by Becca Little
TRAINING LITTLE ABBY
BECCA LITTLE
[email protected]
Copyright © July 2017 by Becca Little
First E-book Publication: July 2017
Cover created by: Domestic Discipline Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
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Prologue: Abigail
Prologue: Mr. Addison
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Bonus Content: Little Jillian & The Convict
Each “My Little World” book is a standalone story and can be read without reading any of the other books.
Little Bethany & The Warden (My Little World, Book 1)
Becoming Little Jenny (My Little World, Book 2)
Little Sylvia & Judge Cole (My Little World, Book 3)
Breaking Little Emily (My Little World, Book 4)
Training Little Abby (My Little World, Book 5)
Book 6 – Coming Soon!
ABBY:
I thought college was stupid. Waiting tables was good enough for me.
Then my mother told me she was sending me to stay with a family friend, a wealthy older man named Mr. Addison. Not only was I going to college, I was going to be trained to be a proper lady.
It didn’t take me long to learn that Mr. James Addison was an eccentric man who believed training started with him claiming me as his Little Abby.
His training is harsh. He doesn’t accept any form of failure. The level of punishment is decided by my level of disobedience.
There are all sorts of terrible things in his Victorian mansion, but the rewards are amazing.
Once I’m claimed, I belong to him in every way.
Prologue: Abigail
The night was alive as I stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the city of Chicago. The wind breathed life into the city—or so my father used to say. It swept over me and I lifted my arms. I had a buzz running through my veins thanks to the line of vodka shots I had just done with my friends. We were celebrating nothing, we were just searching for an excuse to drink. That was a normal Saturday night.
“Abigail, what are you doing out here?” Sarah stepped out onto the balcony, holding her beer in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.
“The wind feels good.” I leaned over the balcony. “It could carry me away.”
“Abigail, stop it. You got over that goth shit in ninth grade. Suicide is not cool anymore.” The end of her lighter ignited her cigarette and before she could finish exhaling, the wind carried the smoke away so fast I didn’t even smell it.
“I’m not suicidal.” I reached for my beer and lifted it to my lips. “I’m alive.”
“You’re an idiot.” A large gulp of beer disappeared between her lips and she pressed her cigarette into the moisture it left behind on her lips as she took another drag.
“These are the aimless years.” I held my beer up, feeling the wind sweep through my long auburn hair as another strong breeze rolled across the balcony.
“The only reason they’re aimless for you is because you’re nineteen and still live at home. The rest of us hold down jobs with angry bosses that ride us all day long and nights like these are the only thing keeping us sane.” Sarah took another drag from her cigarette.
“I have a job. Waiting tables is a job.” My eyelids flicked across my baby blue eyes as my lips siphoned more beer from my nearly empty bottle.
“That isn’t a real job.” She took another drag from her cigarette and stabbed it out in the ashtray before it was even halfway done. “Come on inside. The only reason to be out here is to suck down the addiction you can’t satisfy in there.”
Sarah really didn’t understand. The feeling of the wind on my face, mixed with the way the alcohol made me buzz—that was my addiction. It reminded me of simpler times when I was a little girl, living in the city without a care in the world. I did still live with my mother, but most days weren’t good days with her. I hardly recognized the woman she had become, and I had been lost for a long time. My life might not have been as chaotic as Sarah’s day job with angry men ordering her around, but it was still a ticking time bomb and anything I could do to feel a simple link to the past was a moment to cherish.
***
I finally rejoined the party inside staring at the laughing faces enjoying their evening. It went on for a few more hours and I put away a few more beers. It wasn’t enough to get me seriously intoxicated, even with a few shots added in, but it was enough to keep the buzz going. The party finally started to die down and when I picked up my phone to schedule an Uber, I realized I was way past curfew. It was a good thing my mother never stayed up to see if I came home on time anymore.
“You’re leaving?” Sarah walked through the door with an open beer in one hand and a sealed one in the other.
“Yeah.” I pressed a few buttons on my phone. “I need to head home.”
“What about the after party? I’m hosting.” She finished off a beer and sat it down beside the door.
“I really shouldn’t.” I shook my head back and forth.
“If you didn’t still live at home, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.” She walked off towards the stairs with a wave.
The Uber arrived and I stared out the window. The city wasn’t as beautiful as I remembered, but the memories would always be there. Industry and modernization had taken away a lot of the character I remembered—or maybe it was just a fantasy I created in my head. The Uber left the city and headed towards the suburbs where my family had moved after my father took an early retirement. Owning a house was a dream for my parents. I was happy because they were happy, but as I settled into the suburban life, I missed the city. I hoped to live there again one day amongst the hustle and bustle of everyday life.
“I don’t get many calls that take me this far out of the city.” My driver, an older man named Mohammad spoke in a thick Middle Eastern accent.
“I was visiting friends.” I tried to be friendly but the alcohol was starting to settle in my stomach and without a constant flow to keep the buzz going, I was getting tired.
“You’re very pretty.” His eyes drifted to the rear-view mirror. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” A laugh started to build inside me, but I suppressed it.
“If I didn’t have a wife waiting on me, I’d ask you on a date.” He looked over his shoulder and flashed me a smile.
“Thanks…I think.” I raised my eyebrows.
I figured he was just trying to get a good tip. I had never considered myself exceptionally pretty. A few guys had taken me on dates, but I hadn’t had a steady boyfriend since high school and tha
t was nothing more than teenage lust in action. The car turned onto my street and pulled up to my house. I tapped the driver’s shoulder as we got close.
“Can you go slow, maybe kill the headlights?” I pointed at my house. “I don’t want to wake anyone up.”
“Sure thing.” The lights went dim and the car crawled the distance between my neighbor’s driveway and mine.
“Thank you.” I finished the transaction and left him the decent tip his comment was likely fishing for.
It was very late. I crept up the steps to my house and dug around in my purse for my key. My legs were a little wobbly, but I had come home in worse shape before. I watched the Uber pull away from the curb and Mohamed was kind enough to keep the headlights off until he was out of sight. I pushed the key into the lock and smiled when I saw the darkness of the house. I let out a long sigh of relief and headed upstairs to my bedroom. I went to sleep without a care in the world.
Prologue: Mr. Addison
The real estate market was on another downward turn but that was nothing new. My firm had invested in several properties that hit the market due to foreclosure. It was a long-term strategy for us. We burned capital while the market was down, hoping it would turn a profit for us when the banks started lending money at a rate the middle-class could afford again. One property had been on the market for a while. We bought it at a good price, tried to sell it when the market picked up, but we didn’t get any offers. I decided to investigate it myself and determine if we should just liquidate it. As I walked through the halls, I understood why it wasn’t exactly a prize for potential homeowners—even wealthy ones like myself.
“Why did we even buy this place?” My eyes turned to my secretary, Angela, as if she made the decisions.
“It was cheap?” Her shoulders and her eyebrows raised at the same time in a perplexed stare. She obviously had no idea.
The house in question had belonged to the Bradford family before the Great Recession of 2009. It wasn’t one of their main houses, nor was it one that belonged to the immediate family, so it was an easy liquidation for them. The family had old money, dating back to the era of Kings, Queens, Dukes and Duchesses, but none of the Bradford family heirs had survived the test of time to remain famous in the modern day extended royal family. I opened the door to the main room and shook my head.
“None of this stuff is authentic.” My fingers drifted across the wood of the table next to the door. “It’s all reproduced garbage.”
“That’s probably why they sold it.” Angela tried to sound helpful, but she wasn’t helping at all.
“I’m not taking a loss on this.” I opened one of the cabinets and scoffed at the fake crystal dishes masquerading as the real thing. “Call the Realtor and have them put my house on the market.”
“Are you sure about that?” Angela’s tone echoed concern.
“Yes.” I slammed the cabinet shut. “I like this place. It could use some upgrades, but I think I’ll live here. Maybe if I spend a few years getting it modernized, we can turn a profit on it down the road.”
“Yes sir.” Angela knew not to question a decision if my mind was made up.
It was partially self-serving. I had always been a fan of the Victorian era and while most of the stuff wasn’t crafted by the artisans of that time, it was a damn spectacular effort. It would take a well-trained eye to even recognize the imperfections in the way the wood was cut, or the screws that weren’t even invented when the craftsmanship was common. I walked upstairs and looked at a few of the bedrooms, finding them layered with the same misplaced furniture I found downstairs.
“Mr. Addison.” Angela came dashing up the stairs with her heels barely touching the steps as she walked.
“What is it?” I turned to her.
“You have a phone call, sir. It is Carl Washington’s wife.” Her hand extended a cell phone towards me.
“Hello, Beatrice.” A smile crossed my face as I closed the door to one of the bedrooms. “How have you been?”
Carl and Beatrice were good friends when I was growing my law firm into the powerhouse it had become with money to burn on various investments between clients. I hadn’t heard from Beatrice much after Carl passed away, so I was anxious to hear how she was doing. I was especially curious to hear how their children were doing. That part of the conversation turned out to be rather unexpected as she explained her reason for the call.
“I would do anything for you.” My knees bent as I sat down on the large down-filled bed. “I could definitely get her into a good school, but I don’t have any influence with the ones near you.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t necessarily the truth. A phone call and a promise of a new library or science lab courtesy of my firm would convince most schools to accept her daughter. The gears in my head were starting to spin as she told me how much trouble her daughter, Abigail, had become.
“I’ll tell you what I can do.” My eyes drifted around the room. “I’m moving to a new place fairly close to my Alma Mater. They would do pretty much anything I asked them to do. If she’s in with a bad crowd and coming home late all the time, she could live with me. I’ll make sure she does what she’s supposed to do.”
The phone call ended and the arrangement was set. Not only would I be moving into the house, but I would also have a guest. Based on the size of the house, I could have easily moved in a dozen people without compromising my own need for peace and quiet. After I hung up the phone, I opened the door to find Angela standing outside of it.
“So…” My shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It looks like I’m going to have a guest living with me.”
“What do you need me to do?” Angela readied her pen against her notebook.
“Her name is Abigail Washington. Go stalk her on social media and find out what she likes. I’ll get everything else ready once I move in.” I waved Angela off and she started down the stairs with her heels making a lot more noise than they did when she walked up them.
The call from Beatrice was unexpected and the request was peculiar. I hadn’t seen Abigail in many years, but the math in my head suggested she was eighteen or nineteen. It wasn’t surprising to hear she had turned into a bit of a wild child after her father passed. With Beatrice’s own health on the decline, she couldn’t motivate her daughter to put much work in her future. I was happy to help, although I wasn’t sure what that would entail. It wasn’t something I could focus on in that moment, however, because I had a lot of work to do before the house was ready for anyone to live in it.
Chapter 1: Abigail
I was the youngest child with a brother and a sister who had ten years on me. They were midway through their teenage years when I started school and by the time I was done with elementary school, they were out of the house and on their way to college. They expressed both shock and disbelief when they would hear about my latest antics over Thanksgiving dinner or Christmas break. They always told me how lucky I was they mellowed my parents out before I came along.
The reality hidden from all of us was that our father was getting weaker every day. He hid it from everyone except our mother and the stress she was under made it tough for her to hold me to the same standards she held my brother and sister to. The strict household my siblings remembered transformed into a temper tantrum laden hell of my creation. They would constantly harass our parents when they were home because I got a reprieve for everything. It never stopped annoying them.
When I was fourteen years old, everything changed. My siblings had graduated from college and were finding their way in the world. I was still getting away with everything. They would visit from time to time and I could tell they were concerned about the way things were going with my father, but everyone continued to keep it a secret from me. Out of the blue to me, but not as unexpected to them, my father passed away while sitting in his favorite chair on a Sunday afternoon. At first, we just thought he went to sleep because the Bears were losing another game, but when my mother went to check on him,
all I heard were screams.
Losing my father had a profound effect on me, and not in a good way. I became rebellious and got lost in a bad crowd. My mother was mostly powerless to do anything about it. My parents had been together since they were teenagers and without him, my mother just seemed to lose touch with the world. I took advantage of her despair, never listening to anything she said because I knew she didn’t have the mental strength to do anything about it. She would give me rules and I would break them.
Even my siblings came by to try and talk some sense into me, but I didn’t listen. I saw the situation in front of me as an opportunity for freedom. As the years passed and I graduated from high school, I didn’t follow in their footsteps. Instead of going to college, I got a job and once I had money in my pocket, I did whatever I wanted for the most part. I was happy being a free spirit with nothing to worry about except the following day. The future people were always concerned with seemed so far away and all I cared about was the present.
***
“Your curfew is eleven-thirty.” I pushed the door open and tiptoed into the living room, finding my mother waiting for me with the lamp beside her table providing the only light in the whole house.
“You’re still up? It’s two in the morning!” My eyes adjusted to the light as I stepped into the doorway of the living room instead of rushing upstairs to my bedroom as I originally planned.
“I was waiting on you.” Her hand lifted and she motioned for me to come further into the living room as I lingered at the door. “Where have you been?”
“I was out with friends.” I took a step in and put my hands on my hips. “I guess I just lost track of time.”
“Come in here and have a seat.” She pointed at the chair across from her.
