Breaking Abigail (7 page)

Abigail tried to stand up. Master Ian pushed her back down over the chair, effortlessly. Abigail flung her hands back behind her to try to push Master Ian’s away. Master Ian grabbed her wrists and held them atop her back.

“You just earned the cane, Abigail,” Master Ian said, with a hint of regret in his voice. “And you can think of this reward as a punishment, now. You are going to come with your master’s hands on your sweet young cunt, whether you like it or not.”

“No!” Abigail wailed. “Oh, please, master… please just cane me…”

“Oh, I will. I promise. But you were such a good girl until a few moments ago, and then you decided you didn’t want to have your reward. So now I can’t let you get away with that, or you’ll get the wrong idea about what kind of master I am.”

Now Master Ian’s fingers deserted her, and came back in a spank, right on her pussy. Abigail screamed. He spanked her there again. The pain was intense, but the pleasure that coursed through her, along with the pain, at the idea that her master had spanked her right on her pussy, made her so warm and wet that really it was her arousal that made her scream. Master Ian spanked her again, and then the fingers came back, working more skillfully than Abigail had ever imagined fingers could work—more skillfully than Abigail thought even her own fingers could.

She sobbed in shame and pleasure, as Master Ian held her down and forced the pleasure upon her, and then, so quickly that even the speed with which he could command her orgasm seemed to shame her, he had driven her over the edge, and Abigail screamed out her climax. She closed her eyes and felt how her tears had pooled under her cheek on the imitation leather of the chair’s cushion.

“There you are,” said Master Ian. “Now maybe you’ll be a good girl again for me, and take your caning. Or do I have to tie you down?”

“No, master,” Abigail said bitterly. What was the point of trying to resist, now that she could agree with him that she deserved caning for the way she had shown her immodesty by coming under his probing, caressing fingers?

“Very well. Stay there. You must never move from a position your master puts you in without permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” Abigail replied, with a defiance in her tone that she tried to keep out simply because she knew she would be punished, but which came through anyway.

Master Ian rewarded her with a sharp spank on her bare backside. Abigail yelped, and Master Ian said, “Let’s try that again.” He spanked her again, harder, before she even could respond.

“Ow! Yes… Yes, master.” Abigail could hear acquiescence in her voice, and she realized that indeed she felt much more acquiescent. The spanking had done that, somehow. When Master Ian spanked her, or dominated her physically some other way, her body responded to him, and somehow tricked her mind. That was why she had almost let him touch her without resisting. Even when he merely threatened her with punishment, it seemed to happen.

Then, when he began to use that acquiescence to… to take advantage of her, to… avail himself of her—of her charms, above all her private part… that was when the defiance returned, and Abigail rebelled, and Master Ian once again enforced his will with the punishment.

Chapter Eight

As Ian went to get the cane from the closet, he had a very uncharacteristic urge to go completely off script and deflower Abigail himself. They would fire him from the best job a dominant could ever imagine having, but for a fleeting moment it seemed to him that it would be worth it, so bewitching a girl did he have here in his power.

Really, it shouldn’t have been thus that he persuaded himself to stick with the program laid out for him by Anne-Marie, but Ian managed to stop himself only by thinking about how he would get to fuck her after her owner had taken her maidenhead. And he would get to fuck her as much as he wanted, for training purposes. And she would still be just as tight as she had been.

But Hans Goterborg would get to hear her cry out under a cock for the first time, and the cock would be his. Ian tried to be dispassionate about it, but even having worked with Abigail for only an hour so far, he knew Goterborg would have a very special night, and Ian would only be making it more special for him. The psychological training he’d received from Brian Carter over the last few months told him that he was experiencing what Brian called ‘alpha-rage’—the dominant’s tendency to want to be the man to fuck every woman, spank every woman, have every woman, when it appeared that said woman belonged to another dominant. Knowing what it was helped a little, maybe, but as intelligent and experienced as Ian was, he still had difficulty persuading himself that in the end Ian MacLeish was a much luckier man than Hans Goterborg: Goterborg had to pay millions of dollars for one girl. If the Institute worked, as it seemed so very likely it would, Ian would get paid very, very well to train hundreds, and the Goterborgs of the world wouldn’t take possession until Ian had enjoyed them so thoroughly he could definitely bear to let them go and start training their successors.

The cane he got was not a truly serious punishment cane, but neither was it a ‘nursery’ cane. Abigail needed marks to look at in the mirror, and it would please Ian greatly to provide them. Well-soaked and a half-inch thick, it was Ian’s favorite sort, since chastisement could be inflicted quickly and painfully, but also without danger of rendering the girl out of bounds for later spanking for too long a period.

Ian MacLeish had learned his craft in New York City, where his face, his body, and above all his enormous cock had opened the door to the same elevated world of wealthy players Anne-Marie moved through like a swan. When Anne-Marie told him, after he had dominated her for an hour in her playroom, that she would like to hire him for “a job you would have to be mad to refuse, at a salary that would mean you could retire, if you invest wisely, at forty,” he had wondered if she were making fun of him, and he had threatened to take the tawse to her.

Anne-Marie giggled and said, “Please do, Master Ian, but I am not making fun.”

Ian had withheld the tawse, making Anne-Marie pout, and then spanked her over his knee for pouting. After her corner time, Anne Marie said, “Really, you are simply perfect, Ian. I cannot tell you what the job is until you come for an interview, but I urge you to do so.”

Two months of crash courses in BDSM psychology had succeeded the grueling three-hour interview, but the whole thing was so very worth the time and effort. Not only did he now have a job so good that ‘dream job’ barely described it, but all his dominant instincts now stood on a theoretical foundation—not only did he know what to do to break Abigail, but he knew why.

That fundamental idea—the one that lay behind the Institute—of being able to break a sub who couldn’t live her submissive fantasies without his help held such power for Ian that he had put himself in Anne-Marie’s, and then Brian’s, hands without a second thought. His dominant libido had made him sure, to that point in his life, to the point even of arrogance, that he knew what to do with a sub. But Ian had enough intelligence to recognize that Brian and his boss Jean, whom Ian had met only once, knew much more about dominance than Ian did. They had retaught Ian how to hold a cane, and how to swing it. And later, with the help of the first five volunteers from the concubine program, they had retaught him how to fuck. That part had frustrated him, but he couldn’t deny that the results made him feel five times more himself than he had ever felt.

Cane in hand, Ian turned back toward where Abigail lay over the back of the chair, her modest, schoolgirlish bra still on, and her white panties stretched tight around her spread knees. Her pussy glistened even in and among the soft pubic curls that would soon be Ian’s responsibility to remove. That was going to be fun.

He walked slowly over to stand next to her bottom. He brought the cane down through the air, to the side, to let her hear the sound, and Abigail flinched violently. Then he brought it down gently against her bottom cheeks. She whimpered.

“Six strokes, Abigail,” Ian said softly. “Count each one, please, after you receive it.” He brought the cane up, and then down, hard, loving the sound of it through the air, and the absolutely unique smack of it against a shapely feminine bottom.

“Ah!” Abigail cried. “Oh, my God…”

Ian struck her again, watching with satisfaction as the line from his first blow begin to form. “They don’t count, Abigail, unless you count them.”

“Oh, God… one… one…”

“One, what?” Ian brought the cane down again.

“One, master! Oh, God… please… I never…”

“You never thought it would hurt this much, did you, Abigail?”

“No… oh!”

Ian had caned her again.

“Two… master…” Abigail sobbed. “Oh, please… I can’t…”

Ian gave her another. Her bottom surged delightfully as she clenched her bottom-cheeks, trying to assuage the pain.

“Three, master,” she cried.

He struck again, and her hands flew back. He caned her right palm and said, “That doesn’t count, girl. Get those hands back where they belong.”

Ian slowed the pace, knowing that Abigail would benefit from the time to reflect.

“Oh… oh… oh, God… Four, master,” she whimpered.

“Yes. We’ll count that as four,” Ian said. He brought the cane gently against her backside. “Why haven’t you tried to run away, Abigail?” he asked. He knew exactly how she would reply: the question was for her benefit, not his.

“B-because… because if I t-tried to run away… you would j-just bring me back and cane me… h-harder… master.” She nearly forgot to add ‘master,’ and Ian tapped the cane against her bottom, where the stripes were coming in nicely, in their double lines of red.

“Exactly, girl,” Ian said. Brian had given him the question, and had told him that he must not press it. The true answer was, of course, that Abigail had not tried to run away because her body knew she needed the cane, much better than her mind did. The shadowy realm that lay between mind and body would come into focus little by little, though, and to ask Abigail to think about it on her own would begin that work.

“Prepare yourself, Abigail,” he said. “These last two will teach you a stern lesson.”

“Oh, no…”

“Yes, girl. After I leave you, you will look in the mirror at your first cane marks, and you will understand how important it is to your new owner that you learn to obey him, and those whom, like me, he has put in charge of your training.”

Without further warning, he gave her the fifth stroke.

She screamed as the pain built, and gasped, “Five, master!”

He tapped her bottom with the cane again. “Your owner is a stern man, Abigail, but a fair one. You can expect to be punished when you disobey, and you must understand that at times he will beat you merely because that is what you are for, but we would not have consented to sell you to him unless we were sure he would always treat you fairly, and would never harm you permanently. In return, though, you must be ready to do as he tells you. That is the purpose of my time with you. Do you think you are learning to be a good girl?”

“Yes, master,” Abigail said.

“Do you feel that you want to please the man who owns you?”

“Oh, God…” she whispered.

Ian drew the cane up and back, and then brought it down fast and hard. Abigail screamed in agony, breathed hard, and finally said, in a sob, “Six, master.”

“You will learn to want that, Abigail,” Ian said. “My cane will teach you, as will… the other things I have for you.”

He saw her shudder at the words ‘other things.’ He knew she desperately wanted to know what the other things were. Ian waited, watching her lovely young bottom move its little cheeks, still trying to make the pain less.

Finally, “Master… what other things?” she asked.

Ian shifted the cane to his left hand and gave her a hard spank with his right. Abigail gave a gasping cry. “Do not speak out of turn, girl,” he said. “Do you think that if I wanted you to know about the other things, I would have failed to tell you what they are?”

“No, master,” Abigail said miserably.

“Abigail,” Ian said softly, then, “is your pussy wet?”

There was a long pause, and then she said, even more wretchedly, “No, master.”

“Get up,” Ian said sternly, “and take off your bra and panties. I’m going to inspect you. If you lied to me, you’ll be punished yet again.”

“Oh, no… oh, no… please… I… yes, alright! Yes… it’s… I’m, um, wet, whatever—aroused! Yes! Alright?” She paused, and Ian saw her face scrunched up against the cushion of the chair. Abigail was so lovely that it distracted him a little, to have her there in his favorite submissive posture. Alpha-rage again.

Then she added, “Master.”

But Abigail added that word in a different, less acquiescent voice. She took a deep breath and stood up, both obediently and, in the way she stood there not taking off her underwear, defiantly. Her eyes displayed resistance and desperation. Ian had reached the heart of the matter—the culmination of this first session: he had begun to turn her decisively against herself.

Abigail took another deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and then looked straight into Ian’s.
Charming,
he thought, once again envying Goterborg. Then he thought,
But the best part falls to me
.

“Look,” she said. “Look. I… you seem… I mean, you’re obviously really… oh, God, I don’t know…
knowledgeable
when it comes to… to … to me.”

“I am, Abigail. I know everything about you. Above all, I know everything about what makes you wet.”

At those words, Abigail let out a wordless cry of grief and frustration. By telling her he knew what made her wet, he had made her wetter, clearly.

“But… but it doesn’t mean…” She closed her eyes, clenched her fists into tiny impotent balls, and cried out again. “Godammit! What am I supposed to say?”

“You’re not supposed to say anything, Abigail. You’re supposed to obey me, and, eventually, your owner.”

She had opened her eyes, but now she closed them again when she heard the word ‘owner,’ and the tormented arousal seemed to travel through her body like a lightning bolt. Ian almost felt sorry for her, but he knew that the training was quite possibly the only way to help her live the way she needed to live to be truly happy.