A Quiet Little Town

A Quiet Little Town

Sex crazed nymphos do their best to screw you senseless

Chapter 1 by spentbob spentbob

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You are Bob, a freelance journalist, scraping a living writing terrible pieces for the worst magazines, tabloids and websites. When you started out you had dreams to making your name by finding the fabled Big Scoop, but as the years dragged by, you find yourself struggling just to pay the rent. Recently, however, you've got wind of a story that might just make your name.

Tony, an acquaintance of yours returned from a holiday backpacking around the English countryside, and came back with a story about an amazing little village he happened across, a tiny little place hidden deep in the middle of nowhere with the exotic sounding name of "Spurting-Spent". He tells you that the population there is 95% female, and they are all, in his words "constantly up for it" - a village full of horny, sexually aggressive women, just like in those stories on the internet!

He says he spent a fortnight there, getting screwed half to by just about every woman he met, being passed around like a toy, and even grabbed on the streets and dragged into houses by them on occasion. He says he ended up completely exhausted, but they'd still give him no rest, and he finally managed to escape by slipping out of the house of the girls who were then screwing him - two nerdy sisters, one of whom was a librarian - and staggering out across the moors till he happened across a road and managed to hitch a lift.

You'd have dismissed his wild tales of this place, but after looking a little further into it, you find reports of young men having gone missing in that area on a fairly regular basis going as far back as the records do. Looking deeper, you find a few mentions of the place, which seem to be speaking in some sort of secretive code, in posts and messages that are usually swiftly deleted. Searching ever deeper, you dig up a few scattered stories from people who know someone who says they visited the town, and eventually - thanks to an anonymous email tip-off - find a deeply buried forum where a few guys have shared their supposed personal "True Accounts" of their experiences in the place, and even a few arch, smug and deeply cryptic messages from posters purporting to be women who visited or reside in the town.

Their stories are all at least as lurid and unlikely sounding as Tony's, and you'd have dismissed it all as a collection of wank fantasies if not for the notes of genuine wonder, fear and desperation in the accounts, a general feeling in the accounts that while these guys are bragging about their wild experiences in the town, they were left feeling outclassed, ultimately inadequate, and generally lucky to have got out again. Those young men who vanished in the area - perhaps they never managed to, were swallowed alive by a village of saucy sexy-mad siren and succubuses? It still seems unlikely, to be sure, but if you could visit this town and write a report on it, maybe find out what happened to some of the missing men, it'd be front page news for at least the more salacious tabloids.

You start making tentative plans to pay a visit to the place, but your plans are stymied when the underground forum that was your main source of information is mysteriously deleted overnight, leaving not a trace. That's not going to stop an intrepid journalist like you, though - you contact Tony again, and after an hour of wheedling and cajoling and outright bribery, he finally tells you how to find the mysterious village of Spurting Spent. He makes one final attempt to talk you out of your mission, then gives up with a shaky, weary laugh.

"Ah, you're not gonna listen to me, are you?" he laughs, "I mean, I'm going back there myself. Gonna leave tomorrow."

That was two weeks ago. You haven't heard from him since.

This morning you're driving your car along the pretty hedgerow lined roads of the British country side, and after many long, frustrating hours have managed to find your way through the labyrinth of twisting, turning lanes and back-roads, and your car is just approaching the outskirts of Spurting Spent.

Be careful in there....


You park your car beneath a row of trees opposite a cute little corner shop and look around. The sun is beating down, and the village looks quiet and picturesque, a postcard image of an English village - all half timbered houses and hedges, a quaint pub and a pretty little church. Nearby, a pretty brunette waters the plants in her back yard. Everything is peacefully and quiet and normal and everyday. You can't help but feel let down, that you've wasted your time, and wonder if you're maybe the victim of some incredibly convoluted wind-up. Do you really think there's a world or crazy wild women boffing men blind in such a sleepy little village? Could Tony really be here, lured helplessly back into a horny honey trap and getting screwed slowly senseless? It suddenly seems very unlikely.
Oh well, you're here now, you might as well start your investigations...

Your friends story of the librarian is your major lead, you suppose, but you have no idea where the library is. You have a notebook full of notes about his other stories of this place, as well as many more collected from the underground forum and other back corners of the internet, but you'd rather find somewhere quiet to go through them, rather than sit reading the saucy accounts in your hot and stuffy car.

Failing that, you could just trust in your journalistic instinct and wander around and see what you can find...

What do you do first?

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