("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- 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. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 45