The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  I glance over my shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. He said he didn’t want me to stop playing with him, and that he wanted me to let my little out all the time.

  The little in me wants to play hide-and-seek.

  I take the paddle and push it between the mattress and box-spring of his bed, then smooth out the dark green fitted sheet. I perch on the edge of the bed, on top of where I’ve hidden the paddle, and drink my water.

  The music switches over to Christina Aguilera’s “Genie in the Bottle” and I giggle between sips of water at how appropriate the song is. Despite his mainstream musical taste, I love that Logan’s made a sex playlist for me. It’s another of those perfect gestures he makes that light me up inside. I just hope he’ll keep seeing the things I do in return as fun and playful instead of annoying and inane.

  By the time he returns, I’ve worked myself up into nervous jitters. I smell sandalwood and can see from the redness of his jaw that he’s shaved again for me. For me. He’s perfect and I’m the idiot who hid the paddle while he was out of the room.

  I hop off the bed, retrieve the paddle from its hiding place, take it to him and drop to the floor at his feet, kneeling, then pressing my forehead to the carpet in the full-submission pose Matthew taught me.

  Logan’s silent for a moment. Then he squats over me and rubs his balls in my hair. Omigod, that’s such a dominant move, and he’s barely touching me.

  “What are you doing down there, little girl?” he asks, low and rough.

  “I’m being very, very sorry, sir.”

  “What are you sorry for?”

  I turn my head to the side so I can breathe without inhaling the faint mustiness of his carpet, and say into his instep, “I’m scared of not doing things right, sir. I wanted to play hide-and-seek so I hid the paddle but then I thought you might be angry with me or think that I was trying to get out of my punishment, which I’m not, I just wanted—“

  “Shh,” he soothes. He rocks a little over me, so his balls scrunch in my hair, and places his hands on my hips. “Relax, Emmy. Is this position comfortable? It doesn’t look it.”

  “Not really,” I admit. My knees are grumbling. I should do more yoga. I stretch my arms out, then wrap my hands around his ankles, which Matthew wouldn’t have allowed. But Matthew wasn’t my Daddy. Not the way Logan’s become in less than forty-eight hours. Which is too soon and stupid and I’ll be terrified about it later when he’s not pinning me to the carpet with his balls.

  “Hold it for me until the song ends. Then I’m going to let you up and you’re going to hide the paddle again while I cover my eyes. We’ll play ‘hotter, colder’. Do you know that version of hide-and-seek?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Good girl. Emmy, don’t be afraid of playing with Daddy.”

  “Even during sexytimes?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Even during sexytimes,” Logan confirms, and I feel the tension tightening my back melt away. I go jello-boned again. I could hold this position forever if that’s what he wanted.

  I turn my face into the carpet and whisper something I shouldn’t be feeling and can’t tell him but have to let out before my little bolts for the window, throws it open and screams it to the neighborhood.

  “What was that, Emmy?” he asks, rocking back and forth, squashing his balls against my head. It must hurt, but he likes a little pain when he’s aroused, which is also different from my other Doms. I have to stop comparing him to them. He’s different. He’s unique. He’s Logan and he’s my daddy.

  I turn my head back, nuzzle into his instep and kiss it. “Ta so very, very much, Daddy,” I say. Which is part of what I said, and I am feeling so very grateful to him.

  “Mmm, baby doll.” He kneads my hips and ass with his werewolf paws and I can’t help arching and lifting to his touch even though it really does make my knees wail. “I like that. Other foot.”

  I turn my head the other way, which hurts my nose as I rub it through the carpet, but I don’t want to head-butt his balls. Then I inch my head over until my face is against his left foot and kiss his instep. He has runner’s feet: gnarled toes and knobby joints and prominent veins. Maybe he’d like it if I rubbed his feet.

  He holds me there, rocking slightly, scrunching his balls through my hair, the motion and sound hypnotic against the backdrop of Christina Aguilera’s crooning. My knees are howling by the end of the song and I’m silently promising them that I’ll start yoga classes again the minute I return from the cruise.

  Finally, he lifts off me and says, “I’m going to cover my eyes. You have a count of ten to hide the paddle. If I find it within a minute, that’s another ten smacks. If it takes me longer than ten minutes to find it, I’ll take off a smack for every minute. Ready?”

  I give his foot a final kiss and stretch before I say, “Yes, Daddy.”

  He covers his eyes with his hands and I bounce up on my toes to kiss the backs of his hands before I leap away, run around the room twice as he counts, then stick the paddle back where I’d originally hidden it, smooth the sheet and hop up onto the bed as he finishes counting. I cross my legs and try to look nonchalant as he takes his hands away from his eyes.

  He looks me up and down, looks toward the window and purses his mouth while I giggle, “Colder, Daddy.”

  He takes one big step to the edge of the bed, reaches down, grabs my ankles and flips me back onto the bed. He grabs the paddle out of its hiding place and slaps it across the backs of my thighs while he holds my ankles in the air.

  “No fair!” I screech. “Daddy cheated!”

  He whips the paddle back in the other direction and I really do howl then. It stings like I’ve sat in a hornet’s nest.

  “Daddy doesn’t cheat,” Logan growls, yanking my ankles higher. “Not ever. What do you say?”

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I whimper, stuffing my fists over my mouth. I didn’t mean to accuse him of cheating. I was just surprised he found the paddle so fast.

  “That’s ten extra then. I’ll take them like this. Count, Emily.”

  His tone jolts me straight out of little-space. I try to lift my head to peer around my legs at him, but he’s holding my ankles so high I can’t see him. I need to see his face. Is he going to punish me when he’s really angry? Is he going to hurt me for real?

  “Sir, wait, please, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a cheater. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

  Logan tilts his head so I can see his face. He’s frowning and his ears are flushed. “No, you shouldn’t have. I don’t lie and I don’t cheat. And hiding something in the same spot is the oldest trick in the book. I’m not as stupid as I look, either. Now take your ten. Count, Emily.”

  Oh, God, I’ve insulted his intelligence! No wonder he’s angry. I feel the hot rush of tears. “Sir, please can we stop? I need to explain.”

  “After I’m done,” he says, and it’s not his wolfy growl.

  I cover my face with my hands and start to cry, holding myself still for the paddling I’m now desperately afraid of.

  I hear him curse softly, then he lowers my legs. He reaches under my shoulders and picks me up. Holding me to his chest in that koala-carry, he turns around and sits on the bed so I’m straddling his lap. He brushes my hair back from my face and wipes my eyes.

  “What just happened there?”

  “When I’m little, I don’t think in adult,” I wail. “I wasn’t being insulting hiding the paddle in the same place. I thought it was clever.”

  “Ah.” Logan’s face goes blank for a second, then he nods to himself and pulls my face into his neck and rubs my back. “Sorry, Emmy. I misunderstood. The things I read . . . well, some of it wasn’t right.”

  “Wa-what did you read?”

  “Some of what I read made it seem like you’re playing at being a kid, but you still think like an adult. But you’re not, are you?”

  “Being little isn’t age play. Not for me.” Please, please let him understand, because I’ve never
been good at explaining where my head is at when I let my little out.

  “Okay, sweetie. Give me some time to get used to it, okay?”

  Time. The male euphemism for, “you’ve fucked it up and I need a way out but we’ve still got nine hours before your train and I’ve got a hard-on.”

  I cry harder. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry. I can be adult. We don’t have to be little and Daddy—”

  “Shh.” He hugs me tight. “Shh, Emmy. Relax. I’m not rejecting you, or your little. Shh. I’m just trying to understand where I went wrong.” He strokes my head and cuddles me close. “Can you handle physical discipline when you’re really little?”

  What kind of question is that? Of course, I can. Didn’t I prove it last night with the tawse? I hiccup as I try to understand why he’d ask me that. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then maybe I don’t understand. Why did you fall apart just then? I felt you switch over. That crying was fucking heart-breaking. I hurt you somehow. It couldn’t have been physical, because those two smacks with the paddle were nothing compared to what I gave you with the tawse. Did I do something that hurt your little? Is that it?”

  Now I understand his question. I burrow deeper into him. “I get scared when Daddy’s angry at me for real.”

  “Ah, okay.” He rubs my back. “I was angry at you for a minute there. I understand. I’m sorry I scared you. When we’re playing, I need to stay in the game with you. I can do that. Let’s try this again. I’m going to cover my eyes and count to ten and you’re going to hide the paddle again. Not in the same spot, you monkey. Then we’re going to play ‘hotter, colder,’ until Daddy finds the paddle and you’ll get ten with it. Just ten. Is that fair, baby doll?”

  He wants to try again? I press my lips into his neck and mouth the words I said into the carpet, then lift my head and say, “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Good girl. We’re okay, Emmy. Look at me,” He runs his hand up my back, under my hair and cups my nape. I meet his eyes and see the sincerity there. “I told you I don’t always get it right the first time, didn’t I? But I also told you that I always finish a scene. That’s me. I’m not perfect, but I don’t give up. Don’t give up on me, okay?”

  I throw my arms around his neck. “Never, Daddy.”

  “That’s my good girl. Up you come.” He helps me off his lap and hands me the paddle. “Here you go.”

  I stand and watch him for a moment, checking for any sign that he’s not into this. I’m not giving up on him, but if Daddy isn’t really where his heart is, I can just be his subbie for a couple of weeks.

  Logan winks at me before he puts his hands over his eyes. “One, little monkey. Two, little monkey.”

  I race around the room, opening and closing drawers before I finally slip the paddle between the two folded pink towels still sitting on the night-table, smooth them carefully and then climb up on the bed and throw my arms around Logan where he’s still sitting, facing away from me. I smooch him behind the ear. “Ten, Daddy.”

  He reaches back and grabs my hips, then stands, hoisting me onto his back. I squeal as he bounces me into position. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I cling to his big shoulders and nuzzle the back of his neck.

  “You good there, little girl?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” I say happily.

  “Am I hot or cold?”

  “Daddy’s smoking hot, but cold at the moment.”

  He reaches back and pinches my sore butt-cheek, eliciting another squeal.

  He totes me around on his back while he hunts for the paddle, finding it in much less than ten minutes. For a moment, I’m afraid that he’ll criticize my hiding place again, but he just tosses the paddle in his hand as he slides me off his back and drops me onto the bed.

  “On your back, baby doll, knees to your chest, hold on to your calves.”

  While I get into position, he slips off his robe and hangs it on the back of the door. He walks back to the bed naked and although I feel ridiculous peering between my legs to ogle him, I do. He grins when he sees me, and wiggles his hips so his distended cock slaps against his thighs, which make me giggle.

  He sits on the edge of the bed and traces each of my legs from my heel to the first stripe where my thigh meets my ass. His touch is light, just trailing his fingertips over my skin, but that’s all it takes to make my nerves sizzle.

  “Where does being paddled hurt most, Emmy?” he asks. His growly tone makes me shiver.

  “Here.” I point at the juncture of thigh and butt-cheek, where I’m already wearing a stripe from his belt.

  “Uh-huh. So, we’ll go a little higher with these. Five on each leg. Do you think that will help you remember to ask permission before each orgasm and say thank you after?”

  I nod earnestly.

  “Good girl. Do you want Daddy to help hold you?”

  “Yes, please, Daddy.” My biggest fear when being punished isn’t the pain, but that I’ll disappoint my Dom.

  Logan puts his hand, light but firm, behind my left knee.

  “Head back, baby. This paddle is whippy and I don’t want to catch your face. Here we go. Count them out.”

  I wait this time until he smacks me with the paddle before gasping out the count. The strokes are lighter than he’d give me on the ass, but he wasn’t kidding about the paddle being whippy. It wraps my leg, covering the whole back of my thigh and smacking my IT band at the end of the stroke, which knocks the wind out of me, the pain’s so sharp. I whimper and pant and jerk. Logan’s dark eyes follow each movement, drinking in my pain. For the fourth stroke, he turns the paddle and strikes the length of my thigh, which brings fresh tears to my eyes. His turn feral. The last stroke is almost a caress, a French kiss of flame, and leaves me shaking.

  “How are you doing, Emmy?” he asks after the fifth stroke.

  I nod but don’t try to speak because I’m sure my voice will break. His eyes flick over my face. He releases my knee and puts the paddle down on the bed. His fingers feather over my flaming skin, drawing another whimper out of me.

  “Let go of your legs, baby,” he says gently, and when I do, he pulls me up into his arms.

  “Daddy?” I whisper, still not trusting my voice, and not understanding why we’ve stopped mid-punishment.

  “Give us a cuddle, then we’ll finish up,” he says.

  I like the sound of that. I’m feeling shaky, even though I’ve had harder beatings. Something about this morning—our disrupted hide-and-seek game, Satan’s damn paddle, him watching me take the pain—is breaking me down more than usual. “Another great Daddy idea,” I mumble, sinking into his warm embrace.

  He holds me for several minutes, humming deep in his chest. I bury my face in his neck, and to my surprise, find myself crying. These aren’t sad tears, or pain tears, or even angry, bitter tears. I’m not even sure why I’m crying. I just am, and Logan lets me, holds me, rocks me. When I trail off into sniffles, I wipe his neck and my face self-consciously and say, “Sorry, Daddy.”

  “Don’t be sorry, baby. I could see you were struggling. Paddle’s intense, isn’t it?”

  I nod against his neck. “And you’re watching me.”

  “Is that why you’re having a hard time? Because you can see my face?”

  I shake my head. “It just makes it more intense. I can keep going, Daddy. Promise. I’m not upset. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m not usually this weepy.”

  “Emotional intensity.” Logan strokes my hair. “It’s okay to be emotional with me, baby. You’re doing a great job of processing the pain, but if you’ve had enough, say so. This has been a very full-on first date.”

  That he’s giving me the option makes it totally okay. “I want to keep going, Daddy. Can I still have an orgasm?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. Maybe even two.”

  That makes all the ups and downs worthwhile. “What are we waiting for, Daddy?!” I bounce on my un-paddled leg.

  Logan chuckles. “Okay, nympho-baby. On your back. Knees to your chest. Wrap your
arms around your knees this time and get that bum up.”

  “Yes, sir!” I disentangle myself, give him a quick salute and hit the deck, getting back into position with such alacrity, Logan’s chuckle deepens to a belly laugh.

  “Someone’s eager,” he says.

  “Me, Daddy.”

  “Oh, it’s you this time, when you’re about to get an orgasm, huh?”

  I nod and pull my knees in tight so my ass tips up. “Still me, Daddy.”

  He rubs my right thigh, warming up my skin. “Still you? But it wasn’t you last night when someone was cute and noodle-y from her orgasms.”

  “Not me. I’m super-tough. That was Daddy.”

  “Sure it was. Okay, tough girl. Five more with Daddy’s whippy paddle. Head back.”

  I drop my head back and wait. He rubs the back of my leg for another few seconds, before sliding his hand under my ass and pushing his thumb into my pussy. He leaves it there, flicking it inside me, while he picks up the paddle and gives me three hard, fast strokes with the paddle, tapping my IT band with each one so I gasp and jerk.

  “Owie, Daddy,” I say as he repositions the paddle to give me that long stroke up the length of my leg.

  “Uh-huh. Is that owie making you all wet, baby doll? And don’t you dare say, ‘you, Daddy,’ because I’m not the one who is wet here.”

  I squeeze my pussy around his thumb and say, “You, Daddy.”

  “You are such a naughty little girl sometimes, Emmy. Five more for that.”

  As long as he keeps moving his thumb inside me, he can give me as many as he wants. “Still you, Daddy.”

  “You’ve bought these, monkey. Here they come.” He gives me the agonizing fourth stroke and the caressing fifth stroke that make me shudder all over. As I’m shaking, he removes his thumb and I wail with loss, which makes him chuckle. He spreads his hand behind my knees, gripping them, and gives me five smart smacks with the paddle across the backs of both thighs, making me wail for a completely different reason.

  “Ta very much, Daddy,” I whimper when it’s over, and rub my smarting legs when he lets me.

  “Good girl, Emmy.” His hands, cool against my overheated skin, follow mine. “Will you mind your Ps and Qs now?”