inside you again?”
“Whoops,” said Joe, the second of the assessors.
“No, wait,” Jean said.
Abigail shook her head.
“Down to five,” Claire said.
“Shit,” said Joe.
“Wait,” Anne-Marie said.
“Do I need to spank you?” Hans asked.
“Please, no…” Abigail said.
“Eight?” Claire asked.
“Be a good girl,” Hans said, “or I’ll have to spank you very hard.”
“Oh, God…”
“Ten,” Claire said, with satisfaction.
“See?” Jean said.
Joe replied, “Yeah. I thought he was going in a different direction.”
Hans said, “Then tell me how much you need my cock inside you again.”
Abigail’s arousal continued to occupy her face. “Master,” she said, “I want your cock inside me again.”
“There we go,” said Hans. “Very well, good girl, I am going to give it to you a different way.”
“Oh, no… Please, not there…”
“Eleven,” Claire said. “That’s a recalibrater.”
Jean chuckled. “Just as we thought.”
Throughout the interviews in New York, and then much more intensively throughout the first session with Ian, the assessors had been constructing the scale of Abigail’s arousal. Part of Brian’s responsibility had been to design this system which he and Jean thought would provide the most accurate possible information for analysis about what would aid Abigail as they attempted to find the best route through her repression. Anne-Marie thought that there was probably no better way to phrase the importance of the Institute to both its clients and its girls than to say that the best route through Abigail’s repression would inevitably also be the optimal path to Hans Goterborg’s pleasure.
“Soon enough, little one,” he murmured. “Your bottom belongs to me, so you must not think that I will fail to enjoy it with my cock, but that is not the different way I will give my cock to you now.”
“Oh,” Abigail said. “Do you mean…” Anne-Marie watched Abigail’s mouth tighten into a thin line, as her mind forbid her voice permission to speak out.
“Your mouth, little one,” Hans said. “That is what I mean.”
“Seven,” Claire said. Abigail’s face had lost a little of its abandoned quality. There was fear in her eyes, along with the arousal.
“Abigail,” Hans said, “are you ready to have my cock in your mouth?”
“Dammit,” said Joe, from the assessors’ desk. “Why does he keep doing that?”
“Four,” Claire said.
Jean called down to Joe, “Four, Joe, not zero.” He turned to Anne-Marie. “All the same, it would be best to have a word with him, I think. Those questions don’t help much.”
“I think I’d like to have Brian’s opinion on that as well,” Anne-Marie said. “Also, we need to see more data before we can say that for certain, correct?”
“That is true,” Jean said.
Abigail had not answered the question. The fear in her eyes was winning. “Three,” Claire said. Then Anne-Marie noticed something on another monitor. She laughed. “I think we’ve forgotten how patient Hans is,” she said. “Look at monitor five.”
Monitor five showed a medium shot of the two of them lying on the bed; Abigail’s knee was raised and her nightgown had bunched up slightly onto her hip. The thin cotton veiled from sight what Hans’ right hand was doing, but it had worked its way from behind, underneath the nightgown, and the fabric was moving slightly but definitely, and very rhythmically.
“Six,” Claire said. Then, “Seven.”
“Tell me when you are ready to answer my question, little one,” they heard Hans say.
“He totally just improvised that,” Joe said, with admiration in his voice.
“Ten,” Claire said.
“I am still not happy,” Jean said. “We cannot have him branching off on his own like that too often. Certainly we know it will happen from time to time, but at such a crucial moment…”
“Relax, Jean,” Anne-Marie said. “I think you watch too minutely. You forget everything
“Whoops,” said Joe, the second of the assessors.
“No, wait,” Jean said.
Abigail shook her head.
“Down to five,” Claire said.
“Shit,” said Joe.
“Wait,” Anne-Marie said.
“Do I need to spank you?” Hans asked.
“Please, no…” Abigail said.
“Eight?” Claire asked.
“Be a good girl,” Hans said, “or I’ll have to spank you very hard.”
“Oh, God…”
“Ten,” Claire said, with satisfaction.
“See?” Jean said.
Joe replied, “Yeah. I thought he was going in a different direction.”
Hans said, “Then tell me how much you need my cock inside you again.”
Abigail’s arousal continued to occupy her face. “Master,” she said, “I want your cock inside me again.”
“There we go,” said Hans. “Very well, good girl, I am going to give it to you a different way.”
“Oh, no… Please, not there…”
“Eleven,” Claire said. “That’s a recalibrater.”
Jean chuckled. “Just as we thought.”
Throughout the interviews in New York, and then much more intensively throughout the first session with Ian, the assessors had been constructing the scale of Abigail’s arousal. Part of Brian’s responsibility had been to design this system which he and Jean thought would provide the most accurate possible information for analysis about what would aid Abigail as they attempted to find the best route through her repression. Anne-Marie thought that there was probably no better way to phrase the importance of the Institute to both its clients and its girls than to say that the best route through Abigail’s repression would inevitably also be the optimal path to Hans Goterborg’s pleasure.
“Soon enough, little one,” he murmured. “Your bottom belongs to me, so you must not think that I will fail to enjoy it with my cock, but that is not the different way I will give my cock to you now.”
“Oh,” Abigail said. “Do you mean…” Anne-Marie watched Abigail’s mouth tighten into a thin line, as her mind forbid her voice permission to speak out.
“Your mouth, little one,” Hans said. “That is what I mean.”
“Seven,” Claire said. Abigail’s face had lost a little of its abandoned quality. There was fear in her eyes, along with the arousal.
“Abigail,” Hans said, “are you ready to have my cock in your mouth?”
“Dammit,” said Joe, from the assessors’ desk. “Why does he keep doing that?”
“Four,” Claire said.
Jean called down to Joe, “Four, Joe, not zero.” He turned to Anne-Marie. “All the same, it would be best to have a word with him, I think. Those questions don’t help much.”
“I think I’d like to have Brian’s opinion on that as well,” Anne-Marie said. “Also, we need to see more data before we can say that for certain, correct?”
“That is true,” Jean said.
Abigail had not answered the question. The fear in her eyes was winning. “Three,” Claire said. Then Anne-Marie noticed something on another monitor. She laughed. “I think we’ve forgotten how patient Hans is,” she said. “Look at monitor five.”
Monitor five showed a medium shot of the two of them lying on the bed; Abigail’s knee was raised and her nightgown had bunched up slightly onto her hip. The thin cotton veiled from sight what Hans’ right hand was doing, but it had worked its way from behind, underneath the nightgown, and the fabric was moving slightly but definitely, and very rhythmically.
“Six,” Claire said. Then, “Seven.”
“Tell me when you are ready to answer my question, little one,” they heard Hans say.
“He totally just improvised that,” Joe said, with admiration in his voice.
“Ten,” Claire said.
“I am still not happy,” Jean said. “We cannot have him branching off on his own like that too often. Certainly we know it will happen from time to time, but at such a crucial moment…”
“Relax, Jean,” Anne-Marie said. “I think you watch too minutely. You forget everything
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