Breaking Abigail (16 page)

“I know. I’ll try.” Mark’s jaw clenched as he seemed to contemplate the necessity of napping.

“How are you doing?”

Instead of answering the question directly, Mark seemed to plunge into the heart of the matter. He took a deep, exhausted breath, and said, passing his hand over his eyes and then casting his gaze down to the floor, “Fairytale happy endings are even less realistic for us, aren’t they?”

“Why do you think Réage ended
Story of O
the way she did?” Anne-Marie replied, in full sympathy. “O could have ended up with Sir Stephen, no? And indeed that is what the filmmakers did in that wretched film they made of the book. But in the book, O asks to die.”

Mark looked up almost wildly. “But that part’s not real, is it? I mean, Abigail won’t end up wanting to die… right? Sometimes I feel like we dominants understand you subs perfectly, and other times I feel like there’s a vast abyss between us.”

Anne-Marie laughed gently. “No, she won’t want to die.”

“But… but what does it mean, for me and Abigail? What will happen when we release the memories? I mean, to the way she feels about me?”

Now Anne-Marie sighed. “I do not want to predict, really, for fear of being proven wrong. But I have a very strong suspicion. I think that Abigail, by that time, will love Hans very much. But if she is like me—as I am quite sure she is—she will want to experience what it would be like to be yours, and to make real her first imaginary submission. I think she will come back to you. But…”

“But it won’t be a fairytale happy ending,” Mark finished.

“It never is,” Anne-Marie said wryly. “Even for vanillas. On the other hand…” Anne-Marie knew that although she believed very firmly in the positivity of the outcome she saw for Abigail and Mark’s story, it was almost certainly an outcome that would not match Mark’s fantasies of owning Abigail forever and ever—perhaps even of marrying Abigail. She looked into Mark’s face, his expression seeming to embody a willingness to clutch at straws, and decided on a way to phrase her thought: “On the other hand, that certainly doesn’t mean that you and Abigail won’t live happily ever after, in your own fashion, of dominance and submission.”

Mark did brighten a bit at that, and Anne-Marie left him much better disposed to take the nap he needed so much.

Chapter Sixteen

Beautiful, dark-haired, naked Abigail stirred on the cot. Watching her, Zoe remembered waking up in the same place, on the same cot, and wondered how different it would be for Abigail. Zoe had awakened from wonderful dreams of being fucked by huge cocks, and she had awakened slowly, taking a very long time to understand that the Christmas-morning feeling she had gotten from being here at last, at the Institute, the place that seemed much, much too good to be true.

Zoe would live out her fantasies: already purchased by a wealthy man, she would learn to please him, and then go home with him. She would live in luxury as a pampered concubine, and serve her owner and see in his eyes the dominant pleasure of the true alpha, the expression that made Zoe’s pussy sing, that she had seen much, much too infrequently in her erotic life to that moment. And the money would pile up in the bank account, day after day, so that if she ever decided she’d had enough, she could walk away from her owner a much more prosperous young woman than she had ever imagined she could be, growing up in a lower-middle-class suburb of Minneapolis.

But Abigail was a pick-up, and as much as Zoe fantasized about being a pick-up herself, she didn’t think she had the slightest idea what it would be like to be a submissive who couldn’t admit to herself that she was a submissive. Zoe had just always known: her parents were open-minded, and when she admitted to her mom that she thought about being spanked (her parents of course never even threatened to use corporal punishment), her mom had said that she thought some people were just like that, and she should never be ashamed of her desires, any more than she should be ashamed of her body.

Her mom had told her that she thought Zoe would be much happier if she waited until she was eighteen to think about having sex. Zoe had seen the wisdom of it, and then spent the time after her eighteenth birthday reading everything she could find, with no objection from her parents, about kink and the kinky. On her nineteenth birthday, she told her boyfriend that she was a submissive, and that she wanted him to try to dominate her, now that Zoe was old enough. She had suspected she would scare him off that way, and she did.

Not that if he had turned out to be a dominant she wouldn’t have welcomed it, but Zoe knew what she needed, and she had decided not to settle for less. A year later, though, having given her virginities to an older dominant who then moved away from the college town where Zoe was a sophomore, finding what she needed began to seem more difficult than she had thought it might be.

Until a psychology professor had put her in touch with Jean. When Jean had flown to Minnesota to dominate her for a night in a luxury suite at a fancy hotel, it had been wonderful enough. When he had told her he wanted her to come to New York to interview for a job he was fairly sure would interest her, she had felt like she was stepping through the looking glass. When she met Miss Anne-Marie, and knelt before her for the very first time in the exquisite new offices of the Institute high above Manhattan, Zoe truly had at first felt sad, because she simply could not believe it was real, and the thought of having to wake up from the dream seemed to break her heart.

“Master?” Abigail’s eyes were still closed, and she seemed to be on the border between sleep and waking, where a dream could seem so real that Zoe could start planning her day on the basis of the information from the dream—as when she dreamt that she had failed an exam and, upon waking, wearily began to plan to schedule a time to retake it, before realizing that she had passed that exam five years ago.

“No…” Abigail murmured, but Zoe could tell that she was waking fully aroused, as Zoe so often had before she started getting what she needed. Abigail was waking in the fantasy-hope that a master might be waiting on the other side of sleep, with a cane and a cock he wanted to give Abigail. She hoped, Zoe knew, that he, that fantasy master, would begin dominating her as soon as she had woken up enough to understand that he found her worth dominating. He would dominate her to his cock’s content, whether or not she was sleepy, whether or not she needed to pee, whether or not she wanted what he chose to give her. The very act of imagining what Abigail wanted made Zoe herself wet, but that seemed to be the effect the Institute had on her: the air itself seemed charged with arousal here.

Zoe glanced into the foyer, through the open door. Miss Anne-Marie stood there just outside the door to the porter’s room, ready to play her part, as Zoe was ready to play hers.

Abigail stirred a little more. Zoe watched her right hand move across her naked belly, the fingertips just brushing her bare sex and making Zoe think of her own freshly waxed pussy, to which Master J had already paid so much attention.

Zoe glanced at Miss Anne-Marie, and received the nod she had been waiting for. She took a deep breath and reached out to take gentle hold of Abigail’s shoulder. Zoe squeezed very lightly and rubbed, unable to keep herself from thinking about how nice it would be when Master J told Abigail and Zoe to put on a little girl-on-girl show for him, as he already had several times with other girls. The specialness of Abigail as a pick-up, though, seemed to attract Zoe even more than she felt attracted to Victoria and Beatrice and the others.

Abigail blinked and started, looking around her and seeing the strange room, and then Zoe. Her face went from the contentment of her dream to alarm at the unfamiliarity. Then she looked down her body and saw that they had taken away even the little nightgown.

“What…?” she asked, unable even to frame a question.

“You’re at the Institute,” Zoe said gently. “In a few moments, I’m going to help you up, and take you into the foyer for your initiation.”

“Initiation?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, you won’t have to do anything but listen… and obey, of course.”

“Obey?”

Zoe smiled at Abigail’s confused repetitions. “Yes, but you know that already, don’t you? Master Ian is good at teaching obedience, don’t you think?”

“Oh, God,” Abigail said, seeming to return in her imagination to the dream she had been having, that made her call out ‘master’ in her sleep. “Is… is my… is master… Are they here?”

“You’ll have answers to your questions soon. Do you think you’re ready to get up?”

Abigail swallowed hard, thought for a moment, then nodded. “Why am I naked?” she whispered, as Zoe stood and took her hands to help her stand.

Zoe smiled. “Because they want you to be naked.”

She watched a blush suffuse Abigail’s face. “Oh.”

Zoe turned the unresisting Abigail to face the open door leading to the grand foyer. Miss Anne-Marie entered, and stood just inside the doorway. Miss Anne-Marie looked absolutely magnificent, Zoe thought: like the beautiful wicked queen from a fairytale, her black hair even darker than Abigail’s, her brown eyes sparkling with what could be malice but Zoe knew to be laser-like focus on realizing her visions.

“Welcome, Abigail,” she said, then, “follow me, girls.” She turned and walked purposefully to her place at the bottom of the staircase, serving herself as a kind of gate to the mysteries of her Institute. Zoe felt Abigail quiver at her side at the very sight of this strange and rather menacing new face.

“It’s alright,” Zoe whispered. “Just do as she says and you’ll be fine.” She began to lead Abigail, who now held back a little and needed to be tugged, by the hand toward the staircase. “There’s a mat, right in front of Miss Anne-Marie. All you have to do is kneel on it.”

Abigail’s footsteps slowed almost to a standstill, then sped up again as she seemed to resolve, as Zoe had in the same situation the week before, when it had been Miss Anne-Marie herself leading her toward the staircase, that obedience was the best course. She knelt on the white foam-rubber mat that covered the marble floor. As she watched Abigail, Zoe had an idle thought: what if every girl had her own mat?

“Abigail,” Miss Anne-Marie said, as Zoe took up her position behind the new girl, “you may raise your eyes and look at me. I am Miss Anne-Marie. You will address me that way, or as miss. Zoe, what happens to girls who fail to address me properly?”

“They’re spanked, miss.” It had only happened once, so far, to Beatrice. She had simply forgotten to end a sentence with ‘miss,’ and she had gone instantly over a chair in the refectory to receive fifty strokes of Anne-Marie’s stiff leather strap.

“How hard do I spank, Zoe?” That Zoe knew from personal experience, having had a reminder about touching herself in bed, in Miss Anne-Marie’s office on her second day. The conference, as Miss Anne-Marie called it, had begun with an order to get over the spanking stool that stood in a place of honor in front of Miss Anne-Marie’s desk, and it had ended with a crying Zoe returning to her room to lie face down on her bed and think about her owner’s absolute rights over her body. It had hurt like hell, but it had also been the most wonderful of all the wonderful things that had happened to Zoe so far at the Institute, especially because of the attention Master J had paid to her when he had entered the room half an hour later. He hadn’t, of course, let her come, but that deprivation itself made up an important part of what Zoe had always craved.

“Very hard, miss.”

Miss Anne-Marie clapped her hands three times. Zoe knew what would happen, but the way Master J flung the door under the staircase open with a bang still made her jump, and, on the mat, Abigail gave an even more violent start and quailed away from the noise. When she saw Master J coming toward her, enormous, in his long master’s robe, his rigid cock bobbing a full eight inches out in front of him, she froze, unable even to find the wits to cower.

Zoe knelt, her eyes downcast. Miss Anne-Marie remained standing.

Master J was at least 6′5″. He looked like a professional basketball player—a power guard, maybe, given how very muscular he was. He had light brown hair and hazel eyes, and his face seemed made for the cover of a men’s fashion magazine—or a women’s naughtier sort of periodical. He wore his hair cut short, in a military kind of style.

He fucked, as Zoe already knew very well, like a stallion.

“Face to the floor, Abigail,” he said in the deep, rumbling voice that seemed to come from his well-muscled abdomen. Master J never raised his voice, but he also never failed to convey the necessity of obedience. As he spoke the words, he reached her, and gave her no time to choose. He put his huge hand on the back of Abigail’s neck, twined his fingers loosely in her hair, and began to push her into the position in which he wanted her. The first time he had done that to Zoe, she had thought she would come just at the feeling of being commanded by a man so big and so dominant.

Abigail resisted just a bit, as Zoe had, because the experience was so overwhelming that really her body just hadn’t caught up to it yet. But Master J was not rough: simply firm. He pushed until Abigail relaxed a bit, and then he brought her face all the way down to the mat, in the process taking up the animal crouch behind her that made Zoe feel like she was floating above the scene, so arousing was it to see him covering Abigail that way. Zoe got only a brief glimpse of the delectable rear view of the new girl: bare pussy-lips peeping between her thighs, tiny pink anus winking above, before Master J’s robe obscured the sight.

“Oh, God,” Abigail said passionately, half in fear at the size of the cock that must have just impaled her and half in erotic fervor.

“Shh,” said Master J, moving very slowly downward and, Zoe knew, inward.

“Oh, God… oh, God… it’s too… oh, no…” But Zoe could hear the ‘yes’ so clearly in Abigail’s voice that she knew that the experience of the pick-up and of the volunteer must be almost the same. For at the moment when Master J had entered Zoe, the size of him had caused a little panic to break out in her tummy, and she, too, had said, “Oh, no…” Perhaps the difference was that Abigail could feel that ravishment more purely than Zoe. Envy came back, for this lucky girl who got to live Zoe’s true fantasy, but at the same time pity and the beginnings of affection. Zoe, like Master J and Miss Anne-Marie, had a job to do, the best job in the world, as far as she was concerned—they all got to help each other live out this drama of dominance and submission, and Abigail needed the most help of all.