Tales from Snippettsville Issue 06

Hello, and welcome to the sixth 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 6
Lisa Hitchhikes by PierceStreet
Running by jon.hayworth
In Flagrante by gauchecritic
Graduation - Sian and Hannah by perdita

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

Now read on...

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Lisa Hitchhikes by PierceStreet

Bill Davis thought this would be another boring drive back to college. He was taking a cutoff from the interstate to pick up a state road. His headlights caught the image of a late teen woman walking along. This was the middle of nowhere and late, and she obviously didn't belong out here. He braked and backed up to her.

"Are you OK?" She took a moment to answer, assessing him, and the danger. She stood a few feet from the car, prudently he thought.

"Yeah. Just a date gone bad. I'm walking home."

"How far is home?"

"About 10 miles down this road."

"I'm going that far, farther still. Do you want a ride? My name is Bill."

"Hi Bill, I'm Lisa. Yeah, I could use a ride." She opened the door and hiked herself up into his SUV, actually his Dad's old SUV.

After riding silently for a while, Bill had to ask, "Lisa, you said a date gone bad, and you were willing to walk 10 miles. How bad was it? I mean, do you want me to drop you off at the police station or something."

"That's sweet Bill. No I wasn't raped. It's just this guy I was out with actually used the line, 'Put out or walk home.' At first, I thought he was kidding. I mean how Neanderthal. But he was serious so I took the walk option."

Bill relaxed, and out of the corner of his eye, checked her out. She was a tall girl, about 5'9", trim waist. She had on a thin skirt that was rather long, below her knees. Lisa was getting comfortable too. She slipped off her leather jacket. Underneath, a white blouse barely contained large, full breasts threatening to burst the buttons. She was dressed to attract.

She liked what she saw out of the corner of her eye too. "Maybe tonight wasn't a total washout", she thought. "Time to give him a hint."

"The ironic thing is Bill, he was demanding what in five minutes or so, I'd have offered."

That admission floored him, so he said nothing.

"Want to take a few moments and see some local beauty?" Lisa asked as they neared town. She directed him to turn off and drive down Green Lake road to an overlook. A full moon hung over the lake.

"This is beautiful."

"This isn't the local beauty I meant" He looked over at her. She'd unbuttoned her blouse. On nights she anticipated sex, Lisa went without underwear. He had that stunned look on his face she loved when guys realized she was theirs for the taking.

He pulled her close to her and kissed her, his hands found her magnificent breasts. Her hands worked his belt open. She broke the kiss, and began giving him head.

"You're fabulous at that."

"Learned it right here." She returned to his cock and kept at it until he came in her mouth. She swallowed every drop, a matter of pride to her.

They moved to the cargo area in back. Playfully, she hiked her skirt up and flashed him her pussy. "See anything you want?"

Bill astonished her by grabbing her hips to hold her and lowered his mouth to her. He too was a consummate at what he did and soon had her squirming around the back of the SUV.

"Bill, I need you to give it to me now," she demanded soon. "Bill, do me, fuck me," she gasped.

Afterwards, "Aren't you glad my Dad expects his kids to repay every favor? We're proud people around here. Horny too."

* * * * *

Running by jon.hayworth

A week passed by and became two weeks. I only used the room I rented from Hannah to write in – night times Hannah wanted to make whoopee. Hannah turned out to be an insomniac with a libido as big as Texas, and I was unable to keep up.

At first I tried to be diplomatic, saying things like, "you can have too much of a good thing," or, "waiting makes it even more exciting," but Hannah McGuire choose to ignore my comments.

When I walked into the store for a package of cigarettes Ethel Carr saw my eyes were damn near falling shut. "How are you today? Looking kinda peaky to me," she called, "Jack this writer fella from England is looking all done in."

Jack came out of the stock-room looked over and grinned, him knowing I was a writer and him aspiring to be a writer gave us a common bond in his eyes. "Looks like Hannah's been making too many demands."

"Jack!" Ethel said sharply looking around to see if there was anyone in earshot, "she always was one for the men – demanding more than any man has, if you know what I mean."

Both Jack and I bristled at this assault on our masculinity, an unspoken alliance against the aggressive female sex was instantly formed.

"Jack, I'll tell you what I do need, some place quiet where I can do some writing. I'm falling behind on my deadlines," I added giving Jack a one writer to another writer look.

"There's the cabin up above Green Lake, but it's kinda isolated. No running water and no electricity, we hardly use it."

"Can I ride the bike up there?"

"The trail's rough but my truck gets up there."

"I'll take it."

---------------

I sneaked out of the back of the Dinner whilst there was a miniature rush about noon. Clipped the Krauzers onto the BMW and rode out of town on the road to Green Lake. I parked near the lake and settled down to wait.

I was just finishing a beer and my second cigarette when I heard a vehicle, Jack's Chevy truck pulled up. "Your supplies are in the back. Follow me."

When we turned off the tarmac road onto the trail I had to pull my visor down to shield my eyes from the hail of small stones that shot at me from the truck's tires. We passed a small cluster of cabins and the rough track narrowed, half a mile later Jack stopped next to a small dilapidated cabin.

"Told you it weren't up to much, but you can use it."

He helped me carry in the boxes of food and five gallon cans of kerosene for the lamps. "Hope you like being alone, and watch out for the bears at night."
When he had gone I explored – the cabin smelt unused but the open door and windows soon cured that. I found an outbuilding that I could put the bike in, inside it I found a rusty old generator – someday when I had time I would tinker with it, maybe I could make it run.

For the first time in days I wrote – I mean I wrote words that I wanted to keep, words that I felt enthusiastic about.

As I was falling asleep I thought to myself, this little cabin might be isolated and primitive but I like it, with a little bit of work it would make a good home - it was the sort of place where a single man could put down some roots.

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In Flagrante by gauchecritic

Watching Jerry Springer on the TV at 2.30 in the afternoon isn't my idea of a good holiday, however naked the stripping she-male gets. Realising you're then in the studio audience and chanting Jairy, Jairy Jairy, doesn't make it any better.

Suddenly I'm on the stage dancing with her/him and she/he is undressing me in front of the nation and has her/his hand down my trousers.

Now I'm laid down on the stage and it has become a field and my Scottish friend Iain is slowly lowering his face towards my rigid cock. With his eyes firmly fixed on mine I notice, squint how I may, I can barely see his colourless eyebrows.

Now, I start to embarrassingly push my hips forward to let my cock meet his lips. Trembling and beginning to exude sweat I notice a glistening trail from his lips to my foreskin. This isn't right. I'm not gay. I'm not even bi-curious. I push, wanting his mouth to envelop me.

I open my eyes.

I'm not in a field.

This bobbing head at my groin isn't Iain's ginger head. This full-figured woman sucking on my cock isn't my pale bodied college friend.

I tore my attention away from Hannah's deep, very deep throat, her nose nubbing across my pubes, twisting her head somehow, around my now fully sheathed prick.

2.30 am

Two simultaneous occurrences made my head swivel back. A banging on the outer front door and Hannah almost choking herself as she tried to disgorge faster than she should have.

Waiting, laid in bed, with a throbbing hard on, is a difficult occupation at best. I handed in my resignation and, pausing only to admire my rangy, nay stringy, self in the mirror, I sauntered through the blackening gloom.

Amazing, the minute sounds you can hear in the dead of night. Quiet, stifled gasps. The slither of clothing falling from a body. Air hissing through teeth. Gentle moans. Sharp intakes of breath.

The sounds grew as I approached the opened doorway leading to the ghostly-lit interior of the Diner.

Movement caused me to turn and see Hannah perch herself, naked on a stool at the counter, facing the window onto the street. Slick shining outlines drew my gaze. Her wide shoulders across the dark edge of the counter, arms akimbo, extended fingers grasping laminate. Her hair, fallen forward as she contemplated something (someone?) on the floor at her feet.

I stepped forward intent on discovering her display. She drew a quick, deep breath and threw her head back as her hair made an impromptu table cloth for a gourmand to slaver over. I stopped as Hannah's rhythmic, orchestrated breathing slashed through the silent diner. I knew that sound. That was Hannah being penetrated. I knew that sound. I puzzled momentarily; I could see her hands unoccupied, silvered skin counterpoint in texture to her spread hair along the counter.

I leaned forward. Hannah's deep hung breasts rose and fell, finally bringing an accurate picture to the phrase in my head: 'heaving bosoms'. I bit my bottom lip and balanced tiptoe to seesaw a head between those heavy, heavenly thighs moving back and forth, forth and back.

I almost gasped aloud as strong, yet curvaceous shoulders, rising, pushed Hannah's thighs apart to allow a long rasping tongue through her dark, damp pussy hair, up her belly, through that cavernous cleavage to slide it's way inside her waiting mouth.

A woman. A very strong and aggressive woman. I shall enjoy this.

Her eyes flickered from Hannah's to mine, to my lips to balancing fingers. Predator they thrilled.

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Graduation - Sian and Hannah by perdita

Sian watched the boy fake out Jack and Ethel. She could barely hear but his accent proved foreign, obviously a Brit. His contrived languages made her laugh.

"Good lad," she said to herself, "I'll make you laugh so you last."

When Hannah came out at Ethel's coarse call Sian went hot and cold at once.

"Hannah? Oh fuck! Hannah!"

Sian loved cock and penetration. Occasionally she went for women, never girls. Hannah was her first — buxom, wide-hipped, cherry-mouthed, skin like flower petals — but it was the scent that caught Sian. It trapped her like a bee to fresh nectar.

During the last week before graduation she stopped in the diner for coffee and a homemade donut. Sian had just cut her own hair, chopped it off trying to look like a femme Sid Vicious. She wanted to rid herself of girlhood and the vulgarity of being one more slut. Her ripening voluptuousness made the image difficult to achieve so she attacked her long tended mane of honey-blond waves and dyed the remaining shreds blue-black.

When Hannah set down the mug and doughnut Sian caught the pregnant scent. It was noisome but compelling. It was a heat. Sian felt its immediacy between her legs. She went up to the counter and took a chance, as she'd be leaving town within the week.

That evening Hannah opened her door wearing only an oversized black sweater with a plunging vee that exposed her refined cleavage.

"Come in, Shorn."

"You're the first person outside my family to say my name right."

Before she could say another word Hannah took hold of each side of Sian's head, holding her like a man while tongue-fucking her mouth into a near swoon.

"Come on, darlin', let's fuck til we're hysterical and you smell just like me."

Hannah led Sian down the hall but didn't stop until they reached the back door.

"Wait, where are we going? What . . . "

Hannah pulled her into an unkempt yard that looked like a small city dump.

"Don't talk, Sian. Let me do the fuck, trust me."

Though alone in the small fenced in wasteland, Sian felt excited at the exposure, at the possibility some one might be watching.

Against the wall next to the kitchen window Hannah pulled down Sian's jeans and white cotton taps. Unbuttoning the man's flannel shirt she was roused further finding only the girl's considerable breasts with half-puckered nipples.

Pressing hard against her Hannah finger-fucked Sian's moist cunt like a cock. Between her free hand and mouth she indulged all the rut and appetite she felt, petting and sucking the girl's tits and continuing the fuck in her mouth. She slavered over the nipples jutting hard from their mutable mounds, and the same inconstant lips that quivered uncontrollably.

Sian was aghast, frightened at her sensations, incredulous at the crudeness and ferocity of the woman. She climaxed hard and long, an earth's tremor of quakes and aftershocks.

"Leave the shirt on, I'm always expecting company."

Inside, Hannah sat on her recliner, spread her thick thighs and instructed Sian in plating.

"Push your tongue in—keep it in—scoop me out—um—yes baby—ha ha—a boy from Leeds did me like this—he was queer on pussy—now bring it out slow—right between the lips—ssssssss—flatten it hon—like you're licking a melted chocolate candy wrapper—or a dinner plate when the bread's run out—for sopping up the sauce—yes—Sian—you're bringing me home—lick up now—keep your tongue flat—yes—up across my clit—sssssssss—now do it—yes—do it til— ."

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