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
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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.