Nastassja Kinski vs. Tara Reid By Blizzard 3/10/02

Tara Reid, the blonde, blue-eyed Hollywood minx, has battled tabloid urchins since achieving notoriety with the release of ‘American Pie.’ Her failed engagement to MTV’s Carson Daly, blamed in part on voracious tabloid rumors, was behind her when she became Maxim magazines first ever repeat cover girl. Ah yes, life was good again; an unattached Tinseltown partygoer tearing loose and enjoying her newly rediscovered independence.

Tara had a couple of new releases on deck and a chance to flush her mind of the clutter it had been retaining for quite some time. A bit of a jab at the ex-, a barb aimed at the tabloid vultures and a gushing review of the advantages to being single again. Tara had no qualms talking about the extravagant shopping spree she enjoyed while in Italy last summer.

Apparently she forgot to mention a little incident that happened in Paris on her way home . . .

Italy was a blast, but Tara couldn’t bring herself to board the flight bound for the States. She had to make a quick stop in Paris - she had heard of the wonders for shop-aholics present there, particularly in the Marais District. A change of itinerary had the blonde in the historic French city that evening, primed to jam up her remaining viable credit card and burn through whatever cash she had left the next day. When Tara was in purchase-mode, nothing and no one got in her way............that is, until the next day..............

Tara Reid flitted around the shoe boutique in the Marais District of Paris. The 5’5” blonde wore a deliberate look upon her face - she had money to burn and was intent on commencing her one day, whirlwind shopping spree now. Damage was about to be done.

The owner of the boutique, Michel, a smartly dressed man about sixty, trained his eyes on the grandiose blonde as she proceeded to make a mess of his merchandise. Tara wore a short navy miniskirt and white sleeveless blouse, with white pantyhose that was quickly discoloring in the feet as the blonde moved around the store with her shoes off. She had tried on nearly a dozen pair of shoes, purposefully leaving them all scattered about until she reached a decision on whether she would buy one or two pair, or the whole lot.

Normally Michel catered to his customers, offering any assistance they may need. In this case he was exercising restraint with the young blonde woman. Years in the business had given him a keen sense of reading personalities, and this one clearly exuded ‘a pain in the royal ass’. It being the middle of the week, and the volume of customers considerably less than he saw at week’s end, he was content to keep his distance and remain behind the counter. He sighed as Tara continued with her rampage through the shoe racks and went back to reading his paper. Then the front door swung open and as he glanced above the top of his paper he suddenly broke into a warm smile.

“Bonjour Michel!” greeted Nastassja Kinski, one of his most highly regarded customers who always dropped in whenever she visited the city.

Nastassja was refreshingly lovely in a short black skirt, peach colored blouse with taupe thigh high stockings and high heels.

“Nastassja, it’s so nice to see you!” Michel said in his thick accent, his spirits suddenly lifted.

Michel and the 5’61/2” brunette engaged in conversation for several moments, during which time a middle-age woman also came in and began to look around. Tara was so immersed in her shoe shopping, she noticed nothing and no one except the custom made shoes she was delving into. Nastassja left Michel at the counter and began to browse the boot section on the opposite side of the boutique from where Tara was furiously tearing through the boxes of shoes.

The Parisian woman who had entered after Nastassja was inspecting shoes in the vicinity of Tara’s self-absorbed spree. The slight, dark-haired woman reached down and picked up a pair of intricately crafted low heel shoes that Tara had tried on, then left on the floor. She inspected the size, then sat on a nearby stool, slipped off her shoes and tried them on. As she walked across the floor, judging their fit, Tara glanced at her briefly before she went back to pawing through the merchandise. Satisfied with the heels, the dark-haired woman slipped them off and put her shoes back on.

“I must have zeese,” she murmured with a light accent as she picked up the heels.

The blonde glanced at the woman when she spoke and her eyes immediately locked on the heels and she moved to the woman swiftly with a defensive scowl on her face.

“I’m sorry, madam, but I’m buying those,” said Tara forcefully. “They’re the only ones in that style in my size.”

The woman looked at Tara with irritation, “Moi aussi - Me too. Zeh are my size and I am purchase them.”

Tara wasn’t amused.

She snatched the shoes rudely from the brunette’s grasp and stared at her menacingly, “No, I’m afraid you are not. These are mine!”

The woman rested her hands on her hips and opened her mouth to protest. Tara lashed out with a stinging face slap that surprised the yelping woman.

As the brunette’s eyes watered and she held her cheek with her hand, the bitchy blonde jabbed her index finger into the woman’s chest, “Scram! Go buy some support hose you old hag!”

The woman broke into sobs as she spun on her heel and quickly headed for the door. Michel’s head had jerked up at the sound of the resounding SMACK when Tara had struck the woman. He was shocked.

“Madam Trottier, please!” he said apologetically to the distraught woman.

She continued for the door, holding her cheek and waving him off with her hand as she quickly left the boutique sobbing.

“Your behavior is completely inappropriate!” he said angrily as he glared at Tara. “Quite frankly, I am appalled!”

“Well, now that hag knows I mean business, doesn’t she?!” snickered the blonde, approaching the counter. “If you don’t want to sell me the shoes, I can easily go across the street and spend all my money in your competitor’s shop!”

Nastassja had also heard the commotion and was watching Tara from her position on the opposite side of the boutique. She set down her shoulder bag and quietly crept up behind the blonde and suddenly snatched the shoes from Tara’s hand.

Tara whirled around, staring at the brunette malevolently, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Gimme my shoes!!!”

Nastassja met the blonde’s stare with equal disdain, “No....these are that poor woman’s shoes. I’m buying them for her.”

Tara grabbed for the shoes angrily, but Nastassja protected them and quickly handed them to Michel. Tara’s short fuse was fully lit.

“I know who you are, bitch!” Tara snarled. “You may think you have clout around here, but I’m a rising star an…” Nastassja snapped a palm strike into the blabbering blonde’s chin in mid-word, knocking her flat on her ass as Tara cried out and winced, having bit her tongue.

“How’s that for clout, you rude little cunt?!” hissed the brunette, smirking down at her.

Tara struggled to her feet, still a bit dazed from Nastassja’s sudden strike, and came at the brunette deliberately. Nastassja calmly timed the blonde’s approach, and expertly grabbed her arm and front of her blouse. As Tara squealed out in surprise, she was the helpless victim of a well-executed judo takedown, slamming to the floor on her back with Nastassja above her. The brunette rattled off two powerful face slaps that snapped the blonde’s head back and forth, leaving her in stunned anguish.

“I strongly suggest you take your ugly feet across the street and spend all your money there.” said Nastassja.

The brunette left the whimpering blonde on the floor and stepped up to the counter, “I apologize for my outburst, Michel. The blonde girl.......got under my skin, oui?!” she said with a grin. “All these new young actresses have such terrible attitude!”

Michel’s smile disappeared as his eyes grew big as saucer’s, “Mon Dieu - My God!”

The brunette started to turn, but was paralyzed by the harsh kidney punch that Tara delivered. Her knees buckled as she gasped and groaned, her hands clutching the top of the counter. The furious blonde grasped the back of Nastassja’s blouse and hammered several blows into her ribs, forcing high pitched yelps from the grimacing woman’s lips.

Michel cringed as Nastassja was abruptly thrown to the floor, the battered brunette sucking air into her lungs as she held her tormented abdomen. Tara cruelly kicked the curled up woman in the belly and Nastassja drew herself into a tight fetal position as she vainly attempted to protect her body.

“Had enough, hero?!” snarled the blonde as she kicked at her rival’s ass disrespectfully.

“Stop...,” gasped the brunette, her eyes squeezed shut as she floundered for breath.

Tara cackled with glee and gave Nastassja one last kick as she walked past her defenseless form to retrieve the shoes she had been wearing. The pompous blonde woman returned to the counter after stepping into her shoes and picking up her handbag, grinning with conceit at the horrified Michel. She grabbed the shoes and tossed a $100 bill at Michel.

“Keep the change, Bucko. Buy your pussy friend some aspirin for her tummy ache. I’m gonna spend the rest of my money elsewhere- not in this fucking dump.”

The egotistical blonde stuck her tongue out at Michel and strolled out the door, laughing with glee. Michel came from behind the counter and knelt by Nastassja, who had now sat up and was massaging her battered midsection. He touched the back of the brunette’s neck lightly as he caressed it in a fatherly demeanor.

“Nastassja, are you okay?!” he asked with concern. “I am so sorry - that blonde American girl is a cochon, a pig!”

Nastassja was more embarrassed than hurt.

She squeezed Michel’s hand and replied “ Thank you, Michel, I am fine - it’s my pride that is ailing.”

The brunette rose to her feet as Michel followed her up, still holding her. She stepped over to the counter and took a deep breath, “I feel so sorry for that poor woman - is she a regular customer, Michel?”

“Oui......” he answered with a long face. “Sylvie Trottier. I will make it a point to call her and extend my deepest apologies.”

Nastassja sighed as the bitterness of her defeat weighed heavily upon her. She knew who Tara Reid was, and the snotty little blonde was going to suffer badly for what she had done here this day. Somehow, someday, that bitch was going to pay.

“Oh no!” gasped Michel suddenly as he looked out the window of his shop. “That little witch, she is coming back!” He rushed around the counter toward the telephone. “I will call the gendarme!”

“No Michel!” urged Nastassja as she turned her back to the door and bent forward as if in pain. “No police - let me discipline that wench!”

Michel looked apprehensively at the brunette who met his glance with a reassuring nod. “Please!” begged Nastassja.

He cradled the phone just as Tara burst through the door, “I don’t know what the fuck’s come over me,” she announced, “but I just feel the need to give you another beatin’ bitch!”

She carelessly dropped her handbag and the shoes she had left with and strode up behind Nastassja. She put a hand on the brunette’s shoulder and spun her around to face her.

“What do you think, wimp, are you ready for another—AAAANNGGHHH!!!” gasped the brazen blonde as Nastassja’s hands came up as she was turned around and savagely raked the trash-talking blonde’s face with her nails.

Tara recoiled backward, her hands shooting to her deeply scratched, chubby cheeks. She looked up at the brunette with anguish just as Nastassja unloaded a short, straight punch that landed square on the blonde’s mouth. The careless blonde stumbled back and lost her footing, landing with a grunt on her ass on the floor, throwing her hands out behind her to catch herself. Her heeled shoes had clattered to the floor as they fell off her feet on her way down.

“You....bitch! You.....split...my...lip....” she slurred in a daze, her tongue prodding her split upper lip.

Nastassja converged upon the seated girl and sent her crashing onto her back with another blow to her face. Tara cried out in grief as she flopped around on the floor, turning over onto her belly. Her vision was cloudy, her head spinning as she clumsily struggled to her hands and knees, only to collapse back face down to the floor. She whined as gingerly licked her damaged lip, tasting her own blood. The brunette snatched a handful of her long blonde hair and yanked the squealing girl to her wobbly feet.

Nastassja turned to look at the beaming Michel as she held Tara in a tight grasp, “Excuse us, Michel.” she said politely. “We don’t want to damage your beautiful boutique, so this lesson in discipline will conclude outside in the alley.”

The owner excitedly rushed around the counter, “Follow me, mon cher! You may go out the side door to the alley, so as to not draw any attention.”

“Lemme go, you cunt!!!” shrieked Tara as Nastassja dragged her out the doorway into the grimy alley.

“I would love so much to watch you punish the little pig, but I must return to my shop,” sighed Michel as he winked at Nastassja and pulled the door shut.

The brunette heaved her bickering nemesis to the ground and stepped out of her heels as Tara sputtered and clamored to her feet. The blonde’s blue eyes burned into Nastassja with pure hatred.

“You’ll regret not finishing the job while you had the chance, cunt!” hissed Tara.

“You’ll regret coming back here, trash mouth,” replied Nastassja calmly.

The two women cautiously sized one another up as they slowly circled in a crouch. As if an imaginary bell had rung, they suddenly lunged at one another, their bodies slamming together and their hands burying in the others mane. Hose-clad feet slipped and slithered on the greasy, filthy ground of the alley as they squealed and yelped, yanking each other’s hair mightily.

They spun around in circles as if engaging in a macabre dance until Tara was finally forced against the stone wall of the adjacent building. She grunted as the collision knocked the air from her lungs. Still holding Tara’s hair, Nastassja rammed her knee into the girl’s soft belly, emptying what air remained in her lungs with a sudden groan. The blonde’s grip on Nastassja’s hair loosened as she gasped for breath.

Nastassja planted her feet best she could and pivoted her hips, sending Tara stumbling along the wall of the alley straight into several metal garbage cans half-filled with rotting vegetables and table waste from a restaurant in an adjacent building. The blonde shrieked as she tumbled to the ground with a noisy clatter, the contents of the cans spilling out onto the ground as she plunged into the putrid waste.

Nastassja converged on the gagging blonde, the stench of the garbage nearly overwhelming. In desperation, Tara fumbled for a metal lid to one of the cans while seated in the mess and whirled around with it, smacking the brunette flush in the forehead with it. Nastassja yelped and collapsed back, landing on the ground on her ass.

Tara scrambled to her feet, realizing it would be prudent to cut her losses and get the hell out of there. She slipped and slid as her grimy pantyhosed feet struggled for purchase on the alley ground, then began to awkwardly run past the seated brunette. Nastassja flung out her arm and swiped at the blonde’s ankles, tripping her and sending the shrieking blonde face flat.

The brunette lunged toward Tara, who defensively kicked out with her foot and rattled Nastassja’s chest, knocking her back onto her fanny. Nastassja recovered quickly, and dove after the crawling blonde, catching her by the back of her miniskirt. Tara cried out and continued to try to crawl away as Nastassja firmly grasped the girl’s miniskirt and retarded her forward progress.

As Tara’s hips squirmed and bucked, her once pristine white pantyhose now a drab, dirty mess, the button popped off the back of her skirt. Nastassja gave the garment a powerful tug, splitting the back zipper and peeling it open from top to bottom. Tara whined, feeling her skirt slide off her hips as her knees continued to dig at the ground in an attempt to escape. Her skirt bunched up at her knees, exposing her sleek pantyhose worn over her white silk bikini panties. She looked back over her shoulder with panic in her eyes and kicked at Nastassja vainly.

Nastassja thrust her hand into her foe’s wide open crotch, her fingers clawing at the damp pantyhose clad pussy savagely. Tara screamed out in pain as Nastassja gouged and clawed at her cunt, working it over with brutal determination. Nastassja grabbed a handful of blonde hair and pulled the girl toward her as she raked and pinched the suffering girl’s crotch. Tara was lifted to a kneeling position, in red-faced agony as her rival knelt behind her and held her by her hair, still reaming her traumatized womanhood.

“Stop.....you.........bitch!!!” screamed Tara in a quaking voice as her arms flailed helplessly, prodding at the vise-like claw that ravaged her pussy to no avail.

Nastassja gave the blonde’s hair a sharp tug, pulling her against her chest. She ceased with the pussy punishment and brutally began to pound her fist into Tara’s chest, forcing tortured yelps from the inferior girl. The blonde’s tits were hammered mercilessly with the heel of Nastassja’s fist until her desperate cries faded to meek, defeated grunts. The brunette felt her rival slump against her and saw Tara’s hands drop limply to her hips, flapping lifelessly in response to each chest punch.

She halted the blows and gave Tara’s hair a quick yank, receiving a pitiful squeak in response. The blonde was barely conscious, her belly expanding and contracting slowly above the waist of her pantyhose as she breathed in her frail state.

“You’re nothing more than a pathetic little pussy, aren’t you girl?!” teased Nastassja, her warm breath tousling Tara’s golden mane.

She reached down and grasped the waist of the girl’s pantyhose and nastily tugged upward, drawing an embarrassed whimper from the groggy blonde. Digging her fingernails into the sheer hose, Nastassja pierced the filmy fabric and tore a gaping hole in the front. Tara whined helplessly as the front waist of her panties was grabbed and slowly pulled up to her navel, the white silk disappearing between her fuzzy dark pussy lips as it was cruelly wedged between them.

The battered blonde was ashamedly at Nastassja’s mercy, defenseless to resist. Nastassja left the girl slumped against her chest and suddenly tore open the front of Tara’s blouse, exposing her white silk brassiere. Tara whimpered in frustration as her foe yanked up the cups of her bra, causing her pert breasts to fall out beneath the empty cups. Nastassja pinched the blonde’s nipples cruelly, enjoying her dominance over the brassy bitch.

“I have plans for you, tough girl.” whispered the brunette in Tara’s ear.

Tara cried as Nastassja stood up and dragged her by her hair down the alley on her ass. The flailing blonde’s seat of her pantyhose was torn open as it scraped along the dirty alley floor. Her luxurious panties were ruined as the back of them peeled off her creamy white ass and bunched up below it, leaving her bare skin subjected to the friction of being dragged down the alley. She grimaced as her eyes moistened with tears, abrasions covering her fanny.

Nastassja dragged the poor bitch to the overturned garbage cans and carelessly tossed the whining girl face down in the heap of putrid restaurant waste. Tara spat disgustedly and tried to lift her face out of the reeking garbage, but a sharp stomp between her shoulder blades buried her face in the slop, leaving her moaning and dry heaving.

“Have a snack, cunt!” snarled Nastassja as she stomped Tara again.

Suddenly, the nearby side door to the restaurant opened and the brunette looked up to see a balding, middle aged man standing there in cook’s whites. He lit the cigarette hanging from his mouth and inhaled deeply, then met the brunette’s gaze with a subtle grin.

“Bonjour!” he greeted as he winked and nodded.

“Bonjour.” responded Nastassja, realizing the man would be an unobtrusive spectator.

She returned her attention back to her gagging foe, yanking Tara’s miniskirt the rest of the way off and rolling her bedraggled pantyhose off as well. She smacked the blonde’s bleeding fanny, eliciting a muffled cry from the beaten girl. Tara was unresisting as her wrists were tightly lashed behind her back with her pantyhose. The brunette clutched Tara by her hair and cruelly scrubbed her face back and forth in the pile of slop as Tara gagged and sputtered, kicking her feet wildly.

“You shouldn’t be snacking, fat ass, but if you insist!” teased Nastassja.

“Fuck...you!!!” sputtered the blonde as she violently gagged in the fetid heap.

Nastassja turned the bound blonde onto her back, unable to suppress a giggle as she looked at Tara’s face smeared with slimy garbage. The front of Tara’s panties were positioned halfway down her crotch, revealing her dark colored pubes. The brunette scooped up a handful of rotting vegetable waste and stuffed it down inside the front of Tara’s panties as the blonde whined disgustedly. Nastassja smiled at the cook and then smashed her fist into Tara’s pussy, squashing the slop inside her panties and forcing an agonized groan from the blonde.

Tara lay moaning in pain, her eyes closed tightly as Nastassja plucked a length of twine from the pile of garbage. She used it to toe-tie Tara’s big toes together, leaving the once proud blonde bitch a subdued, helpless heap of stinking flesh. The spectator chuckled as he gazed at the humiliated blonde girl. Nastassja lifted the lid on an unturned garbage can and crinkled her nose as a wave of stench escaped from the half-full can. She picked the can up and dumped it’s contents onto the sobbing, helpless Tara. The nauseated blonde shuddered as she tried not to vomit, her face and torso heaped with rotten lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and the like.

“Fucking cunt!!!” Tara sputtered from beneath the pile of garbage.

Nastassja grinned as she flicked away some of the slop from Tara’s face with her stockinged foot. The blonde was a vile sight, bound securely, half stripped, with putrid garbage clinging to her tear stained, crimson face.

“Leave me alone!!!” Tara whined, spitting out a slimy tidbit of slop from her blood encrusted lips. “Pleeeassse!!! I’m sorry!!!”

Nastassja lifted her foot and pressed her hose encased toes against Tara’s nose, settling the ball of her foot over the crying girl’s mouth. Tara squirmed helplessly as her foe smashed the garbage into her face as she smothered her with her foot.

“Pardon, Mademoiselle,” said a gruff voice from behind Nastassja.

The brunette snapped her head around to see a judicial police officer standing ten feet behind her. Her heart sank as she removed her foot from the gagging girl’s mouth. The cook quickly ducked back inside the doorway and closed the door.

“I don’t think you understand-” Nastassja began to explain.

“Oh yes, I believe I do,” interrupted the policeman. He glanced over his shoulder, “Sylvie, is this the blonde?!”

Sylvie Trottier appeared from behind her husband and walked up to Nastassja. She looked down at Tara, who gazed up at her with apprehension.

“Oui, Yves, this is the little trollop,” the wife said angrily.

Officer Yves Trottier turned his back and folded his arms across his chest, “Revenge is lawful in this case, mon cherie. An eye for eye,” he said.

“You can’t do this!!!” shrieked Tara, struggling in vain from her position in the garbage heap.

“The alternative is a charge of assault, Mademoiselle,” answered the policeman in a serious tone.

“Merci - Thank you,” said Sylvie as she touched Nastassja’s wrist. “We do this together, yes?!”

Nastassja smiled as Sylvie slipped out of her high heels, her sheer black hosed feet squishing in the pile of slop. She diligently coated the bottom of her foot with the rotten waste, and then raised it up above Tara’s face.

“No....please!!!” begged the disheveled blonde. “You can have the shoes!!! They’re right inside the store.......take them!!!”

Sylvie smiled and pressed her foot onto Tara’s face, muffling the helpless girl’s pleas. She ground her foot firmly against the blonde, smearing the foul slop from the foot of her pantyhose into the girl’s mouth and up her nostrils.

“Zee shoes are not an issue,” said Sylvie in her light Parisian accent. “Zeh are already mine, petite cochon!”

Nastassja positioned herself straddling Tara’s trembling, securely bound feet and jammed her messy heel into Tara’s stained, pantied crotch, causing the suffocating girl to jerk in pain. As Sylvie foot smothered Tara with her crud covered foot, Nastassja tormented her pussy with heel thrusts and crotch grinds.

The overmatched blonde quivered and bucked, her protests smothered nearly silent by Sylvie’s foot, as well as her yelps in response to Nastassja’s pussy punishment. Soon her muffled moans trailed off, accompanied by a last heaving gag. Her body relaxed and she passed out beneath her tormentresses feet.

Nastassja plunged her foot into a heap of garbage and plopped it onto the blonde’s belly. She hooked her toes under the waistband of Tara’s slimy, stretched out panties and slid them further down to fully expose her furry mound. Using her toes, she squished the nasty slop into Tara’s bush, leaving her womanhood a smelly mess.

Sylvie gently lifted her foot from Tara’s face and used her toe to tap on the girl’s chin, prying her mouth ajar. She scraped her slimy foot across Tara’s fouled lips, leaving her with a mouthful of the putrid slop.

“You see, I said you were a trash mouth!” giggled Nastassja and she and Sylvie broke into laughter.

Yves turned back around and tried to suppress a grin as he looked at the destroyed, filthy, unconscious blonde. “Sylvie, I believe you have a new pair of shoes awaiting, oui?!” he asked. “I weel wait for zat little piggy to awake, zen I weel ‘ave a......stern talk wiz ‘er and zend ‘er on ‘er way.”

“Merci, Yves,” said Nastassja as she and Sylvie headed for the side door to Michel’s boutique. “The shoes will be a gift from me.”

Yves stood beside the beaten blonde and looked down at her with disdain as he said with a wry grin, “Zometimes, zee good ole fashioned azz-keeking works ze wonders, eh?”