Breaking Abigail Read Online Free

Abigail yelped loud at the agony of having the bruises from the belt reawakened.
    “Don’t talk back to me, young lady,” he said. “And don’t lie. You are a little sub whose cunt gets wet when your master tells her how to please him. If you don’t learn to follow my rules, you are going to have to endure a great deal more punishment.”
    Abigail moaned at that; she simply couldn’t help it.
    “See?” Mr. LeMarchand said. “Don’t try to deny it, Abigail. You are a sub, and it’s time for your master to give your sweet little cunt its very first fucking.”
    He wouldn’t, would he? And if he tried, what should she do? Abigail couldn’t even figure out if what Mr. LeMarchand had begun here with her was sex. The scene differed radically from what her friends talked about, as she pretended not to hear, and above all from what they had told her in 5th grade and then again in 9th grade, in health class. In bed at night, Abigail thought about men spanking her, yes. Above all, she thought about this man spanking her. Sometimes she felt she had begun to go insane, so hard did she find it to stop thinking about men spanking her, beating her, and stripping her naked.
    But that wasn’t sex, was it? It was just a kind of coincidence that she used the same part to make herself feel good when she thought about Mark LeMarchand spanking her as Jon Southey had wanted to touch and, presumably, to penetrate. Abigail watched between her spread thighs, unable to progress her thoughts further, as her childhood friend’s father unbuckled his belt, unfastened his jeans, and lowered them and his underwear to the floor. She looked at a real, live man’s thing for the very first time.
    The sight of it, bobbing there, advancing toward her, made her gasp, and suddenly she realized it was about sex, but it was about a very different kind of sex, or a very different way of looking at sex. When Mr. LeMarchand put his manhood there, and deflowered Abigail, and… fucked Abigail, he would be beating her, too. He had already stripped her. He had already rubbed the places where she had been whipped.
    To have him there in her private part, her shameful part that could make her ‘easy’ and immodest and wicked—oh, God, she wanted it so much, but at the same time she didn’t want it—she couldn’t want it.
    Mr. LeMarchand saw Abigail peering between her legs. “This is my cock, young lady,” he said, holding it in his right hand. “It’s time you knew what a man’s cock feels like.”
    He took the final step, and Abigail felt the cock up against her pussy. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’m fixed. I can’t get you pregnant.”
    “Oh,” was all Abigail could say.
    Mr. LeMarchand rubbed the tip of his cock up and down her pussy, saying, “Shh… such a nice pussy… such a nice little cunt.” He kept it in one place, and then pushed it in further until it came up against a place where it suddenly hurt. Her hymen. Her maidenhead.
    Then something went wrong inside Abigail’s mind. She wanted this, but she couldn’t want it. It was wrong, and dirty. Abigail wasn’t dirty, she wasn’t shameless, and she didn’t get fucked by older men in the summerhouse.
    “Oh, God…” she said. “Mr. LeMarchand…”
    “Sir,” he said sternly, but he stopped pushing his cock against her maidenhead, perhaps hearing the new, different note in her voice, of real refusal and not pretend “Please fuck me even though I say no” refusal.
    “Sir,” she sobbed, starting to cry in the enormous distress that had engulfed her. “I can’t… it’s wrong… I… I don’t… I don’t want it.” It wasn’t true, and it was true, at the same moment.
    “Abigail,” Mr. LeMarchand said gently. “I think you do want it. But if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”
    She whimpered in the grip of her distressed confusion. “I… I don’t! I don’t!”
    He stepped back, and she whirled around and looked at him, feeling that her expression had