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From: dbetger@tiac.net (Donnie B.)
Subject: {A.S.S.} NEW! Owning Corey (A different sort of D/S story) Part 3 of 9
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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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