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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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The Torment And The Triumph
by DirtyJoe69 (olddirtyjoe69@yahoo.ca)

***

A girl's life of rape and torture and how she overcomes 
it! (Mf, ped, nc, rp, inc, v)

***

Author's Note: This story is very graphic. It is sad in 
its nature. Not all experiences are wonderful 
experiences. If you can make it through this tale you 
will be pleased by the ending. If painful scenarios 
upset you, please don't read this story! Any comments 
would be appreciated: olddirtyjoe69@yahoo.ca

***

TICK... TOCK... TICK... TOCK... 

I hear the clock ticking as the fear begins to form 
deep within my guts. With each TICK... it festers 
there, like an infectious scab. With each TOCK... 
another tear rolls down my cheek. I have asked myself a 
million, million times when the nightmare called my 
life would end. Many times I have thought of a blissful 
and happy end. Just to fall of the edge of the world 
and dance with the angels. 

Yes that might bring a smile to my face. I have seen 
smiles before. Happy kids out playing in the street, 
strangers passing by, perhaps laughing at a joke. To 
smile and laugh what paradise is this that I have never 
known? At least not in a recollection that I can 
recall. Not even in the darkest corners of my mind can 
I remember a smile. I wish upon that day when a smile 
might form on my mouth or a giggle might escape my 
throat. 

However; I can never see that happening. I have been 
trapped in this hell for so long I am afraid I have 
forgotten myself. You put me in this prison! I fucking 
hate you! Everyday, for so many years that I can not 
begin to count, I prayed to God almighty himself that 
you would die in a horrific accident! Maybe a barrel of 
acid could fall on you at work. Yes, that would be 
good! It would be so ironic if acid took your life away 
because your being is acidic to the core. 

TICK... TOCK... TICK... TOCK... 

It is late again and I know tonight will be another 
dreadful one. You must be out drowning your demons 
again. But you will never find your soul at the bottom 
of a bottle, you need to have one first!

It is three o'clock in the morning and I was lucky 
enough to get a bit of sleep. Not much mind you, for 
every time I would hear an old board creak or a cricket 
chirp I would be startled out of my slumber. My breath 
would be lost to the sounds of the night. 

My panic grabbing hold of me as I think it is you 
coming again. It is always the same, it never changes: 
the stale cigar stench on your ratty clothes, the 
strong whiskey odor upon your rancid breath. You were 
never warm, just cold and calculating. So many times 
that I have lost count; staggering into my room with 
your erect thing. How could you not understand how 
wrong this was? Your thing looking like a possessed 
snake as it is dangling under your gruesomely fat and 
hairy belly. 

I see the angry red face of that snake with its eye 
already leaking the poison. To drink this poison is the 
worst, no matter how hard I tried to get to the special 
place in my mind, the taste of that poison would have 
me crashing back to reality.

I can still remember the sounds too; the creaking of 
the stairs as you tried to hide your steps, the 
eeeekkkkk of the door as you tried to make your self 
silent. But those noises would be screaming in my ears; 
screaming as loud as a heavy metal band's concert. Why 
the screaming you ask? 

Because just like Pavlov's dogs the sounds had me 
conditioned, I knew behind those little sounds awaited 
a torture to my soul unbearable. So my mind would react 
to the sounds, scream back all bloody hell, but in my 
fearful state not even a murmur would cross my lips.

I remember the first time I was bitten by your 
poisonous snake. The pain insufferable as you tore 
through my most precious parts. I remember the blood 
left behind and how seeing it even made you smile. I 
remember the first few times weeping uncontrollably yet 
you would tell me how you loved me or how much I meant 
to you. 

Your lies only making me cry harder but the more tears 
that flooded my eyes the more your face would look of 
bliss. After the first few times I did not give into 
the pain, I was not going to let you have the pleasure 
of my suffering anymore. I found my safe haven, my 
secret place where I could take myself. No matter how 
many times the snake would bite me; it wasn't able to 
really touch me any longer.

I remember your moans and curses as you called me names 
that I will never repeat. Words so hurtful they would 
shame a sailor. I remember the saltiness of your sweat 
as it would drip on me. I had feared I would be alone 
forever. Oh you were there, but that would only make me 
feel lonelier. I remember how your thrusts would 
suddenly speed up, causing even more pain to me. 

Then I remember the freedom for a split second as your 
snake withdrew from my cavern. I say split second 
because I also remember the hot poison as it would 
splash on me; degrading what ever part that was 
covered. My back, my face, my legs, my breasts, my 
buttocks; it didn't matter to you, as long as you 
witnessed the gooey poison upon my body.

I remember the night you took the tightest of holes; 
the burning of my insides as your spear tried to stab 
its entire length into that small place.

So many times I just wanted to end the horror. Maybe 
call the police or tell a friend what was going on. But 
you had me shut off from the world. I had no friends to 
speak of and your voice, in my head, would always 
frighten away any courage I could muster. 

I would start to make that call time and time again 
..9... , "I swear to Christ you tell anyone you little 
slut and I will kill you!... 1... "No one is going to 
believe a pathetic bitch like you!" But I could never 
press that last digit even knowing it might hold my 
salvation.

I remember looking at the kitchen knives and wondering 
if the pain of the blade, if I were to slice my wrists, 
would be as bad as the pain I suffered daily. I 
wondered if the hurt would be that horrible, if the 
blood dripped out of my body to take me to nothingness. 

Sometimes I believed nothingness would be a step up. I 
had read when someone bleeds to death just before they 
die they feel a sense of euphoria. Scientists believe 
it is caused from the lack of oxygen and blood to the 
brain. Was the brief second of pleasure worth the 
finality of the act? Sometimes just the thought of 
pleasure, any kind of pleasure was oh so tempting. 

As a little girl, many, many years ago, I was taught if 
you killed yourself you could never pass through the 
gates of heaven and your soul would be condemned. 
Heaven held my only hope, and so I endured.

TICK... TOCK... TICK... TOCK... 

What was taking you so long? I can't stand the wait any 
longer. It has become easier to just get it over with. 
But waiting was pure torture.

TICK... TOCK... TICK... TOCK... 

Oh how I hate that clock. Being so loud as the seconds 
passed by.

TICK... TOCK... TICK... TOCK... 

I can feel the fear and panic again for every TICK... 
brings you closer, every TOCK... brings me closer to 
the pain.

TICK... TOCK... TICK... 

KNOCK... KNOCK... KNOCK.

Oh shit you must be drunk off your ass again, probably 
can't even get your key in the lock. At least I might 
get lucky and your snake might be in hibernation 
tonight.

KNOCK... KNOCK... KNOCK.

I rush down the stairs not wanting to make you any 
angrier than you probably are. As I open the door 
fearing the devil yourself, instead I have two angels 
at my door with a message of mercy!

"Good evening ma'am, I am Detective Adams, this is 
Detective Moore. Could we have a moment of your time?"

I let the angels in and their message is sweet, sweet 
music to my ears. All my prayers were answered, for 
that night the demon had been drinking too much and 
decided to drive home. He ended up going over a cliff, 
the car burning in flames. The detectives told me how 
witnesses could hear him screaming in pain. I don't 
think it was the pain that made him scream but the face 
of his maker; his maker grabbing his soulless soul and 
dragging it straight to hell. One man could not be more 
deserving of such a cruel fate.

His death was my triumph!

I am just glad I cut the brake lines earlier that day!

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 45