Disciplining Little Abby (8 page)

* * *

Chris went into an empty stall at the far end of the men’s restroom and leaned against the wall. It was rude of him to send her off to find their seats alone, but there was something he had to take care of. Otherwise he’d be taking her on the floor before the opening band’s set was over. Unbuckling his jeans, he freed his eternally hard cock and gripped it firmly. Closing his eyes, he imagined Abby’s curious hand taking control of him, her lips wrapping around the flushed red head. Groaning, he let his head fall forward onto his chest as he pictured her devouring his fat cock, felt her tongue running over the head and down the veiny ridge underneath, reaching out with the tip to lap at his balls. As his fist pumped faster and faster, he envisioned her head bobbing back and forth, heard her guttural grunts as she took all of him in, and felt her wet, willing mouth surround his cock.

He came hard and fast, exploding everywhere as his ass clenched and spasmed. One hand flung out to brace against the wall as his knees threatened to give way beneath him. “Fuck,” he muttered shakily as he tried to catch his breath. As his strength returned, he grabbed a handful of toilet paper and quickly cleaned himself up, feeling somewhat foolish about the situation. He’d jerked off before he’d left the house just so his dick wouldn’t try to run the show this evening, but he’d underestimated the effect his bike would have on her… or the effect her reaction would have on him.

By the time he left the bathroom, the worst of the crowd had made their way to their seats. Hurrying towards their section, he paused at the top of the steps long enough to locate Abby in the chairs below. Her twin black ponytails were hard to miss. Chris quickly moved down the stairs to the row just before theirs and snuck up behind her. Just as he drew up behind her, he heard her chuckle softly about someone being drunk.

“Maybe who was drunk?” he asked as he climbed over the seat backs and sat down beside her.

“These two girls at the concession stand. They were jealous of me.”

“Why?” he asked as he put his arm around her shoulders. A burst of pink flooded her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was adorable when she blushed.

“They thought you were hot.”

“And clearly I’m not, so they must have been drunk.” Chris laughed out loud as her cheeks went from pink to scarlet as she realized how that had sounded.

“No,” she protested. “It’s just, you know, they were teenagers, and normally if you’re over twenty-five, you’re like, invisible to them. You’re just some old, irrelevant person they have no use for. Except they talked to me like I was one of them.”

He listened as she explained what had happened after he’d snuck off for a solo quickie, enjoying the look of delight on her face as she recounted their conversation.

“Well, why wouldn’t they?” he asked. “They just saw you the way I did, as a beautiful young girl.” He didn’t bother to add that the girls saw him take away her license and tell her she was too young to drink. It had been a calculated move to attract their attention, and it had worked brilliantly. The joy she took in just being noticed made his throat constrict, and he leaned over to kiss her softly on the forehead. “They see a beautiful, sexy, sassy young girl. Numbers are just something for the DMV. What they saw was what you really feel, reflected back at them.”

Blushing, she smiled at him with shining eyes. As the lights began to dim and the crowd came to its feet, he found he couldn’t resist any longer. Standing up, he pulled her from her seat into a crushing embrace, his lips bearing hard against her soft ones with an intensity and power that shocked him. Within his arms, her body yielded limply at first, then pressed even harder against him. He felt her small hands plunge into his hair, grasping hungrily as her lips parted and allowed his tongue entrance. He reveled in the taste of her, hot and slightly minty, and when her tongue darted inside to claim his mouth for her own, the noisy crowd around them fell away. For a moment it was just the two of them, locked in a heated embrace as the heavy bass shuddered and thudded through every inch of their bodies.

With a reluctant groan, he yanked his mouth away from hers and gasped for air, but before he could step back, her mouth fell to his neck, then the hollow of his throat, her tongue lightly tasting him every step of the way. For a wild moment he considered falling to his knees and burying his face under her skirt. The thought of slipping his tongue between her supple thighs and inhaling her musky juices destroyed the last shreds of his self-control, but before he could follow through, she broke free and pulled away.

Blinking and slightly disoriented, he stared as Abby climbed onto her seat and began singing along with the band and a few thousand other concert goers. For a moment he thought he caught her secret scent, warm and damp, but he couldn’t be sure amid the combined odors of beer, weed, and perspiration.

He’d had more than his share of women, but none of them had ever affected him as strongly as Abby. Mr. Greene had warned him that Abby liked to push buttons, but he doubted this was what the stodgy old bastard had meant. Just one look from those big blue eyes and his dick was ready to throw caution to the wind.
I’m supposed to be the one in control here
. He swore silently.
So why am I the one sneaking off to the bathroom to jerk off?

The noise of the concert was making thinking impossible, but before he surrendered himself to the music, he vowed this would be the last time Abby Willis would make him lose control with only a kiss.

Afterwards, they had to fight their way through the screaming, cheering, utterly drunk mob just to get out of the building, and if it hadn’t been for Chris’ vise-like grip on her hand, Abby would have wound up lost in the crowd. As he carefully wove the powerful cycle in and out of the exiting traffic, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that they hadn’t come in a car, knowing they’d likely still be stuck in the parking lot an hour later. Instead, they were flying through Grand Prairie.

When they came upon an IHOP, Chris throttled the bike down and turned in. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said as he parked. Abby didn’t know if the nicotine patch was wearing off or she was just missing having something in her mouth, but suddenly food sounded like the best thing in the world.

They ordered a couple of appetizer plates, and Abby felt a flare of jealousy as the waitress delivered them to Chris in such a way that she practically shoved her boobs into his face. As she bit into an onion ring, she tried to imagine what the waitress would think if she leaned over the table and kissed him full on the mouth for the whole place to see. The idea made her smile. It also made her heart flutter. She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss back at the concert. If she hadn’t broken away when she did, she would have pushed him to the floor and straddled him amid the empty drink cups, cigarette butts, and a few thousand screaming strangers.

“What’s got you grinning?” he asked as he picked up a mozzarella stick. “I saw the look you gave that poor waitress. Should I hide the knives?”

Abby laughed and pulled her feet underneath her on the bench. “You know, when you signed that note ‘Chris A.’, I was imagining all these typical American names like Chris Anderson or Chris Allen. I never would have come up with that forty syllable moniker you got saddled with.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” he grinned. “It’s actually Christos. Christos Antonopoulous. Thank God Greeks don’t normally give middle names, or I’d run out of ink just signing my name.”

“It suits you though,” she admitted. “So you’re Greek, then. I can totally see that, you know, and I just knew I heard an accent when you spoke.” Abby drank him in, the golden tan and the ocean blues that swirled in his eyes. She could easily picture him on some sandy beach wearing a pair of white cotton pants rolled at the ankles, barefoot and bare-chested.

“I was born in Greece. I came to the US for college and never left. My step-sister seems to be following in my footsteps. She’s in college down in Austin. Damn, these are good.” He paused to grab another mozzarella stick before continuing. “My dad and step-mom are still in Greece. They own a few cafes and a bar in Thessaloniki, make a fortune off the cruise ship tourists. They’re very proud Greeks. Dad complains about my Texas accent whenever I fly home to visit, wants to know if I had surgery on my vocal cords to remove it or some crazy nonsense like that. He’d be thrilled to no end to hear you say that.”

“You gave up a life of sun-drenched beaches in the country that spawned Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates for the life of a drunken college student in Texas?” she laughed as she tried to picture him in some stuffy classroom amid a sea of frat boys, pseudo cowboys, and trust fund hipsters. “Knowing that, I can’t believe you were smart enough to pass the entrance exams. Tell the truth. You sweet talked someone in the dean’s office, maybe promised her a ride on your motorcycle.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement at her playful jab. “Believe or not, I have an MBA.”

“Bullshit!”

“Truth, and don’t swear,” he admonished, “not unless you want a spanking.”

The idea reawakened the swelling ache between her thighs, and it took all of her willpower not to squirm in her seat. Briefly she considered excusing herself to the restroom to clean up. She’d been wet since she’d first straddled his bike, and the thought of him spanking her was throwing the floodgates wide open.
Should have brought a towel to sit on.

“So what, you’re some rich billionaire Harvard grad motorcycle shop owner who looks like a rock star and has an MBA then?”

He nearly choked on an onion ring while laughing at that. “You’ve been reading too many cheesy romance novels,” he chuckled. “I’m more than a few zeroes shy of that mark. I graduated from University of Texas in Austin. That’s where my step-sister is now, actually. And I didn’t have that bike back then. Drove a crappy Honda that left no favorable impression behind, believe me.” He gave a wry smile, apparently remembering his former wheels, then went on. “I own a couple of custom bike shops now. The degree helps me not go bankrupt with bad business decisions, but I always knew I wanted to build bikes.”

“You built that bike we were on?” Abby was impressed.

“Yeah, but it’s nothing fancy. I brought it because it had a place for you to sit. I have a few others, but they’re all single occupancy only. They’re cool to look at, but not nearly as exciting to ride as that little backseat,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling as a wicked grin appeared.

Abby’s cheeks burned fiery hot as the implication of what he’d just said sunk in and she realized he knew exactly what that throbbing, rumbling, vibrating seat had been doing to her all night. “Oh my Gawd!” she laughingly gasped, covering her furiously blushing face with both hands. “Yeah, um… yeah.”

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.