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

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

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Date: 29 Jul 1997 22:24:42 GMT

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Message from the author:

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

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

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

more stories for you not to read.



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

used for profit without written permission.  Otherwise, you may

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

archive, if this notice is attached.









                        Owning Corey 





         Fiction Copyright (c) 1997 by Don Boettger









                            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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