Snippettsville Winter Carnival

"Great!" said Sally Aker, "I'd like to see that for myself."

The six figures quieted and waved as a conga-line of teenagers snaked past. Charlie gestured. "Some of those girls would make a nice addition to our line."

Alison shook her head. "Only we four for the first Annual Snippettsville Winter Carnival Streak." She looked around. "It's time."

Hurriedly, the four women stripped off their clothing, passing the garments to Charlie, who stuffed them into a rucksack, until all they were wearing were white hold-up stockings and skates.

Tom reached into his anorak pocket and produced four silk balaclava hoods, all white, all with holes only for the eyes and mouths. Shivering, the four women donned them. The nipples of all four were stiffly erect and Tom and Charlie enjoyed a brief moment of seeing their own lovers naked with other women, women they were unlikely to see in such a situation again, enjoying too the white boots, stockings and masks they were wearing.

His own girl, Alison, Charlie could recognise immediately, from the mole on her ribs, Sally Devine from the striking similarity to her sister. Sue Ellis and Sally Aker he could tell apart only by their heights. And the colour of their pubic hair, he thought, smiling to himself.

"Okay," said Alison. "I'm fucking freezing, so let's get it on, girls." She moved to Charlie and kissed him hard, Sue and Tom in a similar clinch. "On three, ladies," she said, reaching for her sister's hand. Sally took Sue's hand, and Sue took Sally Aker's. "One, two, three."

The four of them moved away gracefully towards the light, gradually increasing speed. Tom and Charlie watched them go, admiring the rhythmic movements of the four nude women as they skated away.

They looked at each other as they heard the first surprised yells, grinned, and began to move slowly after the women.

* * * * *

Sometimes, it's Luck by Alex de Kok

Something was happening out on the ice, but Billy couldn't make out what, not from here. Beside him on the dock, a big Winnebago camper was standing. Billy wondered why the camper's engine was running, but guessed it was waiting for someone. He stared out over the ice, where it seemed most of his classmates were enjoying themselves, then looked cautiously to his right, quickly looking away again. Cheryl Benoit was still there, just as she had been for the past ten minutes. Like him, apparently just watching the skaters. Billy cursed himself for his fumbling inability to ever make a favourable impression on the girls he tried to date. It wasn't as if he was ugly, for he wasn't, it was just that this absolute idiot emerged whenever he tried to talk to a girl.

He glanced to his right again, then quickly forward. God! Cheryl was looking at him! About to sneak another peek toward her, whatever was happening on the ice caught his attention again. Someone turned on video lights and Billy's jaw dropped. Coming towards him was a sight he felt he would be able to remember forever. Four women, naked except for skates, thigh-high white stockings - hold-ups - and white, hooded ski-masks, were headed straight for him. Billy couldn't have looked away to save his life, but then, nor did he want to, for it wasn't every day an eighteen year-old resident of Snippettsville had the chance to see four beautiful sets of bare breasts and four neatly trimmed bushes coming straight at him.

Behind him, he heard the door of the Winnebago open and he realised the four skaters were headed right for where he stood on the dock. Only eighteen inches above the water - ice, now - but still an obstacle for the four skaters. The first one skidded to a halt before him and held out her hand.

"Help me up," she said and Billy automatically held out his hand. The woman lifted an athletic leg to the dock, hauled herself up with his assistance, and suddenly was there beside him, breathing heavily, her chest, with those lovely naked tits, just a foot away.

"Thanks," she said, "um?"

"Billy," he stammered. "Billy Daniels."

"Thanks, Billy Daniels. I owe you." The woman suddenly leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, before turning and toe-walking on her skates into the Winnebago. Billy turned back to the dockside and another vision was holding out her hand for assistance. Again he helped a naked woman into the Winnebago, rewarded with another quick kiss. He realised suddenly that the driver had helped the others and then the Winnebago, and the visions, were gone and he had just the vivid memory of the moment.

"Nice work, Billy," Cheryl said, somehow standing right next to him.

He shrugged, avoiding her eye. "Thanks, Cheryl." He shrugged again. "Just lucky, I guess."

Cheryl laughed lightly. "Pure accident, or were you set here to help?"

"Absolute pure chance." Billy shook his head. "I'm never lucky with girls."

"How come?" Her interest seemed sincere.

"I turn into a babbling fool."

"You're not babbling now," she said.

"It won't last. Just wait, I'll start spouting drivel any moment now."

"Well, those ladies didn't see anything wrong with you, else they wouldn't have kissed you."

"I'd rather kiss you," he said, before he had a chance to think.

Cheryl smiled, taking his hands in hers. "I'd like that."

"Huh?"

She laughed. "Kiss me!"

Despite the cold, her lips were warm, soft, inviting, and - somehow - he knew he wouldn't babble when he spoke.

* * * * *

A Moment's Perfection by Wildsweetone

White mist curled at the far end of Green Lake as Liz cast her eyes over the ice in search of her bag. Swearing under her breath she skated, wobbling from lack of practise, in a crisscross fashion, systematically searching the Carnival area. Around the torches, small puddles of liquid ice reflected her concerned image. Clean up after the raging party had begun and there was little left to search.

Skating toward a lump on the ice, Liz picked up a wet white silken balaclava. She grinned remembering the sight of the near naked nymphs as they skated through a stunned crowd. Had she been amongst the group, Liz would have picked out one of Snippettsville's high ranking Councillors and kissed him passionately before skating off. Now that really would have set the tongues wagging she thought, laughing.

Pocketing the wet balaclava she skated on, barely noticing the approaching mist. Her eyes scanning the ground for the bag, she ignored the occasional shouts of the conscientious crew as they moved tables into the bait shop and cleared rubbish from the solid lake.

Liz wouldn't have worried about her bag normally, she rarely carried anything more than a lipstick and pack of cigarettes. Tonight though, she'd brought with her something that she had planned to pass along to one of the twins, but seeing as how they disappeared only to return virtually naked, Liz had realised her 'gift' would not be pocketed out of sight. So she had kept it safe inside her bag. Now, if only she could find the bag, she could get off the ice and go home to warmth.

Widening her search, Liz found herself suddenly enveloped in thick mist. Her skates ground to a halt, scattering flaked ice in a wide arc.

"Hello," she shouted. Silence. Liz shivered.

"Hello!" This time a higher note crept into the call. Her head spun around, eyes darting, squinting against the mist.

"Oh great. I'm stuck out in the middle of a frozen white lake in the pitch black. Just great." Grumbling, Liz skated slowly to her left. It was as good a direction as any, she supposed.

The rhythmic slicing of her skates cleared her thoughts, then lulled her into calmness. She'd continue skating in the same direction and would obviously reach the lake's edge, then she'd walk home following the lake around. She couldn't have skated too far out.

It was when a warm arm wrapped itself around her waist that Liz screamed. When she stopped to breathe, she struggled, then tried to scream afresh, but a mouth closed over hers and a tongue slipped between startled gasps to curl and dance with her own.

She moaned then, into the mouth, and her arms found their own way around the body – just to hold tight in case she fell, she told herself.

Then she was skating, dancing upon the ice every step held by a fingertip, spinning her high into double twists, catching her to kiss again. With wings of an angel she flew across the ice, her partner following, never breaking touch.

On and on they moved, twisting, turning, sometimes scattering flaked ice, sometimes merely skating. Icy breath caught in Liz's throat; she skated on ignoring the cold. In the darkness, her dance partner's touch was fire, warming her chilled soul. His breath against her neck, white hot desire.

And then he let her go, let her fly ahead, let her soar and glide until suddenly her skate hit solid earth and she tumbled onto the bank.

"Aw fuck," she said. "No bag and a wet arse."

* * * * *

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