Breaking Abigail (10 page)

Then at last he took hold of her hips, and he felt his concubine’s body tense beneath him as Abigail realized that her master would now deflower her. “It is time for me to have my pleasure,” Hans said softly, and began to drive his cock into the tightest pussy he had ever fucked.

The sensation and the experience were already everything he had paid for, he could not help feeling. And that was precisely because Abigail’s cunt was so very tight. It gripped his invading cock with a slick, velvety pleasure that made Hans lightheaded in its perfection. Abigail’s virgin cunt made Hans Goterborg feel like his cock had been made to fuck virgins. It resisted him, but even as the pretty pussy resisted him, it made him even more urgent in his hunger to sheathe himself inside her completely, to own her entirely.

Abigail had already begun to cry out in passionate discomfort, but as Hans gripped her hips hard and continued to thrust inward, he watched her begin to writhe as if to try to get away. That sight made his cock feel even harder, made his first, opening thrust even more insistent. He was going to fuck this virgin: he was deflowering Abigail, his concubine, and it hurt her, and he loved making her feel that, and the pain of her defloration made the pleasure of it very great for him. He held her hips tightly so that although she moved her upper body he could keep her fixed on the tormenting saddle of his own loins, and he thrust hard through her maidenhead and began to fuck Abigail very slowly as she made her little sounds of submission to the way he used her body to make his cock feel good.

Not really to his surprise, Abigail’s pain quickly seemed to turn to a much more ambiguous feeling. The sobs of discomfort became moans of arousal of the kind Hans had heard many times from submissive girls beneath him as he fucked them. There was no doubt in his mind that power was the ultimate aphrodisiac, and Hans, as he often did, gave thanks to the heavens, and in particular to Thor, god of thunder, whom he regarded in his irreverent imagination as a sort of personal saint, that he had the kind of power that could make a girl long to have a fucking from him: power that then allowed him to take his dominant pleasure of her without compunction, listening to the way she gained her own submissive pleasure from the experience of having Hans Goterborg enjoy her.

Abigail was different, because she did not know that she had consented to Hans taking her thus, but he realized that—just as Anne-Marie had told him—Abigail’s difference from other submissives was in extremity and not in quality: Abigail was simply more submissive than the most submissive girl Hans had ever fucked before, despite—really because of—the repression that made her need Hans to buy her, train her, and force the pleasure of her submission upon her.

Hans shifted his position and put his feet on either side of Abigail’s knees. When he pulled his cock out of the sweet little cunt, Abigail gave a little sigh that thrilled him more than any sound she had made yet. He said, “Don’t worry, little Abigail, the cock will be back inside you very soon.” Then he crouched over her and thrust back in, and made her cry out as he fucked his concubine harder and harder. He felt her tense under him, and shudder to an orgasm, and he simply kept pounding her backside, looking down all the while at the way his manhood surged in and out of her, taking her over and over, as his hips pressed her lovely chastised bottom and he felt their wonderful firm roundness come against his lap.

Suddenly he felt his orgasm begin to wash over him, irresistible and limb-loosening: the ultimate experience of manhood that at the same time unmans him who falls within its grip. He shouted, and he gripped Abigail’s hips and held her bottom against him as a final act of punishment, and felt himself explode inside her as she made little kitten sounds at the feeling of his mastery.

They were both still for a long moment. Hans stroked Abigail’s lovely back gently. Then he said gently, “Good girl. You pleased me greatly. Thank you. Now you must thank me for fucking you.”

A pause ensued, so long that Hans wondered if Abigail had even heard him.

Then, “Oh, no… please…” Abigail whispered into the sheet.

“Do I need to spank you again so soon, little one?”

“Oh, God… I… thank you, master. Just please… please don’t spank me again.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Hans said, letting the authority seep back into his voice. “You must say it, Abigail.”

“I can’t,” Abigail wailed. “Please… please, master… I just wasn’t raised that way. Those words… They just make me feel strange.”

“That feeling,” Hans said, “is a feeling that belongs to me now, Abigail. I am going to make you feel it whenever I want. Let me ask you again: do you need another spanking?”

“No! I… Thank you… Thank you, master…” Her voice trailed off. Hans withdrew his satisfied cock from her cunt, and rose enough so that he could move backward on the bed, to prepare to spank her.

“No!” Abigail wailed. “Oh, please… Thank you for fucking me! Thank you for fucking me, master!”

“You are very welcome,” Hans said levelly, “but I very much hope that next time you will remember to thank me properly as soon as I am done with you.”

Chapter Eleven

Sitting in the control room, Anne-Marie smiled. She turned to Jean, who was sitting next to her at the raised producer’s table in the back of the room, so they could watch the assessor team in front of them and the monitors that the assessors were watching. “Was the thanking Hans’ own idea?” she asked Jean. She spoke in English, as they agreed they always would in the control room, so that the operations of the Institute would always be transparent to the entire team they had assembled.

“Oh, yes,” Jean said. “Or, rather, it came out of his answer to the narrative question, in the free association that always happens on such responses. I believe he was telling me about his fantasy of the ideal fuck. He expressed the idea that his concubine would make a statement of gratitude to him, and I encouraged him to incorporate that into his mastery of Abigail from the beginning. It worked, no?”

“But of course,” Anne-Marie replied. “Anything that came from that dominant mind, and then was reflected in your own dominant mind, Jean, could not fail, as far as I can imagine.”

They returned their attention to the monitors. Hans had arranged Abigail on her side now, and he was behind her on his side, holding her. One monitor had a close-up of Abigail’s face. She was crying, softly. Hans stroked her shoulder and spoke gently to her. “Don’t worry, Abigail, it was right, and good, to feel what you felt.”

“Perfect,” Jean said. “Perfect, no?” He turned to Anne-Marie.

“You gave him that line?”

“Of course. It took a while for Hans to grasp what I told him about the reason she would cry from time to time. But when it sank in, he seemed to understand the essence of how to respond very quickly. And certainly it is very flattering to a dominant ego to know that he awakens desires in his concubine that she finds overwhelming.”

Anne-Marie laughed. “Through no fault of his own, of course.”

“Of course,” Jean replied, chuckling. “But I hope you will forgive me for not having impressed that particular point upon him. Besides, I’ve never met a dominant who was not happy to use his sub’s mental construct to his own pleasure. Lucky the few who actually are rich and powerful and dominant. They stand some chance of keeping their subs overwhelmed.”

That made Abigail think of poor Mark LeMarchand, who must have found the sight of his girl being deflowered by another very painful. “Brian is observing Mark in room two?” she asked Jean. “How did he do during the fuck?”

Jean had a special computer linkup with Brian, down the hall in the second, smaller control room they had set up specifically to observe Mark’s reactions. He said, “Brian thinks Mark has broken through. He seems to have done much better watching Hans deflower Abigail than he did with Ian caning her.”

Down below them, Claire, one of the assessors, called out, “Start.” Anne-Marie looked to see what she had noticed. They had arrived at a set of conventions for the analysis of the information coming in on the video feed, and ‘Start’ meant that an instance of erotic activity had begun. Sure enough, on the monitor, Hans’ hands had begun to rove beneath Abigail’s nightgown. Anne-Marie swallowed. It was not often these days that she saw something that actually managed to arouse her the way the simple sight of Hans and Abigail now did. It was the look on Abigail’s face. If Anne-Marie had not yet convinced herself of the importance of the great work she had begun in bringing the Institute to birth, the look on Abigail’s face would have settled the question instantly. In Abigail’s eyes, Anne-Marie watched the battle between resistance and submission, between pleasure and duty. To know that pleasure would win, because it should, and because Anne-Marie had arranged it so that Abigail and other girls like her would be able to let pleasure win at last made Anne-Marie’s bosom swell with pride.

She had known it could be done. Seeing the evidence of it on Abigail’s face, though, gave Anne-Marie a joy she could hardly get her mind around. She watched the hands of Abigail’s master claim Abigail’s little breasts under her nightgown and slip down between her thighs to bestow on her a pleasure of which the girl had not even dared dream. The sight gave Anne-Marie the kind of satisfaction that she felt could only come once in a lifetime, if even that often.

Abigail’s weeping began to turn to soft moans of forced pleasure. Anne-Marie had invested some of the investors’ money in a very fine audio system, so in the control room they were even able to hear what Hans whispered into Abigail’s ear, then. “Lift your leg, Abigail,” he said. “I want to play with that sweet little cunt.”

With a whimper, Abigail obeyed.

“We are going to have to take this hair away,” Hans said. “I want my concubine’s pussy to be nice and smooth for me.”

“Oh, no,” Abigail gasped.

“Do not worry,” Hans said. “I will not make you tell me why you are so wet at that thought. Perhaps someday you will tell me just because you want to.”

“Oh, no…” Abigail said again.

“Master Ian will do that tomorrow, after I’ve left,” Hans continued. “I can wait for my treats. I must say, though, that it is very hard to wait to get my first taste of your smooth little cunt.”

The monitor that showed Abigail’s face told a tale of desire that moved Anne-Marie so greatly that she nearly forgot herself and put her hand down between her own thighs.

Next to her, Jean called down to the assessors, “What do you think? Nine?”

Claire, the assessor who was responsible for recording and analyzing Abigail’s arousal, said, “I think that’s got to be a ten.”

Anne-Marie watched Jean nod approvingly. “I concur,” he said.

Claire laughed. “Were you testing me?”

“I suppose I was,” Jean replied. “Really, though, I think I did not want to let myself be swayed by my own bias toward our work.”

The assessors’ most important task here at the beginning of Hans’ possession of Abigail was to record her responses to his dominant eroticism. By faithfully taking notes and then, later, analyzing the video further with the help of those notes, they would be able to construct a robust profile of how Hans and Abigail functioned as owner and concubine. That would guide Anne-Marie and Jean in giving advice to Ian and the other trainers, but even more important, it would begin to build the data-set that Jean and Brian were convinced would eventually give the Institute a cachet and an edge over any competitors they might encounter.

“Abigail,” they heard Hans saying softly, “you are making me hard again. Can you feel it?”

Abigail nodded, and said in a whisper, “Yes, master.”

“Do you feel my cock up against your bottom?”

“Yes, master,” Abigail whispered.

“Do you want my cock inside you again?”

“Whoops,” said Joe, the second of the assessors.

“No, wait,” Jean said.

Abigail shook her head.

“Down to five,” Claire said.

“Shit,” said Joe.

“Wait,” Anne-Marie said.

“Do I need to spank you?” Hans asked.

“Please, no…” Abigail said.

“Eight?” Claire asked.

“Be a good girl,” Hans said, “or I’ll have to spank you very hard.”

“Oh, God…”

“Ten,” Claire said, with satisfaction.

“See?” Jean said.

Joe replied, “Yeah. I thought he was going in a different direction.”

Hans said, “Then tell me how much you need my cock inside you again.”

Abigail’s arousal continued to occupy her face. “Master,” she said, “I want your cock inside me again.”

“There we go,” said Hans. “Very well, good girl, I am going to give it to you a different way.”

“Oh, no… Please, not there…”

“Eleven,” Claire said. “That’s a recalibrater.”

Jean chuckled. “Just as we thought.”

Throughout the interviews in New York, and then much more intensively throughout the first session with Ian, the assessors had been constructing the scale of Abigail’s arousal. Part of Brian’s responsibility had been to design this system which he and Jean thought would provide the most accurate possible information for analysis about what would aid Abigail as they attempted to find the best route through her repression. Anne-Marie thought that there was probably no better way to phrase the importance of the Institute to both its clients and its girls than to say that the best route through Abigail’s repression would inevitably also be the optimal path to Hans Goterborg’s pleasure.

“Soon enough, little one,” he murmured. “Your bottom belongs to me, so you must not think that I will fail to enjoy it with my cock, but that is not the different way I will give my cock to you now.”

“Oh,” Abigail said. “Do you mean…” Anne-Marie watched Abigail’s mouth tighten into a thin line, as her mind forbid her voice permission to speak out.

“Your mouth, little one,” Hans said. “That is what I mean.”

“Seven,” Claire said. Abigail’s face had lost a little of its abandoned quality. There was fear in her eyes, along with the arousal.

“Abigail,” Hans said, “are you ready to have my cock in your mouth?”