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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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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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Leak - 1
by Nasty Pierre (no address provided)
***
A tender story of woe, set in a fictitious mansion, of
unbelievable size, in the fictitious mountains of S
Carolina. The wealthiest man on earth, and what happens
to his young daughter at the hands of a wicked aunt, a
long time member of the secret sorority of: Pi Loda Cum.
(FF, nc, exh, bd)
***
Chapter One: Greeting
I shall reveal to you the most unimaginable tale of woe
ever conceived, a story of perversion. It is one of
grief and overwhelming anguish woven into a fabric of
sorrow. The fabric is worn by Mother Nature's own
manifestation of surrender, a virgin without equal,
Laura.
I shall begin my story behind the ivied granite walls of
the magnificent six hundred and sixty-nine room
fortress, Chateau Paines Manor. Its twenty-three hundred
acre estate is nestled ingeniously, high atop the steep
man-made terraces of the otherwise jagged Black
Mountains. It's a secluded citadel located in the
southwest corner of North Carolina, at an elevation of
fifty-seven hundred feet.
From its side of the mountain the chateau has a splendid
view, a panorama if you'll imagine. Let's begin in the
north with Mount Mitchell, a majestic peak rising to
sixty-seven hundred feet. This natural rock pinnacle is
covered in beautiful spruce pine, a wondrous rolling sea
of greens, or ocean of white snow.
To the west and in the distance, the Appalachian
Mountain Range crinkles by. It's an old gash with a long
scar healing slowly on the bosom of mother earth. Its
pearl, the Great Smoky Mountains, floats on its own sea
of bluish gray clouds. It's a dreamlike scene from an
almost unreal place. To the south, at a greater
distance, one can see the steeply rising Orchard
Mountains, and on a clear day, all the way to
Montgomery, Alabama.
This eighth wonder of the world was planned and built by
the late Mr. Bigg Paines. He was a fire and brimstone
bible thumping women's undergarment tycoon, libertine
and insatiable voyeur. He died quite unexpectedly at the
age of one hundred and thirteen. It happened while
locked together with his female companion and wet nurse,
in a complicated sexual position invented by the Chinese
about 500 BC. His last breath was his granddaughter's
first.
His granddaughter, Laura, was born in her mother's bed,
on that unseasonably cold and storm-laden night of April
first, nineteen hundred sixty-nine. She emerged twixt a
blinding flash of lightening, a deafening roar of
thunder and the last gasp of her grandfather, Bigg
Paines, before the end of midnight's first chime and
morning's first moment.
Keeping with a faith practiced by half the world's
perverts, Laura was baptized. She was christened, Laura
'Lottsa' Paines, by Father Fransic Balonni. This sixty-
nine year old ex-communicated Catholic priest was the
toe-sucking slave to Laura's mother, the late Mrs.
Betsey Paines. Laura was christened in October, baptized
in the wonderfully dank chapel of Saint Judas Iscariot.
The chapel is situated deep in the mountain, somewhere
under the chateau. It serves as the entrance way to the
winding catacombs of the Black Mountains and Paines
Manor.
Reele Paines and the late Betsey are Laura's parents.
Reele is the late Mr. Bigg Paines only acknowledged male
offspring. He's a devilishly handsome spoiled brat and
utter cur, born with several silver spoons jammed down
his throat and a silver butt plug jammed up you know
where. He's had every worthless little thing handed to
him from immense silver platters, supported and
transported on the crooked backs of naked female peons.
Indifferent to everyone, Reele is impassive with women,
a drunkard and incurable gambler. You will find him
lounging about at horse races and living in the gambling
casinos of the world. He's dressed and scented by valets
of impeccable taste, but is a connoisseur of revelry in
his own right. Though he often can't find his way out of
a john without help, he's a famous world traveler. He
lives in denial and total excess, off the large trust
funds left him by his father.
Reele never knew his wife Betsey and met her only a few
times. The first time was on their wedding day, the
night Laura was conceived. Reele simply married when it
was expected of him, meeting Betsey at the altar. While
his mind wandered with the carelessness of a teenager,
he closed his eyes and proceeded as father planned. He
went through every motion and helped with conception. He
fulfilled all obligations, and then disappeared as if
nothing happened.
Betsey Paines, nee Betsey Parton, was the daughter of
Abigail Von Parton, a well poised but deeply passionate
woman. Abigail came from a very old and established
family from Kentucky. It was a family of haughty
aristocrats, early settlers, freedom loving moonshiners
and colorful statesmen.
Abigail just happened to be one of Bigg Paines favorite
mistresses, and together they spent many months, years,
in deliciously scandalous debauchery within the
comfortable confines of Paines Manor.
Betsey considered herself a love child, a soiled flower,
a weed in the Garden of Eden and lucky as sin. Like many
females born to Paines Manor, Betsey grew up on its
ether, in a dream, a fairy tale. She learned to dread
venturing from the comforts and safety of its
surroundings. Her fears endured through eighteen years
of tender care and continued after she'd answered the
door of opportunity. It was the 'tap-tap' of destiny and
Betsey swung the portal open on the first knock.
Then and there, without hesitation, she accepted Mr.
Bigg Paines' unbeatable offer. She would marry his son
Reele and bear him a grandson, or die trying. In
reality, she delivered a granddaughter he'd never see.
After that, her life became sweet and messy.
Betsey died quite capriciously, while caught in the
throes of passion. It was during one of her many secret
trysts, with one of her many clandestine lovers. She
developed the habit of acquiring and discarding men like
shoes whenever Reele was absent, which was always. Seems
Betsey was on her knees, in her favorite position,
praying to Eros. It was the gardener this time that
bucked and bobbed in her grasp while fidgeting around at
his work.
Betsey was looking forward to drowning in the mother of
all orgasms, when the giant earth mover of a man
suffered a charley horse of sorts. The very muscle
Betsey devoured with so much greed exploded in spasms of
violence and pain. The killer root lodged in her throat,
suffocating the poor woman before its owner could
extricate himself. This was on Christmas Day, nineteen
hundred eighty-four. Betsey was buried on the first of
January, in Barabbas Cemetery.
The cemetery, like all the grounds, is beautifully
manicured and well kept. It's situated on a small shaded
terrace along the lower east forty acres of this vast
mountain estate. Betsey had left Laura, her poor
bewildered daughter, alone and at the mercy of wolves. A
frightened child left teetering on the wrong side of a
dark abyss, without a light, answers, or means of
escape.
Alas, poor Laura. Every horny fellow and madam who's
heard of her loss wishes to possess this sweet delicious
fifteen year old, alone with no knowledge of the world,
its vices, lurking dangers and grotesque avenues. She's
an innocent child in dire need of a mother's gentle
advice now more than ever before, while adrift on a
stormy sea of anguish and doubt.
Laura was left alone to her own devices and those
consisted of prayer. So she prayed as never before. She
prayed day and night, through every meal, round laughter
and tears, while relaxed and while nervous. She prayed
and she prayed again and again, and always for the same
thing. She prayed to be saved by a real life fairy tale
knight in shining armor.
She prayed for a conqueror who would appear out of
nowhere riding a noble white charger that snorted aloud
and galloped to thunder. A champion who'd rescue her
from the cold, lift her from where she now knelt stunned
and immobile, just a very small step from womanhood. She
kept her hand extended for her hero to find, as she
floundered alone in an ever changing array of emotional
melee. She prayed while being sucked into a black hole
devoted to extinguishing life.
Problems aside, Laura's an authentic southern belle,
plucked from the pages of Gone With the Wind, complete
with the cutest southern drawl. She's a delicate flower
petal of femininity, a whisper of a thing. She has long
shimmering golden blond hair, brilliantly translucent
green eyes and a tiny cut of a mouth with small thin
lips, soft fillets in salmon pink. She has a dainty
point of a nose and peaches and cream complexion.
At just over five foot tall, Laura is a sleek slender
creature, a frail object you could easily break. Her
long limbs taper into thin delicate wrists and ankles.
Now, before your imagination writes this lady off as a
twig, rest assured she is yet a deliciously majestic
figure.
And that's because this poor girl's petite torso has
been created by the masculine god of her religion. A
maybe jealous, but surely devilish deity who's endowed
her with a big round bouncy behind and an extremely
firm, overly proportioned pair of breasts. The poor
child carries these massive attributes around in
noticeably piquant trepidation. In and around the manor,
when you meant to say, "tits and ass," you said "Laura."
For fifteen years Laura had been overly protected, kept
safe and sound. She'd been wrapped in bliss, ignorance
and a false sense of security, sheltered from the
cruelties of real life. While hidden from Mr.
Vulgarity's titillating warm embrace, Laura's languished
more comfortably than any other person in history.
Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile, couldn't have had it
better. Laura's lived in a very pretty world of the
finest everything.
She's enjoyed the most exotic flowers and most exquisite
foods. Her clothing is hand-stitched finery of imported
silks, chiffon's, wools, satins and lace. Even her
servants and handmaidens were chosen because they were
born to serve. And the entire time she has lived as a
prisoner in a large gilded cage of a room, under the
authority of her mother's iron thumb, somewhere within
the confines of Paines Manor.
As a mother Betsey was stern, and raised her sworn
virgin daughter to be poised, graceful and polite. She'd
taught her to be feminine beyond all measure and
unfortunately for Laura, obedient without question.
Obedient without question or fault, and as pure and
blameless as a newborn lamb. In this way, Betsey had
hoped to preserve in her daughter, for her daughter and
through her daughter, that which she herself had
surrendered so many years earlier.
'Twas harsh repentance and a hopeless endeavor by a
desperate hypocrite who hoped to provide her daughter
the opportunity of meeting and marrying a real, hard
working man. A gentleman who would appreciate, love,
honor, and care for her daughter by providing her a real
home, raising normal children. A family man, in a down
to earth family neighborhood, far, far, far from Paines
Manor's gentle intoxication.
But now, Laura is to be pitied. She is one of a
multitude stuck to a strange web. She's one of life's
unfortunate victims, awaiting the spider and its casing,
a cocoon from which none escape. She's left with a
father she's never known, virtually without family and
definitely without friends. She's lost somewhere in a
giant fortress she knows nothing about, catered to by
troops of faceless, nameless servants.
Her continuing situation leaves little reason to seek
answers, though she did at first. She tried venturing
from her room a couple of times, but each time found
herself followed continually. She was harassed by very
aggressive individuals who thought nothing of
approaching her while speaking in vulgarities she had no
understanding of. She never ventured from her room a
third time. Left with no other choice, Laura was forced
on her father, the aloof, arrogant, give-a-damn Reele.
Reele had neither the time, the appetite nor inclination
to help, and came up with the easiest remedy he and his
buddies could think of on the spur of the moment. It was
only natural of Reele to act this way whenever he found
himself burdened with what he considered an extremely
bothersome task. The only difference was, this time the
responsibility was thrust on him by his father's very
powerful attorneys. Though he was forced to consider the
problem and legal constraints, his mind stayed half way
around the world, moving about constantly.
The simplest answer for Reele was his sick aunt, Thelma.
Though he was scared to death of her and always had
been, everyone agreed the old crone would never pass up
such a splendid opportunity, and the lawyers would
imagine he'd made an honest attempt. Everything would be
over by tomorrow and he'd be off to Monte Carlo. It was
a perfect plan, and a messenger was sent to Thelma's
room, while Laura was notified as well.
To be continued...
Archivist's Note: This author did not provide an email
address so it will do the reader no good contacting the
archive staff for further parts. Check back at a later
time to see if there have been any updates to this story
by the author.
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 82