His laughter was deep and sincere as he pulled her hands away from her face. “What’s the matter, baby?” he chuckled, and Abby batted his hands away and pretended to take a swing at him. “Didn’t you like the ride?”
You have no idea. Except she suspected he had a very good idea, indeed. As she recalled the sensations that had thrummed through her body and nearly driven her over the edge while clasped tightly to him, her breathing hitched and her lips parted slightly. Their eyes locked across the table, and Abby realized he was breathing slightly heavier as well.
Chris stood up, pulling a couple of bills from his wallet and tossing them on the table. Without a word, he held his hand out to her. She didn’t ask, just took it and followed him back to the bike parked outside.
They rode for what seemed like hours, leaving the city and hurtling down the empty stretch of highway between the city and the dark. Her eyes closed tight against the wind, Abby wrapped herself as tightly as she could to him while the incessant, maddening vibrations flowed from the bike into them both. Her skin felt on fire, and she’d never felt so alive.
Even when he pulled off to the side at a deserted roadside park, she didn’t break the silence. Leaving the bike idling, he motioned for her to get off. He slipped her backpack off first, then picked her up as if she were as light as Mr. Jingles and pulled her across to straddle him. Gently, he pushed her back to lie against the tank, her legs straddling his firm thighs as he slipped one hand beneath her skirt and lightly stroked the soaked silk that barely covered her burning flesh.
“I want to touch you, Abby,” he whispered urgently, and the rough bulge just beneath her bottom assured her he could back his words up with deeds.
She’d had other men over the years, but suddenly she found herself gripped with an uncertainty she hadn’t felt since that first time with a pimply-faced boy her junior year of high school, whose name she’d long since forgotten but whose fumbling touch and eager sincerity she’d always remember. All night she’d been immersed in her youth, the innocence and carefree spirit and wildness she’d thought she’d forgotten, and now that Chris’ fingers were delicately stroking the damp fabric that covered her sex, the overwhelming emotions she’d felt that first time came rushing back. Without thinking, her hands found the edge of her skirt and tried to pull it back down, even as her eyes tried to find somewhere, anywhere to land besides his face.
“Abby,” he said softly. “Abby, look at me now.”
Unwillingly, she dragged her eyes back to meet his, wondering how he could sound so commanding and yet gentle at the same time.
“Abby, I won’t hurt you. I promise. I’ll stop if you really want me to.” He paused, giving her time to think, but his fingers never stopped their gentle caress, and she found herself writhing beneath his touch.
“No,” she whispered, her voice taking on a husky tone as she struggled with the right words. “I don’t why, but I’m scared.” She thought for a moment and then added, “I’m scared, Daddy.” Beneath her she felt the bulge stiffen and strain against the constraining jeans, and as he spoke, she thought his voice sounded deeper.
“Trust me, babygirl.”
Abby closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the bike as she released the edge of her skirt and moved her hands away. Briefly she heard the sound of a zipper being undone, but when he pressed the fuzzy blankee into her hand, she realized the zipper had belonged to her backpack instead of his jeans. As she clutched the soft fabric to her face and inhaled it’s familiar, comforting scent, she felt his fingers slip beneath the elastic of her panties and the slightly calloused fingers glide along the slickened edge of her lower lips.
“You’re so wet, Abby,” he murmured as one finger dipped between the folds to circle around her eager pussy hole. His other hand slid up and over her hips to slip beneath the Offspring tank top he’d bought her, lazily tracing a series of eights across her taut belly. “Pull your shirt up, babygirl. I want you to touch your nipples.”
For a moment Abby’s breath caught. She’d never touched herself in front of a lover before. Before she could think further, he repeated himself, and this time her hands obeyed. Stuffing the blankee between her head and the handlebars, she quickly pulled the t-shirt up, then tugged the black satin bra with pink cherries and dice that she’d gotten online aside to free her small, pale breasts. Grasping each nipple, she lightly squeezed them to rock hard pebbles, and despite the ever present growl of the shuddering bike beneath them, she thought she heard his breath suck in.
“Good girl,” he gasped just as he slipped a finger between her throbbing lips, and if he hadn’t caught her just in time she would have arched herself right off of the bike. He gazed hungrily at the sight of her draped over the chopper, her pale, soft skin against the rockabilly lingerie, the slight quiver of her lower lip. Abby wanted nothing more than to impale herself on his raging cock, but his self-control was stronger than her need, and she could only writhe beneath his touch. His hands had free reign of her body, exploring every curve and dip as she shivered beneath his fingertips, mindless and desperate for relief.
His relentless caresses drove Abby to the edge again and again, never letting her go over, always drawing back just as she arched against him. Her insides ached, opening up and demanding more as he slipped first one, then two fingers into her wet slit. Abby found herself pleading with him, begging for him, telling him she needed him right then, right there, but instead he pushed himself back onto the rear fender and lowered his face to just above her pussy.
Instantly she tensed, her breath catching, and she looked away. No one had ever gone down on her before, and the idea of Chris seeing her privates so intimately, so closely, filled her with embarrassment. Before she could pull away, he seized her hips in an iron grip and delicately stroked the edge of her swollen lips with his tongue. Almost immediately her body betrayed her mind, melting into his lips even as she turned her head away.
And then he stopped.
“Look at me, Abby,” he ordered. Gulping hard, she forced herself to face him. Biting her lip nervously, she watched as his tongue darted out to catch the very tip of her clit, wrapping around it and swirling it like a tiny ice cream cone. The tiny nub became a burning coal, sending flames of ecstasy licking their way outwards to every inch of her body. Her breath came in one long inhale, and it wasn’t until he took his tongue back that she let it out again.
“Don’t look away,” he warned, pausing long enough to see that she was listening. “That’s an order. If you look away again, I’ll stop and take you home. Understood?”
Mutely, frantically, she nodded, and a whimper of desperate relief escaped her as his tongue resumed its slow seduction of her clit and lips. His blue-green eyes were locked onto her, gauging her reaction to everything he did and adjusting accordingly. The results were electrifying; his tongue teased and tangled with the dripping flesh until, quite without realizing it, she had begun to pant and babble random words of encouragement to him, assuring him she was watching, begging him not to stop. Even when her body began to shudder in time with the chopper below and her neck lost the strength to hold her head up, she cried out, “I’m watching, Daddy. I’m a good girl. I’m still watching!”
When her eyes finally opened again, the sky was aglow with more stars than she’d ever seen before. It’s because we’re away from the city lights. She struggled to sit back up, but her body had become boneless and she had to reach out for Chris to pull her forward. The blue motorcycle still idled smoothly beneath them, sending vibrations shooting through her unsteady body and offering to send her on another round of mind-blowing spasms. Looking down, she saw Chris had unzipped his jeans and was now languidly stroking his cock, smearing it liberally with her own juices as he caressed the shaft until it glistened in the moonlight.
* * *
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum,” he said in a hushed voice. “You’re like an angel getting her wings.”
For a moment they s
tared at each other, then burst out laughing together. Abby fell back against the bike once more, covering her face with her hands and laughing until tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Oh my God, seriously? Come on!” she gasped, choking down the giggles as she tried to sit back up.
“Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad,” he admitted with a grin, not able to believe he’d said that. “What can I say? No blood left in my brain.”
She glanced down at the straining cock grasped in his hand and nodded understanding.
Tentatively, she reached out to touch him, and his hand fell away to let her explore. Her fingertips stroked the velvety skin along the head, and wrapping her fingers around the shaft, she tried to mimic his movements from a moment before and was rewarded with a gasp as he groaned with need.
“Show me how, Daddy,” she whispered, and the word sounded natural as she breathed it. “Show me how to make you feel good.”
Without hesitation, he wrapped his large hand around her small one and began to guide her to his rhythm, slowly at first, then gradually speeding up. His cock came alive in her hand, pulsing and straining in her grasp.
Chris focused on his breathing in order to maintain control as long as he could. His earlier fantasy of filling her lovely mouth with his thick shaft resurfaced, but he pushed it aside. That particular delight would come later. For now he was content to teach her how to pleasure him with her hands.
* * *
As his breathing became ragged and harsh, Abby watched his face. His eyes had finally closed, and she allowed herself to look at his body laid out before her. The steel cock in her hands was thick and long, with prominent veins and a flushed head. Occasionally she could feel it twitch in her hands, and she wondered what it would feel like to have it twitch inside of her.
The realization that she held his pleasure in her hands gave her a strange sense of power. He wasn’t guiding her any more, simply resting his hand over her own as she stroked and squeezed the swollen shaft. With her other hand she cupped his warm balls, tentatively at first, then more firmly as he groaned his approval, until at last he was the one arching up from the bike, gasping out her name as he came in great spurts.
When at last he relaxed, he pulled her tightly to him, burying his face against her neck as he whispered words she couldn’t hear but understood all the same. Abby had never felt more at peace with herself than right then, atop a rumbling cycle beside the deserted highway, underneath the stars and in the embrace of a man she barely knew, with her blankee clutched between them. Even after they’d adjusted their clothes and rearranged themselves on the bike, even when the city lights came back into view and they turned into the parking lot of her apartments, the sense of rightness, of belonging, stayed with her.
Chapter Seven
Abby was still floating on a high left over from her weekend with Chris when she strolled into work Monday morning. Amanda caught her the minute she sat down and demanded details about her date with Chris.
“It was amazing!” she said as Amanda pulled a chair over. “He took me to see Offspring, and then afterwards we went to IHOP, and then we just rode around on his motorcycle.”
“Nice,” Amanda grinned. “Keep going.”
“What do you want me to say? He was sweet. We had fun. It was like being sixteen all over again.”
“Minus the zits, I hope.”
“Butterflies when he held my hand, world faded to grey when I looked in his eyes, that sort of thing.”
“Damn, girl,” Amanda whistled admiringly. “So what else did he get to hold?”
“It was a first date!” Abby protested. “Geeze, what kind of girl do you take me for?”
“Right, and he had you home by ten. Now spill.”
Abby confessed the details then, from the envious teens at the concert and the flirtatious waitress at IHOP, to her unexpected reaction while straddling his motorcycle. Amanda listened with wide eyes as Abby gave her a highly edited version of their roadside tryst, carefully omitting the part about her blankee or calling him Daddy or anything that might clue her new friend into the stranger aspects of the relationship. When she got to the part where he said she looked like a newly winged angel, they both burst into laughter, attracting curious glances from around the room.
“That’s awful!” Amanda snickered. “But also way cool because he could laugh at how lame it was. He doesn’t take himself too seriously. Honestly, Abby, you’ve hit the jackpot on this guy!”
“I don’t get it though,” Abby replied, glancing around the room to make sure no one was listening in. “He’s successful and smart. He’s been around the world, and okay, he’s gorgeous, and these women kept flirting with him, but he blew them off. For me. He blew these beautiful, thin, tall women off, for me.”
“Of course he did,” Amanda sniffed, “because you’re amazing. Why would he want some cookie cutter skank when he can have someone like you?”
“The cookie cutter skank look seems to be the in thing, though.”
“I’m serious! Clearly he thinks you’re awesome, so don’t go screwing it up just because you don’t see how cool you are.”
Screwing it up was the last thing she wanted to do, but by Tuesday her euphoria gave way to nail-gnawing stress as it became apparent it would take everyone working around the clock to get the paper turned out in time. Three people had called in sick, apparently victims of the flu that had been going around, and in their absence, Abby was left to pull their loads plus her own. By Wednesday afternoon, her sunny demeanor from Monday had contracted to a warning scowl and a few terse words to anyone who dared to pile more work on her desk.
She’d promised Chris she would quit smoking, and more than a few coworkers had already lost their bets against her, but with four days of work on her desk and less than two days to deadline, she couldn’t take it any longer. Pretending to look for an envelope, she fished out a pack she’d hidden in the back of her bottom desk drawer and quietly slipped off to the bathroom. As a rule, the office required smokers to take it outdoors, but she knew the odds of getting away with it outside were against her. Mr. Green had assured her that her behavior would be monitored at all times, and though she didn’t know how far his surveillance capabilities extended, she was pretty sure they didn’t extend to the company bathrooms. Just to be doubly sure, however, she slipped into the men’s room and quickly locked herself into the handicapped stall at the far end.
For a moment she paused, cigarette nervously clutched in one hand, lighter in the other. No one will know. But she wasn’t so sure. Guiltily, she peered under the stall wall to make sure no one else was in the room and was only partially relieved to see there weren’t any other feet in sight. Finally, she wrote off the gnawing unease as needless paranoia and lit up. The first drag sent her into a fit of coughing that she desperately tried to muffle by pulling her shirt up over her mouth.
Almost immediately, the cell in her pocket went off.
Startled, Abby nearly flung the cigarette across the stall. Impossible! There was no one in the bathroom, there was no way they could have known, but as it rang again, she realized she was busted. Dread filled her as she reluctantly answered the call.
“I’m at your desk. Where are you?”
It was her boss. Abby had to choke back a queer mixture of relieved sobbing and giggling as she realized she was holding her breath in anticipation of Mr. Green’s exasperated voice.
“I need you to take a look at the classifieds. That new kid is having hell trying to get it to lay out right.”
“I’m in the restroom. I’ll be right out.”
Hanging up, she sagged against the wall in relief. She’d been so sure it was Mr. Green calling. She’d been careful not to attract any notice on the way to the restroom, but for all she knew, he could have tapped into the company video monitoring system. Perhaps his little birds weren’t as omnipresent as he’d led her to believe. Flushing the butt down the toilet, she hurried from the men’s room back to her desk. After slipping t
he pack back into its spot in the bottom drawer, she headed over to the new hire’s desk to see what the problem was.
* * *
From across the room, Amanda flipped a business card over and over between her fingers, debating what to do. She’d noticed Abby rummaging around her desk and glancing over her shoulder, acting guilty as sin just before sneaking off down the hall, where she ducked into the men’s bathroom, of all places. As a former smoker herself, it was behavior she knew all too well. When Abby returned the slight scent of smoke that clung to her confirmed Amanda’s suspicion that she’d snuck off for a secret smoke break.
Few things had been harder for her than giving up cigarettes, and she knew the struggle her new friend was going through. The next time Abby ran off to the bathroom, she fully intended to retrieve the pack of cigarettes she’d seen her slip into the bottom desk drawer and toss them in the trash.
In the meantime, she considered the card in her hand. The woman who gave it to her asked her to call if it ever seemed like Abby was losing her resolve. She didn’t like the idea of tattling, but was it really tattling? The woman was trying to help Abby stop smoking, at her request, and she couldn’t very well help if she didn’t know Abby was smoking again.
“Sorry, Abby,” she mumbled, picking up her cell and dialing the number. “I’m doing this as a friend.”
* * *
Chris was waiting for her in the parking lot when she emerged from the building at five. Even from a distance, he could see her tense at the sight of him, and he wondered what was going through her mind. He’d considered calling her as soon as he’d gotten off the phone with Mr. Green and telling her she was busted, but decided to let her skate through the rest of the day believing she’d gotten away with her bathroom smoke.
Disciplining Little Abby Page 7