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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 5 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
7.
I awoke from troubled dreams into a stranger reality. It was
still dark, and out here it gets truly dark. The moon had long
since set, so the room was totally lightless. I thought about
what had happened over the last couple days. I thought about
the young woman lying naked under the covers in the spare
bedroom. I thought about that incredible night we'd spent
together. I thought, if I don't get up and pee I'll burst.
I slid out of bed and started the familiar trek across to the
bathroom. Two seconds later I was on the floor. "What the
fuck?" I said to the darkness. But even before I found the
light switch I knew. Corey was lying there, curled up in a
fetal position beside my bed, bare and shivering on the hard
braided rug. She was moaning a little from the sudden light, or
maybe in pain from where I'd stumbled against her. I went to
the closet and got my heavy terry-cloth robe and draped it over
her. Then I had to hit the bathroom.
When I finished, Corey was standing in the door, with the robe
over her shoulders. Damn, I'd have to remember to shut the
bathroom door from now on. Bachelor's habits might be hard to
break, but she deserved that much consideration.
"Your turn," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said, and brushed past me, sat on the
toilet, and began urinating. Well, damn. Apparently any effort
at modesty would be one-sided. I looked at her, sitting there.
She was a mess. What was I thinking? I couldn't expect to
boost her self-esteem if I kept her in such a state.
I came up short at that thought. Whatever state she was going
to be in from now on was her business, not mine. Except...
Except maybe she was like some wild creature who'd been kept in
a cage and no longer knew how to make her way on her own. Maybe
I'd have to reintroduce her to life, like the naturalists who
returned zoo animals to the field. Well, all right, so be it.
Start with the basics.
"Finished?" I asked. "Good. Come on, let's get you cleaned
up."
She misunderstood. She opened her legs and reached down to
spread her labia. Dear God. She thought I wanted to wipe her.
"No, sweetheart. I mean let's have a shower." I couldn't
believe my ears. I was starting to treat her like a tiny child,
but she made no protest. "Do you like it hot, or just warm?" I
asked as I ran the water. She shrugged. "This okay?" I drew
her hand under the spray. She nodded. "Right, then. In we go."
I let her stand under the needles for a long time, soaking away
the stale remnants of the last few days' tension. She turned
around and around, letting the spray wash over her. God, she
was beautiful.
"Allow me," I said, holding out the shampoo. She smiled, a real
genuine warm one. I blooped some into my hand and started
working it into her hair. She sighed. I spent a long time
massaging her scalp, and she seemed to be totally content.
Finally I turned her and leaned her down under the shower to
rinse.
"Ready for the next step?" I asked, holding the soap around in
front of her. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled
again. I went to work, starting from the shoulders and working
down. I went very carefully over the nasty blue-and-yellow
bruise on her rib cage. Her skin was soft and smooth,
especially her bottom and thighs. Those red welts had faded
considerably, so they must have been fairly fresh when I'd first
seen them. I never wanted to see a sight like that again, and I
told her so. She didn't answer.
I got to the bottom and stood up. Instead of having her turn, I
put an arm around and pressed her tummy, drawing her back away
from the spray, and washed her front side that way. When I got
to her breasts, she sighed and sank back against me. My
erection, unnoticed till then, was suddenly trapped between my
belly and the small of her back. She wriggled, laughing,
stroking it with her soapy body.
"Naughty girl," I said. She laughed again, then reached for my
hand and guided it between her thighs. I applied the soap
gently but very, very thoroughly. I felt her quaking and
quivering, and then she gave a great gasp and doubled over
forward, catching herself with one palm pressed hard against the
faucet wall. The water was now hammering onto her back, making
soapy rivers run along her spine and into the space between us.
"Please," she said, arching her back and tightening her
buttocks. "Oh, please..."
I didn't hesitate. I didn't feel even the slightest guilt. I
bent my knees, dipped, lined things up, and rose into her in a
single motion. She groaned, and so did I. This time, unlike
our first, it only took a few frantic seconds to reach the top
and go over. But even then, I stayed hard and stayed inside
her, reaching under to tweak her stony little nipples, then down
further to caress her near the point of our joining. She gave a
little scream and came again.
Afterward, we had to start all over with the soap. We stayed in
that shower until the hot water ran out. And I have a very
large water heater.
8.
The next day's trip to the mall was another experience to
remember. Corey was still wearing the little black dress, of
course, and its neckline ruled out a bra, but I made sure she
was clean and had panties on. Our first stop was Sears.
She hadn't been shopping for three years, and in the beginning
she wasn't at all willing to pick out clothes for herself. I'd
point to something and ask if she liked it. She'd say, "What do
you think?" or "If you like it, fine." In the end we got a
couple pairs of jeans, a pile of T-shirts, two simple dresses,
some fairly plain blouses and pull-on tops, and a couple warm
sweaters. I got her a light jacket and a sweatshirt. She
didn't remember her sizes, or claimed she didn't, so she spent a
lot of time in the dressing room.
A visit to the shoe store provided her with sneakers, low-heel
pumps, and a pair of boots. Then we took a walk through Macy's,
and I let her spend some time at the cosmetics counter. I had
some reservations about this, as I've always preferred the
natural look, but Corey proved to have excellent taste. She
ignored the mascara and makeup, chose a lipstick that was much
the same color as her real mouth, except slightly pinker and
creamier, and picked out a cologne I liked a lot -- quite subtle
and musky. Her face lit up into a big grin when she saw my
reaction as I sniffed her wrist.
The ski shop yielded up a winter parka, hat and gloves. At that
point I thought we were finished, but on our way out she pulled
me into a lingerie shop. I was a bit surprised -- it was her
first really independent action since we'd left Phoenix -- but
pleased. By the time we left I was more than pleased. She had
chosen a few items of underwear, mostly simple day-to-day things
like panties and socks. But she'd spent most of the time
looking for sleepwear. She picked out some pajamas, then held
up every teddy and shorty nightgown in the store, it seemed.
She got positively chatty with the sales girl, and then, to my
delight, insisted on modeling her two favorites, asking me to
choose.
We left with both.
I decided that things were looking up. We went through the
grocery store, and she was free with her opinions on various
foods. She couldn't stand broccoli, and had made the mistake of
letting Jack know that. He had made it a major part of her
diet. We didn't buy any broccoli.
On the way back home, she looked over the seat at the piles of
boxes and bags, and I caught her happy smile in my peripheral
vision. I smiled, too. She must have noticed, because she
leaned over and landed a big warm kiss on my cheek. "Oh, thank
you, thank you. It's like a dream, Master," she throated.
"Welcome back to the big wide world, Corey Appleton." She
beamed. "And please don't call me that."
"You really don't care if I don't call you 'Master'?" There was
amazement in her voice.
I laughed. "I told you, Corey. Your only master now is you."
I turned to meet her eyes. "You can use my name, or just say
'hey, bub' if that makes you feel better."
"I -- I don't think I can stop saying it, not just like that.
He used to..." She looked out the window for a while. "He'd
punish me if I forgot to say it."
"Oh, Corey. You know I won't do that, don't you? But I guess I
can understand how it'd be tough to break the habit. But try,
okay? I feel like some old Southern plantation owner when you
say it."
That made her laugh, and we traded little jokes about
ante-bellum mansions and Spanish moss and darkies playing
banjos. "Brown Sugar," she said suddenly. "Remember the song?
The Stones? About a slave owner messing around with the slave
women. I hated that song, it was disgusting. And then it came
true." She started crying, sobbing quietly.
I let her go on for a while, then reached down and took her
hand. "It's over now, Corey."
She turned her face to mine, eyes red. "No," she said. "It'll
never be over, not as long as I live."
We carried one load into the house and put away the groceries.
The second load was mostly clothes, and I took her downstairs
and showed her how to work the washing machine. We had a little
game, racing to take the labels off the new clothes. "I'll go
get the last bags," I told her.
When I got back into the house, Corey was kneeling at the door,
naked, wearing her collar. I didn't even know she had it with
her.
I dropped the bags and went to her, kneeling down to face her.
"Why, Corey? I thought you were starting to feel like a whole
person again. Why this?"
"I... I just wanted to thank you, Mas... Sir. You've been so
good to me, and I don't have any way to..." Her voice trailed
off. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Christ. I guess you don't know me too well, do you? If you
think this is what I want -- "
"No, Sir," she said in a very small voice. "I know that now.
But it's all I have to give you."
How could I answer that? For three long years she'd been
treated worse than a dog. Was it any wonder she thought this
body was the only thing of value she possessed? "Corey. The
best gift you can give me is to start loving yourself again."
That made her look up and into my face. There was wonder there,
and gratitude, but something else too. I couldn't make it out.
But she ended the mystery, in an urgent whisper. "I'll try,
Sir. But Sir... please... I want you to."
It was just too much, overwhelming. I turned away and found a
chair, dizzy. She crawled over in front of me and resumed her
submissive kneeling stance. I looked at her, full of sorrow.
Jack had won, he'd broken her completely. I wondered if I had
any better chance of putting her together than the king's horses
and men had with Humpty Dumpty.
What could I do? If I went along with the game, it would just
reinforce her conditioning. If I refused her it would be
genuinely hurtful to her. And it might cut off her only route
to pleasure. It occurred to me that in each of our moments of
passion, she'd been in a submissive role: in my bed at Jack's,
in the shower here -- both episodes were, in origin, passive and
involuntary. She was so fully conditioned to slavery that it
had become her only context for sensual bliss.
I couldn't think of a middle ground. Accept her submission and
become the very person I'd tried to save her from, or refuse her
and deny her all release. It was a lesser-of-evils situation.
I wished I'd gone into psychology instead of sales.
It was Corey who resolved the dilemma, and she did it by a
direct appeal to my glands. "Sir?" she said. I looked up. She
had changed her position slightly, but what a difference. Her
knees were wide apart instead of together, her hands were linked
behind her, and her back was arched, breasts thrust forward.
She was, by an immense margin, the most sexy and desirable
vision I'd ever beheld. "My old master sometimes had me kneel
like this. Do you like me better this way?"
My answer was a croak, and she smiled, confident of her power.
No longer unsure of herself, she leaned forward, opened my
jeans, and proceeded to perform the most intense, prolonged, and
utterly pleasurable fellatio I'd ever experienced. As I pumped
my semen into her mouth, I found myself thinking, at least she's
stopped calling me 'Master'. And I didn't even notice the
contradiction in that.
--
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