The House on Charlevoix Street Darkness slid out of the swamp and slowly enveloped the house as Abigail sat unmoving at the window, watching the night fall but hardly seeing it. She was listening, not to the songs of the frogs and the crickets, but to the voices of the Doctor and her father as they conducted their business in the other room; not to their words because she already knew what they were saying, but to the sound of their voices as they rose and fell in negotiation. Her father was giving her to the Doctor, handing her over as if she were chattel, paying off his onerous gambling debts by trading away his only daughter to a stranger. She didn't want to hear the words. She paid no attention to the servants who came in and lit the kerosene lamps, nor did she acknowledge Old Barrows, the Doctor's butler, when he brought her a glass of wine on a silver tray. He set it down on a table to her right and silently withdrew. She sat there and watched the shadows beneath the ancient trees, the moonlight in the hoary swags of Spanish moss that hung from the branches. She was numb; she was not here. She was so far removed that it was several minutes before she realized that the conversation had ended. She felt rather than heard the Doctor come into the room, just as she heard the front door close, her father depart. "Well," he said. "That is that." From outside she heard the groom call to the horses, and the wheels of her father's coach as they began to roll down the cobbled drive to the main road. She had hoped that the Colonel would at least come in to bid her farewell, but as usual she had expected too much. There was to be no goodbye, no show of affection. She should have known he would just leave her there, eager to be done with her, eager to get back to his cards and whiskey. "He's gone?" she asked dully. "Oh yes." The Doctor said, "He left your things in the hall. I'll have Barrows take them up. He seemed to be in quite a hurry. I'm afraid his sudden departure has upset you." She turned away from the window, not wanting to see the coach leaving her behind. "I'm sorry." The Doctor said, and his concern sounded genuine. "I'd hoped to make this transition as easy as possible." Abigail moved away, trying to keep as much space as possible between the Doctor and herself. Her humiliation was now complete. There was no way to pretend now that her father had felt anything for her, that he had made this unconscionable arrangement at any pain to himself. Still, Abigail had her pride, and she held herself erect even as she felt the Doctor come up behind her and stand so close that she could hear his breathing and smell his cologne. He reached out and took a lock of her auburn hair which had escaped her severe bun and ran it through her fingers. It was an impertinent and possessive gesture, and he had intended it to be. She was his now and he was sampling the merchandise. She held her breath. "You do understand what has taken place between your father and I?" he asked her. "You understand your new status." Abigail's' fingers knotted nervously in her dress. "I wish you wouldn't touch me like that, Dr. Mabeuse," she said nervously. "I'd been led to understand that you are a gentleman, sir, and that you treat a lady with respect." He stepped back and smiled, then reached down and took a thin cigar from a humidor on the desk. He made a show of lighting the cigar, twirling it in the flame to insure that it was properly lit, and she saw his face illuminated in the orange flare, dark, brooding, imperious. He shook out the match and threw it into the cold fireplace. He seemed to be enjoying her nervousness. "I am a gentleman," he said with a smile, "And I treat a lady with all the respect she deserves. The question is how much respect you deserve at the moment, Miss DuFour. Abigail." He emphasized her Christian name. "I made it quite clear that any reticence on your part, any reluctance to do exactly as I wish would immediately abrogate our agreement, and that I would hold him to his obligations to me, and return you to his care. I imagine he would be most displeased." Abigail's back stiffened and she fought to keep from blushing. "This is hardly legal, Sir. I remind you that I am an adult woman and not a slave, and what you propose is against the law." "Yes, you're quite right." he said smiling at her. "This is strictly an extra-legal agreement: a gentleman's agreement. But I assure you that this does not excuse you from your obligation, and I intend to get my fair value out of it." He drew on his cigar as he contemplated her, then said, "Your father informs me that you're a virgin, Abigail. Is that true?" She felt the blood immediately rush to her face. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could give voice to her outrage the Doctor silenced her with a gesture. "Please," he said. "Let's not act like children, Miss DuFour. We are both adults, are we not? You must have known what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to this arrangement." "No sir, I did not." she said with all of the pride she could muster. It was a lie. She knew what would happen to her. She wasn't a child. She had just chosen not to think about it. "I do not think in those terms. As I say, I was under the impression that you were a gentleman." He smiled at her. "Oh I am, I am." he said expansively. "But a gentleman of some particular taste. You're a very beautiful woman, Abigail. Far too beautiful to be wasting your life taking care of your father's estate out in the middle of nowhere." He stood up and flicked the cigar into the fire place. He approached her and took her face in his hands. His hands were surprisingly hard, not like the hands of the boys she'd met at the occasional dance or ball. Hard but warm, and his touch was gentle. Again she felt herself blushing as she looked into his dark eyes. "You must be tired after your journey, Abigail." he said softly. "Tired, and it's late. I'd hoped to show you the house, but it's too late for that now. I think it's best that we both go to bed." He pulled the bell rope at the end of the fireplace. "I'll have Hannah show to you to a bath where you can refresh yourself. You'll find the closets supplied with clothes I had sent up. I believe they should fit. I have a good eye for the female figure. You may wear what you like for bed." "And where shall I sleep?" Abigail asked him. He looked at her with amusement. "Why, with me of course." he said. "You'll be sleeping with me, Abigail." He'd been skeptical of this arrangement at first. When he'd finally called Colonel DuFour to account for the absurd sum of money he owed, The Colonel had proposed sending Abigail to work for him solely as manager of his house and estate, a duty she fulfilled in her own household, but the Doctor already had servants and plenty of money to hire more if he needed them. He handled his own affairs, so what did he need with Abigail DuFour? Her father had told him that she was a fine young lady, smart as a whip, capable of running a household and balancing his books as easily as kissing her hand. He still hadn't been interested. The money the Colonel owed him was considerable. But then he had caught sight of her fair figure coming down the stairs to be presented to him. Her fine carriage, her grace and pride, and her wonderful womanly shape made him reconsider. And when Colonel DuFour had lowered his voice and whispered to the Doctor that Abigail had never had a beau, the Doctor's interest picked up. He might not need another housekeeper, but there were other duties he had in mind that a woman like Abigail could fulfill quite nicely, duties that did not lend themselves to open discussion in polite company. For the Doctor was a gentleman of particular tastes, as he had said, and these tastes ran to certain types of sexual gratification that could not be satisfied through the usual avenues of social intercourse, but required instead visits to the demi-monde of the professional sex worker; visits that were perilous, expensive, and often less than satisfying With a woman like Abigail, however, and with the total control of her person he had in mind, he would have the opportunity to mold her sexually, to shape her into just the kind of woman he desired. He would create the type of lover he dreamed of, make her into his own sexual Pygmalion and teach her to love the chain and shackle, the sharp kiss of the whip, those arcane and exotic pleasures he enjoyed himself. She was everything he desired: comely, intelligent, and unsullied by public foolishness about sexual propriety and perversion that had warped most young women of his acquaintance. Plus, as she descended the staircase that day, he saw that she had the pride, that spark of fire that told of deep currents of untapped passion that not even she was aware of. She was like a wild flower waiting to be cultivated; waiting to be nurtured and trained in such a way as to bring out her latent beauty. She was a rose, waiting to be plucked. He had agreed to the Colonel's proposal on the spot. Abigail followed the elderly servant up the carpeted stairs and down the hall to a large bathroom where a hot bath had been drawn, the water fragrant with perfume. She let herself be undressed and then climbed gratefully into the steamy water, eager to wash away the dust of her journey and the haunting ghost of the Doctor's touch. The day had been a veritable hell, and she was tense and aching. She lowered herself into the water with a deep sigh. The feel of the hot water was wonderfully soothing to her skin. Although she was a virgin she was no child, and she knew what lie ahead for her. She knew too that it was senseless to fight against it. She was no longer a girl and was of an age where she had all but given up on the idea of ever marrying, yet the desire to love and be loved was strong within her, and to her own considerable embarrassment her body longed to know the feel of a man's caress. Even as she lie in the bath wrapped in her own sense of hurt and outrage, her body was growing excited with a delicious apprehension of what was to come. Did he really mean to take her tonight? Would this be the night she became a woman? By the time Hannah helped her from the bath she was almost trembling with nervousness. The older woman seemed to sense this and was kind and solicitous and spoke to her in soft, motherly tones. She dried her, powdered her, and showed her to the closet. Hannah must surely know what was to occur; when Abigail paused before the selection of gowns and sleepwear, Hannah suggested a simple night dress of white silk, innocent yet elegant. "He's a good man," Hannah said to her as she brushed out Abigail's long auburn hair and arranged it about her shoulders. "He has a passionate nature, but don't let that scare you. He can be fierce but he's tender. He would never hurt you." "Then you know?" Abigail asked her. "I suppose all the servants know." Hannah smiled gently. "He's the master of the house," she said, "Of course we know. And we know that he needs you, Miss. We've all waited so long for him to find someone, and he cares for you, that's easy to see. I know you'll be fine." Hannah led her into the Doctor's bedroom, where Abigail tried to ignore the big canopy bed with the covers turned down. That was where she would sleep, and she didn't want to think about that right now. Kerosene lanterns burned on the night tables, and the big French doors were open to the sounds of the night. "I'll tell him you're ready." Hannah said softly, and left the room. Abigail stood looking out at the moon, as strange and alien as the feelings that swirled within her. Below her the gardens were dark in shadow, and Spanish moss barely moved in the languid breeze. She thought of her father, now miles away, and of the Doctor, and of how her life was about to change, and in her reverie she heard him enter the room and heard his soft intake of breath as he saw her standing by the window. She didn't move. She closed her eyes and waited. A touch on her shoulders that sent chills through her body. She felt weak, dizzy. She wanted him to stop and yet she silently begged that he wouldn't. Then his strong hands gripped her arms and she felt him press her back against his body. His hand came around and caressed one breast and she had to fight down the impulse to resist him, to make him stop. He swept her hair to one side, exposing her neck, and his lips were warm and gentle on her shoulder as he kissed her slowly, tasting his way up to her ear, savoring her sweetness. With his hand on her breast he could feel her chest heaving as her breathing accelerated. Her could feel her warmth through the gown and her nipple grew stiff and eager against the palm of his hand. His other hand came up and cupped her other breast, and her gown rustled softly as he pulled her back against him, his hands closing on her, feeling her, exploring her. She closed her eyes tight and bit her lip to keep from moaning. Wherever he touched her she felt the heat of his hands through the silkiness of her gown as it slid against her skin. He tightened his grip on her, letting his hands slide along her breasts until he found her nipples, which he touched lightly before taking them between his thumb and forefinger and squeezing, filling her with the most intense pangs of longing. She felt his cock, thick and hard, pressing against her buttocks and she was dimly aware of the fact that she should probably be alarmed or insulted, but in fact she was filled with a kind of languorous excitement. Her blood felt like warm honey in her veins and her body seemed to rise to meet his touch with a mind of its own, pressing back against him, thrilling at the heat and hardness of his cock. He had barely touched her and already he had taken her farther than any other man had ever taken her. No one had ever taken command of her body so quickly and so thoroughly, and instead of being upset and embarrassed by his caresses, she found herself wanted more, wanting his hands all over her. "Abigail," he whispered, "Abigail…" He turned her to face him and she complied like a sleepwalker, afraid to open her eyes lest it all prove a dream. He took her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his and she let herself be kissed, not knowing what else to do. He kissed her tenderly, in a way she had never been kissed in her life, telling her how much he cherished her, and yet taking possession of her as well. He showed her how gentle he could be yet at the same time made it clear that she was his and that he would do with her what he desired. He let her go and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her, his eyes burning with a fire that sapped her will and made her suddenly weak. No one had ever looked at her like that, with such an intensity of passion, and she knew now if she hadn't known before that this would be her last night as a virgin. That this man, this stranger, was going to take her as his own that night, was going to do to her that thing that she'd never even allowed herself to think about. His fingers were working at the buttons on her gown, slowly undoing them, one by one, exposing her body to him. "I want you to know this about sex, Abigail." he said softly. "That despite what you hear from others, despite what you may hear in church or Sunday school, that it is a rare and beautiful thing, just as you are, and it is meant to be enjoyed, again, just as you are. I'm going to show you some of that beauty tonight, my dear, because I'm going to make love to you. I'm going to show you how sweet it can be. Do you understand?" His words set of an unexpected gush of wetness between her legs. She nodded her head quickly, like a child, reluctant to break the spell he was weaving about her. His fingers finished with the buttons on the bodice of her gown, and now he brought her to him and kissed her again. She surrendered herself to his kiss gladly, marveling at the things he could do with his lips upon hers, the things he could make her feel. His hands came up and parted the fabric of her night dress, and for the first time in her life she felt a man's hands on her naked body. How well her knew her already. He found her breasts again, and he caressed them, his desire for her obvious in the way he touched her. When he lowered his head and kissed her there she let her head fall back with a moan. No one had ever done this to her before. No one had made her feel what pleasure lie within her breasts, the way they seemed to swell and ache at the touch of his lips. When his tongue came out she thought she might faint, and she dug her nails into his shoulders to hold herself erect. He sucked at her nipples and she felt it immediately between her legs. She felt as if she were dissolving into his mouth and she had no desire to stop. Whatever shame she had, whatever last vestiges of resistance melted beneath his mouth's caress, and she knew that she was lost. With a mild flick of his hands the robe slid from her shoulders and then spilled off her body, leaving her totally naked before him. Now as he kissed and sucked her breasts, another hand traced lower over her belly, her hip, coming to rest on her most private part. Abigail gasped as he touched her. Her body was on fire for him now and she wished he would hurry. She knew what she needed, and he did too. Why wouldn't he just give it to her now, before this magical feeling ended? Surely it couldn't last. It was too sweet, too arousing to last. He bent over, then suddenly picked her up bodily and held her in his arms, amazingly strong. No one had held her like this since she'd been a child. He took a few steps to the bed and laid her down on top of it. He stood back and took off his robe, undid his trousers and let them fall, and Abigail found herself looking at his cock, proud and erect, thrusting out from his dark pubic hair, impossibly long and hard. His balls seemed to be unusually large as well, radiating a sense of potency that excited her terribly. She had grown up around animals and knew the ways of a male with a female, but still she had never seen a man erect before, and certainly not for her. The idea that this was somehow her doing left her dizzy and trembling, and for the first time since he'd kissed her she was afraid. He would never fit. She would have to stop him before he tried. He would never fit. But then he was in bed with her, his naked body pressed to hers and there was no time to speak. There was his mouth to attend to, the way he kissed her, passionately now, his tongue exploring her own mouth, taking possession of it. Abigail put her hand up against his chest and felt the power in his body, the muscles hard and defined. Despite her fear her body pushed up against him, seeking contact with his strength, his hardness. She felt dizzy with need. She felt herself opening like a flower to him, needing him inside. Suddenly her virginity seemed like such a nuisance. She knew what he was going to do to her, shove his cock up into her body and fuck her, push into her, fill her with his male hardness, fuck her until he shot his semen inside of her, but now instead of being afraid she was desperate for it. If she didn't get him inside of her she felt like she'd just die of longing. She needed him, she needed him now. She moaned hotly as one of his hands boldly spread her legs apart and delved into the sodden wetness of her cunt. She should be embarrassed, outraged, but instead she spread her thighs and let her knees fall open, and her hips began to pump lewdly against his hand with a mind of their own seeking that penetration, the feel of his cock. She tightened her grip around his neck, holding his mouth a prisoner to hers, and now her own tongue came out and engaged his in a delicious battle as she urged him on, invited him to take her, to fuck her, to make her his.