A classic mother daughter sex story.
‘Six months to the day after finding her only daughter had
hanged herself, Nina Parker sat down and in between sips of the extra-large gin
and tonic at her elbow pecked out the following on her brand new laptop.
‘The girl in the
picture is my daughter, Leanne. She is nineteen years old and my only child. I
am desperate to find her. Following a stupid argument she left and I
have not seen or heard from her since.’
She then selected a revealing pic of her daughter, and
posted both on some of the internet’s most ‘dubious’ sites. The internet’s
dangerous underbelly. There she is contacted by a man known only as
‘The-Bastard’, and so her journey in the footsteps of her daughter begins…
A journey of humiliation and despair, guilt and
degradation. Literary erotica of the highest order. A cult classic.
Look at Leanne’s mum today. That’s her standing on the corner. She stands there every night now in all weathers. She knows the skirt is too short for somebody her age, and she knows her blouse has way too many buttons undone. She knows she looks cheap and available. That’s because she is cheap and available. Very cheap, and very available. But does she give a shit?
Everybody knows she will never say no. She can’t. She is desperate for your attention. She is the go-to bitch when you want something extra, that something a bit extreme that a normal girl will say no to. And she accepts peanuts, mention her daughter and she will even give you a discount.
She is a pervert magnet. She knows it. This is how is has to be. The guys who want the most extreme for the least money…and if it turns her stomach…so what? Just adds to their fun. And if she hates it…even better.
Doesn’t she just deserve it?
But it wasn’t always like that…
Six months to the day after her only daughter killed herself Nina Parker sat down and in between sips of the extra-large gin and tonic at her elbow pecked out the following on her brand new laptop.
‘The girl in the picture is my daughter, Leanne. She is nineteen years old and my only child. I am desperate to find her. Following a stupid argument she left and I have not seen or heard from her since.
I found this site in the ‘favourites’ of her laptop. I don’t know her username or any of her activity here. I am seeking any information that might help me to find her. This is a very urgent and heartfelt plea. My daughter is naïve and trusting. Vulnerable. I really do need to make contact as soon as possible.
I feel so alone without her, especially as I have also broken up with my boyfriend.
Please help me reunite with my daughter. Yorkshire, UK-based.
Reward offered for information leading to our reunion. Thank you.’
Of course at the heart of it was a lie. But the roots of the lie grew from a truth she was unable to face in any other way. The websites where she intended posting her plea were not in Leanne’s favourites at all; she herself had unearthed them after researching those places where this particular appeal was most likely to fall on dubious ground.
Finding them hadn’t been easy. It had taken weeks of trawling and lurking around some of the internet’s most repellent and distasteful sites. Not just sex but perverted sex, sadistic sex, non-consensual or forced sex; the kind of sex which hid itself away in the darkest of corners.
This posting had to go on those places where the most vicious of predators lurked, the shadiest and most squalid part of the internet’s underbelly. She knew that only such men could provide the answers she needed; only they could bring her the redress she had to have, no matter what the cost.
It was no longer a choice that she had. It was a compulsion. However much she feared it; and she did fear it, she knew it had to be. Just had to be.
She read her words through three times. It would be like blood in the water to a shark, but then that came with the territory. She had to do what she had to do; come what may. The time for thinking and drinking was over. Now was the time to do it.
She selected a picture of Leanne from around two years ago. One taken before the bad times had taken hold. She was on a beach in Brighton on her birthday, smiling at the camera. It was a favourite, one she had also framed in her bedroom. It showed Leanne’s happy smiling face and slim but well-developed figure in a red bikini.
It was a very scanty bikini, the most revealing one she had. It didn’t hide very much. But then she didn’t want the picture to hide much did she? Wasn’t that the point? Didn’t she need to parade her daughter to these men? Didn’t all fishing start with bait?
Why was she doing this? Why would she post such a picture to such places? Why would she expose Leanne to the kind of men on those sites? Because she had to. She couldn’t not do it and still live with herself. The course of her life was set now. All she had to do was go with it. Now that she had prepared it, and it was in her power to put it out there into the darkness she felt her breathing tighten. Would a normal mother do this? She glanced across the room and saw herself in the dressing table mirror. To some, perhaps most it would be a pretty face, but to her it was a face she hated; a face that lurked in all reflections; in her house, in her mind, in her life. It was true; no normal mother would do this. But then these days she was no normal mother. And hadn’t been for some time.
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