Breaking Abigail (15 page)

Abigail nodded. Victoria stirred the wax in the little pot, then took the paddle she had stirred with, covered in golden wax, and spread the first line of it along the top of Abigail’s mons. It wasn’t really that hot at all, and it even felt a little nice. “It’s going to hurt a lot when I peel it, this first time, but before long you’ll really get used to it. Take your mind off it, though—ask me another question.”

Abigail watched Victoria make more of the little patches of wax, trying to think of anything but what it would feel like when she pulled it off—above all when Victoria pulled off the strips she knew would go right on her pussy-lips. “Um… okay. So you, um, didn’t really answer my question about being owned, did you?”

Before she replied, and without any warning, Victoria started pulling off the strips of wax, which had hardened almost immediately. “Ow!” Abigail said. It actually wasn’t as bad as she had feared. It was certainly nowhere near as bad as getting her teeth cleaned, for example. She even found herself getting a tiny bit turned on by the pain, and by Victoria being so tender and efficient, as she thought about what she and Victoria had done to one another only a few minutes before.

“Well, no, I guess I didn’t. I guess it’s because I don’t really know how I know that it’s what I need. I just feel like I can’t be happy unless I belong to a guy who takes care of me, and loves to dominate me, and do whatever he wants to me to make himself feel good.”

“
Any
guy?”

“No, of course not,” Victoria giggled. “But the thing about the Institute is that they know how to choose the right girl for the right owner.”

“How do you know that?”

“I guess I don’t really know it.” The waxing was moving inward, and growing more painful. Abigail whined a bit as the strips came off, but the arousal also continued. “But wait until you meet Miss Anne-Marie. She knows so much about what we need—or, I mean, what I need, but I think you probably need the same thing, judging from how you reacted to what just happened. Alright, last bit coming up, before I turn you over.”

“Before you what?”

“I need to do your bottom, too.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “That’s my favorite part when I get waxed. Shh.”

Abigail couldn’t help a giggle.

Victoria finished up as she had said she would. When Abigail turned over, Victoria helped her expel the plug. Master Ian said, “You’ll clean that later, Abigail,” and took it to the bathroom.

Abigail felt her face turn bright red as Victoria told her to hold her bottom-cheeks open, but when she ripped the wax away Abigail had to admit that something wicked in her really liked the feeling. Then Victoria had her get up and look at herself in the mirror. The sight, as of a different girl, a girl ready to be enjoyed by her masters, took her breath away. Victoria hugged her and Abigail said, “Thank you for being so kind to me.”

“I’ll see you soon, at the Institute,” Victoria replied and wheeled her cart out of the room.

“See?” Master Ian said, when Victoria had gone. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, master,” Abigail said.

He stepped to the center of the rug. “Knees,” he said. Abigail went to kneel before him. “I’m going to teach you something new, now: a command called ‘mouth.’ Once you learn it, you’ll be ready to go to the Institute, where they’ll teach you a great deal more. The basic idea that you are available to any master there, though, is what I need to impress on you now.”

Chapter Fifteen

In the control room, Anne-Marie watched Ian untie the belt of his master’s gown. “When I say ‘mouth,’ Abigail, you will open your mouth as wide as you can, and put out your tongue. You will curl your tongue over your bottom lip, and wait for me to put my cock on it. Do you understand?”

Anne-Marie could see fear in Abigail’s eyes, but the girl did not move. “Yes, master,” she said.

“Mouth,” Ian said and opened his gown, revealing the enormous cock that Abigail had not yet seen, but only felt. Abigail shuddered at the sight of it, but she held her position.

“Seven,” said Claire.

“I think she is ready,” said Brian, who was now sitting to Anne-Marie’s right. Jean had stayed up nearly all night monitoring Hans and Abigail and making notes on the previous day’s activity, while Anne-Marie had got almost a full night’s sleep. Jean slept now, and Brian had taken his chair in the control room for the time being.

On the monitors, Ian put the head of his cock on Abigail’s tongue and left it there for a long moment, while he said, “Very nice, Abigail. I’m going to take hold of your head now, and push in. I’m going to make you gag. Your job is to relax and concentrate on your breathing. The more you do that, the easier it’s going to be to suppress your gag reflex.”

Anne-Marie watched the close-up on camera 1 of the huge cock driving into pretty Abigail’s little mouth, envying Abigail the experience as she remembered the first time a man had used her own face that way. Paris, 1974: Anne-Marie had been eighteen. If only there had been an Institute to find her an owner, trainers, new friends who were fellow submissives. Anne-Marie would probably have been a volunteer herself, after her experience with Michel, the man who had used her mouth for the first time, with Anne-Marie just barely consenting and not knowing what she had let herself in for, but before that she would have made almost as good a pick-up as Abigail.

Ian made Abigail gag over and over, for ten minutes. Then he pulled out and said. “Go to the bathroom, Abigail, and clean your plug. Come back with a glass of water.”

When Abigail returned, Ian gave her the sleeping pill and she swallowed it, a little apprehensively but without the threat of a spanking. Brian murmured, “She’s internalized the threat now. Every time she receives a command that doesn’t push her boundaries, it comes with the threat of a spanking, as far as she’s concerned, and she’ll obey.”

“Ready for training?” Anne-Marie asked.

“Absolutely. There will be a great many boundaries to push in training, and then with Hans, but we’ve broken her to basic obedience.”

Anne-Marie watched Ian help Abigail into bed; she was already woozy from the pill. Five minutes later, she was fast asleep. Ian said, “Attendants,” and Victor and Alan came in again, with a hospital gurney.

* * *

The Institute was really only five minutes from the pick-up facility where they had accommodated Abigail, and where they would, if things worked as Anne-Marie hoped they would, accommodate future pick-ups. They had driven Victoria in a circle, slowly, five times, to make her think the pick-up facility was farther away than it really was. Anne-Marie could see a time in the future when they might send training masters who served as case managers out into the field to break girls in their own homes, which could well prove the best possible way to bring out a submissive’s cravings, but Jean and Brian had agreed that a controlled environment like their little facility made sense, for the purpose of gathering the best possible data.

The van pulled up to the front door of the château, as Anne-Marie could not help but think of it, and Abigail, on her gurney under a sheet, was wheeled out and placed in the old porter’s room that adjoined the grand foyer and the vestibule. Alan pulled back the sheet to reveal Abigail naked, her nightgown removed back at the pick-up facility, for the purpose of the initiation in the foyer. Standing looking at her sleeping there, Anne-Marie dreamt of a day when they might bring three girls at a time, with a truly experienced girl to receive each of them, and conduct the kind of initiation ceremony that never lay far outside the borders of Anne-Marie’s waking mind, patiently waiting for the chance to seduce her: upon her bed, in the bath, alone in her office.

For the present, there would be Zoe, the most experienced of the volunteers. Anne-Marie and Jean had placed a great deal of faith in Zoe, and thus far she had rewarded that faith admirably. Footsteps sounded in the foyer, and Anne-Marie turned to see Zoe, auburn-haired and green-eyed, graceful with her height of nearly six feet, approaching in the flesh, demonstrating her uncanny ability to be where she was needed at the proper time. Anne-Marie watched her walk, in her blue nightgown (Joseph kept the girls in blue most of the day every day; he punished in the evenings, though, so they would generally go to bed in pink). Anne-Marie herself was in a suit: she would change into her own nightgown before they woke Abigail, of course.

“Hello, Zoe,” Anne-Marie said softly, once the girl had knelt in front of her.

“Hello, Miss Anne-Marie,” Zoe answered, her eyes upon Anne-Marie’s own feet.

“You may look at me, my dear.”

“Thank you, miss,” Zoe replied, looking up into Anne-Marie’s eyes.

“We’ll wake her in an hour. I would like you to sit by her here, and ring on the intercom if she seems to be stirring. That is very unlikely, though.”

“Yes, miss.”

“You have studied your part in our little ceremony?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Have you any questions?”

“One question, miss. When Master J comes in, do I kneel?”

“Yes, Zoe. He is your own training master, so you must always kneel to him, as you do to me.”

“But not to the teachers except in their classrooms?”

“That is right. Unless they command it, of course.”

Zoe’s green eyes narrowed very slightly. Anne-Marie smiled and stroked Zoe’s pale, lightly freckled cheek with the backs of her fingers. She knew Zoe would probe a bit now, the way she had from the beginning of her contact with the Institute.

“Has it always been that way, miss? I mean, since the very beginning of the Institute?”

Zoe had been the first volunteer to arrive, and so she had come to a château staffed with trainers, and with a dean—Anne-Marie herself—but devoid of other submissives. In her interview process, Anne-Marie and Jean had told her and the other five volunteers that the Institute had recently moved from its old home in Europe, but that the program would continue just as it had been doing for centuries, and might even accelerate. They had given Zoe the number 248, and told Joseph and the other masters, all very intelligent men and very capable of perpetrating this sort of ruse, to make frequent reference to the Institute’s long history.

But Zoe was even more intelligent than the masters, and she had clearly detected signs that the Institute was actually brand new. Thus had begun this game she played with Anne-Marie, which they both seemed to enjoy greatly. As Anne-Marie considered how best to answer Zoe, she remembered watching Victoria on the video feed from Abigail’s room, expressing so perfectly what Anne-Marie herself felt about the Institute: the best thing that had ever happened to her. All the volunteers seemed to feel that way—Zoe most of all. This game about the true origins of the Institute was by no means subversive: rather, it expressed Zoe’s love and gratitude in a quirky way that Anne-Marie felt sure Zoe intended only in fun and affection.

“Oh, yes,” Anne-Marie finally replied. “Always—since even before girls had numbers.” That was part of the noble lie she and Jean had agreed on: the Institute had existed longer than anyone even knew—its origins lay hidden in the mists of time.

“Oh, miss,” said Zoe, “part of me wishes I lived in the old days, when we all could have been pick-ups like Abigail.” She smiled with seeming innocence as she spoke, and Anne-Marie had to suppress a laugh.

“Yes, Zoe, I do too—for you and for me.” Anne-Marie thought of what it would have been like to be the mistress of that fictional Institute, placed over girls all of whom had been broken, and all of whom would be sent on, happier with their lot, to the homes of wealthy men. She shook her head: fantasy, merely. Sade had ended in the lunatic asylum for less than setting up the establishment Anne-Marie dreamt. “Alright, Zoe. I am going to go shower and change. You may sit in the chair in the porter’s room.”

“Thank you, miss,” Zoe said, and went to obey. Anne-Marie watched her take up her station by the sleeping Abigail, wondering if everything could really be going so perfectly. All it took, it seemed, was choosing people who wanted the same terrible things you wanted.

On the way to her own suite, Anne-Marie stopped by Mark’s. As befit his role, he was the very first guest in the lavish accommodations they had built for owners and other guests. Hans would probably be the second, unless one of the volunteers’ owners decided to come calling before that.

Mark looked tired as he and Anne-Marie sat down in his suite’s sitting area. The one concession they had made to the nature of the Institute in furnishing the guest rooms was in covering all the furniture in easily washable imitation leather. Anne-Marie had striven to find the most luxurious version of the synthetic stuff she could, and the effect wasn’t bad. She liked to tell herself that the occupants of the guest suites would appreciate the gesture aimed at making them feel comfortable enjoying the girls wherever they pleased, and over whatever piece of furniture struck their fancy. They would have to see how Hans took it; he certainly had been very enthusiastic about the setup in Abigail’s pick-up accommodations. When Anne-Marie had parted from him, he had been busily rearranging his schedule so that he could come back sooner than he had initially planned—for a steep additional fee, of course.

“You are a miracle worker, Anne-Marie,” Hans said. “I do not care what it costs: I need to be back in that pretty cunt as soon as you will let me take up residence in your guest suites and you will send her to me. Abigail is worth every penny.”

“Of course,” Anne-Marie replied, happy that she had emphasized in the planning stages that such flexibility absolutely must be built in as a way to allow owners to exercise dominance—and of course, to spend more money at the Institute.

Now to Mark she said, “I would advise a nap—just half an hour or so. You will probably want to wait to sleep tonight until Abigail does, and that could well be quite late, as well as completely unexciting, since she will be in her room by herself, maybe reading but probably just tossing and turning. It will take a few days to get her onto the same schedule as everyone else.”