Kristens Putrid Stories
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Kristens Putrid Stories
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Rating: 4.6 of 5. 7 vote(s). Click the rating bar to rate this item.
Published on 23.02.06 11:09 Age: 16 yrs
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Kristen studied the card in her hand. The man at the front of the auditorium said, “The city provides lifeguard service at a number of locations—public beaches, neighborhood parks, the pool at the rehab center, and so on. They are all listed on the assignment card. Now, strange as it may seem, these are not all considered to be glamour assignments.” Most of the people in the auditorium laughed.
There were about two hundred people in the room, roughly equal numbers of men and women. They were an attractive bunch, all trim, fit and genial. Most were in their twenties. Kristen, who had just turned 18, was undoubtedly one of the youngest. She was almost giddy with excitement at being a member of this group. For years she had dreamed of becoming a lifeguard.
Kristen could have been one of the most popular girls at her high school. She had a sweet, lightly freckled face, and she wore her platinum blonde hair in a cute pageboy bob. She knew that the boys’ heads turned when she walked by. Clearly they admired her trim 5’5”, 110 lb. form. She had briefly worried that her breasts were too small, but when she noticed how the boys eyed her chest when they thought she wasn’t looking, she decided her breasts were just the right size.
But Kristen hadn’t enjoyed much of a social life in high school. While her friends had gone off to pursue typical teenage diversions, Kristen had spent most evenings in the gym, at the school pool, or in classes, working to develop the strength, stamina and skills that a lifeguard needs. Her hard work had paid off. This was the first day of her summer job—one of the city’s elite team of lifeguards.
The speaker at the front of the room raised one of the assignment cards high over his head. “Each of you has been granted points,” he continued, “based on seniority, past performance, and your scores on the tests.” Kristen had four points. As a rookie, she had no seniority or past performance, but she had done well on the lifeguard qualification tests.
“You can distribute these points any way you like to ‘score’ the locations on the assignment card. If there are some locations where you would particularly like to be assigned, use some or all of your points to give those locations a positive score. If there are some places you would particularly like to avoid, use your points to give those places a negative score. Most of you will still be assigned at random, but we do our best to honor everyone’s preferences.
“If you don’t like your assignment and can find someone willing to trade, you are welcome to do so. But all trades must be completed today, so everyone can be registered at their final location. Once your assignment has been registered, it’s final—you will work at your assigned location for the entire summer. If any of this is confusing, please trust me—the whole process is not nearly as simple as it sounds.” The audience laughed again.
Kristen pondered how to use her four points. She knew they wouldn’t be enough to get her one of the really choice assignments, but maybe she could still use them effectively. She gave the veterans rehab center and the senior citizen’s center scores of –2 points each. “God, I am so shallow,” she thought. Lifeguard was an important job, and veterans and senior citizens deserved protection as much as anyone. But she was an 18-year-old young woman, ready at last to begin enjoying life. She had been looking forward to getting a great suntan this summer, and maybe meeting some cute guys. “Maybe I can be noble next year,” she thought as she handed in her card.
The rest of the morning was spent filling out a seemingly endless succession of forms for taxes, insurance, a retirement fund and ten thousand other trivial demands of the bureaucracy.
At lunchtime, everyone went to down to the cafeteria together. The more experienced lifeguards mingled with the rookies, and entertained everyone with hilarious tales of pranks, practical jokes, and general tomfoolery from their own experiences in previous years, interspersed with sobering stories of tragedies and close calls. From time to time, someone would tell a short, simple story about a colleague’s heroism. It was obvious that while the lifeguards had a lot of fun on the job, when the going got tough, they worked hard, they were all business, and they were a team.
After lunch, they returned to the auditorium and watched a series of boring training videos about departmental rules and procedures, fire safety, sexual harassment, and the like. There was more paperwork, to document that everyone had seen and understood the videos. Each person received a stack of papers and booklets containing even more rules and regulations. As excited as she had been at the beginning of the day, Kristen’s enthusiasm was almost depleted by mid-afternoon.
“Are you still with us?” Kristen looked up into the dark penetrating gaze of the young man sitting next to her. He brushed his unruly jet-black hair back from his forehead and smiled. “It looked like you were starting to doze off,” he whispered.
Kristen shook her head and smiled shyly. “Sorry. It’s been kind of boring,” she said.
“Don’t worry, the boring stuff is almost over. I’ve been through this before.” He tapped the name tag on his chest. “My name’s Ted. It’s my third year. They’re about to announce our assignments.”
The man at the front of the auditorium spoke as if on cue. “Okay, everyone, we have your assignments!” Two clerks came forward and picked up stacks of manila envelopes and began to pass them out. An excited buzz filled the auditorium, broken occasionally by a little shout of joy or disappointment as each lifeguard received his or her assignment. The speaker raised his voice to make himself heard.
“Please note that the envelopes we are handing out include the combination for your locker. Don’t lose this! If you swap assignments with anyone, you must swap envelopes, and you must see the secretary outside the auditorium to register the change.”
“First day on the job is Monday. Everybody be there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 6AM. Your uniforms and equipment will be ready for you then. If you are not familiar with the location of your assignment, please take some time this weekend and go there.”
The noise level was rising steadily. The speaker shouted, “Thank you for your attention. Congratulations to you all! Now, let’s have a great year!” A cheer rose from the entire group just as Kristen was handed her assignment envelope.
She eagerly read the assignment printed on the outside of the envelope. The Point Pleasant Recreation Center. “Rats,” she muttered involuntarily. She knew it well. It was only a few blocks from her parents’ home, but it was a kiddie pool, really. There was only one lifeguard on duty, so her chances of meeting a sexy male lifeguard seemed pretty dim, too.
“Point Pleasant? That’s not so bad, is it?” asked Ted.
Kristen blushed. “I suppose not… it’s just, um… not what I had in mind.”
“Well, maybe we can trade,” Ted said. He reached up and accepted his own assignment envelope from the clerk. “Oh—sorry.” He frowned. “It’s, um… it’s Black Knife Beach.”
“Still want to trade?” Kristen asked, holding up her own envelope.
“Really? You’re—you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” said Kristen, surprised that Ted would be willing to trade a beach assignment for a kiddie pool. Black Knife Beach was way out in the boondocks—but that meant it was far enough from her parents’ home that she could justify moving out and getting her own apartment. “Black Knife Beach. It’ll be great!” She smiled broadly.
Ted looked at her quizzically, then returned her smile. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
Original Notes from the Author of How Kristen spend her summer vacation
End of the story, epiloge to How Kristen spent her summer vacation
“Why so glum, chum?” Janet asked, taking a seat next to Kristen.
Kristen sat slumped over the redwood picnic table just outside the lifeguard station, with her chin resting on her folded arms, her eyes staring blankly...
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Content Note: Rape, pedophilia, incest.
This is essentially Ender's Game fanfiction.]
A herd of launchies shuffled through the doors of their new living quarters, and though Petra was among them, she did not shuffle with them. Instead she strode, her steps falling confidently on the smooth concrete, and immediately sought out a top bunk at the back of the room. As the last of the launchies trickled in, the room spun into a blur of aggression and shouting, and Petra matched the fury and passion of the others until she ended up on the lower bunk in the back left corner. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it would do. At least, she considered, Petra would have the corner mostly to herself. For a moment, Petra’s chest continued to throb with confidence, and she felt the dangerous pride she wore over her features sink fragile, probing roots into the surface of her body. She closed her eyes, smiled, rested her head back on her pillow and let her arms drape languidly over the top of her skull.
Then she heard again the angry shouts of the others, felt the fluorescent light glare through her eyelids, and in the overwhelming harshness, anxiety seized her. She felt it in the hollow within her chest, felt it grasp at her throat and tighten until her breath came in short, desperate gasps. She lost track of time, of everything, and curled tightly in on herself, burrowing into the skimpy army-issue blankets and trying to focus on the pain coursing through her scalp as her small, shaking fingers tugged at tiny black coils.
Slowly, it ebbed. Petra felt air enter her lungs again, and shuddered into a dreamless sleep.
She was woken what must have been just a moment later, though now the room was dark. Anguished wails pierced the air, and tears caught the light through the open doors of the bunk room and glittered it back at a figure who stood walking among the rows of now-crying children like a god. Petra watched with wide eyes, her skin still tight from tears, as the figure moved from child to child and, with a touch, brought forth a flow of such terrible emotion that Petra found panic clutching at her chest again. She pushed back against the mattress and into the wall, and waited for the man to come to her. It took just a minute for thick fingers to reach down into Petra’s bunk. They groped for a moment in the darkness, then found her, brushed her bushy hair. Petra went still, tense, like a frightened animal. She pressed herself into the wall with more force, shivered, and closed her eyes. A sob escaped her throat, and then she found herself in a storm of memory and emotion.
It was… blurry. Dark. It moved too fast to understand, but Petra felt it. She knew, she remembered. Petra recognized the hot breath on her neck and the pain on her skin, in her heart, inside her where she felt violated and infinitely repulsive, like she would never be clean again. She recognized the words that fell on her like bricks, though they came in such soothing tones, such praising rumbles… she felt the confusion of the moment and heard those words come again to catch her in-between wishes.
“You’re such a good girl… such a pretty girl… don’t you make a sound, that’s good… daddy’s little girl, you’re so good for me…”
She caught her breath in her throat and held it there until her face felt hot and her head felt light, until the pain brought her back. She clutched at the pillow now soaked from her crying and whispered for her mommy, her daddy, whispered to make them come back and go away at the same time, whispered that she didn’t want to be a little girl anymore, that she wouldn’t be anybody’s little girl, that she would be daddy’s little girl if only he would come and get her away from here, come and be her dad again, and soothe her with his heartbeat. She sobbed, choked, sobbed again, and rocked herself into silence and pain and desperate wishes.
Finally, she was still, her heart cold and heavy with a new, rebellious resolve.
She was away from that horrible memory, that horrible place, and now she would be someone new. She would be nobody’s little girl anymore. She would dare the others to touch her, and she would destroy anyone who did. She would be no little girl, and she would show no fear.
Like ( 2 ) 3 Great Nicely done Inspired Like ( 2 )
Vrs1 :
Pedophilia,
Damned source of erotica.
Nightmare for the children of god.
Tainted dreams haunt them in mass.
I will watch over you from above.
Chrs:
I will lure you,
I will please you,
I will make you my friend.
I will hurt you.
I will rip you.
I will molest your corpse.
I will cut you.
I will burn you.
I will make you my slave.
Vrs 2:
Necrophilic,
My pleasures twisted and sick.
Nausea for all displeased.
Inhumanity rules my brain.
I will record the day you die.
Chrs:
I will tie you.
I will break you.
I will make you fade away.
I will hang you.
I will carve you.
I will make you bleed away.
I will dig you.
I will mark you.
I will make you disappear.
Vrs 3:
Recreation,
Hell bent on blood fixation.
I’m a wolf, hungry for more.
Bring me the lambs to harvest for my will.
I will bury your body and hunt for more.
Chrs:
I will lure you,
I will please you,
I will make you my friend.
I will hurt you.
I will rip you.
I will molest your corpse.
I will cut you.
I will burn you.
I will make you my slave.
Just a simple song I wrote. © 5 years ago , Mitch Wilson pedophilia • rape • murder • metal-music • song-lyrics
Like ( 2 ) 2 Lovely Inspired me! Clever work Like ( 2 )
Did you know then that you were changing my whole life with your actions? Were you unaware of exactly how much you would be ruining, or were you just so consumed by your lust and perversion that you were willing to rip me apart and shred any hope of a happy future? How could you have taken in a young child, gained her trust, made her like one of your own - and then steal her innocence before she even knew what it was you were taking from her?
These are the questions that have plagued me ever since I let my walls down enough to remember. I wish I would have never remembered...but at the same time, I know that this would have done little, if any, good. Even before I had the pleasure of dark memories, the consequences of your actions were already there. I acted and felt according to what you had done to me, without even allowing myself to realize what it was. And when the memories did finally come back - starting as a trickle and then becoming a full flood of flashbacks, nightmares and panic attacks that still haunt me on occasion - it was a missing puzzle piece, a way to finally explain why I am the way that I am.
You took more than my innocence, you must realize that. You took away my trust, my self-esteem. I considered you a father to me, someone to replace the father who had died six years before your abuse began. You took me to daddy daughter dances, taught me to roller skate and opened up your house to me to become my home away from home. Your daughter was like my sister, and I even had fantasies of marrying your sons to one day be a "true" member of your family. Now I can't look at a single member of your family without shuddering. Your eldest looks just like you...and because of that, I tremble with fear every time I see him.
I'm not the only one who feels the consequences of your actions. A family who tried so hard to encourage and support me were forced to watch me suffer. I had to be rushed to the hospital at least half a dozen times after suicide attempts. My parents bandaged my arms and washed my bloody clothing after I would cut myself because I felt so dirty and used from what you did. My brother tended to my wrist after I cut too deep. My sisters watched as I had to hide the cuts, both the fresh and the scars alike, from my littlest sister with long sleeves and gloves that went up past the elbow.
The man that I call mine is affected by your actions as well. In our most intimate moments, I think of you and cringe, turning away from him as if he were you. At times, his touch frightens me, no matter how gentle it is, because I think of you and how you would touch me. He is understanding, and has only ever treated me with affection and encouragement. But I see the pain in his eyes when I push him away as the flashback comes, and he is unable to even comfort me because a single touch or word from him brings forth a panic attack from me. He is the one who holds me and wipes my tears as I cling to him in bed, feeling the guilt of my childhood as if it were happening all over again. I am not emotionally healthy, because of you, and so our relationship is not healthy, because of you. This man has asked me to marry him, and will spend his entire life attempting to undo the damage you have done to me.
I was a child! I was nine years old when you first began to derive pleasure from the lewd actions you forced upon me. You fed me lies, scaring me into obedience with the claims that God would punish me if I did not obey. You gave me a warped view of love as you repeated over and over again, "This is love," as you would take my small hand and force it to stroke you. You told me that God would destroy my family and send them all to hell if I were to tell them, or anyone else. How could you bear to live with yourself afterwords?!
My one condolence is that you didn't live long enough to hurt me any longer than the two years in which you did. Your life was taken, and I was never hurt by you again...
Except that I was. I was hurt by you every day, every morning, every night of my life. Through nightmares, you continued to hurt me. I felt your hands on me instead of those of my future husband when we were intimate, and it hurt me. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a used, broken child, dirty from all that you did. I am still unable to be free from you, and so I live my life in fear and depression.
You destroyed me.
I wasn't going to write this, or even come back to this site...but I had to let this out and immediately remembered SW. This is all pure emotions, pretty much an overflow of se
Patricia Araujo Ts
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