tagChain StoriesTales from Snippettsville Issue 03

Tales from Snippettsville Issue 03

bySnippettsville Group©

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



If you 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 Issue 3
Preacher's Kid by PierceStreet
What A Place To Break Down by RainbowSkin
Hannah by jon.hayworth
Ker-Snap by Quasimodem

Illustrations
Header Picture, (c)Couture, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on...


* * * * *

Preacher's Kid by PierceStreet

Snippettsville Church had a new minister, and eighteen year old Mike Smith was excited. The minister had a daughter, Lily.

This year all the Seniors were hooked up as couples. Mike was the odd man. Not that he wasn't attractive. Lisa Myers had made that clear several nights at Green Lake. But Lisa didn't want a boyfriend, and wanted Mike infrequently.

In those first weeks, Mike grew to appreciate Lily. In public she was shy and reserved but when they were alone walking home, he found her vivacious, candid and with a touch of blue humor. He knew a minister's daughter wasn't likely to meet his sexual needs. Even so, he was tired of being the odd man at school.

He asked her to be his girlfriend. She invited him to dinner, and promised an answer then.

That night, Lily greeted him cheerfully with a quick peck at the door.

During dinner, Lily told her parents Mike wanted them to be a couple. "What exactly does that mean?" asked Reverend Niles.

Mike explained it meant that they would hang out, have lunch together, attend parties. "All proper events," he said, making his case.

Reverend Niles weighed Mike's words, and saw the almost imperceptible nod from his wife. "I approve."

The dinner conversation continued. Suddenly, Mike felt something. Lily was playing footsie!

Her bare toes moved to his calf, then up along his inner thigh and she planted her foot on his crotch. When she flexed her toes, his cock responded. She was creating a problem. Mike's pants were profoundly tented. He hoped Lily would stop before the meal ended.

"Mom, Mike and I'll clear the table."

"What!" he thought, panicked.

Lily continued, "Your game is about to start?"

With a bustle, her parents excused themselves and rushed downstairs.

Keeping up her erotic foot massage, Lily explained that her parents were Pirates fans. They never missed a televised game.

"You saved my life," he told Lily.

Lily came around the table. "How?" she asked with mock innocence.

Mike pushed back his chair. Her eyes widened when she saw the pup tent. Lisa had told him he was one of the largest in town. She'd know.

Lily straddled him and then reached down and felt his cock. She stroked it a couple of times while maintaining fierce eye contact.

"You have a nice one, don't you?"

'What', he wondered, 'had this virginal girl seen to compare it with?'

Lily used both hands to work open his belt. She put her hands around him and stroked.

"I think it likes me."

Her touch went away. Mike heard the rustle of skirt. She bunched it above her waist. He glanced down. She wasn't wearing any panties under her long skirt. Lily impaled herself. She rocked back and forth a bit, working his size into her tight pussy. He found himself in her to the hilt without encountering any obstructions.

"Its been too long!" she sighed. He marveled at her ability to be both the virginal minister's daughter in public, and the exciting lover in private.

At the door, he asked her out for Friday. She assented, explaining "As my boyfriend, I expect utter discretion. A relationship with a PK, Preacher's Kid, need not be celibate, but I cannot embarrass my father, not again, so we have to be careful with the sex." He wondered about that 'not again', and figured there was a story there.

After kissing him passionately,"Find a place for us to be totally alone Friday night. I want to be skin to skin naked while fucking you!"

* * * * *

What A Place To Break Down by RainbowSkin

'What a place to break down.'

'Not broken down, we're just overheated...'

'You can say that again. I'm sweating like a pig.'

In the silence that followed Fleur cast her eyes over her partner's chunky bare arms and the glisten of belly that defied the Joy Division T-shirt. She knew Lesley wouldn't like it but she said it anyway: 'Mmm, I love it when you sweat.'

'You're sick,' said Lesley, not taking her listless eyes from the run-down houses through the windscreen. In the stillness she had sat here feeling liquid pool abundantly in her thighs and soak her shorts and car seat, but had no illusion what it was. Desire had been drained from her hours ago, past the last nondescript town they had stayed at. She was hungry and grumpy.

'Get in the back seat and strip off.'

'We're in the middle of the fucking street.'

'No-one's coming. It's dead.'

'They probably shoot people for having sex. Probably no-one's ever had sex in this town, ever. Do they still burn witches in America?'

'Only in places like Kansas,' Fleur demurred.

'And we're in...?'

'Fucked if I know,' she quietly admitted after an over-long pause. 'Just your armpits then. Please. Lezzie, please please may I please lick the sweat from your armpits? It would make me come.'

Lesley burst into a hoot of laughter, flashed a loving glance at Fleur, and looked away as disgusted as she could manage. The torrent in the fork of her legs was joined by new juices. She looked round for strangers then seeing none leaned in towards her lover enough that Fleur could apply herself with catlike tonguing to the golden skin of her arm. With another scan she murmured to Fleur to go on, and raised her arm casually onto the seat to allow Fleur to push the cloth back.

Of all the things they had done together this was perhaps the one that most horrified her when it was first proposed. Golden showers at least had been a fantasy beforehand, but this cleaning of her soiled and unwelcoming body had made her recoil for months before she agreed. Now it was wonderful, even if she still hated being so sticky everywhere else and unable to relieve it.

With no intention of taking herself to completion, since they had to get out and find a garage, a place to eat, and for preference a stiff cooling drink, Lesley parted her shorts and rubbed herself idly. Fleur clasped her hand, drew it out, and sucked the first finger.

'I don't suppose the Painted Desert's round the next corner?'

Fleur shook her head without even getting out the map to check, or releasing her hand, so Lesley knew it must be true. 'Lake District? Chipping Camden? Junction 10 on the M25?'

Now Fleur had to raise her head from her sloppy licking of Lesley's wrist and inside lower arm, to convey the definite shakes of negation. Lesley sighed. She was trying to remember any articles in The Guardian about recent gay lynchings, but either there weren't any or they were common enough not to rate the world news paragraphs any more. Someone crossed the street in the distance: Fleur sat up when she felt her stiffen, then switched her attention to the belly with its faint stretch-marks and three little moles. If anyone asked, she was getting her purse.

Lesley stroked her hair and arranged it to fall across her thighs and tickle her. The fluttering pressure on her belly made her giddy, and carelessly shut her eyes and edge her shorts down.

* * * * *

Hannah by jon.hayworth

I spent my first day in Snippetsville exploring the one street town and sitting in the Diner listening to people as they called by. That evening I had a lot of notes to write-up. Then I settled down to write my daily thousand words.

The tap on the door was annoying. I hate being disturbed when I am writing, it breaks the flow of words. "Yes."

Hannah took my reply for an invitation and stepped into the room. "What are you doing?" she asked looking at the lap-top.

"Writing." Despite the fact that she was wearing nothing but a bath robe I wanted her to go.

She ignored my tone, "What are you writing?"

"Its part of a story."

"My! You mean you're a writer – a real writer."

"People publish my work." I saved my work and began to close down the lap-top, it was obvious she wanted to talk.

"Jack from the store is a writer. He doesn't know that I know, if his wife Ethel found out I know she'd die of shame."

I must have looked interested, because she added, "he writes dirty stories. He don't know I have read them on the net. Tell you what, come through to my room and I'll show you on my machine."

An interesting variation on come up and see my etchings. I followed her through to her room. For some time we perused Jack's stories, I sat at the PC, Hannah stood behind me looking over my shoulder. I had to admit that he was good. Good enough to be published if he tried.

"Gee making this stuff sure makes me hot," Hannah said pressing her body against me. I could feel her ample breasts warm against my shoulder blades I noted her two pebble hard nipples. This woman was hot.

Call me a Neanderthal. Call me a male chauvinist pig. Call me whatever, but I am not one of your touchy feely New Age men who can only make love when everything is right. I have always been led by my cock's instinctive reactions and right now the warmth of Hannah's body had spurred my cock into a rock hard erection.

I turned from the PC, pulled open her robe and buried my face in her ample bosom and inhaled. The smell of a freshly bathed woman holds aphrodisiac properties that no perfumer can replicate.

She squirmed pressing an erect nipple against my lips. I pulled her to me, swirling my tongue around her nipple. She gave a low contented sigh as she tugged at my hair as she forced her breast into my mouth.

The PC was abandoned, effortlessly we had moved onto Hannah's bed. Hannah, who had slipped her robe off as we moved, tugged and tore at my clothes. As I kicked my pants from around my ankles I pulled back and looked at her.

Like many women she was brainwashed, if they weigh over one-hundred and ten pounds they think they are overweight. "No let me see you," I said as she sat-up rounding her shoulders as she used her hands and arms to cover her nakedness.

"If you look at me like that you won't like what you see."

"Hannah you're all woman and I like what I see – you're my kind of woman," I added truthfully. I have this thing for women with Rubenesque figures, I like their soft curves and something to hold onto. It has been my experience that women's libido is in direct proportion to their dress size and Hannah did nothing to disprove my theory.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

Feedback is welcomed

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