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From: dbetger@tiac.net (Donnie B.)
Subject: Celeste's #2 for August: "Owning Corey" (complete)
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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  1997 by Don Boettger


1.

The first time I met Corey I thought she was the most attractive
woman I'd ever seen.  Five minutes later I wasn't so sure.

I was on a business trip, meeting with a potential new
distributor in the Southwest region.  Jack Smith (right, it's a
phony name) wanted our product, and my boss wanted his business.
So I was in Phoenix being wined and dined.  Jack brought along
his "girlfriend", as he introduced her.  He called her Missy. 
Later I'd find out that wasn't her real name.

Missy was the kind of woman who makes you understand the word
'covet'.  She was fairly tall, slender, and wore her
honey-blonde hair in a sort of Prince Valiant cut.  She was
young, probably mid-twenties, and dressed to the nines in a
tight black dress that plunged in front and soared to indecent
heights below.  Her makeup was minimal, but she didn't need
more.  She wore no jewelry except a simple gold choker necklace,
but those blue-green eyes were lovelier than any gems.

Still, moments after the introduction I began to wonder.  I saw
those incredible eyes for all of half a second before she
dropped them.  Shy, I thought.  Then we were led to our table,
and Jack walked ahead of me, with Missy bringing up the rear. 
Jack didn't seat her, so I did, and she seemed surprised and
somewhat embarrassed.  Jack frowned at me, but said nothing.

The conversation was another surprise.  There was no small talk,
no getting-acquainted.  Jack acted as if Missy wasn't even
there.  He dived into details of the business relationship, a
conversation I entered reluctantly.  From time to time I glanced
over at Missy, but she seemed to be fascinated by the napkin in
front of her.

When the waiter came, Jack ordered for her.  Just a salad, no
entree, no wine.

The whole meal went like that.  Missy was about as much a part
of the conversation as the candle on the table.  Once I tried to
draw her out, and it led to a truly odd exchange.  As her salad
was delivered, I asked, "Are you a vegetarian, Missy?"  She
glanced up at me in surprise, started to answer, then shut her
mouth and turned to Jack.  He glared at her, frowning, then saw
me watching.  He turned back to Missy and gave a little nod.

"No," she said in a near-whisper, and dropped her eyes.  Her jaw
worked again, and I thought she might say more, but then she
just froze up.

This was more than shyness, obviously.  I'd begun to come up
with theories.  Maybe they were going through a rough time, on
the verge of breaking up.  Maybe he was abusive.  I could
believe that, from Jack's personality.  He wasn't one to
compromise, or ignore any challenge, real or imagined.  Or maybe
they'd had an argument earlier, and Missy just didn't want to be
there.

The rest of the evening was a bust.  Jack dominated the
conversation, trying to sell himself and get his
distributorship.  I was distracted and noncommittal.  Missy was
silent.  It was a mercy when the waiter returned Jack's card and
we got up to leave.

"Why don't we all go back to my place for a nightcap?" Jack
suggested.

My first reaction was to accept, but then I caught a glimpse of
Missy's face.  She was horrified, and not hiding it at all.  She
leaned over to Jack and whispered urgently in his ear.  His face
spread into a smile, the first real smile I'd seen him give, but
I didn't like it.  It was the sort of smile you'd see on a
little boy who was pulling the wings off a fly.

"I'm pretty tired, jet lag and all," I said, looking at Jack but
watching Missy's face out of the corner of my eye.  Those words
transformed her.  She looked like a saint, an angel.  Like a dog
that had just been scratched in her favorite spot.

Jack said, "Oh, I insist.  Just for a few minutes.  It's not
far."

This time I looked at her directly.  There was no mistaking the
crestfallen expression.  I said, "Is it okay with you, Missy?"

"Yes."  Her pleading eyes made her words a lie.  I looked back
at Jack, but I couldn't think of any reason to decline.  Off we
went in Jack's big Caddy, with Missy in the back alone.  I
turned around once and saw a gleam on her cheek.  She was crying
silently.

Jack's home was a snazzy Southwestern hacienda, adobe-walled
rooms surrounding an open court.  He took me around proudly,
displaying his tasteless art collection and furnishings.  We'd
lost Missy just after coming in, and I was hoping she'd found a
place to hide.  I didn't like Jack's mood.

No such luck.  Jack led me back to the great room, and there she
was.  Naked.  Kneeling.  Eyes down.  A collar on her neck where
the choker had been.  Tears streaming down her face.

"Jack," I said.  "What the fuck."

That smile was back.  "Missy's very affectionate, aren't you,
Missy?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes, Master," she said in a croaking voice.

"Missy, you will spend the night with my friend here.  Do
anything he tells you to."

"Yes, Master."

"Jack, hold on a second.  This is nuts.  I mean, 'Master'?  You
can't treat a woman this way."

Jack scowled, and his hands balled into fists.  "Sure I can. 
Missy likes it, don't you, Missy?"

"Yes, Master," came her mantra.

"And if she misbehaves, well, we have ways of correcting that. 
Stand up, girl, and turn around."

Missy rose to her feet, a bit unsteady.  She turned.  Her back,
buttocks and thighs were crisscrossed with red welts.  Jack took
a step toward her, pushed her shoulders down, and grabbed one
cheek of her ass, spreading her open.  There were more angry
stripes in there, right across the shaved skin of her labia. 
Those lips glistened, too, I couldn't help noticing.  Not with
tears.

"Jack.  Why are you showing me this?"

He laughed.  "It's all just part of my full-service distribution
business.  Jack takes care of you."

Like you've been taking care of her, I thought angrily.

"Besides, she wants you, see?"  Jack dipped a finger into her,
then held it up, wet.  "You want him, don't you, Missy?"

"Yes, Master."

"That didn't sound very sincere."

"Oh, yes, please, Master, I want to spend the night with him. 
Please let me serve him with my body, Master.  I want him so
bad.  I want to feel him in me and taste his come."

I was dizzy and confused -- and hard.  "Jack, stop this, all
right?  I'm impressed, you've made your point.  Just drop it,
okay?"

His face clouded, and I realized that his smile wasn't the most
threatening expression he could assume.  "You wouldn't want to
turn down my hospitality, would you?  Besides," he purred, "now
that I've given her the order, if she doesn't spend the night
with you she'll have to be punished."

Missy knew what that meant, and so did I.  I saw the sag in her
shoulders.  Besides, while my mind was protesting, my groin was
shouting "Yes!"

"All right, Jack, you win.  Missy, get dressed.  I'll call a
cab."

"Nonsense.  You'll stay right here tonight.  The guest room is
all yours."



2.

Jack lingered in the spare bedroom, reluctant to leave us. 
"Now, Missy, remember that you are to do anything he says. 
Anything."

"Yes, Master."  Missy was on the bed, on all fours, as Jack had
told her.  The tears had stopped, but she looked terribly pale.

"You won't need to bother with a condom.  She's clean, and she's
on the pill, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Master."

"You should give her a smack or two to start," Jack advised. 
"That really warms her up, right, Missy?"

"Yes, Master."

"And don't treat her too gently.  She likes the rough stuff." 
Jack glanced around again.  "Okay, then, I'll say goodnight."

I was silent as he walked out, turned back at the threshold to
make a final assessment, then closed the door behind him.  I
turned back to Missy, still waiting on the bed.  "This is
unbelievable.  Look, Missy, I don't know what's going on with
you and Jack, but I don't want any part of it.  Understand?"

She didn't answer, but lifted her head to look at me.  I sighed.
"Just... why don't you sit up?"

I crossed the room and rummaged through the closet, and found an
old men's bathrobe.  I went back to the bed and laid it across
her shoulders.  She made no move to pull it closed.

"Missy.  Talk to me.  What is this all about?  Why do you do
what he says?"

She shivered a little, but didn't answer.

"Are you afraid of him?  Would he try to hurt you if you left?"

Still no answer.  The shoulders hunched and fell, hunched and
fell.  She wouldn't look at me.

"It's not right, how he treats you.  And don't try to claim you
like it, I can tell that's not true.  What's his hold over you?"

This time she looked into my eyes, and I melted with pity for
her.  Not the sexiest emotion.  My earlier arousal was gone.

"Missy, do you want me to help you?  I can get you away from
him."

For a moment her face lit up with joy and hope, and I got the
feeling she'd gone a long time without either of those emotions.
Then they seemed to drain away, and she shook her head.

"All right," I said.  "This chair looks comfortable enough.  You
take the bed, I'll sack out here."

Here eyes grew wide, and she searched my face, and finally
decided I meant it.  At last she spoke.  "Oh, no, please, you
have to sleep with me.  He said so.  If you don't..."  She
trailed off, shivering again.

"Fine.  You just tell him we spent a wonderful night together. 
I'll back up whatever you say."

"No.  Please.  He'll find out.  He always finds out.  What if he
checks our stories?  We have to do it, really do it.  Please?"

Dear Lord.  This was more serious than I'd imagined.  I sat down
beside Missy and put my arm around her shoulders.  She melted
against me, sobbing.  That lasted quite a while.

Finally I said, "All right, you win.  We'll both sleep in the
bed.  I'll have sex with you, if you really want..." -- here she
straightened a little and nodded briskly -- "but there's a
price."

She wasn't expecting that, but she knew how to answer it. 
"Anything you want."

"Good.  The price is, you have to tell me how this happened to
you.  The truth, Missy.  Agreed?"

Her mouth was open in surprise.  She gazed into my face,
wonderingly.  She seemed to have a hard time with eye contact,
continually glancing down or aside, but she kept coming back as
if hungry for it.  Finally her eyes stilled and gazed into mine
for long seconds.  Then she nodded, "Okay."  And she shrugged
off the robe and threw her arms around me and kissed me hard.



3.

She was an astonishing lover: energetic, uninhibited, urgent but
undemanding.  I'd intended to slip her a quick and friendly fuck
just to meet Jack's demands, then get her story and some sleep. 
It didn't work out that way.  She had an amazing ability to
sense my oncoming climax and slow me down, teasing and
prolonging the lovemaking until I was in a desperate but
ecstatic delirium.  My first shattering orgasm came a good hour
along, and she gave me only a brief respite before beginning all
over again.  I wondered if Jack got the same treatment.  I
wondered if Jack had any idea of her talent.  I stopped
wondering as she took me to the stars again.

When we finally came up for air, the city was very quiet outside
the hacienda.  She'd emptied me, mind, body and soul.  We lay
silently side by side for a long time, my thoughts lazy.  I'd
forgotten my demand for her story.  I remember thinking about
how to justify more trips to Phoenix.  Lots more.

I guess I was on the edge of sleep when I started remembering
the strange events of the night before.  The image that fully
woke me was of Jack spreading Missy's cheeks to reveal the
traces of whippings there.  I felt queasy at the reality of such
cruelty, and for several moments thought I'd have to make a run
for the bathroom.  I was even planning my route from the
half-memory of the room's layout, when Missy stirred and my
stomach relaxed.

"You awake?" I whispered.

"Mmmm."  Her hand crabbed gently at my chest.

"Thank you.  You're incredible," I told her.

"Thank you.  It's been so long, so long..."  Her voice was
sleepy.

"What do you mean?  You must... I mean, with Jack..."

She gave a little snort.  "Jack."  The voice was so soft, so
close to my ear.  Coincidence, or did she think we might be
overheard?  "Mostly he just wants a quick blow job.  If he fucks
me it's usually in the ass, and he doesn't care if I come.  In
fact, he's actually..."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Missy, please tell me.  I'd like to help you."

She was silent again.  Maybe she was deciding whether to trust
me, whether to tell the truth or make something up, or just say
nothing.

"Sometimes he beats me for having an orgasm."

"No."

"That's why last night was so wonderful.  I came so much..."

"You did?  I mean, I knew you were doing all right, but I don't
remember anything really special."

She paused again.  "I've gotten pretty good at hiding them, I
guess."

That gave me a little shiver.  "Through the looking glass," I
murmured.

"Huh?"

"A lot of women fake orgasms to please their lovers."

"Oh, I see..." she said, then a moment later, "I see."

"He's turned you inside out, Missy.  How did it happen?  Why do
you let it happen?"

She waited so long I thought she might have decided not to
answer.  I started to remind her of our deal, but then I decided
not to.  I figured she'd been ordered around enough.  Finally
she spoke.  "I don't have any choice.  I never did."

"You always have a choice, Missy."

"No I don't.  And that's not my real name.  Jack gave it to me,
because he knew I didn't like it and he always has to torment
me."

"I don't want to torment you, Mis... oops.  What should I call
you?"

Another pause.  "Corey.  My real name is Corey."  Is it, I
wondered?  Or is that just another layer of defense?  Neither of
us could fully trust each other yet.

"Corey.  A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

She hugged me.  I hugged her back, and she squeezed even harder.
"He never says anything nice to me."

This time it was my turn to pause.  I let my hands explore her
back.  "Why don't you start from the beginning," I prodded.



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.



5.

Jack was in the room when I stepped out of the shower.  Corey
was there, too, kneeling naked in front of Jack.  There was a
leash hanging from her collar now, and the free end was in
Jack's hand.

"So, what did you think of Missy, eh?" he chortled.  "Do I have
her trained or what?"

I couldn't think of anything to say.  It was strange, standing
there in front of them with nothing but a towel around me.  I
was exhausted, and even the shower hadn't roused me.  I needed
coffee and breakfast and some time alone to think.  It looked
like I wasn't going to get any of those.

Jack didn't seem to notice my silence.  "Missy, you aren't being
very polite.  Thank the man for fucking you."

"Thank you, sir.  It was very nice to be able to serve you with
my body.  And thank you, Master, for letting me fuck him."  I
remembered her parting words, and realized the irony.  She had
already thanked me, but this wasn't the same at all.

Jack laughed harshly.  "You'd almost think she meant it,
wouldn't you?"  He got up, tugging on the leash.  "Come, Missy. 
I got horny thinking about you two last night, I'll need your
mouth."

"Yes, Master," I heard as she crawled along after him.  She shot
a look back at me, but I couldn't read her expression.

Suddenly it all got to be too much.  I'd been through a whole
litany of emotions over the last twelve hours, and they'd been
buffeting me around, pushing me helplessly from one extreme to
another.  Now they seemed to merge and focus, and the result was
anger.

"Jack."  It was a loud, commanding tone, one I'd never heard
myself use.  He stopped and turned back, a puzzled look on his
face.

"Something wrong?"

"Damn right there's something wrong.  That's wrong," I said,
pointing at Corey.  "This whole fucking thing is wrong.  I don't
know if what you've done to her is illegal, but I know this
much.  You will never be a distributor for my company as long as
you keep a woman in bondage against her will."

Jack's mouth gaped, then set into a grim line.  He looked
steadily into my eyes.  I outstared him.  He looked at Corey,
and so did I.  She was pale and crying, and looking at me
pleadingly.  I knew she wanted me to stop, to back off.  I
wasn't about to do that.

"Hmmm.  What do you say, Missy?  Are you here against your will?"

"Oh, no, Master.  I want to stay and serve you."

"There.  Satisfied?"

"Hardly.  Let's cut the bullshit, Jack.  We all know the score,
so no fucking games.  You have a hold on her.  I want you to
give it up.  You'll have to choose between business and
pleasure, if that's what you get from the way you treat her."

Jack scowled darkly.  "Christ.  You've got a nerve, after
spending all night with your dick in her.  She told me all about
it, you know."

"More bullshit.  She only slept with me because she's terrified
of you."

"Oh?"  Jack yanked hard on the leash, snapping her neck.  "Is
that true, Missy?  Do I scare you?  Huh?"

"No, Master.  It's a pleasure to serve you."  

"There, you see?"  

How could he miss the irony in her voice?  It was only a notch
below open sarcasm, but apparently Jack couldn't detect it.  Or
didn't care.  Or she knew exactly what she could get away with,
and was using it to send a message to me.  I thought I knew what
that message was: back off, don't rock my boat, things could be
a lot worse and will be if you push it.

"No good, Jack.  I know, and you know I know.  She goes, or you
lose the product you need to grow your little empire down here."

Jack grunted.  He looked down at Corey.  Then he hauled off and
aimed a vicious kick at her bare ribs.  She choked back a yelp. 
"Stay here, bitch.  We have business to discuss."  To me, he
added, "There's coffee in the kitchen.  Join me when you're
dressed."  He dropped the leash and stalked out.

"Oh, God, oh, God, what are you doing?  Please, please, don't do
this.  Tomorrow you'll be gone and I'll still be here with him
and you can't imagine what it'll be like..."

"Shhh-hh, calm down, Corey.  I'm taking you out of here, and
that's a promise."  I dropped the towel and started dressing,
trying to ignore her sobs.

Five minutes later I was engaged in a surreal negotiation.  Jack
was no spring chicken, and he knew he had leverage to get
concessions from my company.  I had guidelines to follow, too,
but I'd never had so much at stake.  In the end, though, Jack
and I settled.  He got his distributorship, and on nearly the
best terms we'd ever given.  There were sales goals attached,
but we both knew he'd have no trouble meeting them.  In return,
Jack gave me Corey.

That's right, he gave her to me.  He wouldn't agree to simply
give up the blackmail documents and turn her loose.  He said,
"She's completely helpless, you know.  I've taken care of her
every need for three years, and she'd starve, or end up a hooker
or worse."  So I had to agree to keep her, to become her new
master.  He'd give the blackmail evidence to me, not to her.

I decided his justification was complete crap.  He just couldn't
stand the thought of caving completely, and was tickled to think
he was turning me into the very thing I was objecting to.  Of
course, my intention was to free her as soon as I had the
evidence in hand -- Jack insisted on holding that for two weeks,
and I agreed, since I could always cancel the distributorship if
he didn't come across.

I'm sure that Jack understood what I planned, too, but as long
as he could imagine her as my slave, it took the sting off his
loss.  Or maybe he suspected what was going to happen once Corey
was my responsibility.  If so, he did get the better of me, in
one sense.

He won the day in another way, too.  Less than two months later,
I would get the word that Jack was married.  Apparently he'd
been courting a Phoenix debutante, and was probably already
engaged when he gave me Corey.  Which is to say, he'd have had
to get rid of her anyway, and I was a very convenient out.  If I
thought he was that smart, I'd suspect him of setting up the
whole thing.  Maybe he did.  I'll never know, I guess.

Whatever the truth of that, an hour later Jack had his agreement
-- to be finalized in two weeks --  and I was getting into a cab
with Corey.  She was wearing the same sexy black dress she'd
worn the night before, and didn't have any luggage except a
small backpack with some underwear and toiletries.  She hadn't
needed much clothing in Jack's house.  As the cabby closed the
door, Jack leaned in the window and chuckled.  "So long, Missy,"
he said.  "You behave for your new master, hear?  If you don't
he'll send you right back to me for some advanced training." 
Corey shuddered against my side.

To me, he said, "You're a hell of a negotiator, son.  Never gave
away so much in a deal before.  But I got the last laugh."  The
cab was pulling away now.  "She's over the hill, son!"  He
called out after me.  "She's old meat.  The bloom is off that
rose, and that's a fact!"

The most beautiful woman I'd ever known snuggled against me all
the way to the hotel, but from there to the airport she shrank
away, curling her legs up on the seat and staring out the window
as the flat dry city rolled past.



6.

Our luck was pretty good.  The flight back to Hartford wasn't
too full, and I got Corey aboard on a standby fare.  They even
put us together, aisle and center seat of the same row.  The
name on the ticket was Corey Appleton.  As we waited she told me
she had a brother named Mac, short for MacIntosh.  I guess her
folks were trying to outdo the famous Hogg family of Houston,
who named their daughters Ima and Ura.

It wasn't until we were boarding that the strangeness began to
sink in.  Corey and I got some leers and a few truly black looks
as we walked up the aisle.  I realized that she'd never showered
after our night together, and that short-short dress allowed a
lot of air circulation up there.  Then it hit me -- she probably
had no panties on.  That touch would have been just like Jack.

The good news was that the window seat was still open when they
closed the hatch.  We pushed up the arm rests and had a
three-wide bench seat.  Corey grabbed my arm as the plane
rolled, and squeezed it hard when the nose went up.  It turned
out she'd only flown a couple times before.  She was obviously
scared but made no complaint.

She slept most of the way home, and after I called in a
voice-mail report to Patricia -- my boss, the national sales
manager -- so did I.  When I woke I found her curled up on the
seat with her head in my lap.  That little dress had ridden up,
and I could confirm my hunch about the panties.  So could
anybody walking by our row.  I woke her up and got her decent.

It was late afternoon in the East when the plane landed. 
Patricia had a rule on travel: two days' comp time after any
domestic business trip.  I almost never used it, unless the trip
was to someplace like Hawaii, but it was going to be very
helpful now.  Today was Friday, and I'd have all weekend and
Monday and Tuesday to get Corey settled in.  I got us bundled
into the car, grateful for the Indian Summer warmth.  But the
crisp autumn sky was a reminder of what Corey was going to need,
and soon.  I was beginning to see what Jack had meant when he
called her helpless.

The Hartford airport is well north of town, in Windsor Locks. 
Most of my colleagues grumbled about that, but it was convenient
for me.  I owned a small house a few miles further north,
practically on the Massachusetts border, so the drive home was
quick.  Corey wasn't talking, and I wasn't pressing it.  I had a
lot of things to think about.

Sleeping arrangements, for one.  I had a small guest bedroom,
which was also a library and junk room.  It wouldn't be hard to
clean that up and put Corey in there.  Then she'd need clothes. 
Well, tomorrow we could hit the mall up across the border in
West Springfield.  What to tell the neighbors was another
puzzle.  That might not be too bad, though.  New Englanders
tended to have a mind-your-own-business attitude.

All right, so the basics wouldn't be impossible.  But I was
still worried, and I couldn't quite put my finger on why.  Maybe
it was that Corey was so quiet.  I'd have expected her to be
joyful and excited.  After all, hadn't I just ridden in on a
white horse and rescued her from the Black Prince?

I stopped the car at the little grocery in Enfield.  We wouldn't
need much tonight, just the basics.  I left Corey in the car and
ran in.  I half-expected her to be gone when I got out, but she
wasn't, so we drove home.

My place is well out of town, on a couple of wooded acres.  It's
an old farmhouse that was renovated in the '80's -- comfortable
but not elegant.  It didn't compare to Jack's pocket mansion,
that's for sure.  I watched Corey's face for a reaction as we
pulled up, but there was nothing.

"Home," I announced.

"Yes, Master," she murmured.

I felt like she'd stuck a knife in me.  For a second I couldn't
breathe, and for several more I sat still, trying to get my
heart to behave.  Finally I said, "Don't call me that, Corey. 
You're not a slave anymore, and I'm not your master.  Nobody is.
 All right?"

"All right..."  ...Master.  She didn't say it, but she said it.

"Look, maybe I didn't explain this very well.  I figure you'll
want to be here for a couple weeks, until Jack sends me the
blackmail stuff.  Once it gets here we'll have a little bonfire,
and then you can do whatever you like.  You're welcome to stay
longer, as long as you need to get back on your feet.  But you
can leave anytime, starting right now.  Call your family, let
them know you're okay, whatever.  But you've got to stop
thinking of yourself as a piece of property."

She didn't respond, except to slide over and take my arm.  Well,
I suppose it was all pretty sudden and shocking.  She was going
to need time, and there was plenty of that.  We carried the
groceries inside, and I showed her around the house, ending with
her room.

"My room," she said in a toneless voice.  Why did she sound so
disappointed?

"Right.  We'll clear out some of this junk and throw it in the
attic.  You won't need the closet tonight, anyway."

I guess it was a poor attempt at comic relief.  Corey didn't
laugh.

"Anyhow," I said, "you can have the bathroom in the hall, I use
the one off my bedroom.  It's not quite like having your own
apartment, but you'll have a bit of privacy."

No response.

"Okay then.  How about we go scratch up some supper?"

"Yes, Master."

Three years.  What had happened to her soul?  How long would it
take to start healing?



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.



9.

Roller coaster.  Corey was giving me a ride on one, but I was
starting to understand that it wasn't deliberate.  I was just
experiencing a sort of contact high from the ups and downs she
was going through herself.  One clue was the way she kept
flipping moods.  For example: during the flight home she barely
spoke, but in the lingerie shop she'd chatted happily with the
clerk.  We were downstairs at the washing machine when she
opened up again.

We were both naked, and I was still coming down from that
incredible pinnacle.  I watched as she stooped down with the
load of wet things and tossed them in the dryer, and thought of
the way it had ended.

Corey had taken my whole load in her mouth and swallowed.  No
other lover (not that I'd had terribly many) had done that on
her own initiative and I'd never dared to ask.  Then, as my
heart raced and my mind floundered, she'd held my shaft in her
mouth, lips sealed just behind the glans, and suckled softly
until my flow stopped completely.  A final painting with her
tongue was the crowning touch, giving me several soft throbs of
post-orgasmic pleasure.  Then, meeting and holding my gaze,
she'd wiped up a little glob that had slid from the corner of
her mouth and dribbled down to her jaw line, and then put that
glistening finger into her mouth and said "Mmmm!"

How on earth is a man supposed to respond to that?  I guess I
should have kissed her, or at least thanked her, but just then
the washing machine buzzed and broke the spell.

It had seemed natural to slip my pants off instead of closing
them up, and that decision made, I'd shed the rest of my
clothes.  Only one thing was still bothering me, so I'd made her
take off the collar ("It hides your lovely neck," was my
justification).  Now Corey was loading the last batch of things
into the washer while I stood back and watched her in a very
literal afterglow.

She glanced back at me and grinned.  "What're you thinking?" she
asked in a little-girl voice I hadn't heard her use before.

"Just savoring the feeling of having just had the greatest blow
job in history," I said, not aware of any exaggeration.

She laughed.  "I know I can do better next time."

"No, please," I said in mock terror.  "Better than that could be
fatal."

She gave a huge squeal and hugged me.  "I'm so glad you liked
it.  I owe you so much."

"Wrong, wrong, wrong!  First, you don't owe me a damn thing. 
Second, I won't accept your body as currency for any debt.  If
you want to be with me, well, I think you already know how
attractive you are and I don't mean just physically, so yes, I'd
be very happy if you and I become lovers... er, I guess at this
point I should say, continue to be lovers.  But if it happens it
has to be by choice, out of mutual attraction, not because you
think you owe me."

"Oh, quit griping and hug me."

"Ohhh, do I have to?"  We shared a chuckle; I felt hers deep in
my chest.

"Umm, actually, Corey, I owe you something -- an apology.  I
should have given you a heads-up before coming in your mouth
like that.  I won't let that happen again, I promise."

"Huh?"  She sounded puzzled.  "What are you saying?  You wanted
to do it on my face?"

Ah, right.  She had no concept of the usual courtesies of
lovemaking.  She'd gone from naivete direct to slavery.  I tried
to explain.  "A lot of women don't like to have men ejaculate in
their mouths, Corey.  They don't like the taste, or it makes
them feel degraded, or both."

"Oh," she said, somewhat taken aback.  "So I... so Jack..."

"Yeah.  It was just another of his ways to dominate you.  It was
wrong for me to do it too."

Corey put her hands on my shoulders and pushed back, making a
little space between our faces.  "But you liked it, right?"

"Oh, yes.  I liked it."

"Well," she said, jutting out her chin a bit, "so did I.  Case
closed."  Those incredible eyes.  "Actually, you taste a lot
different from him.  Much nicer.  He tasted like dirty feet and
stale beer.  Yours was... sort of sweet, and only a little bit
sharp-tasting.  So you don't have to apologize.  In fact," she
said, reaching between us and grasping my soft shaft, "as soon
as you're ready, you can give me another sample."

Oh, God.  I could barely stand up.  I said, "That may take a
while.  Meantime, how's about I return the favor?"

"What'cha got in mind?"

"Well, let's get you hiked up on the top of this nice warm
dryer, and I'll just show you!"

Corey dropped her chin and looked at me out of the top of her
eyes, a big, openmouthed smile on her face.  "What is this?" she
said as I helped her up.  The dryer was vibrating softly, and
some buttons were making a rhythmic click-clack, click-clack
inside.  Her knees were tight against my waist.  I reached back
and eased them apart.

"What're you going to do?"

Come on, I thought.  You of all people should not play coy.  Or
do you really not know that oral sex can go both ways?  I kissed
my way down her torso, taking some long moments to arouse her
nipples, leaving each one stiff and erect and cold from the
saliva.  Next stop: navel.  Hers was complicated, sort of a
lunar crater, an innie in the middle surrounded by a ridge of
outie almost all the way around.  She laughed.  "That tickles."

"Tickles bad or tickles good?"

"Good!  Good!"  

I cracked up and gave it a great noisy kiss.  Then I moved on. 
"Oh," she said when I reached her mons.  "Oh!" she repeated when
my lips found the bare skin further down.  Funny, no stubble. 
Had she been shaving?  "Oh, God!" she said when my tongue
started swirling.  In a few moments I had to grab her hips to
keep in contact, and her voice had left words far behind.  Each
little gasp, moan, and soft cry was like music, very advanced
and subtle music like the best choirs sing.  She was flooding; I
found that I had to swallow too.  The taste was sweet, and only
a little bit sharp.  I added some fingers to the orchestra, and
was rewarded with more notes in the chorus.  Her fingers were
knotted in my hair, but I didn't care.  Her heels pounded my
back, and it felt good.  I could only just hear her screams
because of her thighs squeezing tight over my ears.  

I didn't stop until those legs finally relaxed and her voice
dropped back to sighs.

"Oh.  Oh.  Oh.  Oh."  I had moved back, and started leaning in
to give a quick soft kiss, then back out, then in again.  I blew
on the moisture and she gave a long sigh.  "Oh.  Thank you.  Oh."

That's when I noticed the fading welts, and brought up a finger
to trace them softly.  She made a funny, strangled sound, and I
looked up to see tears on her cheeks.  "Corey?"

"No, it isn't you, it was wonderful, everything's fine."

I kept looking up at her, raising an eyebrow.  "Sometimes it
helps to talk about it," I suggested.

She shuddered, whether as the final throb of her orgasm or from
some other feeling I couldn't tell.  She stroked her fingers
through my hair, soothing the poor abused roots.  Finally, it
came out.  "That first day.  My very first day as a slave."

I waited, rising to stand in front of her, running my palms down
her shoulders and arms until I found her hands and engulfed them.

"I... I told you he made me suck him, that I didn't understand. 
He forced me, holding my head with both hands and fucking my
mouth.  He went deep, all the way in, and it made me gag and
choke and I thought I'd throw up but now I was so scared of him
I knew I didn't dare.  And then I saw the camera flash and I
knew he was taking pictures of it.  I was crying and crying.

"Then he came, in my mouth of course, and I really did gag.  I
didn't even know what it was at first, I thought maybe I'd
vomited a little or something.  My jaw sort of spasmed, I really
didn't mean to, but I bit him, pretty hard I guess 'cause he let
out a bloody big yell and shoved me back and down really hard.

"I was sobbing and choking and drooling come and I thought I was
the most miserable creature on earth until about three seconds
later, after he checked his pud to see if it was still there I
guess, when he hauled off and hit me.  In the face, backhand. 
It cut my lip on the inside, and now I had a mouthful of blood
to go with the semen."

I drew her hands together between her breasts, raised them to my
lips and kissed the knuckles softly.

"Oh, that was just the beginning.  He grabbed my hair and pulled
me along as he almost ran into the bedroom -- it was the same
one you slept in -- I had to sort of crab along on palms and
toes to keep up with him.  He lifted me, still by the hair, and
tossed me on the bed.  Then he grabbed a mess of ties from the
closet and used a couple to tie my wrists to the bedposts, way
out wide and tight, so I was sort of half sitting up.  I was so
scared and confused.  I think I struggled, but he was way too
strong.

"Next thing he did was tie a tie around my thigh down by the
knee, and then he pulled it way up and out and tied the other
end to my elbow, and then did the same thing on the other side,
so I was spread wide open.  I thought, oh, sweet Jesus, this is
it.  I'm about to be raped.  I prayed that it wouldn't hurt too
much.  I was still a virgin, did I tell you that?  I'd let a
couple boys touch me, but I'd never had anything bigger than a
finger in there.

"But he didn't rape me, not yet.  Instead he pulled off his
belt.  I think I started begging then, telling him to go ahead
and rape me but please, please don't hurt me.  He just got up on
the bed in front of me and started swinging that belt as hard as
he could.  He hit me everywhere, shoulders, breasts, face,
stomach, legs -- everywhere except, you know where.  He was
saving that.

"I was screaming by then, and crying and begging in between the
blows, promising to obey, to be good.  He said, 'I haven't
finished your lesson yet, bitch.'  He took another tie and
shoved it into my mouth so I couldn't scream as loud.  And then
he laid that belt between my legs.

"'This,' he said, 'is to teach you never to bite me.'  And he
slashed down full force, right on my vagina.  I'd never felt any
pain like it, even when I broke my arm as a kid.  'This is to
teach you never to hurt me any other way.'  And he repeated the
stroke.  It was so strange to be screaming and not to hear any
sounds coming out."

I was hugging her now.  Her arms were trembling around my back. 
Mine were stroking her neck and hair gently, gently.  She
continued, right into my ear.

"It went on and on.  Every one felt worse than the last.  My
eyes hurt because I was crying but there were no tears coming
out anymore.  I kept thinking, oh God, please take me, why do
you let me suffer like this?  Take me to heaven."

I hugged her hard.  I felt her nipples, erect against my chest. 
The dryer kept humming and vibrating.  She hugged me with her
thighs as well as her arms.

"And then it happened.  Through all the pain I felt something
else, something... I didn't understand at all.  I was a good
little Christian girl, I never played with myself.  But now
there was warmth, and some sort of blazing sweetness, on top of
the pain.  I thought Jesus had heard my prayer, that I was dying
and going to heaven.

"Actually, I was coming.  He'd beaten me to an orgasm.  It was
so...  I can't explain it.  Even now.  I hated it, I loved it, I
wanted more, I wanted to kill him.  He kept on hitting, hitting,
hitting.  I had another climax, and this time I just let
everything go.  Everything.  I started pissing all over him, the
bed, myself.  That stopped him, finally.  He swore at me and
walked out and left me there, sitting in that puddle, throbbing
in pain and shame and the afterglow."

I ran my hands up and down her back, ever so softly.  There were
tears wetting our cheeks where they snuggled together.  I knew
nothing I could say would be better than silence.

"He left me a long time.  I was able to spit out the gag after I
worked at it for awhile.  I knew I'd never dream of defying him
again.  He'd won.  I was bad and deserved it.  I had to be bad,
or it never would have happened.  This was my punishment."

"No, Corey."

"Oh, I know, I see that now.  It was Jack, not me.  But you have
to understand, it was the only conclusion I could reach, the way
I'd been brought up.  And there was something else, too.  I
figured out that I'd had an orgasm, and, well, naturally I
wanted more.  I had to admit that.  I knew enough about sex to
realize that people didn't have to get whipped to have one, too,
but somehow, well, even in my schools they taught us about
Pavlov and conditioning.  I don't know if it was true, or if I
just thought it might be true, but I began to worry I'd never be
able to come without the pain, now that I'd had it that way."

"I think we've put that to rest, at least."

She hugged me hard.  "I've never told anybody about this," she
whispered.

"Of course not.  You wouldn't tell Jack, and who else could you
talk to?"

"Exactly.  I'm sorry to dump this on you, though."

"Nonsense.  I'm glad you trust me enough.  It must be very hard
to talk about."

"I couldn't even think about it for a long time, I just shut it
out, pushed aside the feelings when they came up.  And they did
come up, all the time."

"Did it ever happen again?  Not the beating, I know he kept
doing that.  But the coming from being beaten -- did that happen
again?"

Corey relaxed her hold on me and squirmed a little.

"Yes," she whispered.  "Many times.  Do you hate me?"

I answered that with a kiss, which she returned with great
intensity.

"One more question and then I'll never ask about this again,
Corey.  Did Jack know?"

Corey drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I don't think
so.  I tried hard to keep it secret.  God, I don't know what
he'd have done if he found out.  Beat me more to make me come,
just to humiliate me?  Or stop beating me there?  He didn't like
it when I had orgasms.  He said my job was to give him pleasure,
and coming distracted me from that.  He had a point."

"That's purely twisted."

"No, I think it's logical, from his point of view.  But I
suppose the whole point of view was twisted."

"You got that right."

We were nose to nose now, holding each other easily.  "Sir?" she
said.

"Yes, Corey?"

"It's very good to know I don't have to be whipped to have
orgasms."

"I'm sure you always knew that."

"Yes.  In theory.  But until now I couldn't do it."

"Would you like some more orgasms?"

"Yes, please, Sir."

"Shall I lick you again?"

"I was hoping for something else."

"Like this?"  My shaft had been hard for a while, but I'd kept
it pressed against the dryer, figuring she'd be disgusted at the
arousal her story had produced.  Now I moved and released it,
and it nestled happily along the line of her lips.

"Mmmm-hmmm, that's just what I was thinking."  She rocked
forward and back, sliding along it.

"Corey, you are the most incredible, the sexiest woman I've ever
met."

"I guess Jack trained me pretty well, then, huh?

"I'd like it a lot if we never had to bring up his name again,
but I suppose that's hopeless."

"I have to face it, he's the most important influence in my life
so far.  But maybe that's changing," she said thoughtfully.

My heart leapt, and I could see in her face that she felt it
through the surge in my cock.  "Come on, woman.  Race you
upstairs."

"What's wrong with right here?" she protested, but I was already
dragging her down from the dryer, taking the stairs two at a
time, pulling her along by the hand.  At the top I headed for
her room, but she yanked hard on my arm, spinning me around and
grabbing my neck.  Our mouths met with a hard click of tooth on
tooth, and the kiss was hungry, needy.  I grabbed her shoulders
and pushed her back against the hallway wall.  "Mmmph!" she
said.  I put one arm on either side of her, trapping her.  "Oh!"
I drove my hips forward, thrusting at her.  She broke from my
mouth and said, "Yes!" and arched up, meeting thrust with
thrust.  On a sudden impulse I grabbed her waist and spun her,
pushing her cheek against the cool plaster.  She arched her back
and rolled her hips, presenting herself, arms crossed along the
wall over her head.  "Yes!" she repeated as I held my penis
below the head and ran it along her slot.  "Yes!" again as I
slid it in, slowly, teasing.  "Yessss!" as she pushed herself
back and absorbed it all.  And, a few frenzied moments later,
"Yesssssss!" when her wild spasms drew a matching explosion from
me.  And then, "Ohhhh, yes," as our bodies remained joined in
the heart-hammering slide back down from the peak.

My hands wandered around her breasts and belly, the wet tangled
fur, the bare skin further below.

"I am your slave."  The words were soft but perfectly distinct.

I wanted to protest.  I wanted to be her Lincoln.  I wanted us
to be equals, worshippers of one another.  I opened my mouth to
tell her: I am your slave, too.

What I heard my own voice say was, "I am your master."

"Yesssss!"



10.

It was our first night actually sleeping together, or at least
that was the plan.  I hadn't shut my eyes.  The moon shadows
were slowly rising along the wall opposite the window.  My mind
refused to relax.

I looked over at the black-on-black form that was Corey.  She'd
gone to sleep curled against my chest, but she'd stirred a few
times and now had her back to me.  I wasn't used to the extra
warmth, and had my arms outside the covers.

I'd told her I was her master.  What the hell was I thinking?

I wanted Corey to blossom, to come out of the shell she'd built
around her real self.  I really, truly wanted that.  How would
that ever happen now?

I needed a plan.  I needed help.  I wished I knew a psychiatrist
or counselor who had experience in cases like this.  Hell, any
psychiatrist would do.  I wanted to get her off my hands.  Just
as long as she never left my side...

This was crazy, and dangerous.  I was falling in love with her. 
I'd already fallen.  If I didn't watch it I'd be doing just what
she wanted.  She had found a way into my soul, offering me the
lead role in the drama of her life.  It was too much to resist,
at least for my subconscious self.  My rational mind had to be
strong now.  I had to keep control, find a way to free her, even
though it hurt to think of her leaving me to resume a real life.

For a few minutes I savored a hatred for her father, her
upbringing that had made her so vulnerable to Jack's sadism. 
God help me, I got hard thinking about her having orgasms under
his whip.

Corey stirred again and moaned a little in her sleep.  The
covers rose and fell, puffing out a breath of the scent of our
sex.  Her arm came flying across and whacked me on the shoulder.
I chuckled.  She wasn't used to sharing a bed, Jack had made
her sleep on the floor.  It would be like that with me, too.  It
had been ages since I'd had a steady partner.

A plan.  I needed a plan.  What would a psychologist do?  Sit
her down, get her to talk about things.  Well, she'd started to
do that.  It hadn't worked.  Therapy takes years, I thought. 
Years and years, and in the meantime I'd have a loving slave...

No!  I didn't want her that way.  Well, yes, I wanted her any
way I could get her, but I'd rather not have her that way.  I
didn't think so, at least.  Oh, Jesus.

Psychologist.  Psychology.  Reverse psychology.  What if...  In
that instant I saw it, a possible way to heal her.  Oh, it was
risky, so damn risky.  It could backfire on both of us.  Even if
I could take it, I was afraid she couldn't.  But if it worked...

I thought of Corey, a real, complete, free Corey.  I held the
image of her standing at my side over a long, sweet lifetime. 
Wasn't that worth any risk?  To me, it certainly was.  But the
risk wasn't mine alone.  I had to think it out, foresee every
contingency, plan ahead so I could handle and guide the crisis
to come.  I imagined a narrow, twisting path, razor-thin, with
fiery chasms on either side.  One chasm was mine: losing her. 
The other was hers, a shattered, broken place where nobody
dreams or hopes.  If she went that way she'd pull me in along
with her.

No.  I couldn't walk that road.  I'd have to send her to a pro. 
It would cost.  Money: shrinks didn't come cheap.  And probably
it would cost me Corey.  I tried to dismiss my happy fantasy,
starring her and me.  My chest tightened around it and refused
to let go.

Some unremembered time later my thoughts spun out and I relaxed.
I woke to the smell of coffee and the light of a sunny autumn
morning.  I rubbed the haze from my eyes.  Corey was kneeling
beside the bed.  There was a tray -- no, a breadboard, she
hadn't found the trays -- on the night stand, and it had a
steaming mug and a buttered English muffin and grapes and
strawberries.

"Good morning, Master.  How do you like your coffee?  I wasn't
sure so I brought milk and sugar."

"Just milk.  Oh, Corey, please stop saying that."  I sat up and
stretched.

"But you said..."

"I know, I know.  I don't suppose you'll let me take it back? 
No, I didn't think so.  Well, if I'm going to be the master,
then you have to do what I say, right?  And I say, don't call me
'Master', it makes me feel funny."

She looked glum.  "All right... Sir."

I reached for the muffin, but she said, "Oh, no!  Here."  She
lifted it to me, cupping her other hand under my chin to catch
the crumbs.  Christ, there was something to be said for this
master stuff.  She watched me adoringly as I ate.  She dabbed my
mouth with a napkin.  She fed me fruit and handed me the mug.

"How about you?  Did you have your breakfast yet?"

She dropped her eyes, blushing.  "I'm not supposed to eat
breakfast."

"Says who?"  I swung my legs down and got out of bed, still
holding my coffee.  "Come on, let's get some food into you." 
She trotted along to the kitchen with me, and sat uncomfortably
as I put an identical muffin and fruit meal in front of her. 
"Ready for coffee?"

"I don't drink it.  Never did."

"Ah.  Well, at least that's one thing he couldn't take away from
you."  I leaned down and kissed her lips, and she responded
warmly.  And then I needed the bathroom, so I left her with
orders to eat up.

I remembered to close the door this time.  Good thing, too. 
Corey was waiting just outside, kneeling.  She'd chosen the
spread-knee, hands-behind-back position.  Heaven help me.  I
couldn't hide my arousal, not from Corey, not from myself.  She
leaned forward again...

Saved by the bell.  The telephone rang.  I pulled free and
walked over to get it.  "Hello?  Oh, hi, Patricia."  I sat down
on the edge of the bed.  Corey parked herself in front of me,
pushing her breasts forward.  Erect nipples.

"I take it you're not coming in today," my boss said, just a
hint of a question in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm taking the comp time for once."  There was a pause,
and I stumbled on.  "There are a couple personal things I've
been putting off, and it seemed like a good time."

"Right, okay.  Lord knows you've got it coming.  Excuse the
intrusion, but if you can spare a few minutes..."

"Sure."

"Okay.  Well, I won't comment about the terms.  I guess Jack
deserves his reputation as a hard bargainer.  But if he moves
the kind of volumes we expect, you'll still come out looking
great."

"Thanks."  I knew she was curious, though.  I was her best
wheeler-dealer, and she must feel I'd let her down a little.

"But there is one thing.  What's with the two-week delay?"

Uh-oh.  "Well, it's a little hard to explain.  There are some
issues I'd rather not tell you about in detail."  That was no
lie.  Corey was leaning forward, smiling, licking her lips. 
"Jack and I both thought it would be better this way."

"Hmmm.  I can't agree.  Those two weeks will give our
competition that much more time to get in bed with him..."  Ha! 
"...and even if he does sign the delay will cut down the numbers
badly.  Hell, his sales won't amount to diddly this year.  By
the time we get product into the pipeline it'll be late November
and holiday season will be over, for all practical purposes."

Damn, I'd overlooked that.  "Uh, I guess you're right, Patricia.
Uh, I suppose I could give him a call and try to change his
mind."  Corey had her hand around the base of my shaft, and she
began licking it, bottom to top, along the underside.

"Great, thanks.  Let's get this finalized ASAP.  If you get him
to sign you can take Wednesday, too.  How's that?"

"Wonderful!" I said.  I wasn't talking about the extra day, and
Corey knew it, beaming up at me.  She gave the swollen head the
tiniest little nip with her front teeth.

"All right, then.  Give me a call when you know."

"Fine.  Bye, Patricia."  The moment the phone went down, so did
Corey.  I groaned and slid my fingers into her hair.  She was
relentless, merciless.  In moments by hips were grinding, my
knees splayed out so wide it hurt my crotch.  There was a fire
in Corey's mouth, and it was spreading.  Rolling her eyes up at
me, she stopped bobbing and ran her tongue back and forth just
under the helmet.

"Oh, God, Corey, I'm gonna come."  I remembered that promise, at
least.  She doubled the speed of her tongue-strokes and I hit
the top.  She took it all, mouth open, tongue extended and
rolled.  She stayed that way for a few seconds before
swallowing.  Then she cleaned me.

Careful, I thought.  You're getting addicted to this.  But at
the moment that didn't seem so bad at all.



11. 

I sent Corey out for some groceries.  I told her to shower and
get dressed, without exact instructions, and wrote out a list. 
It was just some staples, like salt and oil, and I had no idea
if we really needed them.  I didn't want her around when I
talked to Jack.

Corey was very nervous about going out by herself.  I could
understand that.  It was unlikely she'd been out alone for three
years, and here she was in a strange town in a strange state. 
She made excuses, begged me to go along, but I was adamant.

"It's simple.  You can't possibly get lost, and this is a safe
town.  Nobody will bother you.  Just turn left out of the
driveway, follow the road to the first stop sign -- it's less
than a mile -- and turn right.  You can see the store from the
corner.  Here's some money, more than you need.  If you see
anything else you like, get it.  Okay?"

She nodded solemnly.  I looked her over.  She was stunning in
jeans and a sweatshirt.  I grinned at her.  She gave a faint
smile in return.  I guided her to the door.  What a day!  It was
cool, not cold, sunny, and the trees were just coming into their
best color.  "Stay well off the edge of the road, people drive
pretty fast along here."

"Okay."  She took a couple steps down off the porch, then
turned.  "You're going to talk to him, aren't you?"

"It's just business, Corey."

She nodded and turned.  I watched her to the end of the
driveway.  She turned again and waved.  I waved back and she
walked out of sight.

I gritted my teeth as I dialed Jack's office.  This would be
humiliating, but if it worked it would be worth it.  It might
even help with my master plan... Oops!  Bad choice of words. 
Call it my un-master plan.  Jack's secretary took my name and
rang his line.

"Well, well," he said gloatingly.  "I figured I'd be hearing
from you about now.  How's Missy?  Behaving herself, is she? 
Need some tips on how to keep her in line?"

"She's fine.  She likes her new clothes, but I can't get her to
stop calling me Master."

Jack roared.  "I knew it!  You thought you were so damn smart,
huh?  Not so easy to get rid of a cunt like her."

I fumed and kept silent.

"Well, well.  So mister high-and-mighty has his very own slave
now.  You call just to tell me this, or do you want to give her
back?"  

Aha.  Thought so.  "Not exactly, Jack.  Look, you win, okay? 
She's my slave, like you said.  And God help me, I love it. 
There, are you happy now?"  My stomach was lurching, as much
from the all-too-large ration of truth in that sentence as from
the need to say it.

"Attaboy.  I knew there was a man in there someplace."  Lurch,
lurch.  "Cut to the chase, son."

"Let's close the deal now.  You want the goods in time for the
holidays.  We want your business.  And..."

"Go on."

"And I want to nail down my hold on her."  Did it sound right? 
Come on, Jack, give.

"Ahhh."  For a while there was nothing but his breathing.  I
resisted the urge to say more, to beg, to whack him one.  "So." 
Another pause.  "All right, son, you got it.  Give me your
address, and I'll fed-ex the stuff."

"Send it to me at work, to my attention, personal and
confidential.  Better double-up on the envelope, we don't want
any accidents."

He chuckled.  "It's going to take more than an envelope.  But
I'll double-box it."

"Your contract will go out tomorrow, as soon as I get the stuff.
You can start ordering immediately, I'll tell the girls to hold
them for a couple days."

"Fine, fine.  Actually, I've got an order all written up."

Bastard.  He knew.  Bloody fucking bastard.

"Jack.  One more thing.  I want it all, everything.  Originals,
negatives, prints, any and all copies.  She's mine now,
understand?"

That nasty laugh again.  "Right, son, whatever you say.  Most of
the shit is Polaroids anyway.  Besides, what the hell do I want
it for now?"

"That includes the stuff on her old man, Jack."

Now there was a really long pause.  I heard his fingers drumming
on his desk.  "You know about old man Appleton, huh?  Shit. 
Well, all right, a deal's a deal.  That stuff might have come in
handy some day, though."  Then he gave a big laugh.  "You really
are a good negotiator, son."

"Thanks.  You're not so shabby yourself.  Jack, I know there's
no way I can be sure you're not keeping copies.  Just remember. 
If anything ever comes out, on her or the father, I'll make sure
that you go down with them.  Savvy?"

"Sure, Kemosabe.  Just you remember, though -- don't ever try to
use this shit against me.  That's a threat, son."

"I understand," I said, shivering.

"So," he said jovially, "what have you been up to with good ol'
Missy?  She been getting your rocks off all right?  Staying out
of your way?  Walking the straight and narrow?  Try this: make
her beg for her whippings.  It's awesome, honestly.  What the
hell was that about new clothes?"

"Jack, that's none of your fucking business."  I hung up.  My
hands were shaking.  Thank God for speed dialing, I'd have never
been able to punch the whole number.  I called the mail room and
told them to keep an eye out for the package from Jack, and call
me at home when it came in.  I transferred to Order Entry and
gave the heads-up to Bea: accept Jack's orders but hold them
until we gave the final go-ahead.  Then I tried Patricia's
extension, but got her voice mail.  I told her I thought Jack
would sign within two days, and rang off. 

Then I leaned back in my chair and heaved a great sigh.  Maybe
this would work, after all.



12.

Corey came crunching up the drive looking blissful, toting a
couple plastic bags.  The walk in the fresh air seemed to do her
a world of good.  I met her on the porch and she dropped the
bags and melted into my arms.  "It's so beautiful here," she
said.

"It is now," I said.  I was thinking about the fall color, but
also about having her around.  I don't know if she understood,
but she hugged me harder.

God, it was going to be tough to do what I was planning.  Well,
it didn't have to start yet, not until I got Jack' package and
had a chance to check through it.  "Tired of walking?"

"Uh-uh."

"Then let's put this stuff inside and take a walk."

It was a perfect day.  I took us down a little-used lane.  Corey
bounced along beside me.  We held hands like teenagers.  I was
practically weak with delight.  We were silent sometimes, other
times we chatted about nothing.  I pointed out an owl's nest I'd
spotted earlier in the summer.  It seemed deserted now.

At one point she said, "The cops stopped me on the way to the
store."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh.  Pulled up and asked if I needed help.  I said I was
staying with you, I hope that's all right."

"Sure, of course it's all right.  Which cop was it?  Young, or
middle-aged?"

"Youngish."

"That was Rick.  I'll bet he had more on his mind than public
safety."

Corey smiled.  "Should I have offered him a blow job?"

"If you did, we'd be able to count on instant 911 response from
now on."

What a musical laugh she had.  I wondered if Jack had ever heard
it.

The rest of the day went much the same.  The intensity, the
emotional extremes of the recent past were gone, and I felt we
were becoming comfortable with each other.  Good, that would
make tomorrow's shock more effective.  I hoped.

We didn't have sex at all, after the morning's episode.  Not
even in bed that night.  We kept waking each other up with
elbows and knees, though.  By morning, the smell of coffee
wasn't enough to rouse me.  She did it with her mouth instead. 
I felt like a kid again, having a wet dream, except this dream
was warm and alive and real.

The call came at 10:30.  Good old fed-ex.  I told Corey I had to
run in to work for a couple hours, and she looked unhappy but
didn't complain.  Clouds had come in overnight, and there was a
chill in the air that hinted at snow.  I felt nervous on the
road, yelling curses at truck drivers for no particular reason.

I was amazed at the size of the box.  I ducked out back with it
to avoid any chance of running into Patricia.  I moved the car
into the far corner of the lot next to the dumpster to make sure
I wouldn't be disturbed.

God, what a collection.  Jack must have put an item in his
budget for film.  He had pictures of her in positions I'd never
imagined, in ropes, in chains, in leather.  He'd made her put
the most outrageous things inside her.  She looked absolutely
miserable in every shot.

What stunned me most were the injuries.  The stripes I'd seen on
that first day were nothing.  Some pictures showed her so
covered with welts and bruises that I literally could not see
any undamaged skin.

There were pictures in there that explained the soft, hairless,
stubble-free skin around her vagina.  I'd never seen
electrolysis equipment, but the series of Polaroids made it
obvious what was being done to her.  She'd never get her pubic
hair back, except for the patch he'd left on her mons.  I found
myself having to wipe my eyes.

I was stunned by other images as well.  It seemed I hadn't been
the first visitor Jack had favored with Corey's services.  She'd
used her oral talents on at least half a dozen others -- and
that was just one session.

Some of the pictures showed her nearly bald, a rough, uneven cut
probably done with scissors.  In others she had long hair. 
Those were probably the earliest.  Then I found a shot which
confirmed that.  She was tied up with neckties, on the same bed
I'd first shared with her, arms drawn out and back, knees made
fast to elbows.  She was a mass of hot welts from head to toe,
and, most sickeningly, bright angry red between the legs.  She
still had pubic hair then, matted down and dark with moisture so
it didn't match the long pony tail that hung rattily over one
shoulder.  There was a great dark stain under her, and a tie was
stuffed in her mouth.  Her face was awash in tears, turned to
the side as if trying to hide.  Her expression was pitiful.  It
had to be that very first day.  I brought the photo to my mouth
and kissed it.

I got to the bottom of the box.  There was a manila envelope. 
Inside were some negatives, and some prints, and a note.  The
note said, "That's everything, son.  Then again, you'll never
know that for sure, will you?  Have fun with Missy.  I was bored
with her anyway."  It was laser-printed and unsigned.

I looked at the pictures.  They showed an old man, surprisingly
old.  He must have been in his late forties when Corey was born,
assuming these shots were taken about three years ago.  I
shivered a little, looking at what those photos revealed.  He
was tied up, with a red rubber ball in his mouth and some sort
of leather contraption laced around his penis and testicles. 
The parts of those organs that protruded were swollen, dark
purple, and stretched taut.  He was wearing a collar and was
held immobile by a chain that disappeared out-of-frame above. 
There was another man in some of the shots, dressed in skintight
leather which left his erection exposed, holding a riding crop. 
In a couple pictures the crop was pressed against the device on
the old man's groin, and his eyes were wild with some strange
emotion.  In the last picture he was bent over with a very large
dildo buried in his ass, with some sort of rope tied to his
genitals, pulling them back between his legs.

God, no wonder Corey had been shocked out of her wits.  Her
Fundamentalist father was a gay bondage boy.  She would have had
absolutely no context to interpret what she saw, other than
stunned horror.  Maybe she thought he was being held hostage.  I
bet that's what she thought.



13.

It took me a long time to calm down after going through the box.
I piled everything back in, except the picture of Corey's first
beating, which I slipped inside my shirt.  When I trusted myself
to drive, I headed back home.  On the way I called Patricia and
told her voice mail that Jack had accepted and she could send
off the contract for his signature.  I hated doing that, but I
had no choice.  He was a monster, but now he was our monster.

There was a very uncomfortable wetness in my pants.  It was
impossible to deny that my body had responded with excitement to
the images that made my mind sick.  It was not a pleasant
revelation.

The pictures also made me reconsider my un-master plan.  Corey
had already suffered so much.  I just couldn't add to that awful
weight, not if I wanted to sleep again.

Besides, what was so bad about the way we were right now? 
Yesterday had been wonderful: peaceful, comfortable, untroubled.
If Corey wanted me to be her master, what was so terrible in
that?  I wasn't keeping her against her will, she could serve me
in her own way until distance eased the scars and she healed
naturally.  Eventually she'd be strong enough to stand on her
own feet.  It would just take time.

But that was a rationalization and I knew it.  Even if I was a
good and kind master, I was still reinforcing her mindset,
snarling her in ever-deeper emotional bonds.  It might even be
worse this way.  It would be so easy for her to go along like
this, no responsibilities, no hopes or desires to go
unfulfilled, and with me as her master, no pain or torment
outside of some playful bedtime butt-slaps.  She had no
motivation to change.

I set my jaw grimly.  I had to take it forward.  It was now or
never, she had to reject it.  I had to make her reject it.  Even
if I lost her in the process.

Corey was outside when I pulled up.  She smiled and waved and
started to come over.  I got out quickly.  I couldn't let her
see the box.  Not yet.

When she came up to me, she said, "Hi.  Everything okay at
work?"  She leaned forward as if to kiss me.

Here we go.

"How dare you?  How dare you speak so freely to me?"

Her mouth dropped open, she staggered back.

"You're wearing clothes."

She looked down at herself, then back up at me.  Her eyes were
brimming.

"I... I..."

"Drop your eyes!"  I pointed at the ground in front of my feet.

"Yes, Master.  I'm sorry, Master.  I won't forget again..."

"Silence!  Did I give you permission to speak?"

"No, Master," she whispered, in the voice of someone who awoke
to find her sweet dream was false and her waking life was the
nightmare.

"You're still wearing clothes."

"But... but..."  She glanced around, sadly noting the neighbors'
distant windows.  She reached down and pulled her sweatshirt
off.  The T-shirt came with it, and she was naked from the waist
up.  She kicked off her sneakers, risked one pitiful glance at
me, then unfastened her jeans and pushed them down and off.  Her
hands trembled as she stepped out of her panties.

"Come, slave."  I grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged her into
the house.  She was crying now, quietly.  It might have just
been the pain from her scalp, but I hoped not.  I pushed her
roughly to the carpet.  She moved in slow motion, righting
herself until she was on her knees.  I saw her mouth work, stop,
work again.

"You know the way I like it," I growled.

"Yes, Master," she croaked, and spread her knees apart, arching
her back and hiding her hands.

"This is your ready position.  You will remain in this position
whenever you are in my presence, unless I have given you other
orders.  Understand?"

"Yes, Master."

I walked around her, adjusting her, making her arch her back
harder, pull her shoulders back, push her breasts out more,
clasp one wrist firmly with the other hand.  "Remember.  If I'm
not satisfied with your stance you will be punished."

"Yes, Master."  The voice had dropped to a whisper.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes, Master!  I'll remember."

"Good.  Go get your collar and chain, put them on, and return
here."

She sprang up and ran to her room.  Again I saw her glance at me
as she resumed her stance.  "Unauthorized eye contact will be
punished," I said.  I reached down and grasped both her nipples
and gave a sharp twist.  She drew an abrupt, hissing breath.

"Hand me your leash."

She did, looking pointedly at the floor between us.  I took the
free end, ran my fingers over the leather strap, then flicked my
wrist to slash it across her face.  The blow was not hard, but
she blushed scarlet, and I had to take a deep breath to keep my
resolve.

"Now, about punishments.  You will be spanked or caned daily,
unless I decide it's not worth the effort.  Any infractions of
the rules will earn you more severe corrections.  That's true
even if I haven't told you the rules yet, to help you learn them
faster.  Come."

I dragged her by the chain.  I took her back outdoors, under the
blank windows which I knew, but she did not, had no eyes behind
them.  I stopped at the shed and grabbed the pruning shears,
then led her back to the edge of the yard where the woods began.
There was a stand of young birches there.

"Pick out a switch.  If I don't like your choice, I'll wear it
out on you and then you'll pick again until I'm satisfied."

She seemed confused for a moment, but then started searching for
saplings.  She found one about half an inch in diameter, ran her
fingers along it, and then looked me full in the face.  She was
crying freely, and her eyes held a pleading expression.

I refreshed my resolve.  "That will cost you five strokes," I
told her.  She looked back down, trembling, shivering with the
autumn chill.  She let go of the sapling and found a bigger one.

"This one, Master."

I handed her the shears and held my breath.  Would she do it? 
Without hesitation she cut the switch and handed back the
shears.  "Strip off the leaves."  She did, though the sapling
shook as though a gale were blowing.

I yanked the leash.  "Back here, cunt.  We'll see if you made a
good choice."



14.

In the middle of the yard I pushed her forward onto her hands
and knees.  "Now, slave, remember.  You are about to be put in
punishment position."

"Yes, Master."

I kicked her knees wide apart, and shoved hard between her
shoulder blades so her face landed in the grass.  "Arch your
back more.  Roll your hips.  I want to see that bare pussy right
in my face.  Better.  Now, grab your hands together in front of
you.  Good."

I hefted the switch, making it whistle through the air.  I stood
close beside her prostrate body, measured the swing, and
broadened my stance to get a better angle.  Then I brought the
rod down on Corey's upturned buttocks.  The sound was like a
rifle shot.  She gasped.

"Punishment rules.  You just broke one.  You will be silent. 
You will not necessarily be bound during your punishments, so
you must hold yourself still and under control.  If you make any
effort to avoid the strokes, or break any other rule, the
punishment will be doubled and will start over from the
beginning.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."  It was a sob.

"Five strokes, I said.  So now it's ten."  I started swinging,
leaving long pauses between the blows.  Come on, Corey.  Say the
word, stop me.  "How many so far?" I asked her.

"I... I'm not sure.  Nine, I think, plus the first one."

"Wrong."  I suspected she was right, but so much the better. 
"We start over, this time it's twenty."

"Ohhhh..."

"Did you say something?"

"No, Master."

"I thought I heard something.  Well, maybe it was that old owl. 
Twenty, was it?"

"Yes, Master."  I could hear the tears in her throat.  Please,
Corey, don't make me press it too far.  Can't you see what I'm
doing?  I gave her the twenty lashes, trying to spread them
around a little so I didn't hit the same spot twice.  I'm not
sure it mattered.  At the end she was quivering like a leaf.

"Stand up," I ordered.  She obeyed.  I grabbed her ass roughly,
squeezing and kneading the firm flesh.  She endured it.  I
rammed two fingers into her vagina without preliminaries.  She
gasped.

Dear God, she was wet.  I hadn't touched her except with the
sapling.  It was really true, the pain aroused her.  Or the
humiliation, or both.

"Back inside the house.  We have more rules to talk about."

She walked.  I left my fingers inside her, feeling the sliding,
the tensing and relaxing of her muscles as we moved.  The
wetness increased, on her cheeks as well as inside.

"Not the back door," I said as she reached the house.  "I want
all the neighbors to see what a good little slave you are."

She was making a little whimpering sound now with each breath. 
She was blushing from belly to ears before I finally relented
and let her go inside.  In the living room I withdrew my hand
and she dropped into the ready position.  She was wet and
fragrant now, with shining fluid all around her groin and inner
thighs.

"Are you thirsty, slave?"

That caught her off guard.  "I...  I don't know, Master."

"Well, it doesn't matter.  Here, have a nice little drink."  I
stuck my two sopping fingers in her mouth.  After she licked
them for a while I pulled them out and wiped the saliva on her
breasts.

"Still thirsty?" I asked.

"Yes, Master, if you have something you'd like me to drink."

"We'll see."  I undressed and held my stiff penis in front of
her.  She stared at it.  "I think you're pretty thirsty.  I
think you'd really like something nice to drink."

"Yes, Master.  I'm thirsty."

"What do we say?"

"Please."  She choked a little.

"Is that the best you can do?"

"No, Master.  Please give me a drink of your sweet come.  I'm so
thirsty, and hungry too.  Please, please come in my mouth,
Master."

"Well," I said, "since you asked me so nicely..."  I stood a
couple feet back and began pumping myself.  She opened her mouth
and extended her tongue, leaning forward.  "Stance!" I cried,
and she straightened abruptly.  A moment later I came, sending
three or four great jets in her direction.  They landed all over
her, from hair to breasts to belly.  Some even hit her mouth.

"God, what a messy little slob you are.  A two-year-old child
could take a drink without spilling as much.  You'll need a
lesson in manners."

"Yes, Master.  I'm sorry, Master.  Do you want me to clean it
up?"

"Later.  Right now I'm going to give you that lesson."  I
grabbed her hair again, and she yelped as I dragged her to her
room.  There was semen on my hand from her hair.  I made her
lick it off.

"Now, cunt," I said, "lie back on the bed."

She did, and there was real fear in her eyes.

"Spread 'em.  Grab your knees with your hands and pull them
apart."

Her chin quivered as she complied.  Some of the come on her
belly ran down and puddled in her navel.

"Don't move."  I walked back to the living room and got my belt.
I took a few deep breaths, reminding myself what the goal was
here, pushing down the emotions that were rising in me like a
spring tide.  I returned to the bedroom with a measured pace.

She was watching me as I entered.  She had relaxed a little, but
stiffened and opened herself when she saw my face.  Her lips
worked, but no sound came out.

"You made a mistake, little slave.  You told me a secret you
should have kept to yourself.  You may regret it for a long
time."  I held up the belt in both hands and snapped it, and
gave a long, meaningful glance between her legs.

No, she mouthed silently.  She was looking right into my eyes,
risking everything to plead her case without daring to speak.

"Oh, yes," I said.  "I just have to see this."  I took the belt
and ran it gently along her upturned thigh, down the inside
track until it lay directly on her secretion-slick labia.

Again she held my eye.  Again her lips moved soundlessly.  No,
please, not that.

I gave her what I hoped was an evil grin.  "Now, don't forget,
you must hold still for your punishment.  I don't want to be at
this all night."  She gasped, and whimpered loudly.

"Now.  Tell me, Corey.  What do you want me to do?"

"Uhhh.  Uhhh.  Oh, Master.  Please, don't make me say that."

"I can't hear you."

"Oh please God please don't."

"What's that?  You say you want a nice orgasm?"

Corey's face was in agony, pale and streaked with tears.  Her
shoulders squirmed uncontrolled.  The nipples on her firm small
breasts were bright red and hard.  When the voice came it was
hoarse, strangled.  "Yes, p-p-please, Master.  P-please give me
an org-org-org..."

"Why, certainly, Corey.  All you have to do is ask!"  I held her
eye as I straightened, let the belt's free end drop to the
floor, and then doubled it up.  I kept watching her as I took a
few practice swings.  Come on, girl.  Break that shell!

I reared back and drew a great loud breath.  At the top of the
stroke I paused, heart sinking.  It was a crystalline moment,
emotions outracing thought.  I'd failed, failed.  Jack's victory
was complete.  She was in too deep, I couldn't save her.  As if
in a dream my arm came forward.  

And, wondrously, Corey screamed "Noooo!" and rolled away from
the slashing belt, covering her midsection with her hands and
somehow hiding her breasts with the upper arms at the same time.
The belt smacked down on the bedspread.  I froze, watching,
amazed, joyous.  

She hadn't realized yet that I'd stopped.  She was still
screaming.  "No!  Don't!  Don't!  Oh, God, please God don't do
this to me!"

She'd curled up into the fetal position, hands trapped between
her thighs, head turned away, protecting herself.  "Oh, damn it,
damn you, I thought you were different, I thought you cared
about me.  Why?  Why?  Oh, God, why are you doing this?"

The belt clattered to the floor.  Corey lay, shaking and
sobbing, rocking herself a little.

"Corey."

Her response was a shudder and a moan.

"Corey.  Come on, look at me."

She shook her head and kept her eyes shut tight.

"Oh, Corey.  Thank God.  It worked.  Thank God it worked."

She lifted her head.  I showed her my empty hands, my calm face.
Nearly calm, anyway.

"I'm so, so sorry that I did this to you.  I couldn't think of
any other way.  Corey... is it okay if I sit down?"

She relaxed a little, unfurling her legs slightly, turning her
torso toward me a bit.  She nodded.

I sat carefully, not daring to touch her yet.  "Corey, it's
over.  Everything.  I have the blackmail stuff, it's in the car.
Jack may have kept copies, but even if he did he won't use
them, I'm sure of that.  The stuff is yours, Corey.  Burn it,
tear it up, keep it to show your grandkids some day when this is
all just a silly dream."  Maybe they'll be our grandkids, I
thought.  If you can ever forgive me.

She unfurled herself a bit further.  "But... but then...  Oh,
God, why this?  Why did you do this to me?"  She sniffed wetly,
twice.

"It's the only way I could think of to make you realize what you
didn't want to be."

"What I didn't..."

"Uh-huh.  You thought you wanted to be a slave, but you were
wrong.  Even when we proved that you didn't need the pain to go
with the pleasure, that didn't do it.  You still called me
'Master', still demanded to be treated as a possession.  You
hadn't left Phoenix, not down inside where it counted."

Corey sat up.  She was still a mess, still splattered with
semen.  The chain dangling from her neck bumped against her hip.
She stared at it, then, very slowly, reached up and unbuckled
the collar, held it in front of her, then tossed it onto the
floor.  "Well," she said in a deep-pitched voice, "I'll never
call you 'Master' again."  It was a grown-up voice, a woman's
voice.  A sultry voice.

"You can if you want to."

Her face swiveled toward me, eyes wide, flashing angrily for a
moment until she saw the glitter in mine.  Then she smiled
joyfully, but it faded quickly.  "Please don't tease me.  Not
right now."

"I wasn't teasing.  I only meant that it doesn't matter anymore,
now that you know it's not true."

She looked thoughtful.  "It's not true, is it?  I'm not a slave
anymore."  There was wonder, and a note of sadness, in her voice.

"Maybe it's a matter of degree.  We're all slaves in some sense.
We're slaves to our hungers and passions, our fears and
desires, our jobs, our genes, our society."

"That's not the same at all."

"Isn't it?  Are you sure?  What about soldiers, who risk pain
and death out of duty, or for love of country?  How are they
different from you?  What about people who run into burning
buildings to save some stranger's child?  Do you think they made
a rational choice?"

She dropped her gaze.  "I... I guess I don't know."

"What do you know, Corey?"

She thought for maybe two seconds.  Then she reached out and
drew me to her.  "I know I love you," she said simply.

"And that I love you, too."  Now I could touch her, hold her,
stroke her sticky hair.

"Yes.  I know that too."

We sat like that.  After a while I said, "How can I make it up
to you?  For today, I mean?"

"You don't have to.  I understand why you did it.  I don't know
if I agree with it, but I understand."

"Maybe someday you can tell me what I should have done instead."

"I'll give it some thought.  But for now, I know what I want."

"Name it."

"A shower!  And you, my love, are the washcloth.  And later,
well, you still owe me that orgasm."

She got her wishes, though the order turned out to be different.
We never noticed the oncoming dusk that day.



(July 1997)

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