Breaking Abigail (20 page)

Then he unbound Abigail, patted her bottom, and sent her away, while Beatrice remained quietly kneeling, awaiting his return.

* * *

Abigail’s conference with Miss Anne-Marie took place at eight that night. She knocked on the door of the office that adjoined Miss Anne-Marie’s classroom and heard, “Come in, Abigail.”

As soon as she entered, she remembered to kneel in front of the desk. Anne-Marie smiled and said, “You may get up and sit on the chair—though I suppose ‘perch’ might be a better description at this point, no? With your bottom in its present state?”

“Yes, miss.”

“What did you think of my class this morning?”

“Um…” Abigail searched her thoughts. Part of her wanted to say that Miss Anne-Marie had made everything make sense in a way it had not made sense until then—not just being a captive concubine at the Institute but everything: Abigail’s whole life. But how could she admit that? “I learned a great deal, miss,” she said simply.

Miss Anne-Marie smiled. “That is very good to hear. I wonder if you have begun to believe yet that our highest aim here at the Institute actually revolves around your happiness.”

“I am trying to, miss, but… I feel like no one has really explained it.” Abigail knew that there was something in what she said that wasn’t true: she knew that she did believe it, but she still felt unable to put the idea into words.

“I am not going to explain. It is a belief you will eventually express, but which does not fully make sense to you now.” Abigail stared at the beautiful Frenchwoman, and something inside her seemed to shift. She knew then, in a kind of muted, veiled epiphany, that she already could express it to herself, that belief, even though somehow she could not gain access to the words—that they were somehow locked inside her. “So you are here in this conference for me to say that thing, that it is about your happiness, which I have now said, and for me to lay out your course of study for you, and discuss your progress toward the objectives we have for your training. Alright?”

“Yes, miss.” Somehow when Miss Anne-Marie said “Alright?” it always sounded to Abigail like
alors?
though Miss Anne-Marie’s English was absolutely impeccable; only the very slightest hint of a fragile music, pervading everything she said, betrayed her origins across the Atlantic.

“May we agree that when we discuss your progress, we will speak as if you were what we call a volunteer, here? That is, that we will pretend that you wish to serve your owner obediently despite your having come here against your own wishes?”

The question took Abigail aback, though, when she considered, it seemed a perfectly reasonable thing for Miss Anne-Marie to say. All it meant was that Abigail wouldn’t keep protesting that she didn’t want to make progress toward being an obedient concubine who could please her wealthy, powerful owner. But that was the problem: in putting it that way, Miss Anne-Marie, whether or not she meant to, forced Abigail to confront the strength of her desire to do exactly that—to make progress, to become a pleasing concubine who knew how to make her owner call her a good girl when he bent her over the sofa arm and took her forcefully from behind, his hard cock claiming her as his own girl over and over.

Abigail realized that she was taking much too long to answer the question, and that under the influence of the punishment she had received that day, and the way Master J had denied her an orgasm while having her on his bench, her pussy had once again begun to moisten under her nightgown, and her nipples were stiff. She swallowed and whispered, “Yes, miss.”

“Thank you, Abigail.” Miss Anne-Marie smiled, and Abigail knew that the Frenchwoman could see exactly what had happened to Abigail’s mind and body: she had probably chosen her words precisely so as to bring about the result Abigail had experienced.

“The course of study is not complicated,” Anne-Marie said. “Aerobics first thing in the morning all four weeks, and Deportment right after you shower following your workout. Then Feminine Pleasure this week, Masculine Pleasure next week, followed by lunch. The afternoons for individual and group training as necessary, and your evenings free to enjoy your new friends’ company. Visits in the night from time to time to test your skills and ensure your continuing understanding of your availability. All understood?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Your owner will come here at some point, probably in the third week, to sample you.” A chill of terrified arousal traveled through Abigail’s body like an electric current. “By that time you will be ready to show him what you have learned especially in the pleasure courses. He will return when we, in consultation with him, decide that you are ready to depart with him. Your final night will be special. It is called your
nuit à derrière
, and it will unfold entirely according to your owner’s wishes.”

Abigail’s face went hotter than she thought it had ever gone before.
Nuit à derrière
: ‘night for the rear’—bottom night. Ass night.

“Understood?”

Abigail chewed on the inside of her cheek. Miss Anne-Marie smiled again. “I know, my dear, how difficult it is to contemplate what those words imply. I assure you that you will be ready.”

Chapter Twenty

Three nights later, Mark watched the feed from Abigail’s room as Anne-Marie opened the door and slipped inside. It was eleven o’clock, and Abigail had just begun to succumb to sleep. “Who’s there?” she called, seeming to try to keep the fear out of her voice. It was the first time she had been visited.

“Miss Anne-Marie,” Anne-Marie said, and slipped into Abigail’s bed with her. The low-light filter on the camera did a marvelous job of at least showing Mark the outlines of bodies, and even the expressions on faces, though of course there wouldn’t be the explicit detail that characterized the video feed from Abigail’s classes and training sessions—not least of course because Abigail and Anne-Marie were covered cozily by the patchwork quilt.

“Oh,” said Abigail, seeming to fight an urge to move away, even to get out of bed and try to escape.

“I am afraid I must be rather peremptory, Abigail,” Anne-Marie said. “I am going to remove your nightgown, and I would rather not have to summon attendants to assist in such an intimate encounter.” Mark saw Anne-Marie’s arm moving underneath the comforter, reaching for the hem of the nightgown. Abigail’s eyes widened, and her little body seemed to quiver a bit.

“Miss, please, no…”

“Hush, my dear. You know how lovely it will be to be naked with me. I know you do.”

Now the hem of the blue nightgown appeared above the comforter, and passed over Abigail’s face for a moment as Anne-Marie drew it up. “Lift your arms, my dear,” she murmured, and Abigail obeyed. The nightgown was slipped up and over, and Anne-Marie dropped it on the floor.

“My nightgown will remain on, my dear, but you will pull it up now, and kiss my breasts.”

“What?”

Mark found that it no longer surprised him when Anne-Marie, or Master J, or Master Ian in Deportment class found a new boundary for Abigail. That seemed to be what her training revolved around—encountering those boundaries and taking her through them without destroying the modesty that made her so charming, and so valuable to Hans. As Abigail passed through the boundaries, the things that she would never have done without the Institute to make her do them became available to her as sources of submissive pleasure. Abigail had already been made to perform cunnilingus on her fellow concubines many times, but the command to raise Anne-Marie’s nightgown and kiss her breasts nevertheless shocked her.

“Context,” Brian had explained to him at one of the conferences Mark had with him, or with Anne-Marie, or with Jean, every morning. “To give an obvious, almost crude, example, if you tell Abigail to take off her panties in her room now, she’ll blush a little at the command, but you won’t have to spank her. If you told her to take them off in the car, though, you would almost certainly have to enforce your will. Telling her to do it in a public place would probably at this point cause a serious regression, though of course our aim is that Hans will be able to do that, too.”

Mark thought he followed, but Brian’s words raised another question. “Because that was in her profile?”

“Exactly. Even without the hypnotism, she might well be shocked to read the transcript of her interviews with Jean—and even more shocked to see what we could get out of them with respect to her deepest erotic desires by reading between the lines. Being ordered to take off her panties in public ranks very high on her hot list, as we’ve started calling it.”

“So let’s say Hans really wanted to have a girl he could order to take off her panties in church, but Abigail didn’t have that on her hot list—what would you and Jean do?”

“Well, we probably wouldn’t have sold Abigail to him in that case, right? But let’s say we did: we would tell him—actually, with something this big we would probably put it right in his contract—that he couldn’t go there, and probably suggest other, lighter ways to play in public. Again, it’s a question of context: not just what kinds of things arouse them, but in what situations. That requires careful management.”

As Anne-Marie was managing it right now, in bed with Abigail. “Abigail,” she said softly. “I will be lenient, because this is your first visit, but you must do as I say.”

“But…”

“You have felt my cane, my dear. Must you feel it again tonight?” Anne-Marie reached out and began to stroke Abigail’s hair tenderly. “Would you not rather enjoy my softer side?”

Abigail’s brow knitted.

“I will admit that I can be, as I said a moment ago, peremptory. But I promise I will be tender with you also. Will you not do as I have asked, and lift my nightgown? My breasts are longing for your pretty little mouth.”

At Anne-Marie’s last words, Abigail gave a little gasp of arousal. Anne-Marie moved her hand from Abigail’s hair down to her little left breast, very slowly, as if to suggest to Abigail the anticipation Anne-Marie’s own breasts felt. At the touch of Anne-Marie’s fingers on her nipple, a little whine came from Abigail’s throat, and Mark saw her right hand move down under the covers, to where the hem of Anne-Marie’s nightgown lay waiting.

“Yes, my dear. There you go.” Now Anne-Marie helped Abigail, wriggling so as to let the thin cotton be drawn up the curve of her hips, and above her full breasts, still very firm for a woman of forty. Anne-Marie put her hand on the back of Abigail’s head then, and tugged her face gently down, and Mark saw that Abigail had stopped resisting; eagerly she kissed first the skin of Anne-Marie’s breasts, then the nipples, as Anne-Marie sighed.

The sight of Anne-Marie, whom Mark had dominated on several memorable occasions, awakening Abigail’s submissiveness this way made Mark hard as a rock in no time. The breast play, with Anne-Marie whispering soft words of instruction to her pupil, and from time to time rewarding Abigail with a caress to the girl’s own breasts, went on for long minutes. At last, though, Anne-Marie said, “Abigail, you will kiss me between my legs now.”

“Oh,” said Abigail, in a rather forlorn sort of voice. Then, “Yes, miss.”

Anne-Marie threw the quilt and top sheet off Abigail’s bed. “Lie on your back, my dear,” she said. “I am going to ride your face.”

Mark thought he could see the image come into Abigail’s mind. She seemed to shrink away from Anne-Marie a little, but then Anne-Marie put her hand down to touch Abigail’s pussy, and Abigail reacted as if she had received an electric shock: she froze still, and Anne-Marie, as the video feed could now show since the quilt and top sheet were gone, expertly roused her, whispering into her ear too softly for the microphone to pick up.

It was not long before Abigail was on her back, and Anne-Marie, facing the foot of the bed, was swinging her knee over and settling her bare pussy slowly and gently onto her pupil’s face, a sigh of contentment escaping from her chest as she felt Abigail’s lips and tongue begin their service.

“Lift your knees, Abigail,” Anne-Marie said softly. “As high as you can. Your feet off the bed. I want to see all of you open to me.”

Imprisoned between her teacher’s thighs, Abigail obeyed. The camera showed a view that made Mark have to unbuckle his belt and lower his pants and boxers to his thighs, so that he could enjoy himself fully: luscious, trim thighs and between them the smoothest, pinkest, wettest pussy Mark thought he could ever imagine. Below it the tiny, cute aperture in the sight of which Mark reveled despite the pang that came with remembering that it would be Hans who deflowered it, only a few weeks hence, set between the two shapeliest bottom-cheeks Mark had ever seen. He remembered the night in the summerhouse, and the sight of that bottom, and his forbearance. The knowledge that he had begun the chain of events that led to this moment, then and there at the Institute, seemed adequate compensation for the loss of his rights over Abigail’s backside to Hans Goterborg for a year.

Anne-Marie bent down, pushing her clitoris against Abigail’s face and at the same time giving herself the opportunity to run her hands all over Abigail’s backside. Anne-Marie murmured, “So lovely. So tender. I think we must begin to prepare you for your owner, back here.” And, in close-up on Mark’s monitor, she wet her right middle finger in her mouth, and without haste but also without hesitation, pushed it deep into Abigail’s bottom.

Abigail screamed under her, into Anne-Marie’s pussy. Anne-Marie said “Shh, my dear. Hush,” and began to tongue Abigail’s own clitoris, as she moved the finger in her bottom-hole in and out in a slow, easy rhythm. The muffled screams kept coming from between the Frenchwoman’s thighs, as Abigail started to come. Anne-Marie did not come herself, but neither did she release Abigail until her pupil had come three times.

It was 2:00 a.m. when Anne-Marie left Abigail’s room. Abigail’s face was bathed in her teacher’s wetness, and the sheet beneath her bottom was soaked with her own. Anne-Marie kissed her pupil tenderly, seeming to relish the taste of her own sex on Abigail’s lips. Though Abigail turned away at first, after the first of these farewell kisses she seemed to participate eagerly.