The real reason for the Institute's existence in my imagination comes from the license it gives me (and, I hope, my reader) to enjoy capture fantasies. As you read this snippet, remember that Abigail has consented, and had her memory of that consent suppressed!
Abigail rose from the bed, went to the closet, and opened it. On hooks at the side hung the cane, a short strap, and a wooden paddle. All alone, on a hanger, though, hung a lovely white cotton nightgown with a nearly translucent weave and lace at the collar, the cuffs, and the hem.
Trembling, Abigail put out her hands and slipped it off the hanger. She rolled it so that she could put it over her head, and then at last, she donned the garment her owner had appointed for her.
It felt odd to be clothed after having had her clothes so emphatically taken from her, and odder to be clothed in something so diaphanous and… well, grown up. Was this how a bride of the Middle Ages felt?
Should she go to the bed? Should she stand on the carpet? Kneel on the carpet?
The question, however, quickly decided itself, for again the bolt turned, and the door opened, and a large man stood there. He entered and, still facing her and looking at her, he put his hand behind him to close the door.
The man who entered her room, clad in a deep red silk dressing gown belted at the waist, was perhaps thirty-five years old. His blond hair, fairer even than Master Ian’s, fell loose to his shoulders, with the hint of a wave at the end of it. His face was square, and a little ruddy. Not conventionally handsome, perhaps, but nevertheless somehow recalling the Vikings, and full of the kind of absolute authority that Abigail could imagine Erik the Red wielding aboard his longship. His piercing, ice-blue eyes took her in as if she were a maiden seized from a medieval coastal village, to be brought back aboard that longship for the pleasure of the men upon the rowing benches. Nor did Abigail’s owner stand as tall as Master Ian, but, as dominantly as Master Ian carried himself, this man carried himself with even more authority—and alongside that authority, with a grace that seemed to tell of such exquisite breeding that Abigail, to her shock, felt herself go weak in the knees.
“Come here, Abigail,” he said in a rich baritone, accented, just as Abigail had somehow known it would be, with a Scandinavian lilt. “Kneel in front of me, please.”Buy the book at Amazon by clicking here! Here's the blurb:
As eighteen-year-old Abigail Podret pleasures herself in her family’s summer-house, she cries out the name of Mark LeMarchand, the man she secretly loves. She has no idea that he stands steps away, ready to do what she most desires: strip her naked, spank her hard, and take her even harder. But as a result of her stern upbringing, Abigail finds herself unable to give herself to Mark no matter how badly she longs for it.
Mark is determined to help Abigail, and with the assistance of wealthy friends he creates the Institute, a place where women agree to have their memory of consent suppressed by hypnosis in order to free them to enjoy their submission fully. When Mark tells Abigail about the Institute, she realizes it may be her only chance at real happiness.
After agreeing to the program, Abigail wakes up at the Institute and meets Master Ian, under whose firm hand she will be taught to please a man in any way he requires. Absolute obedience is expected of her and anything less will result in punishments as shameful as they are effective. But when Abigail inadvertently discovers the truth about The Institute, will she decide to finish her training or will she leave and rush into Mark’s waiting arms?
Publisher’s Note: Breaking Abigail is a stand-alone story set in the world of Bought and Trained and An Extreme Marriage, but prior to the events of those books. It is an erotic novel that includes extensive BDSM content, spankings, sexual scenes, anal play, elements of exhibitionism and voyeurism, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.