The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  Niall moves back towards the table where Shaan’s still bound, as I pick up the pace, working from her shoulders to the bottom of her ass, while avoiding the middle of her back where her organs aren’t protected by her ribs. The knots tear the small holes left by the suede flogger wider and wider until there’s nothing left over her shoulders and ass but threads. I back up a pace so I can give her just the tips of the flogger, more sting than thump. Crack-crack-crack. Once her skin’s gloriously pink, I switch my stroke, swinging upwards so the knots catch the undercurve of her ass on the up-swing. Crack-crack-crack-crack. That draws the first whimper out of her.

  “What do you feel, little love?” I ask.

  “Daddy’s gift,” she moans.

  “That’s right. Is Daddy’s gift getting stingy?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Do you want Daddy to stop?”

  “No, Daddy. Please-please.”

  “That’s my girl.” I reverse the swing so I’m striking between her shoulders on the down-swing. Whump-crack-whump-crack.

  She shudders uncontrollably, muscles flexing from her shoulders all the way to her calves.

  “Are you close, Princess?”

  “Yes, Daddy. Puh-please, can I come?”

  I told her she didn’t need to ask permission during the scene, but I’m delighted she has. Such a good girl.

  “You may.” I switch my swing again, stepping in and striking hard on the upcurve of her ass so she gets a good solid thump. “Daddy’s going to count down from fifty. Come before Daddy reaches one and Daddy will give you a very big reward tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  She gasps at thirty-five, her back arching and losing her perfect S-curve. Mini-gasm, at a guess, although it might have been a full one and just very quiet, if the flushing of her neck is anything to go by. Whichever, she’s not done. I keep working her with the same motion, crack-crack-crack-crack, striking again and again against the glowing undercurve of her ass. At seventeen, she goes rigid, straining against the chains. Crack-crack-crack-crack. Her whole body convulses and she screams so loudly that several of the players around us stop what they’re doing to look over.

  Beside me, where he’s cuffing a teary, red-faced Shaan onto the neighboring set of chains, Niall chuckles. “Nice one.”

  I’m damned pleased with it. I let the knotted flogger drop to my side and shake out my arm. I wrap my free hand around Emily’s braid and pull her head back, controlling her but also supporting her through her post-orgasmic haze. Her mouth opens with a soft sigh. “Daddy. Ta, Daddy.”

  I kiss her temple. “Good girl. You’re being such a good girl, Emily. Daddy’s very proud of you. I want you to bear twenty with the metal-tipped flogger for me and then I’m going to take you down and fuck you over the edge of the table.”

  She whimpers. She’s experienced enough to know that twenty with the metal-tipped flogger will be tough now. She’s taken a lot more than twenty with the knotty flogger, but she was chasing her orgasm and everything would have registered as sensation rather than pain. The metal-tipped flogger will just hurt. I’m counting on her need to please me, and her streak of masochism that matches my streak of sadism, to get her through it.

  “What are these twenty, baby?”

  “Daddy’s gift,” she says. No whimpering now, although her voice is very soft and small.

  “That’s right. Daddy’s gift to his little girl. Ask me for them, Princess.”

  It takes her a few seconds of blinking before she manages. “Please, Daddy. Can I have twenty with the bitey flogger?”

  “Yes, you may, my little love.” I give her a deep kiss before I release her to sag in the chains while I swap floggers.

  The metal-tipped flogger is a brute. The falls are oiled leather with two, metal rivets set close to each tip. The stiffer leather provides a decent amount of sting on its own, but with the weight of the rivets, hard hits are shockingly stingy, and the metal adds its own bite. This flogger was more than Miranda could bear for play, so it was reserved for punishment. It wasn’t enough for Luisa, who had the highest pain threshold of any sub I’ve been with. I had a special flogger with a d-ring on each tip for her. Just the ringing of the falls when I swung it, like reindeer bells, could push Luisa towards subspace. Given how well Emily reacts to sensory triggers, I could probably condition her the same way. I may try it on Emily in the future, once I’m absolutely confident of her pain threshold.

  Before I set into her with the metal-tipped flogger, I give Emily some attention and allow her to reconnect with her daddy. I loop the flogger around my wrist so she can see it, build her anticipation, but she keeps her eyes on mine. I start in front of her, with kisses and lots of eye-contact. While I’m kissing her, I play with her breasts, at first through the gauze dress and, when it annoys me, I rip it open to her waist. I haven’t flogged her breasts, belly, or thighs because I don’t want to risk damaging skin that’s already sunburned. With that in mind, I’m gentle with her breasts, and only tug on her nipples, which I know for certain were covered by her suit. It takes a solid minute of pinching and rolling before her nipples stay erect, which tells me how hard she came.

  “Twenty now with the bitey flogger, sweet girl. What color are you?”

  “Green, Daddy. Can I be more Princess Amber for this part?”

  I check her eyes. Bright and clear. Her pupils aren’t quite normal, but they’re no longer owl-sized. She’s smiling slightly. Supporting her own weight rather than hanging in the chains. Since she’s come up out of subspace, if she wants to go back into the role-play, I’m fine with that.

  “Yes, you may. Watch the insults, though, little girl. You’re getting twenty with the bitey flogger because you insulted the Black Knight twenty times. Before your mouth earns you extra, be sure of what your ass can bear.”

  “Yes, Daddy, Sir.”

  She gives me a cheeky little grin, which I kiss off her face. I nip at her lips while I play with her nipples some more, and there’s just a hint of glazed arousal in her eyes when I step back. Better.

  I move back around her, shaking out the flogger as I go. With the metal rivets, it makes a great sound, a tingle of metal along with the swish of the oiled leather. It’s not quite the reindeer bells of Luisa’s favorite tool. This one reminds me of church bells ringing over the Yorkshire moors on Christmas morning, distant and silvery. The sound makes goose bumps rise over the exposed, reddened flesh of Emily’s back and ass. Mmm, yes. I won’t have any trouble conditioning my little girl to auditory triggers.

  I loop the flogger over her right shoulder, letting it brush over her breast. She shivers. Slowly, so she feels the leather and metal sliding over every inch of her skin, I draw it back over her shoulder. She whimpers as the falls tip over her shoulder and slither down her back.

  “Feel what I’m about to punish you with, Princess?”

  Another uncontrollable shiver, but she grits out, “Do your worst, sirrah. I’ll never yield to the likes of you.”

  I snort. “Pretty sure I just had you on your knees, yielding to every inch of me, Princess. And I will again. But first, you need to pay for your insults to my honor. Twenty, count them out.”

  I pull back my arm as she says, “I shall, sirrah, since we’ve already established you can’t count. Pity your knightly education lacked lessons in numeracy.”

  “Twenty-one,” I growl and swing.

  The flogger sings, a silvery swush, then bites with a jingle and a truly evil snap across Emily’s right cheek.

  Her body bows, locking up against the pain. She takes a breath like she’s coming up from deep water, and shrieks as she lets it out. “Noooo!”

  I give her until the count of five to get on top of the pain. I’m just about to open my mouth to tell her she’s earned an extra stroke for failing to count when she gasps out, “One!”

  “Very good, Princess. More bite than you were expecting?”

  She huffs out several breaths. “I fear neither you nor yo
ur monstrous instrument.”

  I run my hand down the hot, crimson flesh between her shoulder-blades and drink in her whimper. “You may regret those words in the coming minutes, Princess.”

  “Do your worst,” she hisses, but she doesn’t call me any names.

  I chuckle and drop a kiss on her shoulder before I step back and swing in the opposite direction. The whip sings and snaps against her left cheek.

  She gasps out “Two!” before I reach the count of three. As she takes another breath, I whip the flogger against her right cheek. Back and forth, sing and snap. The falls leave tracks that blanch white before rising a glowing crimson. Gorgeous. Her skin marks like a dream.

  She keeps count more easily after the first two. Her breathing evens out and she finds a rhythm again, several huffing breaths out and then a deep breath in just before I hit her. She whimpers when the tails sing before they hit and again after the strike. With the heavy slaps on her skin, it’s a symphony, the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. I maintain the same weight and speed through lash after lash. Her body arches into that willing, perfect S. Our kinks mesh, her masochism to my sadism. Doubling and redoubling the connection between us. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

  When I reach nineteen, I pause and stroke her gorgeous, welted skin, bunching it a little in my fingers until I draw a long whimper out of her. “Last two, Princess.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Such a good girl, telling me where she is with just two words. She’s not in subspace; her speech is too clear. She’s not in littlespace; she’s not calling me Daddy. She’s feeling every sting and scrape, ache and burn, but she’s still accepting the pain, working with it, and letting it soak into her, still holding herself in the perfect position so I can deliver it.

  “I want you to take these last two across your breasts, Princess,” I tell her.

  She huffs in and out. “It matters not where you strike me, sirrah, I’ll not yield.”

  “Take these two across your breasts. Ask me for them. And I’ll give you pleasure when I make you mine in front of my men.”

  “I’ll never be yours and I’ll never yield.”

  Wanting to see her eyes as she struggles with the mind-fuck of having to ask for two strikes that she knows will be infinitely worse than the nineteen she’s had, I circle around the chains. Her head is slightly bent as she holds the S-shape, but lifts when I move in front of her. Her eyes are bright and clear, gleaming with defiance. I reverse the flogger so I hold the wrapped leather end. I stroke it down the side of her face, along her throat, down the pink-tinged skin of her chest, to circle each nipple.

  “Ask me to flog your breasts, Princess.”

  “Never, never, never,” she sings.

  “Defiant girl, you test my patience. Every minute you delay is another stroke, starting now.”

  “Only an honorless brute changes the rules in the midst of the game!” When I reverse my hold on the flogger with a jingle, she exclaims, “Not that I’m calling you an honorless brute!”

  “It certainly sounded like you were calling me an honorless brute, and I still haven’t heard what I want to hear, Princess.” I swing the flogger once, not striking her, just letting it sing. She flinches. “Ask, Princess, and I’ll show mercy.”

  She shakes her head vehemently. “Mercy is for the weak.”

  “Mercy can be for the little Princess who already has a very red bottom that’s about to get pounded on the table. Ask me for two strikes across your breasts and I’ll give you only pleasure when I’m done. Further defiance and you and your ladies will know only pain.”

  “Leave my ladies alone!”

  “Give me what I want and I’ll show mercy. I won’t even ask that you admit defeat. Just that you take what I give you. Ask, Princess, for the sake of your ladies.”

  She screws her face up like she’s biting into a lemon. “I ask you to flog my breasts.”

  “Now, where are your noble manners? Ask nicely. ‘Please, good sir, flog my pretty breasts.’”

  Her expression becomes even more contorted. Angry koala face. It’s so cute, I struggle to keep a straight face.

  “Please, good sir,” I prompt. “Flog my pretty breasts instead of putting my ladies to the sword.”

  “Please, Blackheart,” she spits. “Flog my poor, helpless breasts.”

  “Good enough, but that’s four. Get ready, little girl.” I step back and swing across instead of down, to catch the side of her breast and her nipple rather than the sunburned skin of her upper chest.

  Emily shrieks and shudders, pulling at the chains, which are far too heavy to be moved. She contorts, trying to pull in air while trying not to move her stinging chest. While she’s gasping shallowly, I snap the flogger at her other breast. The pain tips her over the edge and she screams, not the throaty howls of her ecstasy but high-pitched and pained.

  “Two more, Princess. Take them for me.”

  She shakes her whole body, not just her head, but she doesn’t give me a safe word. Just to make doubly sure, I ask, “Princess, what color are you?”

  “Green,” she gasps.

  “Good girl.” I step back, so that these will be more sting than thud, and hit her, right-left, with barely a pause between the strikes. Emily gasps several times, trying to get her breath, then she screams. I loop the flogger around my wrist, move in and caress her breasts as they flush a brilliant red. Her screams fill my ears and I take them as my due, pulling the sounds of her submission deep into my soul.

  While her cries trail off into whimpers, I stroke her face, looking into those big, wet, baby eyes and watching her pupils contract slowly as the pain fades. “Emily, who do you belong to?”

  She cues straight in to my use of her name and I see the Princess Amber persona melt away into my adoring little girl. “You, Daddy.”

  “That’s right. You’ve been a very good girl, taking pain for me. Time for pleasure.” I hang up the flogger before taking her down from the chains, starting with her ankles and ending with her wrists. When she staggers, I scoop her up and carry her to the table.

  She’s nearly limp as I lower her to the table and turn her so she’s face-down. I draw her hips to the padded edge and pin her with my palm on the glowing skin between her shoulders. I’ve been hard since starting in with the knotted flogger, but her breathy whimper as I pin her makes my cock fill so full, I’m surprised my fatigues can contain it.

  “Behold your fallen kingdom, Princess,” I tell her, looking around the table. Vashi kneels in the middle like an exotic centerpiece, while all around her, debauchery reigns. At one end of the table, a Pink Pearl sub has been staked out, tied to the table’s rings with her own bikini. A knight rides her face while a Pink Pearl Dom eats her out. One of the watchers has gotten into the scene and the collared sub at his feet is busy blowing him. On the other side of the table, the twink in gold shorts, which are now puddled around his ankles, is screaming through his orgasm from a knight who is gleefully hammering his prostate. “Your ladies are being ravished by my knights, and there’s nothing you can do to save them, Princess. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Never surrender,” she mumbles into the table.

  “I think it’s a little late for that, Princess.” I reach down with my free hand and tear the tattered gauze away from the backs of her thighs.

  She spreads her legs, which makes me chuckle.

  “Not quite so defiant when you’re about to get fucked, are you, Princess?”

  “Totally defiant,” she mumbles.

  “Sure.”

  I release her, confident she’ll stay in position. She’s so delightfully well-trained. I run my hands up and down her back, enjoying the heat and texture of her flogged skin. She squeaks and wriggles in protest when I touch her sorest spots. When I reach her bottom, I shape it in my hands, squeezing and kneading as her squeaks turn to soft wails. In this position, with her legs spread, I can see the drip of cream from her labia. Her gingerbread scent rises over the smell o
f leather, sweat, and sex perfuming the room. As wonderfully as she responds to impact play, I think she responds even better to simple physical dominance.

  I lean over her, clasp her nape with my hand to press her cheek to the table, and whisper into her ear, “I have your number, little girl. Nothing you can hide from me now.”

  Her cheek curves with a smile. “You know nothing, Black Knight.”

  I smack her ass and grin at her yelp. “Little sore there, Princess?”

  “Doofus, doofus, Black Knight’s a doofus,” she sings.

  “Keep singing, little girl. Gives me a nice rhythm to fuck you to.” I reach down, pull out my cock, and rub the tip up and down her soaked labia. “Deny it all you want, Princess, but you want this cock.”

  “Never, never,” she sings.

  “Uh-huh. Right now, actually.” I push forward slowly, sliding in all that sweet cream. Her pussy’s so warm, I groan as I sink into heaven. “Mmm. Who does this pussy belong to?”

  “Princess Amber.”

  She’s such a little smart ass in role-play. Bet I can change that tune. I pull her hips back from the table’s bumper until I can reach under her, hook my fingers in the gauze, and tear it open at her crotch. I reach in and pinch her clit between my thumb and first finger. Her squeal fills my soul.

  “Try again,” I growl.

  “Princess Amber!”

  I release her nape to press down on the small of her back. Her hips tip up and I drive in to bump her cervix while I tug on her clit. She howls, but pushes back into each thrust. Wonderful little girl.

  “Say it, Princess. This pussy belongs to me.”

  “Belongs to me!”

  “Naughty girl.” I spank her clit and glory at her shriek. Her pussy clamps down, working against my thrusts. She loves her pussy-spankings, my sweet, dirty, little girl. “Don’t you come, Princess. This pussy belongs to me. I say when you can come.”

  “Mine, mine, mine,” she chants.

  “That’s right. Mine, mine, mine.” I punctuate every word with a cervix-banging thrust. “Come right fucking now.”