Breaking Abigail (9 page)

Should she go to the bed? Should she stand on the carpet? Kneel on the carpet?

The question, however, quickly decided itself, for again the bolt turned, and the door opened, and a large man stood there. He entered and, still facing her and looking at her, he put his hand behind him to close the door.

The man who entered her room, clad in a deep red silk dressing gown belted at the waist, was perhaps thirty-five years old. His blond hair, fairer even than Master Ian’s, fell loose to his shoulders, with the hint of a wave at the end of it. His face was square, and a little ruddy. Not conventionally handsome, perhaps, but nevertheless somehow recalling the Vikings, and full of the kind of absolute authority that Abigail could imagine Erik the Red wielding aboard his longship. His piercing, ice-blue eyes took her in as if she were a maiden seized from a medieval coastal village, to be brought back aboard that longship for the pleasure of the men upon the rowing benches. Nor did Abigail’s owner stand as tall as Master Ian, but, as dominantly as Master Ian carried himself, this man carried himself with even more authority—and alongside that authority, with a grace that seemed to tell of such exquisite breeding that Abigail, to her shock, felt herself go weak in the knees.

“Come here, Abigail,” he said in a rich baritone, accented, just as Abigail had somehow known it would be, with a Scandinavian lilt. “Kneel in front of me, please.”

Chapter Ten

Hans Goterborg watched his concubine come toward him. Three million dollars was a great deal of money, to be sure, but watching this lovely girl cross the room toward him, and knowing that she belonged to him, that she had already been spanked and caned for the sole purpose of ensuring that she would be obedient to him when he deflowered her, used her, enjoyed her, just as he pleased here and now in this room, made the price seem negligible. All the fantasies he’d had, pondering what might best satisfy his dominant nature, watching other men with the women who had come into their power in one way or another, even reading old histories and myths with their tales of conquerors and the maidens they took, coalesced around Abigail Podret as he saw the light shine through the little nightgown, revealing her charms quite as much as it covered them.

She knelt and looked up at him. “Thank you,” Hans said. “I know how difficult this is for you, little one, and I want you to understand that I will be kind to you, as long as you obey me, and give me my way. Here in this room, and then when you come home with me after your training, the people who sold you to me will be monitoring how I treat you. You may not believe it, but they have your best interests at heart. Although what I will do with you perhaps would strike some as wicked, it will be done to both our benefits.”

He paused, looking down at her lovely heart-shaped face, with the black wavy hair flowing behind her and down just past the nape of her neck. In her eyes he saw all her questions, but he saw that she had already internalized the rule about not speaking out of turn.

“I am going to go sit in the chair, Abigail, and you are going to come and sit on the floor in front of me. Then I would like to let you ask any questions you may have, though there will I am sure be many that I refuse to answer. Then we will go to bed, and your service to me will truly begin. You will not rise to your feet, but rather crawl to the chair.”

Without looking to see whether Abigail were obeying him, Hans walked to the chair and pulled it back from the coffee table so that Abigail would have room to sit in front of him. He sat and turned his head to see that Abigail was crawling toward him as specified, looking adorably submissive.

He beckoned to her. “Kneel here between my knees,” he said, “and then sit back on your heels, please.” He spread his knees, being sure that the dressing gown continued to cover him. He wished the moment when he uncovered himself to be special.

When she had settled herself back on her heels and curled up a little, Hans said, “Give me your hands, little one.” She extended them and he took her little white fingers inside his big pink ones.

“Alright,” he said, “what would you like to ask me?”

“What’s your name… master?” she asked.

“My name, as far as you are concerned, girl, is master.” Her eyes widened. “You will eventually discover the name I use with my friends and family, of course, but to you I will always be master. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.” She swallowed, and seemed to consider.

“Will you… will you ever… beat me, for… um, no reason?”

“No, Abigail, but I will sometimes beat you because I like to beat you. You can expect that I will do that at least once before I leave you for the rest of your training, tomorrow.”

“But… but… why do you like to beat me?” The question had an edge of panic in it, but it seemed to Hans that it was a panic not born of fear of him, or of fear of the beating, but of fear of her own feelings.

“I suppose it is because it arouses me. I imagine it arouses me because it makes me feel that you belong to me.” A whim seized him, and it dawned on him that he could satisfy the whim instantly. “In fact, Abigail, please turn around, go to the coffee table, and bend yourself down over it. Then lift your nightgown to show me your lovely bottom.”

“Oh!” Abigail said. “B-but… I have more questions.”

“You will be able to ask them later. Obey me now, or I will spank you sooner rather than later.”

Abigail’s head started to move in a negative shaking, but very, very slowly. Her eyes seemed to grow even wider, and finally she turned and crawled the very short distance to the table. Her body trembled, but she bent, as he had told her to bend, and put her cheek against the wood of the coffee table. She stayed there a long moment, until Hans said, “Now the nightgown, Abigail. I shall not ask you again.”

Her hands shook, but she put them back, grasped the lace hem of the thin white nightgown, and lifted it, until her shapely young bottom lay entirely revealed to Hans, bearing the stripes of the caning he had watched Ian give her, hardly able to contain his own excitement enough to keep from coming as he pumped his cock shamelessly, knowing that Abigail’s bottom belonged to him, Hans Goterborg.

“Lovely,” Hans said. “I’m going to put my hand there now, Abigail. Prepare yourself: your master is about to touch you for the first time. This is a special moment for you.”

Then he put his hand there, because he wanted to. He held the nineteen-year-old bottom cupped in his big palm, and he fondled it, because it belonged to him and he liked to hold it. Abigail gasped, and the idea that the girl didn’t want his hand on her bottom, didn’t want to be his concubine, made Hans, in that instant, harder than he thought he had ever before been in his life.

What had Anne-Marie said? “Abigail will be like no girl you have ever dominated before, Hans. At the instant you take her, you will know—she will show you—that her fundamental self wants you to master her. But you will also have the extraordinary pleasure of knowing that another part of her—the part that needs gradual wearing away by our training and then by your dominance—does not want to submit to you, and you will have to command her by force and by chastisement, to win from her the pleasure you deserve as her owner. You must not shirk that responsibility, and I am sure you will not, for it is not in your nature.”

He spanked her, and she cried out. “Now I am spanking you because I like to spank you, Abigail.” He spanked her again—not hard, because clearly the punishment the girl had already received had left her bottom in a fairly painful state, but Hans would by no means forego this pleasure, though Abigail should cry as if her heart would break.

He spanked again, she wailed, but in that wail he heard unmistakable arousal, and he said, “Girl, are you wet?”

Abigail didn’t answer. Hans spanked her harder, and she screamed.

“Answer me, girl. Are you wet?”

“Yes, master,” she sobbed.

“Get on the bed, with your face to the sheet. I am going to teach you what your wetness is for.”

Hans straightened up and looked down at Abigail, stretched over the coffee table, with her white nightgown still held in her fingers over her blazing red bottom with the lovely cane marks he had just made so painful for her. He didn’t think he had ever seen anything so beautiful. Hans stepped to the bed, ripped the coverlet and then the blanket and the top sheet off it, and dropped them to the floor. A naked bed, with only the sheet to receive Abigail’s maiden blood.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Abigail moved. She let go of the nightgown; with a pang, Hans watched the fabric cover his new concubine’s taut cheeks. She used her hands to push herself up, her eyes downcast. She stood and moved slowly past Hans to the bed. Once she had reached it, Abigail hesitated for just a moment. Hans almost spoke, but then Abigail climbed up atop the mattress. He heard her emit a little sob from deep in her throat. She crawled up the bed, and knelt in its center. Then she turned back to him.

“Master?” she said. “Must I?”

“You must, little one. I am going to have you now. It will hurt at first, but you will learn to love it, I know. If you are obedient, I will be gentle.”

“P-please… couldn’t I do something else for you? To… please you?” Abigail took her upper lip in her teeth. Hans could see both her fear and the desire she thought she could never admit to him in her face.

“You will do many other things for me before I leave this room tomorrow, Abigail. But we are going to begin right now, as we should, with the taking of your maidenhead. Get your face down and your backside up, or I’m going to spank you until you do.”

She closed her eyes, and the conflict played over her face as she turned back and began to lower her upper body to the bed.
Just as she should,
Hans thought.

“Hands by your knees and face right in the covers, Abigail,” he said. “That’s how a dominant man likes to fuck.”

Hans heard his concubine gasp in unmistakable arousal, and he smiled. Anne-Marie had said, “You must never push her arousal. It will be there for you: that is why she is with you and why we allowed you to purchase her.”

“Spread those knees, now.” Abigail obeyed. Hans was learning already how to win her obedience. Anne-Marie had said something about that, too: “The key to your continuing enjoyment of her will be not pushing Abigail to arousal, but rather pressing the limits of her obedience. We will help you determine how best to do that, but if I know you, Hans, you will not need much help. Once you have reached a point where Abigail obeys you, it will be essential to press onward. When you have deflowered her
con
, you must press on to her mouth. When you have had her mouth, you must press on to her bottom—not to have her there immediately, but to make sure she knows she will open for you there before long.”

“And from there?” Hans had asked.

“From there, the true challenge.” Anne-Marie had smiled. “Contexts. Places. Things to wear and postures in which to remain. Your challenge is almost as great as hers, if you wish to make the most of your purchase.”

And Hans certainly did wish that.

Hans untied the knot at his waist, letting his dressing gown fall open, and climbed onto the bed. He knelt behind Abigail. Savoring the feeling of the fabric in his fingers, he raised her nightgown and gathered it atop her waist. He beheld again, for a long moment and without moving further, the shapeliness of her bottom: the rondure of the little apple cheeks, crisscrossed with the marks of the cane, and the whole of the bottom deliciously pink from the spanking he had just given it. Now he looked for the very first time at his concubine’s sweet little cunt, nestling there under that gorgeous bottom, at the apex of the inverted V of her thighs. The thought that everything he saw belonged to him intoxicated him so thoroughly that he could scarcely believe he was awake.

He put out the tips of the fingers of his right hand and with them just brushed the lips of the soft furrow, feeling the delightful tickle of her sparse young curls there, black as night and yet still revealing as much of her secret cleft as they hid. For a moment he toyed with the idea of allowing her to keep her hair between her legs, or of only having her trainers trim it slightly—but he knew he would be much more satisfied, in the long term, with a completely bare cunt on his adorable girl. Abigail whimpered when she felt his fingers there, claiming her with the gentlest of touches. “You are mine, sweet girl,” Hans said. “Say it, Abigail.”

She gave a little sob. “I am yours, master,” she whispered.

Hans took his hard cock in his right hand. He leaned forward a bit and brought the tip of it up against the furrow of her sex.

“This is my cock, little one.”

Abigail made a wordless sound, at once a moan and a sob. Hearing it, Hans thought he would not be able to restrain himself, would not be able to take his time the way he wanted to take it, to savor every moment of enjoying Abigail for the first time. But the same quality that made Hans a businessman whom competitors feared and employees worshipped, the patience that wore down every obstacle in his path and spoke above all of an unwillingness to get what he wanted in any other fashion but the one that pleased him, served him well now. He felt the heavenly sensation of a virginal cunt just beginning to enclose his raging erection, and instead of pushing in and taking the pleasure he had bought, he merely rubbed the tip of his cock up and down Abigail’s tender young pussy for a long, long while, murmuring “Shh, little girl,” over and over, while his sweet new concubine whimpered and gave little cries, and finally began to sigh at the feeling.

At last, Abigail said softly, “Yes, master,” and Hans pressed with his cock just where he knew it needed to go, until it encountered the resistance that made Abigail say, “Oh!”

Hans remained there for a time, taking in the sight of his manhood lodged inside the pretty cunt, moving just enough so that the pleasure would continue and Abigail would continue to feel the way he claimed her. He looked down at her back, covered by the white nightgown, and wanted to see more of it. He took the cotton in his hand and raised the nightgown all the way to her armpits. The sight of her bare back, with its lovely curve just telling of a woman’s mature beauty, nearly took his breath away, and he spent a few moments simply idly stroking her fair, tender skin. Then he felt he had to stroke the little punished bottom, and he did, trying not to hold her too hard there but thrilling to feel the little ridges of the cane marks that made Abigail whimper.