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From: dbetger@tiac.net (Donnie B.)

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Subject: {A.S.S.} NEW! Owning Corey (A different sort of D/S story) Part 3 of 9

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Date: 29 Jul 1997 22:57:38 GMT

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Message from the author:

Please don't read this story.  You're far too young and it's 

got grown-up stuff in it.  If you read it, you could get in 

trouble, and so could I, and then I wouldn't be able to post 

more stories for you not to read.



This work of fiction is the property of its author and may not be

used for profit without written permission.  Otherwise, you may

reproduce and distribute it unmodified, or place it in an electronic

archive, if this notice is attached.









                     Owning Corey 





         Fiction Copyright (c) 1997 by Don Boettger







                             4.



Corey's voice dropped yet another notch.  Though it was heavenly

to have her lying against me and tickley when her lips brushed

my ear, I had to strain to hear, and sometimes I missed whole

sections and had to backfill.  Still, I heard enough to make my

blood run cold.



Corey told me that her father was a well-known figure in local

business and politics.  He had close ties to the Christian

right, and wielded enough power to make or break careers, right

up to the governorship and Senate.  But he had feet of clay, and

Jack had somehow caught him in a compromising situation.



Jack had been clever.  Corey's father was too powerful to tackle

directly, and besides, Jack had some family money and wasn't too

interested in that sort of extortion.  So he'd gone to Corey,

who at that time was spending a summer working on her father's

staff.  He'd shown her the evidence.  She'd been shocked and

terribly frightened.  Then Jack made his demand.  For her.



"I should have slapped him and spit in his face," she whispered,

"but he didn't give me time to think.  I had to go with him

right then and there, or he'd send the stuff to the press and

that would be the end of my father."



"I don't get it.  Why did you agree?  He had nothing on you."



Corey sighed heavily, and I heard her swallow dryly.  "You have

to understand, I didn't have a clue what Jack had in mind.  How

could I?  I was only twenty-one, I'd led a sheltered life, gone

to Bible college.  I'd never even heard of sadism, or bondage. 

The worst thing I could imagine was having to have sex with him,

and I didn't even believe that, not really.  And..."



"Go on."



She hugged me tighter.  "I had these fantasies.  I'd only fooled

around with boys a couple times, and it was still a very

exciting thing, very wrong, very tempting.  I would have been

shocked, then, if somebody accused me of it, but now I see I

sort of wanted him to rape me.  Get it?  I could do it without

the guilt, it would all be his fault."



"I understand."



"Do you?  Really?  It took me a long time to admit that to

myself."



"So he raped you."



"No.  First he made sure of his hold on me.  He made me strip,

and took pictures.  Made me do a lot of nasty things, and act

like I enjoyed them.



"Then he took his pants off, and put his thing up to my mouth. 

I didn't even know what he wanted, can you believe it?  When he

explained it I refused.  That's when I got my first whipping."



We lay together a long time in silence.  There was a highway

somewhere near, just barely close enough to hear, and once in a

while a big rig rolled by like a distant thunderstorm.



"Wasn't there anybody you could turn to?  Nobody you could

trust?"



"He still had the stuff on Daddy.  Plus now he had the stuff on

me, too.  I didn't know anybody outside the Fundamentalist crowd

that I'd grown up with.  I knew exactly what they'd think of me.

I would have reacted the same if it had been one of them

instead of me."



"You were all alone."



She sniffed and moved her hand to rub her face.



"How long?"  I asked.



"Almost three years.  It gets worse all the time, but I'm in so

deep now I can't get out, no matter what he does."



"What does he do?"



Corey just sobbed and trembled against me.  I decided not to

press the point.



"What did you tell your father?  You had to explain leaving like

that."



"Jack made me write a letter, which he had mailed from Detroit

or someplace.  I wrote that I hated my life, that I never wanted

to see them again, that I would rather be a street whore than

part of my own family.  Worse.  Lots worse.  He... he made it so

I could never go home again."



"I'm sure they'd understand.  You did it all for your father's

sake, they'd have to realize that."



"No.  You don't get it.  You'd never understand unless you grew

up in that kind of family.  They'd never accept me back, not

after what I've done, even if I hadn't written that letter."



I began to catch on then.  Jack had her in bondage far tighter

than any physical ropes.  She simply couldn't see any

alternatives.  How could I help her?  Even if I could influence

Jack to release her, she had nowhere else to go.



"Corey.  Listen to me.  I'm going to give you my business card,

and I'm going to write my home phone number and address on it. 

I don't have much cash, but I'll give you that too.  It might be

enough to get you to Connecticut.  You wait for your chance, get

away, and come to me.  I'll take care of you until you get on

your feet."



She hugged me again.  "Thank you.  Nobody's ever been so nice to

me, I really mean that.  But he'd still be able to ruin my

father."



"I can't believe this.  After all that's happened, you're still

protecting him?  Even though he'd turn his back on you if you

went to him for help?  That's crazy, Corey.  He made his own

bed, let him lie in it.  Get your life back, now, while you

still have a life ahead of you."



She rolled away from me, curling into a ball.  I barely heard

her now.  "This is my life."



"No.  That's just wrong.  You're too wrapped up in it, you can't

see how bizarre this is."  I ran my hand along her arm, down to

the wrist, and covered her hand with mine.



"You don't know the half of it," she whispered.



"Tell me."



The silence stretched out.  More trucks hummed through.  I

drifted closer to sleep, counting heartbeats.  Finally, she

said, "I had my very first orgasm when he was whipping me."



I didn't think I'd heard her right.  She must have interpreted

my silence as condemnation; she curled up tighter and pulled her

hand loose from mine.  In apology I kissed her neck where it met

her shoulder, inhaling the smell of her hair, shampoo and dried

sweat.



"Pain and pleasure can be very similar sensations at times," I

offered.



I felt her head turn.  "What did you say?"



"I said, some people get pleasure from pain.  It's not that

uncommon.  Nothing to be ashamed of.  But giving in to a bully

-- that's really shameful."



Corey rolled toward me.  "Don't.  Please.  Don't do this to me. 

It's cruel, and I don't want to remember you like that."



"Cruel?  How?"



She moaned softly, and said nothing more.  I lay there, stroking

her arm with my fingertips.  What could she mean?  I wasn't

thinking straight, I'd been up since four Eastern time the

previous morning.  Then it clicked.



"Oh, Corey.  Oh, no.  I see, I get it.  You don't want me to say

it's okay.  You want it to be bad, so it really is your fault. 

If you get pleasure from it, then your predicament is just

punishment."



She rolled against my side, burying her face against my chest. 

It felt icy where the tears wet the skin.  I put my hand on her

cheek.



"He's a monster, Corey.  He's even turned your own pleasure

against you.  Don't you see?  It's healthy for people to explore

their sexuality.  If you want someone to tie you, or spank you,

or humiliate you, that's fine, and nobody else's business.  If

you want to be a slave, and your partner knows your limits and

respects them, that's cool.  But to coerce you, and twist your

guilt and shame against you, and work mind games -- that's truly

evil."



I felt a thick flood against my bare chest, and Corey gave a

great sniff, and wiped me off with her hand while whispering an

apology.  I caught the hand and squeezed it.



"Oh, God.  Oh, God," she whispered.  "Oh, God, please stop.  I

can't stand anymore.  I don't want to talk anymore.  Just hold

me."



I wrapped her in my arms and felt her small soft breasts

pressing against me.  The highway was quiet now, and all I heard

was our breathing and my own pulse coursing through my ears.  I

think I slept for awhile, but if I did my dream was no more

amazing than the waking.  She was caressing me, gently stroking

my stiffening cock.  Wordlessly, she slung her leg across me and

rolled her hips, guiding me inside.  She settled back, lying

full on my chest, engulfing me in blazing moisture.  Somehow she

worked her muscles inside, keeping me stimulated, guiding me

slowly toward a distant pinnacle.  I lay still and let her set

the pace, felt her grinding herself against my pubic bone, felt

the sharp contractions of her silent climax.  Then my mind went

away and I went over the edge, grabbing her hips and arching

fiercely and hard, bouncing her above me until I exploded with a

deep groan.



Afterward, I opened my eyes and saw the dim purple dawn spilling

into the room and knew it was morning, the end of our time

together.  She tried to rise, and I held her.  She reached back

and unhooked my arms and slipped away from me.



"Thank you," she said.  "You can't imagine what tonight meant to

me."  Then she leaned down and kissed me, straightened, and

padded out of the room.  Only after she was gone did I realize I

hadn't returned that kiss.



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