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Abigail's Abandon

By Leigh Turner

Abigail's Abandon
EPUB, 288 pages ebook Online Price:
£0.99
ISBN: 9781909624252
Imprint: Xcite Books
Published: 19th September 2013

Category: BDSM / Fetish, Femdom, Lesbian, Menage and More, Sex Toys

Rating: 0 vote(s).



Do women have time for a mid-life crisis? The recent actions of Abbie’s husband in that vein seemed to have propelled her into one of her own, however much she wished that her world hadn’t been turned upside down. The sojourn in the south of France was just what she needed. Time to think, time to indulge in the type of pleasures she had never even contemplated before. When Keith took her to meet Catherine and her associates, they were to stay only a week or so. But the perverse dramas enacted during that short stay at the beautiful former model’s villa would ensure that Abbie’s future would be re-mapped irrevocably …

Pah! She shook her head, pulling herself back to reality. If women ruled the world, it would be a much better place. There was no doubt in her mind.

Before she could itemise a manifesto of why this should be so, Jean-Claude entered the kitchen.

‘Good morning, Monique.’

‘Good morning, Jean-Claude.’

‘First up, I see. What’s happening, then?’

‘You know the drill. Civilised congress until ten, then the fun begins.’

Jean-Claude smiled. Of course he knew. The drill was basically the same; how it panned out was never entirely predictable. As he helped himself to breakfast, others started drifting in. First Keith and Abbie, then Catherine, Philip and Gloria, and finally Tony and Brenda.

Amid steaming, welcome coffee and with the smell of fresh bread, the morning got under way, inexorably, as the diurnal rhythms of the inhabitants of the house kept pace with the rising sun.

Keith spoke to Catherine, accepting her offer of the loan of the Peugeot. They would use the autoroute to save time, and spare the MG such tedious and monotonous mileage. They were organised, with all necessities and provisions, by 9.30, and as they drove away through the gate, Catherine turned to the remaining guests and spoke.

Alors. Welcome to you all. As I mentioned yesterday, the starting point for our personae, our alter egos, is from ten. We have a few minutes, please finish your breakfast, this is not critical. But when you finish, you will go to your rooms, and when you return to the lounge, you will present yourselves as you wish to be seen, as will I. You all know from our correspondence that I am to be known henceforth as Mistress Aix. Jean-Claude and Monique are my helpers, and will interact with you, but the one immutable fact is that, as mistress of this establishment, I have the final word on anything here. You have agreed this with me before coming here, you have signed the waiver, you have paid and will not be able to claim a refund should you lose your will or your nerve. You will in any case receive full value; nobody has, in fact, ever complained on this matter.

‘Above all, I do not believe that severe pain or danger to one’s physical wellbeing is part of this experience. You will not be harmed physically; neither will you yourselves harm my staff in any physically severe manner. The safe word, should you feel things are going too far and wish to discuss the matter, is “Paris.” Any utterance of this word breaks the scenario; it is your guarantee of safety. Is everybody familiar with this concept?’

Monique watched as all four nodded. They were versed, then, and soon the lascivious fun could begin.

‘Finally, I wish to apprise you of some background which may affect the way things develop,’ Catherine said. ‘Abbie, my guest from England, is new to this kind of thing. In actual fact, she is at present unaware of what is about to take place here. I have let this situation occur because I feel it will add a certain spice to the situation. I have one or two ideas concerning her which I think will provide entertainment. We will see.

‘Keith you need not worry about. He is an old friend and colleague of mine and we will be finding him a role to play for your amusement. They will be having a meal together while out on their trip this evening, so the coast is clear for us.

‘Tomorrow, we will hope to draw Abbie into our web. From what I have seen of her so far, I am sure it will not be too difficult. If the weather holds, we will arrange to sunbathe naked by the pool in the morning, apart from the submissives. When she joins us, we will seduce her; I will discuss tactics for this later in the evening with you.

‘Any questions? Good. Repair to your rooms and we will meet in the lounge when you are ready. Send your submissives just ahead of you.’

When the four guests had gone, Monique watched Catherine and Jean-Claude prepare. The latter simply stepped out of his jeans and T-shirt, placing them on a chair, and padded towards the lounge in a skimpy pair of white briefs which did little to hide his bulging genitals.

With Catherine, it took a while longer as she folded her outer clothes carefully, putting them on the table just in case any unexpected visitors forced decorum to be re-established. Under her maroon blouse and plain black skirt, she was revealed to be attired in a manner befitting Mistress Aix, her professional title.

Monique had admired her calf-length black leather boots already, with their criss-cross lacing at the back and towering heels. From there her eye travelled up, taking in the black silk stockings with their distinctive seams at the rear, the darker band of material at the top drawn upwards by two firm metal suspenders for each stocking, to the front, and to the rear at the outside of her rounded arse. The straps were wide, elasticated, and utterly functional, no thin delicacy, flimsiness, or lacy decoration.

Above these, her loins were encased in a hip-hugging black Lycra pantie girdle, which extended well above her waist, hiding any other evidence of the suspender belt worn underneath. At the top of the three inches or so of bare torso visible above the pantie girdle, she wore an ordinary black bra, its E-shaped cups see-through above the nipple line.

Catherine clicked on her heels to her bedroom. When she reappeared, she had drawn on black leather gloves, soft and skin-tight, which extended upwards on her forearms, finishing just below the elbow. She held a short leather whip, which had at the business end a compact round pad of firm leather sewn to it, not much bigger in area than the small leaves which were beginning to fall from the trees in the orchard outside.

Passing the kitchen door, her eyes beckoned Monique to follow. They reached the lounge just before the first couple arrived. Catherine remained standing, posed with hands on hips. She had pulled her hair back, smoothed tight above her forehead and ears, tied leaving a loose ponytail at the rear. It all added to her demeanour as the harsh mistress. Her attention to detail and sense of stage management was to be admired, reflected Monique, as she decided to sit alongside Jean-Claude, who lounged on one of the couches, his legs stretched out in front of him, one arm on the rest at the end.

When Philip walked, or rather, tottered in, Monique smiled broadly. Catherine was always somewhat wary of overloading any gathering with dominant males, and it was clear they would have no worries on that score as soon as they saw Philip.

He was naked from the waist up, but below this was encumbered by a white suspender belt, perhaps an inch wide in both belt and suspender straps, all in lace-edged ruched silk encasing the elastic. The belt held up a pair of brown stockings, stretched tight as they finished halfway up his long thighs, leaving an expanse of bare white arse and upper leg on view. His modesty at the front was preserved by the thinnest of threads, due to the presence of a short, white-frilled pinafore fastened by a cord at his waist. The round linen panel extended down only to mid-thigh, around his stocking line. Normally, this would have been just enough, but the combination of his evident embarrassment and being endowed with an enviable length of cock, almost nine inches by the evidence they could see, was enough to tent the apron forward, thus adding to his embarrassment and, with it, his arousal.

Leigh Turner

Leigh Turner is an author who only recently decided to turn her hand to the production of erotica.

Having the desire to become a writer early in life, she realised that it might be a good idea to accumulate some experience, in order to have something to write about.  Embarking on a rather debauched life during the eighties, this is what she did.  So absorbing and enjoyable was this experience, that it supplanted the urgent need to write about it, and now she finds, when asked to provide biographical details, that she must plead the fifth amendment, so to speak, in respect of the multifarious activities in which she indulged, or indeed even remembers, during those heady and racy days.

Since that dissolute period, she has achieved a measure of respectability, and now lives quietly in a suburban street with a suburban cat, and a caring suburban spouse.  And this, to her mind, idyllic setting, has provided the time in which to reflect, and to express herself at last…

She is currently putting the finishing touches to her second novel, along with some shorter pieces.  She finds that typing and editing is best done at home in the provinces, whilst the inspiration tends to come during her annual sojourns in France, lazing in the sun, most usually naked.

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