Broken & Reborn (closed for TheFarthestWriter & wideeyedone)

The first few posts of this story are being re-posted here.

TheFarthestWriter:

Dr. Grant Huntington was a mountain in his community. Though he stood at five feet ten and was a well-built man, it was rather the combination of his appearance, the way he carried himself, and his charisma, that enchanted everyone from his patients to business associates and anyone in between. There was also his charitable contributions to the city - a large park for kids and adults alike, a considerable donation to renovate the small town's museum, and the development of the small town's first golf course. From the outside, people saw an outstanding, upright member of the community: an accomplished physician who was loved by his patients, an accomplished businessman in the world of medical information technology, a philanthropist. And with all that, he was a single man, enjoying life, driving a nice car, living on a grand estate, etcetera, etcetera. The only thing that some of the women-folk he encountered (especially the older ones) wondered about was why he never settled down with a nice lady. Didn't he get lonely in that big home of his? At forty years old, with some "salt" coming through in his mostly still "pepper" hair, a wealthy, handsome specimen of a man loved by all for his good nature and sharp mind - he surely would have had his choice of women.

At dinner events and functions he would laugh the question away. "I'd love to, but I just don't think I'd have the time. Between the business and the clinic, I don't think I'd be able to give a wife her full due. It just wouldn't be fair."

Of course this kind of answer simply enamored further him to any women in the crowd, and as for the men, they snickered among themselves, figuring he most certainly enjoyed staying single, and likely reveled in the occasional unencumbered fling. At the end of the day though, no one really cared. They all lived their own life, and as long as the good doctor Huntington continued to be a stellar member of the community what did it matter?

But the good doctor had a deep, dark secret. This secret was a desire, a burning desire buried deep within the mountain that was Grant Huntington. The fire of this desire never went out. Always glowing embers they were, and sometimes they would ignite, and when they did, there was no stopping it. Grant Huntington's mastery over medicine, over business, were simply socially acceptable expressions of the one thing that drove him: complete mastery. Mastery was easy over ideas like medicine, over inanimate things like money, even over people in general through his philanthropy and good character. But there was something utterly special about the kind of mastery that a man could impose over a woman. There was nothing like that. Even mastery over other men was paltry, for all one could receive from them was loyalty. From a woman, a man could have loyalty and complete dependence. Complete dedication. To take an independent female mind and break it around the firm pole of steel that was a man, wrapping her completely to his will, was the greatest and most rewarding thing in the world for Grant. This is what he did. This is what his facade was all about. This was what he lived for.

Grant Huntington had broken many women before. In all cases he had purchased them from the slave trade. But he always liked his women fresh, new, totally unaccustomed to being broken and owned. That was the exhilarating part. He had broken younger and older, professionals and the uneducated. Once he had done so, and used them to his satisfaction, he sent them back to the traders. They'd gratefully pay him a hefty fee for the service he had provided. There was a big market for completely submissive sex slaves. But for Grant it wasn't just about the sex, though that certainly was central in getting the job done. It was their complete dependence upon him, their emotional need, their sense of self smashed against the mountain that was Grant Huntington, that was the goal.

It had been at least six months now since his last acquisition had been sold back to the market. On this particular day, at this particular moment, he was finishing with his last patient, and he was growing impatient. He had to be at the warehouse at the edge of the adjacent (major) city at 7pm, and it was already 5:45pm. He'd need to be driving off by six to get there in time.

With the usual grace and sagacity he inquired of his patient, a young 30-something who clearly blushed when he had entered the room. Grant loved the sense of vulnerability that radiated from a young woman dressed in nothing but a clinic gown, especially when she was confronted by the likes of him. His deep brown eyes smiled as he did, a dimple appearing atop his cheek, and, today, a five o clock shadow that gave him that rugged look that some women died for. Apparently, based on this woman's non-verbal cues, she was dying for it.

The appointment proceeded as it usually did. With a history, a physical, and then the prescription, if needed. During the physical Grant always made sure to let his warm, strong hands graze against his young lady's back and chest as he listened with his stethoscope, appreciating the subtle rush of breath as he did. Grant enjoyed these little things, as they were a constant reminder of his power over the beauty that was the female form and soul.

The patient eventually went her way, and Grant left his office. It was Friday - always the day he obtained his new acquisitions. He got into his BMW and started driving towards the warehouse. It was on the outskirts of the neighboring city, and had been long considered derelict. The traders kept their wares there for about a month, which allowed clients to come in one per hour, so that too many cars parked in the old, grass-ridden parking lot wouldn't attract any passer-bys' attention.

Grant always enjoyed this drive. He found his thoughts meandering now, instead of about his business or his work, to his home. He lived on an estate isolated from the rest of town. His home was essentially a palace. It was one of the many advantages of living in a small town. Property was dirt cheap, and for someone like him, it was no big thing to have an entire 100 acres all to himself. He had hired hands throughout the exterior to maintain the gardens, the swimming pool, the horse tracks and stables, the tennis and basketball courts, and the various other features he had designed around his property. But inside the home was just him. He refused to let anyone in for good reason. He couldn't afford anyone getting wind of his true nature. This meant, however, that he took care of everything within the home himself. He cooked for himself, and on the weekends, cleaned, did his laundry, and tended to general upkeep. Last weekend he had spent one of his days cooking and freezing food so that he wouldn't have to do so the next weekend, because on that weekend he needed to spend it taking care of other matters. Grant knew for a long time that he really could use help, but it simply was out of the question. Especially now, as he pulled into the warehouse's dusty, weed-strewn parking lot. He would be bringing home someone new, and she would take time.

And that would require privacy.

Grant knocked on the large, partially rusted white door on the backside of the warehouse. A burly man in a leather jacket stuck his head out, and recognizing a recurrent customer nodded and granted Dr Huntington admittance. After a walk down several lengthy, echoing corridors, each with its own armed grunt, they entered upon one with several rooms with locked doors. A man in a white suit stood next to one of them, and he beamed and raised his arms in welcome upon seeing Grant.

"The good doc! Welcome back!"

It was Frank The ring leader. He was that prototypical sleazeball salesman type. From the slicked back hair to the white suit with a Hawaiian shirt beneath the jacket - the top three buttons undone of course - Frank ran the trade in this part of the country. He oversaw all operations himself, and was the one that Grant was in touch with regarding his preferences.

"I got a perfect one for ya Doc, really. She's fresh as fresh can be." He fished around in his pockets and produced a ring of several keys, and started thumbing through them as he approached one of the doors. "I think she's probably a real virgin. Some crack-head of a brother sold her for the cash. Pity too. Seems like she came from a nice family." The right key was found, inserted, and turned. The door opened with an echoing ka-chunk.

"Our good fortune then, eh?" Frank beamed as he waved Grant to follow, stepping into the room. "We put her undressed in a hospital gown just like you like. I don't know why you don't just leave 'em naked like most of the rest of the clients do, but hell, what do I care, she's your slave after all, ha!" Frank stayed back by the entrance to the door, an armed guard taking position behind him.

Grant, who was dressed in a dark suit, stepped quietly into the room, completely ignoring the blabbering Frank who now stood quietly - finally - behind him. Before him stood a small little thing, cowering in nakedness only covered by a very draft hospital gown that had no way of being tied shut from behind. She had beautiful dark brown hair, with matching eyes. She was of petite frame. And her eyes, spoke of horror.

She was perfect.

Grant studied her, standing just a few feet away, and then slowly walked around her. The room was cold, and so she was shivering, and her small, pert breasts were making themselves known through the thin wisp of a hospital gown. The only sound was the echo of Grant's Italian shoes against the unforgiving cement floor. Her gown being open from the back afforded him the view from behind, though she tried to cover herself, he had seen what he had needed to.

"If you value your life, you will not move unless I explicitly say so." Grant said firmly, but calmly, as he approached her from behind. Took hold of the wrist that belonged to the hand that the girl used to try and hold her gown together from behind, and placed it at her side, allowing the gown to open up, revealing her entire body from behind. Grant then stepped forward and placed his warm palm across her back, and slid it down to her ass, and squeezed it tightly. He could feel his property stiffen with fear, and he looked up over her shoulder to Frank and nodded. Frank nodded back, stepped out of the room, and closed the door.

Grant leaned in from behind, just next to the girl's right ear, and spoke in a clear, but lowered voice. "You will call me 'Master'. I own you now. I own your life. I own your body. I own your mind. The sooner you understand this, the sooner it will be better for you." Grant shifted his hand suddenly from her ass to around her front, pulling her into him from her pussy, his fingers deliberately pushing firmly against her mound. His cock was firm, and he made sure that he pulled her firmly into the bulge in his pants.

"Do you have a name?" He said quietly, as he started grinding his fingers against the girl's pussy, and grinding his covered manhood against her ass. "Oh and before you answer, if you're wondering whether this is going to get worse." Grant used his other hand to unzip his pants.

"It is."
+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

Wideeyedone:

Stephen James held a copy of The Great Gatsby in front of his daughter, Abigail’s, face. His eyes were hard as he surveyed her face. She had the face of an angel, big brown eyes, cheeks that flushed red with almost every deep emotion. Summers in the sun had left a dusting off freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her face was veiled by her long dark hair.

“I told you that I didn’t want this trash in my house and I told that teacher of yours that I didn’t want you reading filth about women cheating on their husbands. These trash books make it all look glamorous, but no daughter of mine is going to act like that.” He took her chin in his hand. “’Understand?” His voice was low and even but his anger was obvious. “Now, go help your mother in the kitchen.” Abigail blinked back tears, crying would only make it worse.

“Yes, Sir.” She managed to choke out before she rushed to the kitchen. She set the table and served the plates of her three younger siblings. Abby ushered the little ones to the table. Her older brothers came in and began dishing their plates. Her father took her seat at the head of the table.

“You can go to your room now, Abigail.” She looked up in surprise. He chuckled. “Children that disobey don’t eat at this table.” She started to speak but she stopped herself. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t a child. She was eighteen years old and she would graduate soon. She wanted to tell him that she would read whatever she chose. But her bravado faded almost instantly when her eyes met her father's. She lowered her eyes. Her cheeks burned with emotions.

She did as he said and went upstairs. She curled up on her bed and did her best to go to sleep. But her mind was full. She imagined a life for herself where she wasn’t under her father’s thumb. She imagined buying clothes like the other girls at school wore, or reading any book she chose. She could hear the little ones outside playing, then she heard her father telling the kids to get in the van. She sighed in exasperation. Her father was making sure she knew she was really in trouble.

She was surprised when she heard a knock at the door. It was her brother Andrew. He held his finger to his lips. Her face lit up with one of her sunshine smiles. He had brought her her favorite. A chocolate shake from the local burger joint.
He sat on the floor while she sipped the shake.

“How?” She asked in a whisper. He shrugged and just smiled.

“I couldn’t let my favorite sister go hungry, could I?” He asked with a smirk. Andy had always been the most rebellious of the James siblings. When half of the shake was half gone, she looked over at him and the room seemed to blur.

“Andy? I don’t feel right…I feel…I don’t ….” She laid down and in just few moments she was out. He packed a bag for her, throwing a few of her favorite items in. He needed it to look like she ran away. He bundled her up in a blanket and carried her down to his truck. He had convinced his father to take the family for ice cream, one of Abby’s favorite things. It had all worked out perfectly.

Andy drove her to his dealer. Mark had sold him his first bag of weed years ago, then some X, and in time he moved on to Oxy and meth. But his paycheck from his father’s lumberyard couldn’t keep up with his use. He and some of his friends had done some small robberies to feed their habits, but Mark had let him get in the hole. He let him get so far under water that he would have no choice but deliver his younger sister.

And that is what Andy did. He laid Abby in the backseat of Mark’s car. Mark didn’t conduct the sales to clients. But he had sold girls from time to time, usually procured in exactly this way.

Abigail awakened sometime the next day handcuffed to a cot. Frank entered her room and left water and some food. Sometimes, he would have to limit food for a girl, but this one was built just the way her prospective owner liked. She was slender and elegant, but petite. Waif was the word that came to mind.

He was a little puzzled by this girl. She didn’t speak, she didn’t scream. She whispered thank you when he brought her food. He didn’t see any fight in her until he brought in the medical gown for her to wear. She didn’t want to get undressed. He only had to give her one good pop to get her to comply. He stood over her as she removed her jeans and her blouse. He watched as she showered and washed her hair. He watched as she brushed her hair out and then he left her in the hospital gown.

Abby was freezing and afraid. Something had changed. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in the cell. Some of the time she had been drugged. Some of the time, she had slept with her face to the wall. But something was changing. The hospital gown meant something. Were they going to hurt her? Were they going to steal her kidneys? Was her father just trying to scare her to teach her what happened to wayward girls?

She jumped when the key turned in the lock. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. But this time Frank had another man with him. She lowered her eyes when he looked at her. She couldn’t see him but she could hear his footsteps. And then his hands were on her, and he pressed his body to hers. He whispered such scary things to her. Master. That is what he told her to call him. He asked her name.

“Abigail.” Her voice was so small in the large cell. “My friends call me Abby.” A single tear slid down her cheek and her shoulders shuddered. She was afraid. His fingers toyed with her through the hospital gown, and she could feel his hardness through his clothes. Her heart thundered inside her chest. “Please, I want to go home….”

-+-+-+-+-+-

TheFarthestWriter

He never showed his face the first time. He didn't want his face to be associated with the horror of being taken. But he required the horror. And he required that the horror be experienced as a result of his complete control, and his slave's complete helplessness. He found that when he had started the breaking from the front, it would take much longer for the slave to overcome any potential psychological issues. From behind, he remained faceless, so even though his victim would know full well who was doing it to them, somehow it made all the difference to keep his face out of the first encounter.

Grant heard Abigail's plea. He liked the name. Even more, he liked the fear that she emanated. Her little frame shaking along with her little voice.

"You're never going home Abigail." He said calmly, his voice un-yielding. Grant unzipped his fly and let his hardness jut out, pushing his pants back all the way to expose his cock completely.

"They said you're a virgin, Abigail, is that right?"

Grant pushed his cock up against Abby's pussy from behind, feeling her underside against him as he slid it between her legs. But he didn't penetrate. He held himself there, and he held her tightly against him.

"Hm?"

Abby was shaking and it took two tries for her to answer his question. Her hair was falling into her face and she started to reach up and tuck it behind her ear but she stopped and put her hand back in place.

"I am a virgin. My father is very strict. He made me promise.... and I am not allowed to go out with boys. My family is going to be worried. I was up in my room, that's the last thing I remember. Please..." Her voice was small and shaking.

She couldn't stop the tears that came. They silently dripped down her cheeks and spotted the front of her hospital gown.

They always answered. And they always answered incorrectly. Grant could feel his tip wet by his own fluid, and he now held Abby tightly as he pushed himself into her, pushing harder as she reflexively and uncontrollably clenched.

"Master. You will always refer to me as Master. This is your punishment for not doing so, and this is how you will learn your rightful place." Grant felt his tip push against her hymen, and pushed hard against it, popping her and moving past. She was dry, and tight, as they always were, and so it was always a bit difficulty, but he pushed hard until he was buried completely inside her, holding her against him as she instinctively moved away.

He knew it was painful, and he could see a trickle of blood drip down from his cock onto the floor, but he kept himself there.

Grant Huntington growled at his slave, "You come from a good family Abigail?" His one hand was wrapped around her thigh, holding her into him, his other hand held her wrist behind her back. "Answer me!"

She gasped and then cried out when he pushed into her. Her whole body was still and his hands bit into her skin. She whimpered when he held her arm behind her back. She had to sip in a slow breath before she could answer his question.

"Yes, Master. My parents are good people. I disobeyed my father the last night I was home. He was angry with me and I never said I was sorry for disobeying." She confessed as a soft sob bubbled up in her throat. She was arched up on her tiptoes with her legs shaking.

She knew he wasn't going to stop and she tried to relax her body but she kept tensing.

This one was different. She seemed already, somehow, resigned. Usually there was so much more fight in them. So much more hate. In her, Grant couldn't pick it up. It was just fear, but there was something else. Perhaps something she herself didn't know.

Then it occurred to him. Her father. She was being raped and all she could talk about was the regret of angering her father.

He had already broken her.

At least, to a certain extent. But whatever was left of what he hadn't broken...

Grant loosened his grip on Abby. He slowly but steadily pulled himself out of her, her dry, pained, pussy walls tugging against the skin of his cock as he did. He quickly zipped himself up and wrapped his arms around Abby, pulling her gown closed behind her, and then grasped her arm near the shoulder to turn her to face him, keeping his hand behind her to keep her covered.

"Look at me Abigail." Grant said softly.

After what seemed like some time she raised her head, her eyes looking up at him.

"I stopped because you learned your first lesson. Any time you speak to me, you say 'Master'." Grant stepped back from Abby, taking her little trembling frame in.

God she was fucking perfect. He had wanted so badly to fuck her until he came into her, marking her as his, but he knew that for her, this would be a better - faster - way.

"You're not going to see your father again, Abigial. The sooner you learn to accept that, the better it will be for you."

Grant lowered his head down closer to the short thing that stood just befor him.

"I use my words carefully, Abigail. The better it will be for you. Do you understand?"

Abby looked up at him, her eyes still shimmering with tears. His voice had changed. His touch had changed. She wasn't sure what to make of it.He didn't look as scary as the men that had been holding her. She bit her lip as she listened to him.

She was surprised that she found him handsome. He was well dressed and he looked sophisticated. She shook her head just a little trying to let go of that thought.

"Yes, Master. I think I understand." She lowered her eyes again. She couldn't hold his gaze for too long, she felt like he could see right through her. She watched him through her eyelashes to see if she had answered correctly.

Though completely contained from without, Grant found himself shocked from within. Whatever this little thing's father had done, she was almost there. It would appear that being rough with her may actually back fire.

Grant suddenly felt a warmth within himself, within his chest, that he had never experienced before. It was something like pity, but no- it was more than just pity. Grant had never even felt pity even once before when training his slaves. But in this case, the slave was almost already completely broken. She had come already helpless, like a lamb ready for slaughter.

It would be weeks if not months with any other woman to get to where Abby was.

This was going to be challenging. It was different.

Grant found himself, in that moment, desiring her body upon his, her being wrapped around his, and yet - in the most unusual of twists - he felt that if he forced himself it wouldn't work.

Grant stood for a moment studying Abby. Then, after what seemed like several minutes, he felt he had an answer.

"Good, now take my hand. And if any of these men out here so much as look at you, you tell me immediately."

Grant held out his hand, and looked at Abby, his brown eyes filled with authoritative expectation.

Once she had taken his hand, he stepped out of the door. Nodded to Frank, and walked back down the hall, passing all the armed guards, who literally stood with their heads down, their eyes glued to the floor. Grant had made his wishes to Frank very clear. His slave wa his property. No one was to even lay a single glance upon his property, else they'd risk a terrible fate.

One man, however, made the mistake of raising his eyes to catch a glimpse of Abigail's bare behind as a draft caught the back of her hospital gown.

Abby slipped her little hand in his. Part of her was terrified of where she might be going. Part of her was relieved to leave the cold and lonely cell she had been kept in. Her bare feet were cold on the concrete floor and she had to lengthen her stride to match his.

She was still shaking, but she tried to contain it. But then she saw the man looking at her. Was it a test? Was he making sure that she would comply?

Her heart pounded in her chest. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. She tugged on his hand just a little.

"Master, it happened. He is looking at me." Her voice was shaking, but she didn't want another lesson, especially not with these other men around.

Grant stopped in his tracks. He turned his head to the side and looked down at Abby. She was shivering. He took off his expensive Italian suit jacket, and slipped it around Abby's shoulders.

"Abigail, go and stand in that corner, facing it. No matter what, don't turn around."

Abby complied with the appropriate response, and as she walked toward the corner of the warehouse Grant had specified, the grunts and yelps of a man being repeatedly beaten by several others echoed through the warehouse.

After several minutes, Grant returned to the corner he had instructed Abby to stand in, took her by her hand, and silently led her to his car. He held the door open to the passenger side and gestured that she sit, closing the door gently behind her. Once in the car, he turned the seat heater on.

"I know you are sore. The heat will help." Grant pulled back from the warehouse and left the parking lot.

"It's an hour drive. In the first half hour, you can speak as you like, unless I say otherwise at any point." Grant paused, looked off into the distance. It was raining now, and they'd be what would have bormally been a rather scenic route through some hills, but at this time it was just gray. "Watch your manners, and remember who you are speaking to."

Abby tried not to think of what was happening behind her as she stood in the corner. She pulled his jacket around her tightly. Being more covered helped her feel more secure. The lining of the jacket was soft against her skin, and she could smell just a hint of his clean, masculine smell in the fabric. it gave her something to think about while she waited.

She jumped a little when he took her by the hand, but she let him lead her. And then soon she was in his car. He gave her instructions and she replied with yes, master as he had instructed. He told her that she could speak freely for a time, but she had no idea what to say.

She looked around at the gray horizon. She had no idea where she was or where she was going. The landscape and scenery gave her no clues. She wasn't even very sure of how long she had been at the warehouse. She knew it had been several weeks.

He drove them away from the warehouse. He was right the seat warmer helped her feel more comfortable and his jacket was comfortable and warm.

"Thank you for the heat and the jacket, Master. It feels very nice to be warm. May I ask where we are going? Am I going to another warehouse? Am I staying with you?" The words just sort of tumbled out of her mouth. It felt a little strange to be talking with someone. Someone had brought her food and water each day in the warehouse but she had mostly been alone.

She looked over at him, trying to read his responses.

While they were both quiet, as - Grant surmised - little Abigail waded about in her thoughts, Grant couldn't help but be fixated on her in a way that he had not felt with the others.

With every single other slave, there was always one of two predominant responses: utter defiance, or abject fear. Of course both of those would manifest in different ways. Defiance manifested in both kicking and screaming and perfect silence. Fear did the same thing. Sometimes fear resulted in a false compliance, with some hope behind it that if such compliance was shown, the thing would be let go. But with Abby, though she had fear, her compliance seemed... genuine.

Her father must have been a force to reckon with. A challenge, if Grant were to ever meet him. There were, Grant though, very few men like him left - at least in his portion of the world.

Grant could feel his desire for her increasing, and normally that wouldn't be a problem. Every woman thus far had been broken on the back of Grant's desire - by his use and mis-use of their bodies against their will. But with Abby, grant felt something else.

Time. Time would reveal what it was that was left of her. What it was that her father had not seen, that Grant would see. That Grant would conquer.

She asked her question.

"We are going to my estate. It'll be the two of us there." Grant was about to add the usual words - words of loneliness, fear, words of reassurance if there was obedience. But something stopped him. The same instinct that had guided him to do what he had done to so many women before, now guided him in another direction.

"There you'll have your own section of the mansion. There will be a library available to you. A swimming pool. A gym. An art gallery. You will have access to these, as long as you remember your place."

All of this was new for Grant. And through all of it, something burgeoned within. Something that was new as well.

Abby listened to him talk about his home. It was the word library that most piqued her interest. She tucked her feet underneath her, sort of curling up in the front seat. She turned her body to face him.

"Master, are there rules about which books I may read?" Again, she turned her big brown eyes on him. "That is what I was in trouble for. My father had told me I couldn't read The Great Gatsby and he found my copy of it. He said Daisy's infidelity made it inappropriate. But it was for my literature class...." Her voice trailed off and she lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

She knew that most parents wouldn't have said a word about their child reading such a classic piece of literature, but her father had never cared about what other families did. His family going to live by his rules.

She had no idea how she ended up in that warehouse, but part of her wondered if it had been her father's doing.

Rules about books. The Great Gatsby.

Good god. Grant was going to ignore the comments about her family and her father for now. He wanted to separate her mind from them for now.

"I am not your farther Abigail. I am your Master. Those are two very, very different things. There is only one rule in my house, Abigail." Grant turned to her, looking directly into her soft brown eyes. "Obedience."

Grant looked back at the road quietly. She had asked about the books.

"There will be time for you on a daily basis to read. It will be your own time to spend in the library."

That was enough. Grant had spent too many years doing things a certain way. Now this little thing was throwing a wrench in the system without even knowing it. By the time he acquired a slave, he had a burning need within that required satisfaction. And he had always been able to satisfy it. The tension now between what he needed to do to train her and what he needed from her was frustrating him.

Before Abby could respond, Grant continued, his words suddenly firmer.

"You see that?" Grant indicated with his chin, nodding towards the bulge forming in his pants. "Take it out, and wrap your left hand around it."

Abby could feel the tension in his voice. She wasn't sure what she had done wrong, but forehead crinkled just a little as she thought about it.

"Yes, Master." She whispered when he directed her to touch him. She struggled just a little opening his trousers,, but once she got them open, she was surprised to feel the heat of his velvety skin. She was surprised that something that looked so hard and felt so hard inside of her, actually felt soft to the touch on the surface.

She curled her delicate, little hand around him.

Abby's hand was still cool from the warehouse. She hadn't warmed yet. The feeling of her cool hand against his hot, throbbing cock, jutting out into the air in his car, sent a shiver through Grant's body. He closed his eyes just for a moment, and sucked in a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Her hand was small. Everything about her seemed small.

Her smallness drove his desire hotter.

"Place your thumb at the tip, and move it in slow circles."

His cock was stiffening further, and now with her slow movement, his clear seed, the beginnings of his desire, bubbled to the surface, wetting her thumb.

"Look how I respond to you Abigail. Look at what you do to your Master. You'll learn to be proud of this, and more."

Grant let Abby keep her hand there for a moment, her thumb circling his tip, and then gave the command to tuck it back in and close him up.

Her actions seemed to Grant tentative but, certainly, obedient. Grant wanted more than ever to take her right then and there, to ravage her, to have her for himself. But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. And now this recurrent problem within himself bothered him to no end.

He spoke abruptly. "When we get to my estate, I'll show you your quarters. You'll stay there, change into your choice of clothes, and come down for dinner. Understand?"

It was likely the most rude invitation to dinner he had ever given. Nor was it his usual manner of giving a command. Inside himself, Grant shook his head.

What the fuck was happening?

Abby watched him as she touched him. He seemed pleased with her, even when he told her to put him away, he still seemed pleased. But then his demeanor changed.

He seemed annoyed with her as he invited her to dinner. He asked her if she understood.

"Yes, S-," She stopped herself and fixed it. "Yes, Master. I understand." She closed her eyes and rested her head against the supple leather of the passenger seat.

She was almost curled in a ball beside him, wrapped in his coat, her face soft and washed clean.

Grant allowed himself to not think of his new acquisition the rest of the way home. He lost himself in the drive, just noticing in the distance the dark green hills and the grumbling, gray clouds that oppressed them all the way from the sky down to their blades of grass.

Soon enough they were at the gates of his estate, their black steel bars becoming tallest in the middle of the gate, the central bar from the right side forming a large unclosed circle around a scripted letter "H", formed by the central bar of the left side. The gates shuddered open at the touch of a button inside the car, and it took several minutes of driving through a winding, tree-lined road to reach the residence itself. Along the way, between the trees, could be spotted a variety of scenes, from rolling hills to gardens, to thick forests, pavilions and areas for recreation.

In the middle of the circular, gravel-filled drive that came up to the residence, there was a rounded garden with benches, flowers, walking paths.

"Welcome to your new home." Grant broke the silence. "You are not allowed outside without my permission."

The residence itself was so large that it was difficult to see on either side where it ended. Certainly its depth going back into the property could not be ascertained simply from looking at its facade. Its walls were of stone, its windows numerous, and the main entrance comprised of two heavy wooden double doors.

No butler or home hand came to help them out. Grant stepped out, opened the car door for Abby motioning for her to come. He walked quickly up to the main doors, produced a key, and pushed the doors open.

"Inside, up the stairs and all the way down the hall to your right. There's a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Everything on the other side of them is yours to do with as you wish." Grant paused, looking carefully into Abby's eyes. "And you, too, Abigail, are mine. To do with as I wish."

Grant let it sink in for just a moment, and then continued.

"Go. Be down at 7pm for dinner. Otherwise, you are to stay in your quarters. If you come out before 7pm, there will be consequences. As a rule, you don't leave your quarters unless I give you permission Do you understand?"

The two of them walked in, and Grant closed the door. Without looking back at Abby, he walked into another part of the home, listening to the sound of Abby's bare feet agains the marble of his home as she went upstairs towards her new home.

Everything she needed was there, plus more. A large bedroom with full bath, closets and bureaus with a variety of clothes, from casual to formal, frumpy to intimate. A living room, a kitchen and a small library with comfy chairs strewn about. In the library was a large bay window with pillows, which overlooked the Eastern side of the estate. Gardens and the stables could be seen down below, and what seemed like an endless view of trees and hills going off into the distance.

Grant provided everything for his slaves, because his slaves were expected to give everything to him. Usually, it would be part of the "softer side" of the breaking. In this case, with Abby, Grant surmised, it would go even father, given the state in which she was arriving in to begin with.

Abby was reminded of the reality of her situation when he told her that she was his and he could do whatever he liked to her.

She padded up the stairs and took the turn to the right. She pushed on the heavy double doors, and stepped inside to her quarters. She was surprised by how luxurious they were, she supposed she shouldn't have been based on the exterior of the house.

She explored her quarters. The bedroom was spacious and airy. The large bed was covered in soft and silky linens. She opened the closet and found a simple, elegant blue dress to wear to dinner. She laid it on the bed. Then she looked in the drawers. She found a simple matched set of pink lace bra and panties. It was one of her father's rules that she could only wear white or beige underthings. She shed her hospital gown and then went into the bathroom. She washed the trickle of blood from her thighs.

Then she dressed. She slipped on a pair of black heels. She was guessing but she thought HE might like them. Then she went to the library. She thumbed through the books and found it. She was going to finish Gatsby. She curled up in the window and looked out on the gardens in the very low light, there were some lights in garden. It looked immaculately kept. She opened the book and started to read. But it only took a few moments, with the comfort of the pillows, and finally being warm, she fell asleep with the book on her chest.

She had no idea that she had slept past 7 o'clock.

It was 7:05pm when Grant first looked at his watch. The table had been set for a dinner for two, but Abigail's seat remained empty.

This was intolerable.

Grant pushed back angrily from his table and moved purposefully upstairs, through the double doors of Abby's quarters and searched for his new slave, to find her... sleeping in the bay window of the library.

Again Grant was torn. No doubt she was tired. No doubt she had just found a moment of solace in the warmth of her new home and the comfort afforded. And... a book? Grant walked quietly up to the sleeping thing, small as she was, lying peacefully with his copy of The Great Gatsby on her chest.

This was not the image of a broken girl who had just been kept in a cell for weeks and raped by a stranger. This was a girl who had found what she was looking for. And yet, Grant could not tolerate that she had missed her appointment with him. The good slave would stop themselves from reading comfortably by the window, if they knew there was a chance that they might fall asleep and miss their master's order. There would need to be a consequence.

But if he forced himself on her again, he would associate the act with punishment, and that was not wanted he wanted. He wanted complete dedication to him as her master. Grant thought for a moment. Yes. That would do.

Grant gingerly picked Abby up in his arms. She was so apparently so exhausted that she simply sighed and stayed asleep. Her small frame, her fresh smell, drove Grant's lust for her and her body through the roof. Soon.

He lay her on her bed, lay her arms up above her head and out to the sides, and, producing two soft wrist restraints from a drawer under her bed, tied her wrists to the two head posts of the bed at the top, and her ankles to the two at the bottom. Now she lay spread before him on the bed, and he proceeded to remove her dress, cutting it off her to open her up before him. He gingerly cut open her underwear, as well as cut her bra in the middle, putting the cups aside to expose her.

Now, with her little naked body before him, he lay next to her, and began tracing his finger tips up and down her body, in circles around her nipples, down between her pussy lips, and and up again... until she awoke.

Abby shivered as his fingers trailed up and down her torso. She moaned softly and tried to curl up against the cold. That is when she felt the restraints on her wrists. She opened her eyes and saw Grant lying beside her, his fingers sliding across her concave stomach. She gasped in surprise and fear. Her beautiful brown eyes darted around the room. She was confused. She had been reading and now she was tied to the bed.

"Master?" She asked softly, her little voice quaking with fear. His fingers were making her feel cold and hot all at once. Her lovely clothes were cut away.

"Master, I fell asleep. I am so sorry." She tried to sit up, to close her sleek legs. But the restraints were too strong. Being tied up made her panic a little bit. Her heart was pounding and she felt her breath quicken. She tried to get loose but it was to no avail.

"Please, Master. I am sorry. I will be good. " she whispered desperately, trying to read his face.

Grant kept his expression deliberately blank as he leaned over and looked at Abby in the eyes.

"Yes, you will be good, Abigail." Grant dragged his fingers like feathers down Abby's pale stomach, down to her mound, and slid his fingers through her pussy. He then took his fingers in his mouth, licked them and replaced them there, playing with Abby's clit.

"Do I have to repeat, Abigail, what's happened? You're mine now, Abigail. Your body is mine. Your mind is mine. You belong to me completely. But if you don't show up when I tell you, what do you think that says?"

Grant quickened his movements over Abby's clit, occasionally sliding his fingers back and forth over her, without penetrating her completely.

Abby couldn't have articulated how his fingers felt against her clit. There was an intensity to the sensation that was almost painful but it was tangled with a heat that seemed to be warming her from the inside out.

Abigail lowered her eyes. "Being late is disrepectful, Master." Her breath caught in her chest as his strong finger flicked across her clit again and again. Her pink nipples were hardened like pebbles. " I am sorry, Master. I did not mean to disobey you."

She bit her lip when a soft begging sound escaped her throat. She wasn't sure what was happening to her body. She was shivering but felt so very hot. Her sex was so wet that she was beginning to become self conscious. His finger stayed on her clit. Pressing. And she couldn't help it. She cried out softly. Instinctually turning her face, trying to hide her responsiveness and her shame.

Yes.

"Feel it Abigail. Do you think it makes you dirty, all of this? Do you think it's not right?"

Grant leaned in and sucked on one of Abby's small, pert nipples, letting go with a little pop; his fingers continued to work her from below, spreading her own juices all over her pussy. Grant leaned close to Abby's ear and whispered,

"Feel how you react to me, Abigail. This is all you. It's been hiding all these years. This is what's really inside." He could see that her breathing was quickening. He knew that soon she would have her very first orgasm at his hands.

She couldn't keep her hips still. His fingers were sending jolts of sensation through her. She tried to think of how to answer him. But her breath was caught in her chest. He was looking at her so intently she almost felt as if he could see her thoughts and feelings.

His fingers danced against her again and she cried out sharply. Her whole body shook, making the restraints rattle. She looked up at him full of confusion. And as the climax washed over her so did pleasure, shame, confusion and relief.

"What is happening to me?" She whispered, looking to him to make sense of her new life.

As he felt Abby have her first, Grant smirked. Her innocence radiated from her as she came, and her flushed cheeks spoke of both pleasure and embarrassment.

Grant leaned over Abby, looking into her sweet brown eyes - confused and dazed as they were.

"This - and much more - is what your body is capable of under my direction. It is only I that can provide this for you, that can teach you about the mysteries buried within you. This was no punishment Abigail. But I will remember your infraction, and you owe me because of it.

For now, I'll release you. Get dressed in something else, and come down stairs for dinner."

Grant stood and undid her restraints, and then left, closing Abby's bedroom door behind him.