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Breaking the Girl:
A Story of Submission
By
Kim Corum
A Renaissance E Books publication
ISBN 1-58873-137-5
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2002 by Kim Corum
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.
For information contact:
Renaissance E Books
P. O. Box 494
Clemmons, NC 27012-0494
USA
Email comments@renebooks.com
Kim Corum Breaking the Girl Page 1
Don't try this at home
"Please," I said. "Just let me–"
"No," he hissed and pulled my hand away from between my legs.
"Not yet."
"Please," I begged. "Please just let me touch it!"
"No," he mumbled, then, "No, Kristine, not until I say!"
That didn't stop me from trying.
The belt cracked against my ass. It drove a ferocious welt into my
skin and burned like fire. I moaned.
"Please," I begged. "Please, please, please !"
"No."
It's always the same with us. Always the same with me. I always
do this. I always beg to get it done and over with before the show has
even really begun. I just can't wait. That's my problem. Impatience.
"I can do it this once," I said, my voice rising to fever pitch. "Then
I can do it again and–"
"Shh. Be quiet."
I stopped talking, begging, pleading. Plotting. I wasn't going to
win him over. It was his way or no way. And I knew that. So it was
his way.
He bent down in front of me, taking my head between his hands. I
couldn't see him. My eyes were covered by a silk scarf, the one we
used on special occasions, like a birthday or an anniversary. We
celebrated at least once a week, regardless.
He rubbed my face and kissed me. My mouth opened and
welcomed his tongue, sucked on it, loved its soft edges. My tongue
drew circles on his, arousing a soft moan from his lips that came from
deep down inside. I kissed him, hoping to soften him so he would
allow me to touch myself and get the torture over and done with. But
he knew what he was doing. He was withholding so the pleasure –
the orgasm – would be doubled, tripled even. It would be so intense I
would shake and shiver and moan and groan and dance and sing. And
beg for another.
I ground my crotch against the bed, moving my hips up and down.
Kim Corum Breaking the Girl Page 2
I was this close. This close and I needed to do it. Actually, my body
just did it on its own; I just followed it and allowed it to search out the
spot.
The belt came down hard again, halting me. A scream erupted
from my lips. It was one of those I couldn't stop. I wailed until my
throat was dry and my voice cracked. Another whack, another hoarse
scream, this time less intense.
He put a gag in my mouth.
This time, I couldn't take it anymore. This time was different from
the last. The last time had gone on half the night. The last time we
tried this was yesterday. I couldn't wait like I had then. No. No. No!
I had to have it now. GIVE IT TO ME!
I couldn't utter a word and charm him into doing what I wanted. I
couldn't bat my eyes and make him feel guilty. I was totally helpless.
Which is what he liked best.
Then he got behind me and I felt him glide his cock into me.
Ahhh! YES! YES! The end was near. I was exhausted. But soon I'd
be released. Freed. Unchained. And it'd be worth it, all of it.
As he began to fuck me, he said, "Tomorrow, we're going to try
something different."
I cocked my head to the side and listened, hanging on his every
word.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to tie you up."
Tie me up, tie me down, beat me, switch me, hold me tight, love me
forever.
It never occurred to me to say, This isn't natural . Well, it did.
Once. And I immediately dismissed the thought.
First of all, just let me say, I wasn't that kind of girl. I didn't like
submission or domination and sex was just plain sex and though I had
good sex, it never really ever went beyond the meat and potatoes
variety. Me on top. Him – whoever he might be at that moment – on
top. Cowgirl – facing and reverse. I tried anal once and only once
and that was enough. (I only did it 'cause I was drunk and the guy
would not leave me alone.) Doggie. The 69. The basic stuff no one
actually sat down and taught you but you figured it out on your own.
Kim Corum Breaking the Girl Page 3
Because, well, it is second nature. Sex, I mean.
But to have someone tie me up? No. To have someone blindfold
me? Uh uh. That just wasn't my bag. I just wasn't that kind of "tie
me up, tie me down, beat me, switch me, hold me tight, love me
forever" kind of girl. And if a guy tried to pull any of that shit, I was
out the door. Goodbye, asshole. It just wasn't me. I was not that kind
of girl.
He was that kind of guy. Which made me that kind of girl.
"You love it," he said once. "You love it when I'm in control of
you, when you don't have a choice in what's going to happen to you or
to your body. Tell me you love it."
"I love it."
And I did. I won't sit here and deny that. Let me rephrase it,
though. I loved doing it with him . He was special to me. Special
because he knew how to push my buttons, get me going and take me
over the edge to that never-never land of multiple orgasm that left me
weak, fragile and begging for more.
And I begged. I begged for it all. I wanted it all. Once I started
doing it, once I got over that roadblock, there were no boundaries left.
No restrictions and certainly no limitations.
And there was no conclusion in sight. All I saw, all I thought of,
was him and what he was going to do next. I wasn't a slave. I was a
willing participant.
In the end, I knew what he was doing. He was beating me down,
taking control of my body, my mind and my soul. Then he'd rebuild
it. Brick by brick, using his words of love to re-master me until I
stood new in his eyes, in the image he had created for me, of me.
Ain't love a bitch?
***
Maybe I should start at the beginning.
Let me just say that when I first saw him, I didn't see sparks. I
didn't have an immediate attraction to him. Sure, he was handsome in
that aloof, businessman kind of way. I liked his smile. But it didn't go
beyond that. It didn't go beyond because he was a customer and I
didn't go there with customers. I was a stripper. In New Orleans.
Kim Corum Breaking the Girl Page 4
He kinda reminded me of Gatsby. That's the image I had of him all
along. I'd always had a fondness for literary characters and I believed
Gatsby to be far and above the best. He was so romantic, yet so
vulnerable. Frank was romantic. He was not vulnerable. Obviously,
I was. Like Gatsby, he watched from the sidelines before he made his
initial move, and after he made it, I was hooked.
I hadn't even planned on staying in New Orleans. I had gone to
Mardi Gras with my friend, Chelsea. I'd just gotten dumped and was
still reeling from the break-up when she offered a temporary solution
to my blues: Mardi Gras. She'd even paid the way. She had just
divorced her super-rich husband and could afford it. The girl was
rolling in dough, which she was hell-bent on spending. She was
afraid he'd try to take it back. She said, "If it's not there, he can't get
his slimy little paws on it."
Mardi Gras was the best party. I danced with strangers all night
long in the French Quarter, flashed my tits for beads, drank way too
many hurricanes and threw up in Jackson Square. I loved it. Every
bit. That Mardi Gras was one of the best times I've ever had.
On our last night there, we were walking by Tempest, the strip club.
The bouncer in the doorway stopped us and offered us free
admittance. Why not? We went in, sat down a few feet from the
stage and giggled like schoolgirls. The girl who was onstage got
pretty pissed off at us.
She yelled, "If you think you can do better, get your asses up here
and do it!"
Never one to back down from a challenge, Chelsea jumped up
there, dragging me with her, and proceeded to strip. At first, I was
horrified, but then I looked around. The place was packed and all the
people in there were egging us on. So Chelsea and I did our "girl/girl"
routine we pull on guys in bars (so they'll buy us drinks) and gave
everyone a little show. The stripper even joined in. Soon we had our
own threesome and after it was over, Chelsea and I were fifty bucks
richer.
It was a blast, pure and simple. The manager gave us a free drink
and the other strippers sat at our table and began to tell us how much

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