by Frost, E J
I lean into him while we listen to the cruise director’s presentation. She explains the difference between public and private scenes, punctuating each point with a shake of the pom-poms that accessorize her pink, cheerleader costume.
Her excessive enthusiasm sucks all remaining energy out of me. Between the time change and the tension of last night and the many orgasms, I could really use a nap. I yawn and turn my face into Logan’s waistcoat to cover it.
“Pay attention,” he rumbles. “Each yawn earns you one demerit, little girl.”
I stuff my knuckles in my mouth, determined not to yawn again.
But Tina-the-Psycho-Cheerleader is like a psychic leech. She drains me of every last joule of energy and I earn four demerits listening to her explain the Dungeon Board, Scene Board and Meet-Up Board we saw when we boarded. I’m wondering where I can find toothpicks to prop my eyelids open as she explains that guests can go nude when we reach international waters, which the captain will signal with three blasts of the ship’s horn, and that at least a bathing suit is required in the restaurants.
“If you face-plant into my chest as you fall asleep, little girl, there will be no more orgasms for you today,” Logan murmurs.
That wakes me up.
“Yes, Sir!” I say with alacrity.
Logan chuckles.
I somehow manage to stay awake, and stop yawning, through a presentation by Jason from the Pink Pearl Spa. He’s only slightly less perky than Tina. I wonder if they drink the same energy drinks.
When Jason finishes, Tina bounces on her toes and claps. “That’s it, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you for coming. We at Pink Pearl are so excited to have you on board and here’s to having the best ten days on the kinky high seas!”
There are some faint cheers, and jeers, in the crowd, and some polite clapping, before people begin drifting away.
Logan doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave, or maybe he just doesn’t like fighting the crowds at the stairs. He makes a slow circuit of the embarkation lounge, which has kiosks for everything from currency exchange to shore excursions. As we’re looking at some brochures for an Aztec ruins’ excursion, Niall-the-Viking strides over and claps Logan on the shoulder.
“Glad I found yeh,” he says.
Logan looks unshaken by the Viking’s friendly assault and offers the man his hand.
After they shake, Niall continues, “Vashi realized she didn’t get Emily’s cabin number and didn’t know how to find her again. She’s been beside herself so I came down to see if I could catch yeh at the orientation.” He holds out a slip of paper, which Logan takes. “That’s our suite number.”
“Thanks. We’re in D Three and Five.”
Niall nods and clasps his hands together in front of him, knuckles whitening. “I don’t quite know how to go about this. Is Emily allowed to meet up with Vashi?”
I can see that it’s an effort for him to frame it as a question rather than a command. This is a man who is seriously used to getting his own way.
Logan nods. “Emily’s not a slave. She can answer for herself.”
“I got the wrong end of the stick.” Niall’s dark blue eyes flick to me. “Vashi is a slave. Yeh understand she needs my permission before she agrees to anything?”
I understand the rules of Master and slave perfectly. “Is she free tomorrow at all?”
“Aye, she has my permission to sit at the pool from ten to eleven and three to four on sea days.”
“Am I free, Sir?” I turn the question to Logan, since I haven’t seen my schedule for tomorrow yet.
“Yes, you’re free from three to four tomorrow,” Logan says.
“Thank you, Sir. Master Niall, with your permission, I’d very much like to join Vashi at the pool from three to four tomorrow.”
He didn’t ask me to call him Master, but since he just told me Vashi’s his slave, I observe the etiquette that I would with any Master and slave.
“I’ll tell her.” He gives me a long look. “Yer nicely trained.”
“Thank you, Master Niall,” I say, bowing my head at the compliment.
“Vashi.” He clears his throat and looks a little uncomfortable. “Vashi doesn’t have many friends who understand our lifestyle. Girlfriends, I mean.”
I nod. I don’t have any real-life friends who understand my kink, although Gracie tries. All of my subbie friends are online. “I have the same problem.”
“Good. Yeh’ll understand each other.” Niall smiles and it’s devastating. I want to bathe in that smile, throw myself at his feet, and promise him anything if he’ll smile at me again. God, he’s a strong Dom. I tuck in a little closer to Logan, and he slides his arm around me. “I’ll tell Vashi yeh’ll meet her at the main pool. If something comes up, would yeh be so kind as to drop us a note? Vashi doesn’t deal well with disappointment, so I’d like to prepare her.”
“I won’t disappoint her,” I reassure him. “I’m looking forward to it.”
He smiles at me again, which makes me weak-kneed and thankful I’m not still wearing the Ben Wa balls or I really would be a puddle on the floor, and claps Logan on the shoulder before he turns back into the thinning crowd.
Logan tucks the paper into his pants pocket and kisses my forehead. “That was a first. I’ve been asked for access to my bottoms before, but never for a girly date.”
I grin up at him. “I’ve never had my Dom agree to a girly date before, either. Will you arrange all my playdates from now on, Sir?”
“Sure.” He kisses the end of my nose. “You’re a mischief, baby. Seducing everyone you meet.”
“You told me to make friends.”
“And you were a good girl and did what you were told. Exceeept,” he drawls out the word and a hot shiver runs through me. “You weren’t very focused at the orientation. Four demerits, Miss Martin.”
I look up at him with every ounce of fake contrition I can muster. “Do I get detention?”
He chuckles. “Oh, little girl, I have something far worse than detention planned for you.”
I nearly jump him right there in the middle of the embarkation lounge. “Please, tell me? Sir, please?”
“No, you’ll have to be patient, greedy baby. You’ve had your own way all day today, but you’re in the doghouse now, so Daddy will tell you when he’s good and ready.” At my pout, he shakes his head and says, “Time to get changed for dinner, mischief maker. Cocktails at the captain’s table start at six. I realize you only finished eating lunch two hours ago—”
I stick my tongue out at him.
He pulls me tight to him and lets me feel the hard bar of his arousal against my stomach. “Stick that tongue out at me again tonight and I’ll clamp it. You want to sit at the captain’s table with your tongue clamped so everyone can see what a cheeky, disrespectful girl you’ve been?”
“No, Sir.” I’m immediately repentant and remorseful. For real. I wasn’t disrespecting him. Just being playful. I immediately drop to my knees, and then bow so my forehead touches one of his oxblood lace-ups. “Sorry, Sir.”
“Count to sixty, Emily. Then stand and try that apology again.”
“Yes, Sir.” I shuffle a little to get in a position I can hold for that long. Then I start counting, quietly but aloud, so he can hear me.
As I’m reaching the thirties, another pair of men’s shoes appears in my peripheral vision. These are black, scuffed, and thick-soled. “Logan,” the man says, with a very slight German accent.
“Michael,” Logan responds, and I feel him shift his weight as the men shake hands over my head.
“And this dear girl on a time-out, is this Emily?” the man asks.
“It is. When she’s had a minute to remember how to be respectful, she’s going to stand and apologize and then I’ll introduce you.”
“Excellent, excellent. I understand you’re joining us at the captain’s table tonight. I’ll introduce you to my wife, Teresa. Have you met Captain Lopez yet?”
“No, not yet.” Logan
pauses as I finish counting. “Emily, are you ready to give me a proper apology?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whimper.
“Stand, put your hands behind your back, and apologize.”
Despite the embarrassment of having to apologize in front of an audience, I do, clasping my hands behind me and keeping my head down, eyes lowered. “I’m very sorry I stuck my tongue out at you, Sir. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
“Better,” Logan says. My heart clenches; he hasn’t called me his good girl. I look up at him anxiously. He’s watching me, not smiling, but his eyes are black, crackling with fire. The heat in them burns away my fear. He’s aroused, not angry. “Turn around and curtsey to Dr. Michael Lehmann. Hands behind your back.”
I turn and curtsey to the fifty-something man behind me. He’s wearing black chinos with a heavy silver belt and a charcoal, button-down shirt. He looks like any of the passengers, and I wonder if he’s off-duty.
I wonder whether he wears a pink thong when he’s not.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Lehmann,” I say. “I’m Emily Martin.”
He nods instead of shaking, which is good because Logan’s closed his hand around my wrists and is holding them crossed at the small of my back. I don’t think he’s letting go any time soon, either. God, so domly. I settle into his hold, the way I’ve been taught, letting my shoulders relax.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emily.”
“Michael’s the staff doctor who’s assisting the investigation,” Logan says to me. “He’s sailing with us as far as Cabo.”
I nod and give the doctor a hesitant smile. He smiles back, white teeth in a square face edged by a grey-touched beard. “If you need anything while you’re aboard, Emily, come and find me. My office is on deck four, room five-fifty-two. Do you know how to find the room numbers on the ship?”
I shake my head and look to Logan, who shakes his head, too.
“Come, let me show you.”
The doctor leads us over to a closed door behind the Puerto Vallarta excursions kiosk. He points to a small, silver plaque at the bottom of the door frame on the right side. The plaque is etched with numbers: 377.
“Every room on the ship has a number. They’re numbered sequentially, not by deck like the cabins. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Thank you, Dr. Lehmann.”
“You’re very welcome. I’ll look forward to seeing you two at dinner.”
The doctor shakes Logan’s hand again before he leaves us.
“Have you ever been on a ship this big, Sir?” I ask Logan as he steers me towards the stairs by my wrists.
“No. It’s a monster, isn’t it? I served on subs and gunboats. They’re small by necessity.” He gestures to the distant ceiling as we start up the stairs. The lounge is massive: three floors high and so wide it didn’t feel crowded with two hundred plus passengers gathered for the orientation. “Lots of space to explore. Lots of places to get lost in, so when you’re not in the cabin, I expect you to always carry your phone, Emily.”
“Yes, Sir.” It’s an easy promise to make since I always carry it with me.
“I won’t be able to answer my phone all the time. Especially not when I’m doing interviews,” Logan explains as we climb the stairs. “But I’ll keep it on vibrate and carry it here.” He pats his breast pocket. “You’ll always be able to reach me.”
“Thank you, Sir.” I smile up at him, so he knows how much it means to me to always be able to reach my daddy.
* * *
When we get back to the cabin, Logan dresses me again, taking a white dress from the closet in his room, which he won’t let me peek into, even though I beg. This one’s even more gorgeous than the last: an A-line shift that floats to midthigh from a halter that circles my neck in a white satin collar. I get teary again when he smooths it down my body, rubbing the silky fabric over my breasts. I thank him the only way I know how since he doesn’t want me to get on my knees: peppering kisses over his jaw until he chuckles.
“Here, sweetheart, let’s take this off.” He unclasps the silver necklace, so it doesn’t interfere with the dress’s neckline.
I shiver without the weight of it. My neck feels bare even though it’s circled by the satin halter. I pat the base of my throat forlornly.
I want my necklace back.
“Daddy, please, could I wear the necklace again after dinner?”
Logan raises an eyebrow. “Sure. You like it that much, huh?”
I nod eagerly.
Logan puts it back in its velvet bag and slips the bag into the top drawer of his dresser and locks it. “You can have it back later. It’s sturdy enough to wear all the time, so you can keep it from now on.” He draws his finger in a soft line from my forehead to my nose to my lips to rest at the hollow of my throat. “Are you ready for Morris, sweet baby?”
I nod without hesitation, if a shade less eagerly than over my necklace. The stairs down to the restaurant are going to be a challenge.
“Go into the bathroom, dress up, panties down, brace yourself against the sink and wait for me.” He opens the second drawer of his dresser, which is full of sex toys, neatly lined up on a pink towel.
“Yes, Daddy.”
I pad quickly to the bathroom. Logan’s toiletries are set out on the sink counter, aligned just as neatly as the sex toys. Deodorant, a fancy razor that looks like it should be on the space shuttle, an old-fashioned shaving brush, and sandalwood shaving cream from Taylor of Old Bond Street. No wonder he smells so good. I make a mental note of the brand, which isn’t one I’m familiar with, so I can buy his favorites if I ever get a chance to buy him anything.
“Emmy, while you’re in there, take a look under the sink.”
I open the cabinet door and peer under the sink. There’s a stack of pink towels, which he clearly brought for me since the boat’s towels are white, but I don’t think that’s what he wants me to see. There are dozens of neatly wrapped cakes of soap piled under the sink: stacks and stacks of them. There must be over a hundred. Puzzled, I close the cabinet door and arrange myself as instructed.
Logan enters a moment later and sets a condom-wrapped, bright purple, butt plug and a tube of lube on the sink. He runs his hand over my ass, warming my skin and making me wiggle.
“That’s a lotta soap, huh?” he says.
“Why have they left you a hundred cakes of soap?”
“No idea. I guess they think I’m really dirty. I hate to disappoint them, but I brought my own shower gel. Their soap smells like flowers. Bit girly for me.” He squeezes some lube on his gloved fingers. “Relax your shoulders, baby. I’m going to touch you now.” He rubs a cool path down the cleft of my ass to the pucker, then circles his slick fingers over my sphincter, around and around. The motion’s hypnotic. I relax back into his hand, feeling everything inside me loosen. There’s no discomfort when he presses his finger into me. It just feels full. After a moment, my sphincter relaxes and the pressure inside me starts to feel good, in a very bad way. I shouldn’t be enjoying his finger in my ass, but I am. He works his finger, sliding it in and out, and I get caught up in his rhythm.
He puts his free hand between my shoulder blades and leans over me. “Your pussy’s flaring, sweetheart. I think you like that.”
I don’t try to deny it. Even without Logan’s insistence on honesty, it’s important to be truthful with my Dom about what I like and what I don’t.
“Yes, Daddy.” I lower my shoulders, so my back stretches and my ass tips up further. When I push back into his finger, he rewards me with long, slow thrusts, all the way in, all the way out. God, that feels so bad-good.
“That’s my girl. You ready for your plug?”
“Yes, please.”
He picks up Morris from near my elbow. His finger slides out of me and Morris’s blunt tip presses in a moment later. I take a deep breath, clench and then push back. I don’t need any more than the one breath, because there’s no fear this time. I know Logan’s not going to da
mage me; he’s too careful for that. I’m still nervous about being plugged, but it’s a good kind of nervous. It’s an anxiety that makes my blood race and my body flush like I have a fever, but not the kind that shuts down my mind. He slides Morris into me, pulls back gently on the base to test the seat, and, when he’s satisfied, takes off the glove and rubs my ass with his hands, skin to skin.
“This is looking much better, baby,” he says. He must be looking at my bruises. “Do you want some more cream on it before we go down to dinner?”
“No, Daddy, it feels fine.” I took painkillers this morning after breakfast but didn’t need them after that and didn’t even notice my ass during lunch, but then, I was distracted by the Ben Wa balls and book talk.
“Sweet little girl. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look with my marks and my plug in your ass? So beautiful.”
I’m not beautiful. Maman despaired about my plainness for years and I know what the mirror tells me. But under his hand, under his growly words, I melt and believe that, maybe, I’m a little bit beautiful.
“Tomorrow, we’ll do something fun while you’re wearing Morris.” With a last rub, he slides my panties back up my legs and smooths them into place. “Tonight, I want you to wear Morris through the cocktails and appetizer, and then we’ll excuse ourselves before the entrées and take Morris out. After dinner, you’ll clear Daddy’s place and give the dishes to the waiter. You’ll pick up all the crumbs from around Daddy’s plate and either eat them or put them in a napkin. You’ll do that for every meal we have together from now on. This is the plate ritual. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Come on up.” He offers me his hand and when I push back from the sink, he helps me stand. Then he runs his hands through my hair and holds me still for a kiss. “You look gorgeous. You’ve got such light in your eyes. Are you having a good time, baby?”
