Abigail Chained in Lust Ch. 01

Abigail's hand shot up.

"Ah, yes, Abigail?" Professor Page stuttered as if surprised to see Abi where she always was, the front row of class, doing what she always did, throwing her hand in the air before he had barely finished asking a question.

"When Hamlet tells Ophelia to get thee to a nunnery, he's using a double entendre, as 'nunnery' was also Elizabethan slang for "brothel." Boom. She settled back down in her seat and crossed her legs, feeling a little tingle down there from her performance.

"Well, yes, Ms. Sebag, that is one possible interpretation of the line," Professor Page turned back to the whiteboard and wrote BROTHEL in big, swooping letters. Abigail's cheeks flushed and she heard chuckles behind her. Professor Page turned back to his students, waving his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, truly humor is timeless." He suddenly looked up past Abigail. "Ah, Karine?" Dammit, Abigail thought.

Karine Walthers was her class nemesis, a skinny, stuck up bitch who'd had a problem with Abigail since day one. Abi refused to turn her head to look back at her. Karine said her piece: "Well, the brothel idea is popular, but it's also possible that Hamlet was being 100% straightforward and telling Ophelia she belonged in a nunnery, where she could never have children. He's still insulting her."

Abigail could hear the smug smile on Karine's voice and could picture the perky little bitch sitting up straight as a board, and flat as one too. "Very good, Karine," said Professor Page, and did Abigail notice his normally sleepy manner livened up a bit when he was talking to her?

It's not fair, Abi fumed. I'm smarter than her. And I'm not a supermodel or anything but I'm better looking too! Maybe my chin's a little weak and my nose is a little big but I got good teeth and my complexion is mostly cleared up! She finally spared a look back at Karine. The little tramp was wearing a skimpy halter top, if she wasn't so flat it'd have been inappropriate for class...

Abigail herself would never dress so revealing, and maybe that was why ol' Professor Page didn't seem to pay her any mind. She turned in excellent papers, never late, and participated in every class!

Weirdly, she felt the tingle return between her thighs, and she clamped them together tightly waiting for it to go away as Professor Page started to ramble again. I think I need to get laid... It's not like there were any prospective beaus in this bunch, Abi thought to herself, taking half hearted stock of the few guys in the class. A mix of poindexters and jocks, neither with the proper balance of brains and basic hygiene that would catch her interest.

When class ended, Abi made her way out the door. Karine was loitering, talking to some dumb hangers-on. Abi hadn't even learned their names, they were just more skinny bitches to her. They clearly didn't understand the material, they were probably just trying to hook up with the jock boys in the class.

She tried not to look at them as she passed, but Karine spoke up. "Nice participation in class today, Slutbag." Abi was shocked to a standstill, and some dumb guy just had to run into her from behind. "Uh, sorry," he mumbled, before awkwardly squeezing through the bitchy impasse. Abi thought maybe his name was Stephen, but he was gone before she could say anything back. Instead, she stammered out an "Excuse me?" to Karine, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

"I said, nice job Sebag."

So she was going to play dumb, huh? Abi rolled her eyes and walked on. "Whatever."

"Bitch," she heard one of Karine's little minions snark. Abigail sped up, feeling her thighs rub and the weird warmth inside her return. Thank G-d this was her only class today. She'd take shelter in her dorm room, and maybe Rachel would let her vent a little.

* * *

"She called me a slut, Rache."

"Mhmm."

Her friend and roommate Rachel Fishman had been listening to Abigail bitch and moan about her experience in her morning class for at least a half hour now.

Rachel was getting ready for the gym, which meant changing out of her sweats and sneakers from her morning run. Abigail watched Rachel bending her lithe form over to tug on her tennis shoes. Smooth muscles shifted under some very short bright green bike shorts and a plain black sports bra.

Abigail sometimes wished she had her friend's confidence. Maybe if I had a body like that... Rachel could eat like a horse and never gain an ounce, in fact she'd told Abigail plenty of times that calories plus exercise was the recipe for keeping fit and tight. Meanwhile, Abigail had already gained the freshman fifteen and then some, and it seemed like it'd all gone to her ass, thighs and belly. Her tits were already more than enough to handle. She knew she should start exercising, and she knew she'd keep putting it off indefinitely.

Rachel had offered to help but Abigail felt so awkward next to her friend sometimes. The thought of running around on campus in front of everybody while her tits flopped around and her ass jiggled all over, or wearing some skimpy fitness getup and sweating to death while Rachel banged through another routine with ease just filled her with dread. So it was jeans and skirts and blouses and jackets loose enough to hide her muffin top and safely contain her already fully stacked rack.

In her first semester at school Abigail was still navigating her commitment to tznius, the concept of modest discretion. Not a full blown dress code, nor simply a straightforward ban on a woman expressing herself, it was more a self-imposed sense of discipline, of putting her best self forward and her position in regards to others both in and out of the Tribe. Don't look like a slut, don't look like a religious freak. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

She'd already had her fill of well meaning souls, gentiles and Jews alike, who tried to talk her out of her own choices, save her from the religious brainwashing they thought she'd undoubtedly suffered or warn her of the temptations of the wider world. I'm almost a grown ass woman, I think I can handle myself, thank you very much.

"You know I'm not a slut, Rachel!" Abi prodded her friend again. Rachel humored her, "Abs honey, your problem is that you're so much not a slut that you're in danger of being committed to a commune." The synchronicity from class made Abi snort, which made Rachel crack a smile herself. Abi was ready to change into some sweats herself, but for lounging.

She allowed herself a look in the cheap full length mirror tacked up by her dorm closet before peeling off her jeans. She'd been pacing and ranting since she got back to their room, and hadn't even undressed yet. At least my fat ass looks good in denim, she thought before yanking the jeans down, revealing the cute dark blue boy shorts she'd chosen for underwear today.

They really did make her big butt look nice, too bad she didn't know anyone to show them off to. She yanked them off too and pulled on some comfy sweats in preparation for a long day of lounging. She already felt sweaty and it wasn't even hot out yet. The dog days of the upstate summer had been brutal.

Of course Rachel looked fantastic with a sheen of sweat on her, like some IDF propaganda pinup. That thought made Abi uncomfortable, yet another fraught subject she had to navigate, reality intruding into her academic paradise. She drew herself back down to her sweaty pits. In the heat Abigail just felt dirty. Pits, underboob sweat, thigh chafing, sweaty minge... no thanks. Abigail would be spending a lot of time in their dorm room in front of a fan, studying hard and cranking out papers.

Rachel was doing some warm up stretches now as Abi gathered wool. She broke the silence: "Oh, by the way Abi. You got a box from home. They said it needed a signature so I just did it." Rachel placed the package on Abi's desk in front of her.

"Oh, thanks Rache." It was a USPS envelope that'd been rolled up and taped. Kind of sloppy for her mom's usual meticulous style, but Abi hadn't been expecting anything at all so she supposed she should be grateful. Abi attacked it with scissors. Eventually she hacked through enough to dump out whatever was inside.

It was a necklace. Huh, was all Abi could think. It was pretty enough. It looked old, but none of the metal was tarnished. The chain was thick and looked handmade even. There was a tiny centerpiece, worked into some kind of geometric design. Abi swore she could see tiny writing etched into it. It seemed like her mom had sent her a real antique. Well mom, I'll give it a spin.

Pulling her hair back, she clasped the necklace around her neck and - Shit! It felt like the metal was white hot, burning into her skin! Abi gasped, making Rachel look up from her final bout of primping. Just as quickly the burning was gone. Had she imagined it?

Abi left her fingers resting on the necklace, as if daring the sensation to come back. It didn't. She went over to the mirror, lifting the necklace and looking at her skin. Nothing. "Didja pinch yourself or something?" Rachel asked. "No," Abi answered. "No, nothing's wrong." Rachel shrugged and finished putting her hair into a short ponytail. "As long as you're okay, I gotta hit the gym."

She stood next to Abi to check herself in the mirror. Abi couldn't help but watch Rachel check her own perky little bubble butt out. It did look pretty good in those skimpy shorts. Rachel had been every local boy's wet dream back in the Maryland burbs, and it looked like that'd be holding true at college as well. Abi hadn't been following her friend out much to parties, but figured Rachel must have been getting some action.

"Alright, seeya," Rachel said, breezing out the door. Right before the door clicked shut, Abigail glanced up to see Rachel eyeing her through a sliver of light.

She knew there was the paper to write for Page's class, but she felt distracted. She chugged a vitamin water and tried binging a little reality TV trash on her computer to relax. She didn't make it through a single episode before she was scrolling her rather barren socials on her phone, and then before she knew it her head felt heavy and Abi dozed off feeling vaguely anxious.

* * *

Abigail woke up from her unplanned nap with an itchy asshole. How embarrassing. She almost shoved her hand down the back of her sweats before catching herself. She checked the time. She'd been asleep for almost two hours. What a waste, now her sleep schedule would be fucky. She pushed herself up from her desk and made the decision to shower. At least she'd feel decent, and maybe it'd relax her.

She stripped her sweats off. The clasp on her new (old) necklace was stuck, and she hoped it wouldn't hurt to get it wet. She resolved to call her mom tomorrow and ask about it.

The showers on their floor were empty this time of day in the early evening. Abi was able to stealthily glide from her room to stall without seeing a soul. She didn't know why, but she felt that vague anxiety again, and a creeping sense of shame. She hadn't even done anything!

Maybe it was her itchy ass. Yes, it was probably the fact of her body betraying her, reminding Abigail of something dirty and nasty that was upsetting her. That hole was exit only, and Abi shuddered to even consider that basic function without puckering up, metaphorically. But anyways, nothing and nobody was allowed to go up there. She'd once told her first (and thus far only) boyfriend that, and she was telling herself again now. So why did she feel this bizarre... yearning from her ass?

She turned the water on as hot as she could and tried not to think about it, even as she soaped up and started working around the issue. After she'd washed and rewashed her arms and legs and pits and feet as many times as she could, she finally bit the bullet and slid her fingers around her backside. The soapy lather tickled, and Abi felt her asshole pucker as she cupped and massaged some water over it.

The weird itchiness subsided as she scrubbed, and Abi started to feel pretty good as she worked her butthole over. Three fingers scrubbing became a single finger pressing, and then Abi had the urge to keep pressing. Why not? Abigail thought to herself, but the thought wasn't really hers, it seemed.

The intrusive thoughts came again: The shower's the best place you could try this. She laughed at herself. When you're right you're right. As she had debated with herself, one finger pushing had become one finger inside, up to the first little knuckle.

The most disturbing thing to Abigail was how little it bothered her. It felt pretty nice, actually. She wiggled the tip of her finger and felt her anus constrict. There was a pleasant heat growing in her pussy, but she felt no need to focus on it. Her asshole was priority one.

She pushed further, until her middle finger was halfway inside her bottom. She almost laughed as she imagined it as a little worm, crawling up into her backside. She leaned back against the shower wall now, and worked her finger inside her ass. Her eyes closed in bliss as she pushed against herself, and...

Somebody flushed a toilet.

Abi's eyes snapped back open. She yanked out of herself so fast she swore she heard a "pop," and she stared through the frosted glass shower door, as if she could see who had broken her reverie. With her clean hand she shut off the water, then cursed herself because of course she needed to clean her finger. But she didn't want to turn the water back on, she didn't want to do anything until she fingered (How droll, Abs, she chided herself) the culprit out there.

She heard footsteps, and handwashing, and then the ruinous slattern was gone. Abi realized she'd been holding her breath. She turned the water back on to a trickle and soaped up her naughty finger. What a bizarre compulsion. I hope I got it out of my system, she thought as she shut the water back off and started to towel off.

She avoided whoever was in the toilet and made it back to her room unscathed. When she sat down at her computer in her damp towel, Abi got another surprise.

Oh G-d. That was right, Page's paper was a group project. She'd hoped that whoever she'd been paired with would have just let her write the whole thing herself and turn it in, saving everyone some trouble. But now she had a new email from her "partner" asking about meeting at the library TONIGHT. I really don't need this now, Abi thought, staring dumbly at the email address.

That's right, it was that Stephen kid from class. The dummy who'd ran into her on the way out this morning, adding insult to injury. No type-A study party nerd him, but a dropout wastoid. She was slightly miffed that his grammar was just fine.

Why the heck did he even bother emailing her? Unless... No. But then again, her ass had looked fantastic yesterday. Why should Rachel be the only one who got too look sexy? She wriggled in her chair, feeling that weird sensation start to come back. Sitting there wrapped in her towel, Abi started putting together a vague plan. She typed a response and hit send: "Oh sure Stephen, how does 7:30 sound tonight? We can use one of the study rooms on the top floor."

* * *

She didn't like reusing dirty underwear, so the boyshorts were bumped for a plain ol' pair of granny panties, the first clean thing she could grab from her drawer. It was just after 7:00 pm now, and time was of the essence. She put her jeans back on, looked at herself again in the mirror. Yeah, her ass looked pretty good... but something stopped her.

Off with the jeans. How about a jean skirt instead? Yeah, that was better. Cooler around her legs, and... she couldn't finish the thought for some reason. Moving on. Blouse and jacket. Headband. A little lip gloss too, why not? As she was about to head out the door one more thought stopped her.

It didn't even make any sense, but well, it sort of did... she'd worn this blouse this morning. Why not a change of that too? And when she went to Rachel's closet instead of her own, and picked out a shirt, and found it two sizes too small, that made sense too.

Looking at herself in the mirror now, her tits about to jump out of Rachel's shirt, her (admittedly plain) bra peeking out, and the curve of her belly, almost obscene, stretching the fabric and hanging out underneath, Abigail felt a strange, drugged kind of thrill.

The newly returned itch in her ass had spread to her whole downstairs, and looking herself up and down in the mirror she saw she was swaying slightly. She pulled the jacket tight around her, covering her decolletage. Really, it wasn't like she was wearing anything skimpy at all! No one had to know, really.

Really.

She hoped Rachel wouldn't get mad at her, but she was almost late and she needed to wear something! But why this? And then another thought, almost not her own: Why not?

She texted Rachel to let her know she'd be at the library. As she locked her door she felt another wave of anxiety and... something else wash over her. She stalked like a woman possessed to the library.

* * *

Edessa University's library had wowed Abigail on her first visit, and its grandeur felt comforting to her tonight as she tried to put uncomfortable thoughts aside. The first floor was a grand open gallery, with the second floor a balcony around this and the third and fourth floors hidden above a beautiful baroque ceiling.

Abi knew the top two floors were bland, beige, and corporate, holding reference materials and old alumni's thesis works that nobody would ever bother reading, but the effect of the bottom two floors worked wonders on her mood anyways. She drank it in as she walked across the main floor to the elevator on the far wall. She'd be meeting Stephen (that dingdong) in a study room on the top floor and she doubted anyone else would be up there.

On a whim at the last second, she opted to take the stairs instead.

* * *

The three flights had winded her a bit, but she felt flush in a good way. Maybe she was going stir crazy a little, cooped up in her dorm. Maybe being a little spontaneous was good for her.

She walked the anonymous halls of the fourth floor until she saw him waiting in one of the study rooms. She saw him through the wide windows that each room came with, and past him she saw he'd scribbled a few nothing notes on the white board while waiting for her. How long had he been waiting here? Kind of pathetic... He was slumped in a chair but perked up when he saw her through the window.

Stephen was wearing ill fitting jeans and a grotty horror tee with a rotting zombie on it saying WE ARE GOING TO EAT YOU! His face was losing the battle with cystic acne, though Abigail noted, with that dispassionate distance which she sometimes viewed others through, that his features weren't really bad. He might be handsome in ten years, poor guy. Maybe he'd figure out what to do with that mop top by then, too.

Abigail raced into the room, shutting the door behind her and whipping off her jacket in a flurry. She turned to face him and suddenly felt her face flush. She was standing, presenting in front of him, her bust thrusting against Rachel's too-small top. As an afterthought, she dropped her bag on the desk next to them.

Stephen was puzzled. "Are you okay, Abigail?"

Maybe not, you tell me dude. "Oh I'm fine, Stephen, I'm just missing something, that's all," Abi leered at him, dropping her eyes to his crotch in an artless bit of innuendo. Stephen squirmed in his chair, eyes looking everywhere but at her. "I was - I was just thinking we could, uh, work on our paper, you know..."