The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  “Where?”

  “My ribs, most of all. Matthew didn’t like hitting my ribs because he said I’ve got too little padding.”

  I slide my hand down to the part in question and rub, feeling each of her ribs under her shirt and skin. Her old Dom is right: there’s not much padding. I can feel the bones distinctly. That doesn’t preclude hitting her there; I just need to be careful.

  “You know what I like best on the ribs?” I ask her. When she shakes her head and looks at me wide-eyed, I say, “That stingy tawse I used on your calves. It really pops and sings against bone. Should I pack that for the cruise?”

  Emily nods eagerly. “Could we use it again tonight, sir?”

  Greedy little girl. Wonderful. “I have something else in mind for tonight, or tomorrow morning, depending on how good you are. You’ve had an orgasm. I think it’s Daddy’s turn now. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. Now?”

  She looks even more eager than when we were discussing the tawse. Her little hand drifts to my thigh and strokes tentatively. I place my hand over hers and draw it upward, helping her open my fly and slide her hand in over my cock.

  “Just play for now, baby doll. Explore me a little. We’re not that far from my place, so I’m not going to come before we get home and you’re not going to try to make me. Deal?”

  Her lower lip juts out a little, but she nods and starts exploring very enthusiastically, feathering her fingertips all over my shaft and balls, alternating strokes from the pads of her fingers with little scratches from her short nails that have me growling and straining against her fingers. I’m not a masochist, but pain there when I’m hard absolutely turns my crank. Whether Emily intuits this or just gets lucky exploring, she starts chasing it: palming my cock softly and then closing her hand over my glans and squeezing me in an eye-watering fist, swirling her fingertips over and over my scrotum before giving the skin between my testicles a truly wicked pinch, long-stroking my shaft in between working the sensitive ridge where my cock head meets my shaft between her thumb and forefinger. I’m close to the edge when Manny turns onto my street.

  “Damn.” I put my hand over hers and stop the hot torment. “We’re here, sweetheart.”

  “Oh. Boo.”

  I want to laugh at her cute disappointment but I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her. I peck her on the temple, straighten my clothes, and when Manny stops the car, have us both unbuckled and climbing out before he even has a chance to get out of the driver’s seat to open the door.

  I lean my forearm across his open window, so he doesn’t get any ideas about getting out. He doesn’t need to see what’s going on in my pants.

  “Thanks for tonight, man. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He fist-bumps me and winks. “Have a great night. You still coming for dinner on Wednesday?”

  “Yeah, absolutely. Tell Jen I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Anything but spaghetti, huh?”

  I chuckle and slap him on the shoulder.

  Chapter Six

  Emily

  Logan shows me through the front door of his brownstone. I don’t see him use a key or anything to unlock the door. He just opens it. Surely, he didn’t leave it unlocked in the middle of the East Village? Maybe it’s a P.I. thing. Or maybe he has something really cool like a retinal scanner. But I don’t see any red light. Isn’t there a red light for a retinal scanner?

  “I’m going to get us some water, baby doll,” he says. “You head upstairs and use the bathroom if you need it. Then meet me in the bedroom.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He kisses me on the top of the head as he passes on the way to the kitchen. I skip up the stairs—so much easier without that damn butt plug—and into his bathroom, which is all spotless cream and blue tile. His place is really clean, particularly for a guy’s house. Maybe it’s a military thing, or maybe he cleaned up for me? That thought has me hugging myself as I use the toilet, which I’ve needed to for a while but no way was I doing it in front of him.

  I look longingly at his shower: an old-fashioned claw-foot tub with a huge waterfall shower head. I feel sticky from all the sweating I’ve done this evening, particularly between my legs. I’m pretty sure we’re going to have sex now—at last—and I really don’t want to smell. That horrible possibility has me poking my head back down the stairs.

  “Sir, could I take a quick shower?”

  “Of course,” he shouts from somewhere below. “Use anything you want.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I skip down to his bedroom to grab my toiletry bag, then dive into the shower. I keep it as brief as possible, since I’m probably delaying his orgasm, but the shower feels so good. One of the bottles of body wash in his shower-caddy is labelled “Coconut Passion,” with an explosion of coconuts and tropical flowers on the label. I’m guessing that’s not Logan’s. I scowl at it as I use my own.

  When I turn off the pounding shower and climb out, I find a pile of pink towels set on the edge of the sink. Are they for me? Did he buy me pink towels as well as a purple butt plug? The other woman’s body wash in his shower pales into insignificance. The amount of thought he puts into topping me makes me teary. Is it because he’s older than any of my previous Doms, and more mature than all of them put together? Or is it his scarily extensive experience? If it’s the latter, that number just got much less horrific.

  I towel off and squeeze-dry my hair, which I’ve only rinsed since I didn’t want to take the time to shampoo and condition. Getting back into my sweat-damp uniform has no appeal, so I wrap up in the biggest of the towels, which covers me almost to my knees, and carry my clothes back into his bedroom.

  Logan greets me with a smile. He’s put music on. Crazy Town’s “Butterfly,” which I haven’t heard in years, but immediately begin humming. Such a catchy, filthy tune. He’s also put on a bathrobe, which is disappointing because I really, really want to see him naked. But the belted robe accentuates his yummy man-triangle of broad shoulders, lean waist and hips, so it’s not all bad.

  “Feel better, baby?”

  I nod. “Thank you for letting me use your shower.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m going to jump in for a minute. Do you need anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  When he leaves, I get a view of his backside in the robe, which is much better. The fabric pulls tight across his ass as he walks. Swoon.

  I wander around his bedroom, brushing out my damp hair. Other than the armoire full of sex toys and a lot of attachment points on the bed frame, his bedroom is surprisingly normal. The furniture is heavy, dark, and old. The art deco lamps on the night tables on either side of the bed look like antiques, but I can’t see Logan buying them. Are they family heirlooms like the portrait in the hallway? They’re really not him, no more than the granny curtains. Why hasn’t he redecorated? Is it that he didn’t care enough to, or that he’s kept it deliberately as it was as an homage to his parents? Logan doesn’t seem sentimental but I don’t know him very well yet.

  What I don’t see, anywhere other than the stupid coconut body wash, is any sign of his former sub. Sure, it’s been six months, but Logan was with Miranda for a long time. It’s hard to scrub someone out of your life when they’ve been part of it for that long. I know. I kept finding bits of Ash in my life for years after the divorce.

  I don’t see anything of Miranda—or any other woman—in Logan’s house. No womanly touches. No pictures. No spaces where pictures have been taken down. Whatever Miranda was to him, she didn’t leave her mark on his home. That makes me smile, as does the pair of pink towels folded on the nightstand, and the collection of toys he’s left on top of them.

  I’m scrolling through the playlist on his phone, which he’s set in a speaker dock, when he returns, his hair standing in wet spikes and his chin red. I can smell the woo
dsy spice of his aftershave as he comes up behind me, sweeps my hair over my shoulder and kisses my neck.

  “Anything on there you don’t like?” he asks.

  His musical tastes are more mainstream than mine, but there’s nothing on his “Music to Fuck Emily To” playlist that I don’t like. LL Cool J’s “Doing It” is on now, and I think he picked it for more than the beat.

  “She calls him Daddy,” I observe, referring to the lyrics.

  “Yes, she does. But it’s not as cute as when you do it.”

  I twist my neck so I can look up at him. “Do you really think it’s cute?”

  “I do. Everything I’ve seen of your little so far is adorable. Even the bratty bits. Does your little come out during sex, too? Or is it just during play?”

  “During sex if that’s okay with you, sir?”

  “It’s very okay with me. Play’s not the only place that’s safe, baby doll. Sex is a safe space, too. When we get to know each other well enough, everywhere will be safe when you’re with me, because I’ll know exactly what you need. Is that something you’d like to work towards?”

  Does he even understand what he’s offering? It’s like coming over the final mountain and seeing the Promised Land on the horizon. I pick my jaw up off the floor and manage, “Yes, sir, I’d like that very much.”

  I only realize that my eyes have filled when he flicks his thumb under them and wipes away wetness. “Would that be a big thing for you, being little all the time? Have you ever been before?”

  “It would be a huge big thing.” Lew wanted me to be little all the time, but it was all too new to me, and giving up that much control terrified me. Since then, it hasn’t even been a possibility. I’ve only been able to be little in scenes.

  “We’ll work towards it, then. Lots of good things to come, huh?” He strokes his hand down my face and clasps my throat gently. “We’re going to have so much fun together, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you, Daddy. I’ve already had a great time tonight.”

  “Good. I’m glad nothing spoiled it. I really enjoyed our scene and dancing with you was magic.” He strokes my throat. “Do you want to keep playing, or do you want to sleep and play when we wake up? I’m not pushing, sweetheart. There’s no need for us to rush if you’re tired and just want to snuggle and relax.”

  I melt all over him and he wipes tears away again. “I’d really like to keep playing, Daddy.”

  “Good girl. I’m going to warm you up before we fuck. The first time, I want to fuck face-to-face, so I can see your eyes when I enter you and when you come. Then we’ll do it from behind and play hunt the G-spot. How does that sound?”

  Like the gates of the Promised Land have swung open. “Great. Really, really great.”

  “Good. Let’s start by getting these nipple clamps off you. I noticed you left them on through your shower. That’s a very good girl. I’m really proud of you, Emily.”

  His words sizzle all through me, making everything from my nipples to my clit tingle. I didn’t even consider taking the clamps off during my shower. He said what he puts on, he takes off. Taking off the clamps myself would be like reaching for the check. I’m never making that mistake again.

  “Up on the bed, then, baby. Spread the towel out under you in case we make a mess and lie on your back with your head off the edge of the bed.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” I scramble to follow orders.

  When I’m arranged on the bed, lying on the towel, my head back, knees up, Logan joins me. He stands beside me at first, examining my position, sliding a pillow under my arched neck and another under my hips. Then he moves around behind me, his closed robe brushing my forehead. He strokes me with his big, warm hands, sliding them from my upraised knees to my inner thighs and back again a few times, before he trails his hands up my belly and cups my breasts. “How do these feel?” he asks, squeezing my clamped nipples gently.

  “Owie, Daddy.”

  He chuckles, looking at me upside-down. I can guess why he’s put me in this position. Maybe throat training starts tonight. That thought makes all my nerves sizzle again.

  “Owie, huh? Well, then, let’s get them off you.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Mmm.” He slides his hand up and cups my throat again. “That’s what I like to hear. Lots of pleases and thank yous from my grateful little girl. Can you be polite when you’re little? Or is your little only bratty?”

  “No, Daddy. I can be polite.” I can tell he’s trying hard to understand my little headspace. His efforts make me teary again.

  “You know what little girls say to be polite in England?” he asks, stroking my arched throat. He doesn’t put any pressure on it, which is good because I’m already getting a head-rush.

  “No, Daddy.”

  “Little girls say ‘ta’ instead of ‘thank you.’ I’d like to hear that. Can you say it for me?”

  “Ta, Daddy.”

  “That’s right. When I take off these clamps you’re going to say ‘ta very much’.”

  I nod, working my throat against his hand.

  He reaches down and unclamps my left nipple. I gasp as the blood rushes back into it. A little nuclear detonation going off in my tit. He presses his thumb against it, so hard I can feel the blood throbbing against his firm flesh. Blinking back tears, I gasp, “Ta very much, Daddy.”

  He grins. “You’re welcome, baby doll. I’m going to clamp your nipples often. They’re so pretty. Like little rosebuds.”

  He plays with my freed nipple, stroking and tugging until I see stars and heat zings from my breast to my belly. Then he frees my right nipple and gives it the same treatment. I squirm helplessly on the towel, overwhelmed by all the sensations. He’s tugging and rolling and pinching my nipples so hard my breasts feel fever-hot. The towel’s slightly rough against my abraded backside, and when I straighten my legs, the towel brushes sandpaper kisses over the sensitized skin of my calves. I whimper and Logan chuckles.

  “I can smell you, gingerbread baby.” He releases my nipple and reaches down between my thighs to give my clit a little rub that has me arching up off the bed.

  He can smell me? Even after my shower? I moan with embarrassment and feel even more heat rise to my face. Then a truly horrible thought hits me. “Do you even like gingerbread?”

  He laughs, deep and masculine. The happy sound of a man about to get laid. His laughter makes me bubbly and warm and I don’t even need him to say, “I love gingerbread,” to reassure me.

  “You have the sweetest smell,” he continues. Then he lifts his fingertips to his mouth and licks them. “Mm, and the sweetest taste. My gingerbread baby.”

  He undoes the waist tie on his robe and lets it hang open. I have an upside-down view of his bronzed torso: firm chest and stomach, cut hips, the complicated heart, chain and anchor tattoo close to his trimmed, black curls, and hanging between his strong thighs, his distended cock.

  His cock is beautiful. Having seen it erect, I know it’s curved and thick enough that he’ll more than fill me. It is already flushed red, the glans extended, shaft heavy with veins.

  “Please may I touch you?” I ask, tentatively reaching for him.

  “Good girl for asking.” He guides my hands to him, my fingertips to his balls, the other palm to his shaft. “A baby girl needs toys to play with, doesn’t she?”

  I nod eagerly.

  “Then these can be baby’s toys.” He groans as I rub his shaft and stroke his firm, dark sac. “What do you say?”

  “Thank you for my toys, Daddy.” None of my Doms have let me play with their bodies freely, or given me their cock and balls as toys.

  “Ta,” he reminds me.

  I swallow hard. How could I forget? “I’m sorry, Daddy. Ta very much for my toys.” I wait to see if he’s going to punish me for forgetting, but he just smiles down at me. “Can I name them?”

  He chuckles. “What makes you think they don’t have names already?”

  He’s named them? “Pleas
e tell me their names.” I press my hands together in a “pretty please” gesture.

  Logan guides my hands back to the parts in question before he answers, “Fuzzie, Wuzzie, and Winky.”

  He winks at me.

  “No, they’re not, Daddy. Don’t tease.”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He traces a cross over his heart with his forefinger before reaching down and cupping my face. “Would my baby girl like Winky in her mouth while Daddy warms her up?”

  I nod and open my mouth hopefully. Logan chuckles and traces my lips with his fingertip. “Mmm, little dry.” He reaches over to the night-stand, opens a drawer, takes out a tube of lip balm and applies it carefully to my lips while my heart swells in my chest.

  “Ta very much, Daddy,” I whisper earnestly when he finishes.

  “You’re welcome.” He thumbs my moistened lips firmly, until they feel swollen and ripe, before sliding his thumb into my mouth. I suck on it gently while he talks. “Rules during the warm up.”

  I stop sucking so I can pay attention to each word.

  “One, no craziness with Daddy’s cock. This is just the warm up. I want to get to finally fuck my baby doll. If you make me come in your mouth, you’ll get a paddling you’ll never forget. Two, I might not hear you if you use your safe word while I’m in your mouth, so if you need to stop, slap my hip three times. Three, I’m going to spank your pussy to warm you up. This is not discipline or something to be endured. This is to get those endorphins flowing and make your pussy nice and swollen for Daddy to fuck. If it hurts in a bad way, let me know. Are we clear?”

  Closing my teeth lightly on his thumb so it doesn’t slip out of my mouth, I nod.

  “Good girl. I know you’re going to follow these rules because you’re my sweet baby girl, Emily. I’m very pleased with the way you follow direction.”

  I nod again and mumble around his thumb. “Except when I weach for the check.”

  Logan chuckles. “You won’t do that again, will you?”