tagChain StoriesTales from Snippettsville Issue 08

Tales from Snippettsville Issue 08

bySnippettsville Group©

Hello, and welcome to the eighth 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 8
Get Out Of Town by Quasimodem
Mini-Mart Mate by Alex de Kok
Sam And Janet's Evening by PierceStreet
Sian Speaks by Perdita

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

Now read on...

* * * * *

Get Out Of Town by Quasimodem

She had been popular in Snippettsville, but the years had been unkind. Not that she looked old, but she'd been marked by her profession. It was that appearance which alerted Tom Holt.

"This way, bitch?"

"My room's over. . . ."

"Ain't gonna be no hotel room, bitch," the man snarled, "the alley'll do."


The man handed the girl a crumpled bill. "Yeah, here, bitch!"

She was slammed against an alley wall, her top shoved up, her panties yanked down beneath her miniskirt. Within seconds he was inside her.

"Now . . . I got . . . you, yah filthy . . . bitch!" he snarled, ramming himself within her. "Think I don't . . . remember you . . . bitch? Too good for . . . the likes . . . of me, yeah?"

Slammed repeatedly, the girl bit her lip to keep from sobbing. Tears trickled down her face, as his foul epitaphs grew viler, the sex more violent, until finally he climaxed.

"Now," the man demanded, reclaiming the wad of bills, "I'll keep my money. Others here remember you, and how you left to be a movie star. They'll all pay to do you. I'll be your manager, see? Your job is to act like you love it."

"Don't move, mister!" a new voice commanded from the shadows.

Cold steel at his temple insured the blasphemous man's compliance.

"Give back the girl's money. Good boy. Now, hand me your wallet. That's better."

The gunman opened the wallet and emptied it of cash, handing the bills to the girl.

"Seems like you earned this, Miss," then he snarled, "Do you know me, Deffler?"

"Fucking Archie McDougall!" the blasphemer declared.

"Correct! After you left the country club, Chief Holt examined the cards you left behind. Bad move. Nobody likes a cheat. My advice is don't stop running until you've put a couple of states between yourself and the Chief.

"Our chief hates cheaters. Probably arrest you under some bunko law. I just want to save the town the cost of a trial. Now move!"

"And leave you all the fucking money!" the blasphemer sneered.

"It ain't your money!" the constable snapped. "Another word, and I'll put a bullet through you for resisting arrest. Do yourself a favour. Shut the fuck up, and move! If I see you tomorrow, it's prison for you, bucko!"

The blaspheming man made a broken dash from the alley. He'd tried to act nonchalant, but the revolver, and Constable McDougall's cavalier attitude preyed too heavily on his mind.

"You must be new," McDougall declared to the hooker, "to follow a man like Ted Deffler down a dark alley."

"Honest! I never did this before," the girl proclaimed, "I hadn't any option. I'm broke, and nobody would hire me."

"There's five thousand dollars in Deffler's wad," Constable McDougall calculated. "That should buy you room, board, and a more conservative wardrobe, in some other vicinity.

"Our chief has a special bus fare fund for people like you. It'll take you all the way into the city."

"I won't see Tom!" the hooker cried in alarm.

"Nah. He's too busy getting statements from the marks at the Country Club. I'm stuck escorting ladies of the night out of town.

"Com'on, hurry. You've just enough time to grab your duds before the next bus leaves."


Constable McDougall watched from the squad car's front seat, as the hooker's bus pulled away from the depot.

"Unorthodox," Archie commented approvingly, "and it rid us of two sources of vice."

"Damn it, Arch, what was I supposed to do?" Tom Holt's voice snapped from the squad car's shadowy back seat.

"Lana Tilson was my date to the Junior Prom. I can't arrest her for solicitation."

* * * * *

Mini-Mart Mate by Alex de Kok

"Sally?" The stranger was hesitant

"No, I'm Al, Sally's sister."

His face cleared. "You're - "

" - Twins? Yep, sure are." She smiled at the stranger. Middle-aged, but well-kept; a little rugged, even. "You want to see Sally?"

The man nodded. "I'm Chuck Mellor. I told Sally I'd stop by."

Alison pointed. "She's having her break. You'll find her in the stockroom."

Chuck smiled. "Thanks." He moved toward the rear of the store.

Alison checked the CCTV monitor under the counter. The aisles were clear. She sometimes wondered why she and Sally bothered staying open after eight mid-week, then grinned, switching in the extra CCTV circuit. This was one reason. The image was black-and-white, but clear and sharp. Sally was in a hot clinch with Chuck.

As Alison watched she saw his hand come up and cup her sister's breast. Sally lifted his hand away, only to tuck it inside her hurriedly unzipped coverall. Alison grinned. Like Sally, she wore little under the coverall in the summer heat; in Alison's case it was only panties. She also, like Sally, enjoyed the touch of a man's hands on her tits.

A couple of teenaged girls came in, quickly purchasing gum and sodas and going out giggling, heads together. Sally looked at the monitor.

Wow, sis! Quick work. Jeez, can you really swall - ? Damn, you can! Deep-throat Devine! Way to go! She watched avidly for a moment, admiring Sally's technique. Can't beat a good blowjob. Hmm. Damp panties.

"Excuse me?"

The voice brought her back to the store; another stranger, this one in a zipped leather jacket, crash helmet in hand. Cropped greying hair, Zapata mustache and the brightest blue eyes Alison had ever seen.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Oops! Nearly got caught.

"I'm looking for Al Stone?"

"That's me. Al-for-Alison."

The man smiled. "You advertised a Tiger 100 for sale? I'm Charlie West - I run 'Charlie's Harleys'. I'm interested in old bikes."

"It's out at the farm. It was my Dad's."

"Can I see it?"

"Tomorrow? I could show you the bike in daylight."

"If I pick you up at ten? Here?"

"Here at ten? Great. Do we go by bike?"

"Sure, if you wish."

"I'd love it!" Alison grinned. "Have you a spare crash helmet?"

"No problem. See you at ten tomorrow. 'Bye for now." He smiled again and went out.

Alison returned her attention to the CCTV monitor. Sally was naked now, on her knees, Chuck behind her, jeans around his ankles, his prick pistoning into Sally's pussy.

I wish we had sound, Alison thought, then grinned. Perhaps not; might scare the customers.

As Alison watched, Chuck jerked in climax, then bent forward over Sally's back, panting. Eventually, he eased back and out. Shit! I bet you knew he was there, Sal!

A few minutes later, Sally and Chuck came through from the stockroom. Chuck kissed Sally and moved to the door. "See you Thursday."

"'Bye, Chuck. I'll look forward to it."

As he went through the door, Sally turned to her sister, eyes sparkling. "Did you watch?"

"Most of it. I had customers."

"He's hung!"

"I noticed," Alison said dryly.

"Are we swapping?"

"Maybe. Oh! Can you handle the store by yourself tomorrow morning?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I think I have a buyer for Dad's old Triumph."

"Great! What's he like?"

"Quite a lot like your Chuck. Fortyish, droopy mustache. Runs 'Charlie's Harleys'."

"You like him?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

"Can I look forward to a TV show?"

"Maybe. Let you know after tomorrow morning."

"Well, if not, on Thursday you can be Sally, and I'll watch."

* * * * *

Sam and Janet's Evening by PierceStreet

Sam Thompson pulled into his driveway just after dark. His hour commute from the factory in a nearby town back home to Snippettsville was done for another day. Thinking he and his wife might go out for a drink, he left the car out front instead of pulling it around to the back of the house.

He was surprised to find his wife Janet already asleep in their darkened bedroom. She murmured something when he walked in. She was asleep on her side, her back to Sam. Sam stepped out of his clothes, and slid under the covers with her. He was a little surprised to find her sleeping nude. She only did that when she wanted sex. His prick hardened, delighted at the surprise. He slipped his arms around her, and fondled her breasts as he started to kiss her neck.

Janet’s deep moan of passion surprised him. She reached over and found him and started pulling at him. “I must have woken her during an erotic dream,” he thought. His wife normally needed more foreplay to get going. His hand reached lower, and confirmed she was ready. His fingers stroked her, moving to her clit when he sensed she needed it.

Before he expected it, she wanted him. She raised herself to her knees and offered herself doggy style. He was thrilled. She loved this position because of the penetration it allowed, but thought it impersonal so she rarely wanted it this way. Janet’s long dirty blonde hair covered her face as she buried her head to the pillow as he entered her.

Sam was amazingly turned on by the unexpected opportunity, and his wife’s seeming quick passion. He too loved doggy style. He loved grabbing her tits and fingering her clit while he fucked her. Both of them wanted it hard; almost brutal fucking. Janet buried her face in the pillow and screamed as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her. He was thrilled by his power tonight over her. Multi-orgasms were rare for her. He also was glad the pillow was muffling her screams. A hot night, every window was open, and if not for the pillows, the neighbors would think he was murdering her. He started to come, and like hers, his orgasm seemed to last longer than most nights. He was totally spent when it was over, and motionless, remained in her. When he finally withdrew, she rolled to her side again, and with a mighty sigh, was asleep.

Sam slipped out of bed and gathered his clothes. He dressed in the hallway and went downstairs to see what he could find for dinner.

His wife was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the news on the little TV they had in there. “Hi hon,” she said cheerfully. “My sister got in a day early. She drove the last 20 hours straight through. I didn’t have the guest room ready yet since I was expecting her until tomorrow. Jane was so exhausted, I put my twin down on our bed. I’ll make up the guest room for us tonight.

“You look hungry. Ready for dinner?”

* * * * *

Sian Speaks by perdita

Hannah was only four years older than me but it may as well have been ten or twenty. At eighteen I’d been done by a couple boys and seduced by one of the town’s gents, but Hannah taught me how to fuck and cum like a geological event. She was a “master class”.

I fell in love with her as hard as any teen crush I’d had for a teacher, only this was a bit more thorough—a fantasy after the fact—which I reckon is how a fetish is born.

Hannah seemed immune to the paralysis I endured as a living brain in a hick town where the cock pickings were slim and too narrowly spread, let alone the opportunity for good conversation. Here I am decades later and the first sight of my sex-goddess incarnate turns me eighteen again.

When Hannah returned from taking the boy to his room I was leaning against the counter like that first time I took a chance. I look nearly the same, just older and forcibly wiser. I have a grudge against gravity but I’m grateful my tits are still appreciated and I love what the San Francisco hills did for my thighs. “Good for clamping,” a boy remarked recently.

“Well look who came back to the watering hole. Thirsty, Shorn?”

We hugged and talked—mostly I talked—telling Hannah what I’d been doing, why I was in Snippettsville, and how I felt about it.

“A real film script? About Snipps? Who’s gonna play me? Kathy Bates would be cool. You, sweet one, that Lange woman if she puts on a few pounds and is willing to look like a senior dyke of a punk. God, I still love your look.”

I explained I was there for details and ambience, didn’t have plans to turn Snipps folk into stereotypical roles.

“Listen, doll, I’ve got a new guest to tend. Where are you staying—I’ve got one more room—it’s yours. Bring your bags tonight, come late as you want. I’ll be ready and wet. Let’s fuck hysterical for old time’s sake. Now give me one of your sloppiest kisses, sweetcheeks.”

I returned after two a.m. Hannah entered, her great breasts undulating under her skimpy robe which opened and closed rhythmically over her hairy mons. She let the robe go and sat on a counter stool naked and oblivious to the big window facing it. I dropped fast to my knees and began tongue-fucking her luscious puss just as she taught me, and as I’d taught a number of men.

Her orgasm was seismic but quiet for Hannah. I could feel her low growns reverberate from deep within her womb. I imagined her cervix dilated as if ready to expel a baby; she climaxed as if giving that final push. After a bit of tender coming-down licks and nibbles I flattened my tongue smooth and ran it past her still throbbing clit, up the scraggly trail to her navel and further up through her sweating cleavage and clavicle, and onwards past her throat to that luscious mouth still panting and mewing, making those special hissing sounds I’ve heard from no one else.

As I fucked her mouth I caught sight of the boy. He was watching this spectrally lit scene. Our eyes met and locked. I was overcome beyond my lust for Hannah. I stared at his shadowed form and extended the fuck to include his gaze. I wanted a cock—fast.

“Jeezusgawd, Sian, are you trying to kill me with that kiss-fuck? Let me have a breather you stop-up slut.”

* * * * *

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