sight.

She couldn't be serious, but I followed anyway.

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