tagChain StoriesTales from Snippettsville Issue 09

Tales from Snippettsville Issue 09

bySnippettsville Group©

Hello, and welcome to the ninth 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 9
Buyer's Bonus by Alex de Kok
The Cabin by jon.hayworth
Leaving Snippettsville by Seattle Zack
Lost Souls by soupwarsproject

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

Now read on...

* * * * *

Buyer's Bonus by Alex de Kok

"There it is, Charlie. One Tiger 100."

"Very nice, Al. Does it start?"

"It did a month ago. Haven't tried since."

"Magneto ignition, so no worries about the battery." Charlie straddled the old Triumph, pulled in the clutch lever and kicked a couple of times to free the plates, then made sure the gearbox was in neutral. He took a firm grip, half-jumped and brought his weight down firmly on the kickstart. The engine burst into life with the unmistakable roar of the parallel twin-cylinder engine. Charlie revved it up a couple of times, listening carefully to the engine, then eased it to a tickover.

"Can I try it out, Al?"

"Sure," said Alison. She stepped neatly up behind him and settled herself. "Go that way," she pointed. "There's an old barn about a mile along."

"That'll be okay. Hang on!" Charlie selected first, took a fistful of throttle and they were off. On the farm track the going was a little bumpy and Alison, conscious that she was helmetless, took a firm grip of Charlie's waist. The ride was exhilarating and she was sorry that it finished as Charlie pulled up at the old barn. He cut the engine and she stepped off, conscious suddenly that her panties were damp. Charlie pulled the bike onto its stand and turned to her.

"I'll buy it, Al. I'll give you your asking price, too."

"No haggling?" she laughed.

"No haggling." Charlie looked at her and she stared back at him. He moved an inch towards her and she echoed his movement. Again, and again and suddenly she was in his arms and their lips were crushed together in a heated kiss. Breathing heavily Alison tore her lips from his.

"The barn's not locked," she whispered.

He took her hand and led her inside. The warm gloom was broken by a shaft of sunlight slanting through a gap in the timbers. Charlie grabbed a horseblanket and flicked it open on a pile of straw. Alison gasped as he picked her up and laid her on the blanket. For a moment she just lay there then she raised her arms to him.

"Sure?" he asked.

Alison laughed, slightly shaky. "Absolutely certain, Charlie. I'm old enough to know what I want, and I want you."

"I want you, too." He threw off his jacket, reached down and pulled off her sneakers, then reached to her waist and loosened the front of her jeans. "Lift your ass."

She did and he pulled her jeans off, then sat for a moment to pull off his boots and socks, before standing to remove his jeans. She stared at the bulge in his boxers and unconsciously licked her lips as he pushed down and kicked off the undershorts before pulling his shirt off over his head. Naked he went to his knees beside her, his cock hot and hard in the warm gloom.

Charlie reached out and took Alison's hand, pulling her to a seated position and stripping her sweater off over her head. Thumb and forefinger made short work of her bra and his strong hands simply ripped the panties from her hips.

He smiled at her start of surprise. "I'll buy you new ones."

She grinned. "Pay me with a fuck."

"My pleasure, ma'am."

"It'd better be our pleasure, Charlie West."

"Yes, ma'am." He bent and kissed her, lingeringly. "Now hush."


"I'll think of something."

"Promises, prom - ooh!" she said as his cock slid an inch into her wetness. "Oh, fuck, that feels good!"

"Enjoy it, Al."

"Yes," she hissed. "Fuck me, Charlie!"

* * * * *

The Cabin by jon.hayworth

When I made my offer to buy the cabin from Jack and Ethel, Jack was genuinely overjoyed at the prospect of having another writer in town – although by the chronicles which have recently appeared there were many writers in and around Snippetsville.

As I worked on a short piece for a British Magazine I could hear the throb of the old generator, the slow running little engine had become the cabin's heartbeat - a comfortable disruption of the silent forest. The deeper sound of a truck's engine heralded an unwanted interruption – at times Jack was getting to be a royal pain in the ass! I shut down the laptop.

It was Ethel not Jack who stood at the door. "Just dropped by."

"Come in Ethel."

Her eyes swept the room taking in the improvements I had made – a couple of book shelves and a lick of paint. "Why you've made it real nice. Jack said you had fixed the electricity. Jack's no good with practical things," she sighed, a note of despair in her voice.

"I'm just making coffee? I have some beer – it's not cold, I still have to get a refrigerator."

"A beer will be fine."

I poured two beers, when we were seated I said, "is there something you wanted?"

"Nope I was just passing by."

A palpable lie no one but hunters or hikers could be just passing by this, and Ethel was not dressed for hiking. "It is nice to have a visitor," I said.

"Not disturbing your writing or anything."

She giggled, squirmed and flushed like a schoolgirl when I replied, "I never mind being disturbed by a beautiful woman."

"Isn't Hannah McGuire a beautiful woman?" she asked archly. My response was noncommittal, she went on to tell me how much Hannah was missing me, "she says you're a unique man, someone who not only knows the moves but also knows how to push all the right buttons."

I swigged my beer, "I also need my own space."

"Hannah said you've not called around – she's missing you. You know Jack knows the moves, maybe he knows the buttons in theory but somehow he never quite pushes them." As she spoke she wriggled in her seat causing her skirt to creep up treating me to a view of three-quarters of her thigh. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them, revealing a glimpse of her panties. In a husky breathless voice she added, "it is not that I do not love Jack, but I think it would be nice to have an uncomplicated fling with a man who knew what he was doing."

According to one of my ex-wives, my life has been controlled by my cock, "Willy-led", she called it and I guess that's true, because without considering the consequences in a trice I had moved nearer to her, taken hold of her hand and looking her in the eyes said, "Ethel if that is a proposition, I suggest we get more comfortable."

"Oh that is so British," she said as I kissed her hand.

"Come on," I said tugging her to her feet. I walked behind her, my arms around her, my hands toying with her breasts. When we reached the bed, her exposed breasts were supported by my hands.

Ethel, like a wildcat, tore our clothes off. In minutes we were rolling on the bed and I was plumbing the depths of Ethel's inventive mind as I fullfilled her fantasies. Jack Carr's faults were my good fortune – long may he write and not do!

* * * * *

Leaving Snippettsville by Seattle Zack

Allison walked past the black Plymouth, parked with its engine idling, as she approached the Farmer's Bank of Snippetsville. Another bad morning, her aunt already surly and half-drunk -- she dreaded going home after work. It was 8:53, right on time, as she unlocked the employee entrance.

A force – there was no other way to describe it – struck her from behind, sweeping her into the building. He was huge, strong, pure momentum, pushing, carrying her down the hallway. The impulse to scream was abruptly stifled by a large hand clamped over her mouth.

"Don't move." A menacing whisper in her ear. "Don't think. Don't breathe. Got it?"

Desperately, she nodded. He pulled out a silvery revolver with his free hand. Fear hammering through her, she made a muffled whimper.

"Where's the manager?" One door in front of them led to the teller cages, the other out to the bank floor. Mr. Portner would be in his office, as always at this time in the morning. She nodded towards the door to her right, finally getting a look at her captor as he relaxed his hold. Dark gray eyes through his Halloween mask – Casper the Friendly Ghost. Big shoulders, a black sweater, knapsack over his shoulder. She shuddered at the feel of his body against her.

"Lead the way." Awkwardly stumbling, she was propelled forward by his fierce grip in her hair. He opened the office door with an explosive kick and strode forward, the huge pistol in front of him. "The vault. Open it. Now!"

Mr. Portner – pale moon face, mouth open in surprise – stuttered, raising his hands. "I can't!" he squeaked. "It's on a time lock!"

Allison felt the cold imprint of the steel barrel against her temple. "Now! Or this bitch dies!"

Mr. Portner shook his head, mouth gaping like a fish. Allison's eyes narrowed as the rage welled up inside her. All the times she had felt his gaze on her, little toadlike tongue at the corner of his mouth. Standing too close behind her as she counted her till. "Fucker!" she hissed.

The robber lowered the gun, looking down at her. "He's lying?"

"Yes," she whispered balefully. "He can open it."

Once in the vault, Allison stuffed the bundled bricks of cash into the knapsack. Mr. Portner squirmed on the floor, his wrists and ankles taped. The robber must have known about the large cash drop the day before, to cover the quarterly government subsidy checks. There was easily more than a quarter-million dollars in the vault. Unable to fit all the bills, she zipped the knapsack closed.

He hoisted the bag over one shoulder, grunting with the effort. "Get back with your boss. I won't tie you up, just lock you in."

Something stirred in the pit of her belly -- he was so powerful, so masculine! "Take me with you," she suddenly blurted, stepping forward.

"Crazy bitch --" He raised the pistol, pointing it at her face.

She quivered, the exciting tingle of danger surging through her. Allison made eye contact and put her mouth around the cold steel barrel. Slowly she sucked at it, tasting the oily tang. The robber watched, fascinated.

"I'll do whatever you want," she murmured. Coyly she ran her tongue around the tip of the barrel.

He was silent for a moment. "Do you like Mexico?" he asked, almost conversationally.

Allison squealed with delight as the Plymouth tore away from the bank, tires smoking. The bag full of money in the back seat, they left Snippetsville.

* * * * *

Lost Souls by soupwarsproject

Two barbells in venom formation decorated Chino's split tongue. A forgotten frenectomy elongated the serpentine appendage by five additional inches. It swirled around the reverse P.A. on Lobo's circumcised cock that grew thick and purplish.

Past the straight slave frenum and the steel dolphin curve on the underside of the shaft, Chino slid. He ensured that the ball labret on his uvula did not catch on axiom ring of the reverse P.A. as he carefully swallowed Lobo's length. The roof of Chino's mouth tickled as he slid back up to the head. His saliva heated Lobo's jewelry to a blissful temperature. Chino repeated the action in quick bursts as a Goth-industrial remake of "Happy Shiny People" blared on the stereo.

"Snippettsville..." Lobo muttered idly as he noticed a familiar road sign. "Have you ever been to Snippettsville?"

Chino stopped and glared at Lobo. "Are we lost?"

The horizontal platinum ball transdermals that replaced Lobo's eyebrows slanted. "No."

Chino peeked up. "This doesn't look like Cuento Largo."

"This is a shortcut," Lobo growled through silver fangs.

"Shortcut my ass!" Chino returned to his seat as he chided Lobo with a hiss. "Is Snippetsville even on that shitty map?"

"We'll hit the Interstate soon."

"You had to get the free map at the rest stop instead of paying for a road atlas, didn't you?" Chino checked himself on the rearview mirror. His eyeliner looked fine, but he needed to reapply his black lipstick. His hair needed brushing too.

"Chino, shut up." Lobo had the sense to tattoo and depilate his entire head, thereby avoiding such aesthetic hassles.

"If we miss Lolita's Trail of Destruction..."

Lobo interrupted the threat. "Shit! We're running on fumes. I should've paid attention to the fuel gauge."

Chino pointed. "There's a station over there." The Station was the establishment's unimaginative name.

Chino went inside while Lobo took care of gas. A redhead, barely contained by her scarlet dress, filled her Chevy's tank at a nearby pump. She laughed at Lobo as he picked up the nozzle. He ignored her as he tended to the black Saturn sedan. The blushing woman pointed at Lobo's crotch as she spoke between gasps. "Um... Does that thing hurt during sex?"

Lobo yelped, turned around and zipped his leather pants.

Inside The Station, Chino tapped the shoulder of a pudgy geezer with male pattern baldness and a nametag that read "HERBERT" and "Manager". "How do I get to Cuento Largo?"

"There's a shortcut..." Herbert smiled warmly.

"No shortcuts," Chino snapped. "I need the Interstate."

Herbert pointed at the register. "Amy Jo, can you help this nice gentleman?" He confessed to Chino, "I never take highways."

Amy Jo shuddered at the task but said, "Sure," anyway. She eyed the stranger in black and snapped her gum. "Go north on Main and keep going straight until you hit the Interstate exit." She tried to avoid staring at the jewelry and brandings behind his mesh shirt. He had horns. She didn't want to know, so she didn't ask.

Lobo opened the glass door. "Gas pump five, Chino!"

The Goth with snake eyes acknowledged his partner and looked back at the cashier. "How much?"

Amy Jo snapped her gum. "Eighteen fifteen."

Chino dropped his change into the penny cup. The lovers conversed as they returned to the car. Lobo laughed as they drove off. "I knew we weren't lost."

Chino glared at Lobo as the engine purred. "I suppose I owe you an apology."

"Come again?" Lobo flashed his gloating silver grin.

"Exactly..." The driver grinned as his fork-tongued companion resumed their favorite activity.

* * * * *

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