tagChain StoriesTales from Snippettsville Issue 11

Tales from Snippettsville Issue 11

bySnippettsville Group©

Hello, and welcome to the eleventh 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 11
Denouement by Gauchecritic
Sian, and Robert from Yorkshire by Perdita
The Chemistry Teacher by Mathgirl
Senior Superiority by Wildsweetone



Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2003

Now read on...


* * * * *

Denouement by Gauchecritic

"What the fuck am I doing walking along Hicksville USA at quarter past three in the morning following some kind of Amazon bi-dyke hoping to get fucked by her in some alley-way?"

There, haloed by the street light, surrounded by gloom and clothed in passion, my imminent release. Scanning the darkened alleyway, I made entrance.

I noticed her eyes, fixed on my crotch, wouldn’t meet mine. This tall, dark skinned vision rose in fluid motion to stand. Hands on hips and with a flick of her head beckoned me on.

Her hands fell to her thighs, she moved sinuously towards the crumbling, brick façade of the building, enticing me forward.

This way ‘cock’. Over here ‘prick’

Light glinted on small, biting, teeth at sight of my erection, tenting the loose jog pants I had struggled into.

Reaching the wall and this daemon I began “Wh-“ when a long-fingered, sharp nailed hand covered my lips, scored my cheek and blazing eyes forbade any sound.

Her fingers pulled my face askance, dragging blood across my lips. I tasted sweetness. A tongue washed my face and the blood, then delved deeply between my lips seeking warmth and wetness. Palms on my shoulders crushed me into unslung, heaving breasts. Gripping her hips as her teeth bit into my neck making me groan aloud.

Fingers digging the yielding flesh of her backside, I tried to pull her belly onto my stiffened dick. She resisted, taking handfuls of my hair, pulling backwards she bit down on my jaw. She released me. I dared to look into those fomenting, liquid depths, her lips pulled wide, palms pushed my shoulders making me stagger backwards into the brickwork.

Ravening, this creature took one step and pinned me, panting, with her body, against the wall. Fixing me with her lustrous, lust filled eyes, her tongue impaled me once more. Lifting her thigh she dug the heel of her shoe into my waistband and, digging into my flesh, dragged the material covering my legs to the floor whilst leaving a welt the length of my pale skin.

An engorged prick jounced upwards into her groin as she smiled into my face.

A bare foot on the wall. Leaning backwards, away, raising the hem of her skirt revealed thick curled hair. I saw lamplit wetness and long fingers probe inwards to wipe delicately and wetly from those lips to mine.

The head of my shaft beat a slow tattoo against her mound in time with my pounding pulse.

On tip-toe, with my prick in her hand, her fingers, firm but tender around my full balls she enveloped me. Savouring the penetration, very slowly and sinuously using her hips alone, she swallowed me into that depth. Standing utterly still, with by back braced on the wall, I fell inwards.

That’s when she started fucking me. Hard. Fast. Deliberate. Fuck.

Stop.

Slide. Silky. Sussurant. The hair of her dark thatch mingling with mine. Grinding her cunt up my groin. Rubbing her clit into the bone. Frigging. Harder. Quicker. Determined. Tongues fencing. Lip-locked. Biting, shagging, urging, tasting, frigging and fucking.

She trembled as her stroke lengthened driving harder still around my prick. Once. Moaning. Twice, a low groan. Third time, shoulder-shuddering, throaty laughter. Then low keening, as tremors shook her, pressed her tightly to me, ground her soaking minge against me.

I began the stroke once more, which she picked up immediately. I held her buttocks and pressed my face into her breasts as we fucked together and drove towards her second climax and my first sweaty, evacuating, liberating orgasm.

* * * * *

Sian, and Robert from Yorkshire by Perdita


I didn’t blink. His lower lip made a slight curve as he tilted his head forward in the direction of the door. I was indecisive for a moment—Have Hannah return the fuck, or take cock?

Like Isolde beyond her anger, stopped by Tristan’s gaze, I caught a hidden self-doubt behind his eyes. I began to feel generous.

“Sorry, Hannah—went somewhere else—don’t ask—leave my stuff on the floor—gotta have a walk—you’ll taste me tomorrow—you’re a bitch still.”

Past the window I fell against the building’s corner and laughed aloud. What a lark! said Mrs. Dalloway in my head. My knock interrupted the cock and cunt. Gesucristo!

I often speak bits of my father’s tongue when excited about a new boy, about anything that arouses me. I can’t help being effusive; it seems a fault only because I’m rarely matched in desire.

I lit a cigarette and nearly skipped up Main Street two blocks to a streetlamp. I’d be able to see him leave the diner, then step into the lamplight for him. Three fags worth the wait.

“Ah, finally. Just follow Sian, mio dolce.

Grazie dio! He’s keeping my pace. Gesu, let us not need to speak. Bene, bene. Venuto, giovane mio.”

I sat on the corner of a loading dock watching intently as he neared, keeping my gaze on his thighs, deliberately avoiding his face. I felt my cunt and tits swell, and I began to ooze.

I don’t know what got into me right at the start—drawing blood—oh, but how his eyes matched mine, though I caught a glint of fear.

Such eyes as he had: big, dark eyes! And such an expression in them—an expression! said Gretta Conroy about Michael Furey.

“Ah, jayzuss, Sian, don’t go there.”

I can see his eyes as well as well, Gretta remembered so many years later that Christmastime.

“Fuck, Christmas. Don’t go there either." But this boy, he has those eyes, as well as well.

I shoved him. I mouth-fucked him. I pulled his hair. I scratched him. I bit him. He let me.

Fixing my heel in his pants to tear them down I felt like a queen—a ripe good old Cleopatra reigning over her boy.

Oh, my oblivion is a very Antony.

Ha! I hope the welts last a bit, so he remembers. It should make him hard each time he feels them against his trousers or the sheets.

I loved his cock tapping against my cunt. I always love that, makes them so vulnerable, so alone out there in the universe: all those throbbing lonely cocks. Lost. Looking to get in.

He took to me tracing that lower lip with my milky dew, took it like a hungry baby. But the control of the penetration—it’s always the first big thing. I love that absolute moment when it begins. I go out of time like a slow-motion film. His cock was perfect—hard as my heels, sharp too.

I mewed and moaned like a bad opera singer, but with the ferocity of Callas, with the virility of a Valkyrie. I nearly purred, more of a growl, ha! He was my sleek young panther. We were two cats on a similar prowl. The heat of him inside me was terrific. I miss it already.

Buona notte, Roberto bello.”

I grinned, cupped his crotch tenderly and left him abruptly at his door with a sunken look on his face. I nearly hesitated but kept my resolve not to share a bed.

It’s more real if I speak it.

“Robert from Yorkshire, you came so close.”

* * * * *

The Chemistry Teacher by Mathgirl

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.

* * * * *

Senior Superiority by Wildsweetone

Last weekend Neil had mowed the lawn, sprayed the weeds around the edging of the lawn, stacked wood in the wood shed and cleaned the guttering and down pipes on the house.

This weekend he’d started on his workbench. His son had been playing ‘handyman’ again and almost every tool from the back board had been left lying on the bench. It didn’t worry him that his son used the tools, but it really pissed him off that he never bothered to put anything away.

He grabbed a rag from the bag, began picking up the tools, wiping each one and replacing it against the blank pattern he’d spent hours stencilling on the board.

He knew full well his son had other things on his mind. Girls. That was the latest problem to set him wandering around dopey eyed. Neil had watched the young girl when she was preoccupied in the kitchen with his wife. The way Mandy had sashayed past him had him gulping scalding hot coffee. That hadn’t been a bad thing, he’d felt stirrings in his groin and the burning liquid had sure taken his mind onto other things fast.

But the way she leaned over the kitchen bench while she chatted with his wife, whew! It brought him out in a hot sweat just thinking about it. When she’d bent over to pick a dropped fork from the floor, he’d gotten a bird’s eye view of a whole lot more than he should. Thankfully his son had seen the same thing and rushed up behind her to ‘help get the fork’ or something.

Yet even that hadn’t been as shocking as when they’d been eating their desserts. Ice cream and strawberries, and some of the strawberries had been dipped into chocolate. He’d not been able to take his eyes off her luscious mouth as she’d sucked and licked the chocolate from the biggest strawberry. When she’d caught him watching, she had waited deliberately until their eyes met before winking grandly. Her knowing grin made him squirm in his seat and swear he wouldn’t look up from his bowl ever again.

It was when he felt bare toes creeping up the inside of his leg that he fell apart. Whipping off his napkin then slamming it down on the table, he excused himself and hid in his study. It took him a full 45 minutes to calm down enough to consider going back into the dining room. He thought better of it, instead pouring himself a generous helping of brandy, he sat with his empty pipe and latest Stephen King epic on his lap unable to read a word. His eyes glazed over and he flicked the switch on the standard lamp smothering the room in warm darkness.

Moments later they sneaked into the study. Before he could announce he was sitting there in the dark, he heard muffled giggles, slurping kisses and clothes hitting the floor. With his humiliation almost complete, he placed the brandy balloon silently on the desk and poked his fingers in his ears, closing his eyes tight.

His wife found him that way an hour later. He’d fallen into a deep sleep, looking rather comical with unlit pipe in his mouth and his fingers in his ears. Marion smiled, woke him, then helped him to walk up the staircase to their room. She helped him undress then dressed herself in the only way she knew would help ease his need. His second sleep was more peaceful and the smile still hadn’t left his face a week later.

* * * * *

Feedback and comments are welcomed



Great Masquerade Ball at Green Lake - Coming Soon!

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