The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  “Yeah, what she said!” Spunky Mikaela has jogged up next to me, and the male sub with the outrageous shorts is a step behind her, his arms crossed over his skinny chest.

  Logan roars at me. He raises his sword and charges. Behind him, his phalanx of knights follow suit. All of a sudden, there are a dozen men with plastic swords running at me.

  With an undignified exclamation, my inner Buttercup totally abandons me, the bitch. “Eep!”

  “Omigawd, this is Sparta!” Gold-shorts shrieks beside me.

  “Flee!” I grab my skirts in one hand and Mikaela’s in the other and run for it.

  Screaming, some with laughter, the wenches bolt in a dozen different directions, penned in by the half-wall. Princess Amber’s castle becomes a sheering pen full of milling, baaing subbies. Neither Gabriela nor Shaan flee. Gabriela crosses her legs and smooths her skirts over her knee while covering what I think is laughter with a finger across her lips. Shaan stays put for a different reason and I wonder as I dart behind my “throne” whether Niall knew what was coming and left him tied up for easy retrieval.

  Mikaela lands on her knees next to me, laughing so hard she has trouble grabbing the back of the chair in a convincing cower. I’d be laughing with her except that seeing Logan ignore the archway in favour of vaulting what has to be a four-foot-high wall, still brandishing his sword, is actually kind of terrifying. Gerard Butler has nothing on my daddy. My blood’s pounding in my ears, louder even than my shrieks, which have risen into the ultrasonic range.

  With another roar, Logan scatters the milling subbies between him and me and thunders across the dais.

  My inner Buttercup gets a second wind. I bounce to my feet, pointing a finger at my advancing Dom. “Foul villain! Murderous rogue! Scapegrace! Quit my father’s castle and leave my ladies in peace!”

  “Come here, Princess!” Logan roars, lifting his sword and flexing his biceps.

  Shit! There goes Buttercup again, fleeing into the hills. I knew I’d have been better off channeling Tamar.

  I grab my skirts and Mikaela’s hand again and drag her with me as I scamper away from Logan, hurtling Shaan’s outstretched legs, ending up in front of my throne. Behind me, chaos reigns as knights pour through the archway and grab wenches.

  Logan skids to a stop behind my throne and glowers at me over the backrest. “Surrender, Princess,” he growls.

  “Jacknape! Poxy-ridden cur! Princess Amber will die before she surrenders!”

  “That can be arranged.” Logan’s eyes under the brim of the helmet are burning hell pits. Another trill of hot adrenaline shoots through me.

  “Black heart!” I yell at him. “Never give up, never surrender!”

  To my right, Gabriela begins laughing. Traitor. Never trust a Domme.

  Logan grips the back of the throne with both hands, tossing aside his sword. I grab for Mikaela’s hand again, preparing to bolt in the other direction. My hand closes on empty air. I do a double-take and see Mikaela being dragged off by Paul and a surfer-Dom.

  “Toadying varlets!” I shout after them, before whipping back around to face the threat behind the chair.

  Only to find myself nose-to-chest with Logan as he stands directly in front of me, my former throne tossed behind him like a matchstick.

  “Eek!”

  He grabs me before I can bolt and throws me over his shoulder. His arm closes around the backs of my legs like a clamp. That damn granite slab blisters my rear again.

  “Ow!”

  Logan bounces me on his shoulder. “Thinking twice about not surrendering, Princess?”

  “Never, you boorish churl!”

  “I’m keeping track of these insults, Princess. You’re going to pay with flesh and tears for each one. No one besmirches the Black Knight’s honor.”

  Wow, besmirches, good word. I’d compliment him on it, but the only compliment Princess Amber would pay the Black Knight is spitting on his grave.

  “Honor!” I yell. “You know nothing of honor, you mannerless, base-born wretch! Put me down and quit my father’s castle before King Henry descends on you in all his righteous fury—oof!”

  Logan bounces me hard on his shoulder, knocking the wind out of me before I can even finish threatening him. So rude! I pound on his back with my fists.

  Chuckling, Logan strides across the dais, bouncing me and spanking me with each step. Behind us, Gabriela rises regally from her chair, puts her velvet-slippered foot into the stirrup of a knight’s cupped hands, and lets him lift her to his shoulder. She perches like a queen in a palanquin. She ducks neatly to avoid bumping her head on the archway, as her knight staggers after us. When she straightens, she surveys the room like an empress looking over her empire. Dang, she has the whole royal ‘tude down pat. She should have been Princess Amber. She’d never have gotten dragged out of her castle over some ruffian’s shoulder.

  I haven’t used that one yet.

  “Put me down, you pigeon-livered ruffian!”

  “That’s nineteen, Princess,” Logan growls with an even harder swat across my stinging backside. “Want to go for an even twenty?”

  “It hasn’t even been a dozen,” I protest. “You count as ill as you fight, lackwit!”

  “Twenty,” Logan says, with another swat. “Your mouth is creating a debt that your ass is going to have a hard time paying, little girl. But first . . .” He swings me off his shoulder and dumps me onto my knees between his feet. As I begin to push up off the floor, his hand descends and clamps the back of my neck. He wraps my braid around his hand like a leash, and holds me still with an iron grip on my hair. “It’s time to service your conqueror. Open up.”

  He thumbs my lower lip, staring down at me with eyes that have gone absolutely demonic. Not even Princess Amber in the middle of a blizzard could resist the power in those eyes.

  I whisper, “melting,” before I open my mouth.

  In one smooth motion, he drags down his zipper, pulls out his furiously hard, red cock and shoves it into my mouth.

  I lick and slurp because I know I only have seconds before he goes down my throat and there’s nothing more uncomfortable than a dry cock down your throat. I’m not wrong and before I can even glare an insult at him, he’s pushing hard to the back of my throat and then down. I swallow-swallow-swallow to avoid gagging. Both of his huge hands sink into my hair, and he pulls me back off him for a second so I can gasp in a breath. Then he drags my head in again, driving down my throat. It burns and I have to swallow like I’m chugging a beer. As I begin to float, the discomfort fades. My chin lifts, and my throat opens, and I find the angle where it’s just a perfect slide in, in, in, and out.

  Logan hits his rhythm, pulling my face all the way in so my nose brushes his stomach, holding for a count of three, before dragging me backwards so I can gulp a breath. While he’s holding my nose to his groin, he goes up on his toes so he’s actually driving the last inch down my throat. Oh, wow, so domly. My eyes roll back in my head until he growls, “Eyes,” and my gaze snaps back to his. My lips and chin grow wet with spit as he thrusts but I don’t care. All I can see is those burning, dark eyes, controlling and commanding my every move, my every breath. All I can feel is the pump of his firm flesh along my tongue, deep in my throat. All I want is for my daddy to come in my mouth.

  He gives me a warning. A slight increase in speed, and a growled, “Swallow every drop, Princess.”

  I drag in a deep breath and hold it before he powers into my throat a half-dozen times. Each squirt burns, a little baptism of fire spurting into my belly, the perfect dessert. I suck and swallow hard to increase his pleasure. His groans rise to a strangled shout I can barely hear over the noise of the room. He crushes my face to his groin and holds through two hard shudders before he finally lets me come off his cock.

  I blink watery eyes at him. He grins at me, a feral white slash through the open cross of his helmet, before he grips my hair and pushes my head down. He bends me all the way to the floor and pins me there with my
cheek against the fake-stone tile. Since I’m slowly regaining control of my body now that those insane Black Knight eyes aren’t dictating my every twitch, I twist and flail a little, but Logan’s got a good grip and it really hurts my scalp when I move. Princess Amber’s going to have to settle for some token struggling until my hair’s free.

  While he’s got me pinned, he grabs leather cuffs off the rack nearby and drops them on the floor next to me. He bends down, then sets his knee between my shoulders, leaning in to give me some of his weight. He crushes me to the floor, the same way he crushes me into his body after he comes. I’ve never been controlled like this before and as much as Princess Amber would resist, my whole body goes limp. I’m a lacy puddle on the floor as Logan buckles the cuffs onto my wrists, pulls my hands behind my back, and snaps the cuffs together. He pushes my legs out from under me, moves his knee to the small of my back, and pins me again as he buckles cuffs around my ankles.

  I expect him to lift me once he’s got the cuffs on me but he doesn’t. He moves his knee up and down my back, avoiding my bound arms. When I squirm, he presses his knee into my ass until the pressure on my tailbone makes me squeal. He’s running his hands over me as he holds me down. I should be struggling but I’m enjoying being dominated like this so much I just lie in a happy puddle. A happy, floaty puddle.

  Finally, and it could be hours or just a few minutes, he slides his knee off me, slips his hands under my arms, and lifts me. He turns me so I’m facing into the room and positions me next to one of the thick chains stretched from floor to ceiling. I can’t have been floating all that long, because there are still couples, and a threesome, sitting at the table negotiating their scenes. But some of the negotiations have ended. There’s a woman being caned on one of the crosses. Shaan is kneeling beside the table only a few feet from Vashi, his cuffs locked over one shoulder in a position that looks so uncomfortable my own shoulders ache in sympathy, while a Pink Pearl Dom fucks his face. Gabriela has her sub, now minus his harness and G-string, bound to one of the bondage benches while she warms him up with a Lexan paddle to his ass and thighs. The way his flesh ripples and flattens through the clear plastic is fascinating. I watch strike after strike after strike.

  Fuzzily, it occurs to me that I should be struggling. Princess Amber would. But when I turn my head, Logan captures me with that Black Knight gaze again and I sink down, down, down into a place where there’s no fight, just warm, peaceful floating like the time I went swimming in the Great Salt Lake. I’m aware of Logan moving me. Lifting my arms so my wrists are just above my head before he snaps my cuffs to the hanging chains, then nudging my legs apart. I feel like I’m underwater. Every motion is slow and dreamlike. Gentle currents wash through me. I’m aware of Logan talking to me. Asking questions. I’m not sure what I say, only that I really, really want to tell him how hard I’ve fallen for him. He cups my face and kisses me and I’m dimly aware that his helmet has disappeared, but I’m lost in my daddy’s mega-melty kisses.

  Chapter Eleven

  Logan

  She’s fallen for me, has she? My sweet girl. I stroke her face and kiss her again before I go back to fastening her ankle cuffs to the chains. When I straighten, she’s hanging from her wrist cuffs, not limp but very, very relaxed. She’s deep in subspace and I haven’t even started flogging her yet.

  And I’m flying. Soaring. So high in topspace that I don’t register the scenes or conversations going on around us, just Emily’s soft, slow breaths and happy, little whimpers. The rhythm of my breathing matches hers, another link in the chain binding us together. I’m peripherally aware of Rebecca, the dungeon monitor, circling the chain station. But my attention is on Emily, assessing her color, her breathing, the slackness of her face and muscles, the dilation of her pupils. Everything that tells me where she is. Floating in her happy place.

  I don’t need to slide my hand beneath her skirts and touch her pussy, because I know how wet she’ll be, but I want to touch her, reinforce my ownership of every inch. I finger her for several minutes, enjoying the slippery flesh under my fingertips, the gingerbread scent that perfumes the air. She rocks back and forth in her restraints at my touch, my needy baby doll. When she’s moaning sweetly, the flesh under my fingers quivering, I cup my fingers over her soft mons and lean into her. Between kisses, I ask, “Do you belong to Daddy, little girl?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she whispers. “I belong to you.”

  “Every inch of you?”

  “Yes.” She moans when I give her mons a squeeze. “Every inch.”

  “Daddy adores every inch, inside and out. Do you trust Daddy to take care of you?”

  “Yes, Daddy. Yes.”

  “Have you fallen for Daddy?”

  “Yes, Daddy. So hard.”

  “Good girl. Tomorrow, you won’t remember what you’ve told Daddy tonight. You’ll keep these feelings inside for now, without being worried or remorseful. These feelings will grow until some time when Daddy’s inside you, when Daddy’s making love to you and you can’t keep it in you any longer, you can tell Daddy again.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she whimpers.

  I kiss her forehead while I massage her clit to keep her floating. It’s not that I don’t want her to tell me how she feels. It’s not that I don’t reciprocate. It’s that it’s too soon. She hasn’t said it, not until I took away her conscious filter. Then it was the first thing she blurted out. She feels it. She wants to say it. But her conscious brain is telling her it’s too soon. So I’ll give her time. Let her feelings build. Reinforce them with small gestures so she knows her feelings are fully reciprocated before she articulates them again. Daddy’s gift to his little girl.

  “Daddy’s going to warm you up now, little love,” I tell her. “Daddy’s going to give you his thumpy flogger, then his stingy flogger, and, last, his bitey flogger. Every time you feel the thump, or the sting, or the bite, I want you to say to yourself, ‘this is Daddy’s gift to me.’ Can you say that, little girl?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  I take my half-inch, suede flogger off the rack, flick it a few times to warm up my wrist as I move around Emily, trailing my fingers over her hip so she knows where I am, since her eyes are so glazed that I don’t think she’s registering anything through that sense.

  Before I position myself behind her, I kiss her head and run my hand down her spine, shaping the gauze to her body so I can see the bones and muscles beneath. “Little princess,” I whisper in her ear. “Feel Daddy’s gift.”

  She shudders, shoulders to toes, rattling her cuffs against the stiff, heavy chains. Once she goes still, I slap the flogger against her upper back. Whap. Harder than I usually would for a warm-up, because it’s over the gauze and she’s already floating. Whap-whap. The dress ripples with each blow, but I’m not hitting her hard enough for the fabric to tear. Yet. Whap-whap. Her head sinks forward.

  “Princess,” I murmur to her, keeping my voice low. “What do you feel?”

  “Daddy’s gift,” she slurs.

  “That’s right.” I move down to her bottom. Whap-whap. She arches her back and sticks her ass out for me. “Good girl, just like that.”

  I can be rougher on her ass, where she has more padding than her shoulders. The sweet, slapping swish of the falls deepens. Thwack-thwack. Her breathing matches my rhythm: a soft huff out as the tails hit, her back rising with her inhalation as they lift. Remembering the infinity-symbol brand she liked, I work in a figure-eight pattern. She’s had plenty of impact to her thighs in the last couple of days, so I focus on her ass, which looked nicely healed when I examined her earlier, even after a playful fifteen with my whippy paddle.

  Tiny holes appear in her dress as the suede pulls at the fragile fabric with each strike. Thwack-thwack. I work up her back. Thwack-thwack. She rounds her shoulders very slightly, so her muscles take the impact instead of her shoulder-blades. Perfect girl. I reward her by upping the intensity and speed, flicking from back to bottom in double figure-eights. Thwack-thwack
, thwack-thwack. The falls sing their heady song, filling my ears. My shoulder and arm have warmed up; the motion feels effortless. Thwack-thwack, thwack-thwack. The flogger pulls me along to its rhythm. I watch with fascination as the holes in the gauze widen. Emily’s pale skin gleams through. When her skin pinkens, I let the flogger drop to my side and lean in.

  “Emily, what do you feel?”

  “Daddy’s gift.” It’s barely words, more of a slurred whisper.

  “That’s right, my beautiful girl. Is your skin singing?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Does it hurt anywhere?”

  It shouldn’t. She should be floating on a king tide of endorphins.

  “No, Daddy.”

  Good. “Do you want more of Daddy’s gift?”

  “Yes, please. More-more.”

  “Good girl. Stingy flogger now, Princess. You’ve been very quiet so far. You don’t need to hold anything back. Let me know how you’re feeling.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  I move back to the rack and swap my suede flogger for the knotted leather. The tails are soft and well-conditioned, but with the knots, they pack a punch. They’ll also turn the gauze into Swiss cheese.

  As I move back into position behind Emily, Niall comes to stand in front of her. He looks her up and down, then catches my eye over her shoulder and winks. I give him a nod. I’m aware she’s in a very, very good place.

  Niall watches me start off with the knotted flogger. Whump-whump. Emily’s body sways gently with each stroke, but she keeps her shoulders rounded and her back arched. Asking for Daddy’s gift. She’s so relaxed that the position looks effortless, but I know from years of training bottoms that it’s not. This is more than good training and a lot of practice. This is a desire to please her top so deep that it pervades even subspace. Angel baby.