Stories Hub / Chain Stories / Tales from Snippettsville Issue 16

Tales from Snippettsville Issue 16

by Snippettsville Group 08/03/04

Hello, and welcome to the sixteenth 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 16

Koadi and the Cop by Quasimodem
The Bright Edge by Lancelot Knight
Holly and the Ivy Leaguer by Alex de Kok
Petite Fulfillment by Champagne1982

Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Alex de Kok, 2004
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003

Now read on...

* * * * *

Koadi and the Cop by Quasimodem

Early one afternoon Archie McDougall sauntered into the Showboat Hotel, and stepped up to the bar.

“A splash of Jack Daniels, my good man,” Archie requested.

The bartender poured two fingers, then passed them to the constable.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Nivens,” a female voice could be heard coming from beside the stage. “Last time Constable McDougall was in here, he practically wrecked the joint. Cassidy won’t be happy seeing him back.”

“Was that fat prat your boyfriend, Koadi?” Archie inquired disparagingly.


“That’s right, yours was the ugly goon,” Archie agreed. “You go for big dumb bastards, don’t you?”

“That can’t be right, Archie-balls,” the girl replied, “otherwise, I’d be crazy for you.”

“You know what they say about hookers and cops.”

“I am not,” the girl vehemently exclaimed, “a hooker.”

“Close,” Archie interjected.

“I’m a showgirl!”

“Whose talent is reflecting light,” Archie agreed, “without her clothes on.”

With clenched jaw, the girl turned to the jukebox.

“Archie-balls is here, Nivens, to protect this one-horse town from my evil influence. Isn’t that right, Constant Bull?”

Hips swaying aggressively, the stripper sashayed up to the jukebox. Bending over to select her tune, perhaps accidentally, she betrayed a lack of underwear beneath her excessively short skirt.

As the jukebox started to play, the stripper gyrated to the music, in the most provocative way she could imagine.

Archie leaned back against the bar while he sipped his Jack Daniels, eyes never leaving the undulating girl before him.

“So, Archie-balls,” the stripper asked, mischievously, “what can I do you for today?”

“You seem to be doing as much as I can accept,” Constable McDougall replied, stolidly. “At least, while in uniform, Miss Koadi.”

“It’s not Miss Koadi,” the stripper feelingly declared.

“Missus Koadi?”

“Oah!” the girl exclaimed, “Not Missus, either.”

“First name, is it?” Constable McDougall enacted his celebrated ‘hick cop’ role. “What’s your second name, Ack?”

The stripper made a sound like an exploding kitten.

“My name is Koadi,” she insisted. “Just one word, like Madonna, or Cher.”

“Or Meatloaf,” McDougall added, helpfully.

The girl made another strangled sound, as Constable McDougall tossed back his Jack Daniels.

Placing an arm across the girl’s shoulders, he compelled her to accompany him toward the exit.

“I’ve just finished putting in a long, tiring shift,” the Constable confessed, “and dropped in to unwind before bed. I don’t know why, but I find your dancing almost soothing, Miss Koadi.”

“Fun-ny!” the girl replied. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere,” Constable McDougall, replied. “Like I said, I’m going to bed. I thought you’d enjoy walking me to the door, maybe even give me a good-bye kiss.”

“I’d rather kiss a mule,” the girl vowed.

“Working up a new act?” McDougall inquired. “It’s about time.”

Archie halted before they reached the exit, then turned to gaze into the stripper’s eyes.

“I have no knowledge of you breaking any law, Koadi,” Constable McDougall confirmed. “I just stopped in, this afternoon, for a nightcap.”

Slowly, the constable moved closer, until his lips almost brushed against the girl’s ear.

“But, if you think you deserve punishment,” Archie whispered, “I’d be more than happy to accommodate you.”

He suddenly brought a cupped hand up beneath the girl’s short hem. It impacted loudly, if not painfully, against the girl’s naked bottom.

“Good afternoon, Miss Koadi.”

Archie’s chuckle followed the stripper’s squeak of surprise, then he sauntered through the exit of the Showboat Hotel.

Her hands clutching her abused bottom, the stripper followed Constable McDougall with her eyes, while a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Bloody cop,” the stripper murmured, unconvincingly.

* * * * *

The Bright Edge by Lancelot Knight

Jack had to admit that he had given it his best try. But twenty-two years of married life would dull anyone’s sensibilities. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Ethel-he surely did-it was just that after awhile you grew to know every inch of the landscape. He had memorized every nook and cranny of his wife’s body. He knew if he caressed the undersides of her breasts that she would shudder with delight, if he lightly grazed the inner portion of her thighs that she would whimper softly. He knew intimately the valley between her breasts and what she would do if he planted wet kisses there. He knew how she would squirm when he circled her clit. He knew all of this over and over again.

In the first decade, even two, of their marriage he had reveled in his wife. But finally, finally, their love-making had lost its bright edge.

In a phrase, Jack was bored.

To compensate, perhaps, Jack began to write erotica. Not long after Harry showed him how to use the computer and the internet, he discovered a site called Literotica. He couldn't remember how he found it He was fascinated by the freedom others had to express all sorts of fantasies. In the small town of Snippetsville, no one talked about fantasies!

Jack began to write stories himself and was amazed when readers would write to him, commenting on them. He was especially intrigued by one response, a reader who called herself Lara. They had begun a e-mail correspondence that quickly escalated from innocent flirting to the outright down-and dirty.

Ethel had long sensed the boredom in her marriage. But she was at a loss about what to do about it. Snippetsville didn’t offer any insights. She had tentatively raised the issue with her best friend Sarah, but Sarah responded incredulous by saying, “You’re talking about sex!”

Ethel had turned a bright red and ended the conversation.
Maybe, she thought, she could get some ideas from the new computer Harry had given them. She chanced on a site that printed erotic stories, and she was immediately captivated about the graphic details of the stories. She even found herself becoming aroused by some of the stories, her nipples hardening in her bra. After awhile, she worked up enough courage to write to some of the writers-first, women writers, then some men. She signed herself Lara. She even found herself exchanging erotic e-mails with one of the men.

One day the inevitable happened. Jack had to run into the general store quickly about something or another, so Ethel went into the room that served as their library, computer room, TV center. The screen was lit with that eerie ghost light computers have; the cursor was blinking. There on the screen she saw a reply that Jack had begun to an e-mail. What astonished Ethel was that it was her e-mail.

She heard a sound behind her.

It was Jack. “I can explain-” he began.

Ethel smiled. “There’s nothing to explain.”

She leaned back against the desk. Slowly she lifted her skirt to reveal legs that were still shapely. She wasn’t wearing any panties. “Didn’t you tell me I shouldn’t wear any panties?”


She drew him into her arms. “And in one e-mail didn’t you say something about wanting to try a nooner?”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think I did.”

And as she drew him into her arms, as they merged into understanding, Jack and Ethel, holding more than hands, entered into an entirely new world of possibilities.

* * * * *

Holly and the Ivy Leaguer by Alex de Kok

Holly Patton pressed her thighs together as the Porsche took the corner twenty miles an hour faster than she'd ever dared in her Mustang. She felt her panties getting wetter, the adrenalin stimulation turning sexual.

The driver glanced at her. "Where do I turn?"

"Not the next left, but the one after, then it's second right."

Five minutes later, they pulled up outside the cabin. Helping her out, he reached behind the seats for her overnight bag and placed it on the gravel beside her.

"Thanks for the lift, David. Would you like to come in for a coffee?" she said, trying to sound casual.

He grinned, that lop-sided grin she remembered from Snippettsville High, before he went East, the too-long hair still falling over his eyes.

"I'd love to," he said, picking her bag up again.

She led the way inside, but when she turned to give him directions he was right behind her and they almost collided. Startled, she stared at him, uncertain. He stared back, and she realised that there was want in his look. She raised her hand, hesitant. He dropped her bag and suddenly she was in his arms and they were kissing, tongues duelling, her own want rising, fuelled by his. She broke the kiss and shuddered, her head against his chest, thrilling as his hands came up to cup her breasts. Gathering her scattered wits, she took his hand and led him into the bedroom, the wetness between her legs growing.

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