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
Illustrations
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."
"Or?"
"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?"