Abby couldn’t believe what she’d said, but before she could run after Amanda and apologize, her new admirer reappeared with her drink and took a seat beside her. Tentatively she sniffed the glass. She’d never tried Disaronno, but she’d liked the commercials and it sounded like something an adult would drink. It smelled wonderful, a hint of cherries and vanilla with sweet almonds, and tasted even better.
“I’m Mike.”
“I’m Abby,” she replied, embarrassed that she’d practically snatched the drink from his hand without so much as a thank you. “Thanks for the drink. I was pretty thirsty.”
“Haven’t seen you here before.”
Abby resisted the urge to squirm as his eyes roamed lazily over her. He made no effort to hide his desire, even licking his lip when his eyes landed on her propped up cleavage, and it made her uncomfortable.
“First time,” she said.
His lips twitched into a slight smile and he nodded approval. “The first time is always the best,” he said. Abby knew she was expected to say something to that, some sort of witty or flirtatious comeback that would make him laugh and ask her to dance, but she wasn’t good at that sort of thing. She settled for taking a long drink and staring longingly at the dance floor, hoping he’d take it as a cue to ask her to dance. At least on the dance floor they’d be too close for her to see him undressing her with his eyes.
Instead he slid his chair closer to her and brushed an imaginary hair away from her eyes. “What do you say we get out of here?”
Before she could react, she felt his lips brush against her neck just below her ear. The shockwave that coursed down her spine sent her leaping out of her seat. Her earlier confidence evaporated, and she found herself nervous and unsure. With Chris she’d always felt safe and protected—and humiliated and unbelievably aroused—but Mike made her feel like a fawn inside the lion’s cage.
“I have to pee!” she blurted out just as Amanda returned to the table. “Hold my purse!” She thrust the clutch into Amanda’s hands and bolted for the restrooms. Halfway there, the room began to tilt, and she barely made it to the door without falling. Once inside she quickly locked herself in a stall and flopped down on the toilet, one hand braced against the wall for support as her eyes struggled to focus. The alcohol made it impossible for her to think straight, but she knew no good could come from letting Mike continue to put the moves on her. At the same time, she wondered how much good could come from staying with Chris. Her mother was right. Only a pervert would be attracted to her.
“I don’t know what I want anymore,” she whimpered softly.
* * *
Amanda sized up the man sitting across the table. She’d seen him at the club before, had even spurned his advances a time or two, though she doubted he remembered it. From what she’d seen, he preferred his ladies drunk, and the way Abby stumbled towards the restroom made it clear she was his kind of girl.
“She’s not going home with you,” she told him. “I know you think she’s really drunk and fair game, but she’s got a boyfriend.” The words were barely out when he stood up and grabbed his drink. “I’m serious!” she snapped. “Leave her alone!” His response was to ignore her completely and head across the club towards the restroom hallway.
“Fuck!”
Amanda was still a little pissed at Abby’s rude remark earlier, but no matter how hurt she might be, she’d never leave a drunk friend alone to fend for herself. Plus there was just something innocent about Abby that made her feel protective. Tomorrow she would rip her a new one, preferably while she had a raging hangover, but for now she needed to get a leash on her friend before things got out of hand.
The clutch she’d loaned Abby was barely big enough to hold her cell phone. Amanda was surprised to see Chris was the only contact programmed into it. Calling him for backup wasn’t her first choice, but she didn’t know who else might be willing to run to Abby’s rescue. To her relief, he answered on the first ring.
“Abby, are you okay?”
“Chris, it’s Amanda.”
“Where’s Abby?”
“Listen, don’t be mad okay? Abby’s with me.”
“Where are you? I’ve tried calling her half a dozen times.” The worry in his voice was unmistakable, and Amanda doubted what she had to say next would make him feel any better.
“We’re at the Eight Oh. She’s really drunk, and I could use some help.”
“She’s drunk.” It was more of a statement than a question, and the worry in his voice was now tinged with irritation.
“She’s a total flyweight,” Amanda insisted. “If I’d known how low her tolerance was, I would have made her stop after one, but we’re way past that now. Look, can you come here? There’s this asshole guy that won’t leave her alone, and she’s mad at me, and I’m afraid if I turn my back on her for a second he’s going to drag her out of here—”
She heard the line go dead just as Abby stepped out of the bathroom. “Get your ass here quick, Chris,” Amanda muttered, desperately hoping he’d hung up and ran for the door rather than just hung up. From where she sat, she could see Mike or Mark or whatever his name was moving in for the kill, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to get Abby away from him.
* * *
Abby emerged from the bathroom and ran smack into Mike’s chest. Before she had time to blink, he pushed her back against the wall and leaned in to kiss her. His breath was a curious mix of smoke, whiskey, and orange Tic Tacs, and his smooth upper lip stood in sharp contrast to Chris’ light mustache. Instinctively her lips parted beneath the insistent probing of his tongue, but when her own tongue began to explore his mouth, alarm bells began going off in the back of her mind. Shut up, she thought angrily, and even in her thoughts, her voice was slurred and dull. Shut up. This guy is normal. He wants normal sex and probably a normal cigarette afterwards too, and so do I! As if to prove it to herself, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him tighter to her.
“Abby, Chris is on his way.”
The words were like a bucket of ice water in her face, and she shoved him roughly away.
“What the hell?” Mike snapped. Her abrupt change of heart had clearly thrown him off his game, and his eyes narrowed in annoyance as he glared at Amanda. “Can’t you find someone else to bother?”
Abby covered her mouth with her hands and turned her eyes to Amanda, who only shook her head and held a hand out to her. Abby reached out to take it, but Mike moved faster. Grabbing Abby’s hand, he pressed her fingertips to his lips and kissed them lightly as he retrieved a pen from his pocket. Ignoring Amanda’s protests, he quickly scribbled a phone number on Abby’s palm.
“Give me a call when you don’t have a babysitter,” he said with a wink, then turned and left the two girls standing in the hallway.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so wasted, I don’t know what I was thinking,” Abby babbled. Amanda said nothing, simply wrapped her arm around Abby’s shoulders and guided her through the club and back out into the cool night air.
“It happens. I’m just glad he gave up so easily. I’ve seen guys get into fistfights over a drunk girl. That’s why I called Chris. There was no way I was going to let him take you out of here.”
Abby closed her eyes and turned her face into the slight breeze. She’d gone out knowing she’d be in trouble, relishing the idea of the spanking she would earn, but this was more than she’d bargained for. Or was it? She wondered if perhaps the real reason she encouraged Mike was because she wanted to push Chris to his limit.
“Amanda, I’m so messed up,” she whimpered, slumping against her friend for support. Amanda tried to shush her, but she was too drunk to stop. “I’m sick. Just ask my mom.”
“If you’re going to be sick, do it in the trash, not on me. I just got this dress,” Amanda warned.
“No, not… I’m sick in the head. That’s why Chris, he’s sick too. Oh God, I miss him.” Her head swam and for a moment she thought she might actually be sick, but her stomac
h settled back down.
They waited outside the club for nearly fifteen minutes, though it felt like hours to Abby. By the time she heard him call out her name, the worst of the alcohol had worn off.
“I got here as fast as I could. Are you okay?”
“I don’t feel good,” she mumbled, her eyes still closed.
“Thanks for coming,” Amanda said. “I managed to run that guy off, but she really needs to go home.”
“Thanks for calling me. I can take it from here.” Chris wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently guided her back down the sidewalk towards a waiting cab. With one hand protectively over her head, he helped her into the backseat and then quickly went around to get in on the other side.
“I was worried sick,” he said tersely as the cab wound its way back onto the now empty street. “I called you three times, and when you didn’t answer, all I could think was that something had happened to you.”
“I’m sorry,” she lied. “I never heard it ring.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped. For a moment she thought he was going to go off on her, but instead he took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow after you’ve sobered up. Right now I just want to get you safely to bed.”
* * *
As the cab wound its way through town, Chris held her close and stroked her hair. He’d been furious earlier, right up until he’d gotten the call from Amanda. Since then he’d just been worried sick, his mind filled with unwelcome images of spiked drinks and gang rapes and things too dark to even consider. Now he was just grateful she was okay, though in the morning they were going to have to have a talk. She’d been growing more and more out of control ever since they’d gone to her family dinner, and it was starting to concern him.
At least he could take her home. Kali was with friends for the weekend and wouldn’t be back until Monday, so they’d have the house to themselves.
“Your fault,” she mumbled, stirring slightly against his chest.
“Excuse me?”
“All your fault,” she slurred. “You like me sick.”
His brow furrowed as he started to ask her what she meant, but the soft snore that drifted up from her told him he’d have to wait until morning for answers.
Chapter Twelve
Abby pulled her soft blanket up under her chin and rolled onto her back, no longer asleep but not quite awake yet either. Rubbing her eyes, she looked up to see something dangling just overhead. She reached up and touched it, and it bounced away from her hand and swung in a circular motion. Giggling, she smacked it again, sending it spinning wildly. The sound of her laughter hurt her ears, and as she began to wake up, she realized her head ached something fierce and her mouth was parched. Blinking, she tried to focus and realized she was staring up at a mobile with assorted zoo animals, the kind usually found hanging over a child’s crib. Grabbing the bars next to her, she pulled herself to a sitting position and took a look around.
What, wait, bars?
Abby’s breath caught as she realized she was in a huge crib with sunshine yellow sheets and a soft blanket to one side. It even had padded bumpers along the bottom edge. She sat frozen in place, one hand clutching the bars of the crib as her eyes darted from wall to wall in stunned amazement. The walls were yellow to match the sheets, with a Noah’s Ark motif painted along the upper border and framed prints of cartoon animals on the walls. In the far corner sat a toy chest, and beside it a bookshelf with an assortment of stuffed animals and thin, small books that she suspected would only have pictures in them. It was the room of an infant, warm and cheerful and comforting, and she was in it.
Even more confusing was what she was wearing. The black and silver bandage dress she’d borrowed from Amanda was nowhere to be seen. In its place she wore a purple cotton onesie complete with footies, and her panties felt suspiciously thick and uncomfortable. She reached back to touch her bottom. It felt bulky and padded, and oddly familiar.
Is that a diaper? She reached for the latch on the crib and quickly released it, lowering the side so she could climb out and stand in the middle of the room. Even more confusing than waking up in it was the fact that it existed at all.
Her memories of the night before were hazy at best and went no further than getting into the cab with Chris. She had to assume he had taken her to Mr. Green’s offices, because if he didn’t, then that would mean he had a baby room in his house, and that posed more questions than it answered.
“Am I wearing a diaper?” The snaps holding the onesie offered no resistance as she snatched the front open and peered inside. Sure enough, where her panties had been the night before she now wore an adult sized diaper. Speechless, she struggled out of the onesie and kicked it across the room, then clawed at the adhesive strips on the diaper until they finally ripped free. Tossing the diaper to the side, she looked into the closet for her clothes but found a brightly colored assortment of children’s styled clothing instead. Jumpers and frilly dresses, gaily stitched jeans, and colorful sneakers filled the racks and shelves. The dresser by the crib yielded similar clothing. Everything was for a small child, but adult sized.
Temporarily forgetting her outrage over the diaper, she stared longingly at the clothing in the closet. It was all so bright and fun, and she would have been overjoyed to see them in her closet as a child. Elizabeth Joan Willis had preferred her daughters dress like miniature adults, and though Abby had often pleaded for playful overalls and silly t-shirts, her mother always refused. Now she was staring at an entire closet full of such clothing, and all of it apparently in her size.
I’d better be at Mr. Green’s place, because if I’m not… She reached into the crib and pulled the fuzzy blanket out, wrapping it around her body as she pulled the bedroom door open. The hallway outside was definitely not like the ones at Spectrum, confirming that she was in fact at Chris’ house.
Why does he have this room? And how long has he had it?
Her heart began to race as she stepped into the hall. The tantalizing aroma of frying bacon guided her down the hall to the kitchen, where she found Chris fixing breakfast. He looked up long enough to smile at her before returning his focus to the bacon in the skillet.
The sight of him standing there shirtless and barefoot, clad only in a pair of loose cotton pants almost made her forget the million questions from two seconds ago. Almost.
“How’s the head?” he asked as he moved the bacon to a paper towel covered plate and reached for a pitcher of pancake mix.
“You put a diaper on me?”
“I took care of you,” he replied quietly, never looking up from the skillet.
“I woke up in a crib in a diaper, Chris! What the hell is that all about?”
He looked up at the wall and sighed. “You were falling down drunk and on the verge of going home with some total stranger when I picked you up, Abby.”
She couldn’t see what one had to do with the other and said so.
“Last night you couldn’t take care of yourself,” he patiently explained. “You were totally out of control, so I brought you home, changed you, and put you to bed.”
“You put me in a crib!”
“Yes, in a crib. Warm and safe and secure. And yes, in a diaper, just in case you were too drunk to wake up to pee. Was it really that terrible for you?” He set the spatula down and turned to meet her scowl. “Or did you only get mad about it after your mother’s voice that you carry in your head started telling you it was bad?”
“Leave her out of it!” Abby snapped.
“Why should I when you don’t?” Chris flipped the pancakes onto a plate and slid it across the table towards her. “We’re so good together, Abby, and you know it, but you let all that crap your mother fills your head with wreck it. The great Elizabeth Joan Willis demands everyone live their life exactly as she’s lived hers, and anyone who doesn’t is mentally ill or a pervert. It’s such bullshit, Abby. There’s nothing wrong with you, or me, or how we relate. Why can’
t you accept that? Why can’t you accept us?”
“Because we’re not normal!” she yelled. Tears began to roll down her face as she finally voiced the fear she’d been living with for the past few months. “People don’t do the things we do!”
“You know damn well that isn’t true,” he said. “Why do you think I’m able to buy children’s clothing in your size? Why are there stores that sell pacifiers and diapers for adults?”
Abby didn’t know how to respond to that. It was a question she’d tried to ignore since the day he’d tied a pacifier to Mr. Jingles. The idea that there were actual stores that catered to adults who wanted to be children had never crossed her mind. She’d just assumed he’d managed to find the occasional odd piece of clothing or toy.
“You know better, honey,” he said, his voice softening as he came around the table and hugged her. “If the world weren’t full of people like us, Mr. Green would be doing lawn care instead of playing matchmaker.”
Abby giggled at the idea of Mr. Green pushing a lawnmower in his expensive linen suit. Pressed tightly to his warm chest, her angry mood quickly evaporated. His bare skin smelled like Saturday morning—soapy and clean, with a hint of bacon and coffee.
Too soon, he pulled away and guided her to her chair, insisting she eat the breakfast he’d fixed her. Abby hadn’t had pancakes since her grandmother had fixed them back when she was eight or nine, and the smell was heavenly.
* * *
Chris handed her the syrup bottle and watched as she picked at her breakfast. It was clear she had a lot of issues to work through before she could truly accept their relationship, but he didn’t know how to help her with it. For starters, he couldn’t decide if she’d been acting out because she wanted to be disciplined or if she was trying to push him away. Perhaps Mr. Green had been right when he’d said Abby needed more rules, more structure. Perhaps the problem lay in giving her too much freedom. One thing was for certain. After last night, her freedom was about to be curtailed in ways he doubted she’d anticipated, and given her behavior over the last week or so, he found himself looking forward to the punishment he’d come up with.
Disciplining Little Abby Page 13
