The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  He smiles back at me and nods towards the food in front of us. He’s having a Mexican omelet and a huge pile of turkey sausage links, while I have whole-wheat toast and a big fruit salad, which got me a nod of approval when I picked it.

  Once we’re eating, with him occasionally plucking a berry or piece of cut fruit out of my salad and handfeeding me, he says, “I want to talk about your reward, Emmy, but first I want to recap the scene last night.”

  I nod because my mouth is full. I hope I did okay during the scene. It felt like it went really well, and I came just from the flogging, which was pretty awesome, but I know I didn’t stay in role the whole time, so maybe he’s not happy about that.

  “What was the best part of the scene for you, sweetie?”

  He’s starting with positive reinforcement. He almost always does, and I love that about him. If I’ve done something wrong, he’ll tell me, but not before I know the things I did right.

  “There were lots of best parts, but the flogging with the knotty flogger and the Black Knight chasing me down were the parts that I’ll remember for a long time, Daddy.”

  “Those were very good parts.” He reaches across the table to run his knuckles down my cheek. “There was such tremendous energy, from leading the charge on the castle all the way through the flogging. Everything came together. I’d like to do the scene again at Blunts, not because I want to change anything. Just because it was such a great time.”

  I can’t help the huge, goofy beam that spreads over my face. “You really liked it that much?”

  “I did. Anything that didn’t work for you or scared you for real?”

  I shake my head. “I would have been scared when the knights charged the castle, but Mikaela and some of the other subbies were laughing. That made it not scary. The whole thing was super-fun.”

  “Good.” He feeds me a slice of mango and I lick his fingers clean once I have the piece in my mouth. “I won’t ask if it lived up to your fantasies, but if there’s anything more I can do the next time, just tell me.”

  I chew ten times before I answer. “It was way better than my fantasies,” I tell him, truthfully. “I never imagined the stuff like you chasing me around, or pinning me on the floor, or using the different floggers. That was all magical. I went so deep into subspace.” Something niggles. A feeling that I told him things while I was in subspace that maybe I shouldn’t have. “Did I say anything or do anything wrong?”

  He smiles and strokes my cheek again. “Not a single thing. Your insults were hilarious. You had everyone laughing, even that hawk-faced Domme. I’m going to have to look some of them up. What does ‘addle-pated’ mean?”

  I giggle. “Daft. That’s the British word, right?”

  “Uh-huh. Be very, very careful before calling your daddy daft, little girl.”

  He’s grinning at me, so he’s not really mad. “It was Princess Amber, Daddy.”

  “Sure. It’ll be the Black Knight taking it out of Princess Amber’s hide, and he was very, very turned on by Master Niall’s whip, so Princess Amber might want to watch her mouth.”

  I give him the widest kitten eyes I can. “The Black Knight’s metal flogger was plenty scary, Daddy.”

  “I have an even scarier one at home, be warned.”

  I wriggle in my seat, as both terrible excitement and fear bubble through me. His metal flogger is the heaviest I’ve taken. It was right up there at the edge of what I can bear, but there was never a second when I considered using my safe word. He wanted me to take it and he believed I could take it and that made me able to take it. It became this awesome swirl of pain and heat and connection and, it sounds so stupid, even in my head, because he was beating me with a metal-tipped flogger, but there was love, too. I felt it right down in my soul. I’d ask for that flogger again without hesitation. That he has something even heavier makes me shiver, but if he wants me to take it and believes that I can, then I will.

  His dark, daddy eyes take in my reaction, and I have a feeling he somehow knows all of it, which makes me squirm. His grin turns wolfy and he chucks me under the chin. “That’s my girl. Let’s talk about your reward.”

  Oh, Lordy, more bubbles. “Okay, Daddy.”

  While I finish my toast, he shows me his phone. He’s downloaded the shared-schedule app I found during my free time yesterday and set up our schedules for today. He pulls them up side-by-side so I can see that he’s given me blocks of free time while he does interviews. He’s color-coded the blocks: pink, green, and blue. “Pink is playtime with Daddy,” he says, tapping one of the pink blocks so they all light up. “Plenty of play-time today, little girl. If you can stick with it the whole day, there’s a big reward at the end. Can you be patient and show me how much self-control you have, beanie?”

  “Mega super-human levels,” I promise. “Bruce Banner levels.”

  He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll hold you to that. This is what we’re going to do. After we’re done with breakfast, we’re going back to the cabin and Daddy’s going to edge you. Do you know what edging is?”

  I do, although I wish I didn’t. I screw up my face uncertainly. “It’s where you get me really, really worked up but I don’t get to come, right?”

  I try to keep any resentment out of my voice. I’m not sure if I succeed. He’s not going to let me have any orgasms today? That sucks. How is this a reward?

  “That’s right. You can use ‘yellow’ to tell me when you’re getting too close. Daddy will decide whether you can take more or not. If you come, then the reward is over and you just have free time for the rest of the day. If you can control yourself for a half-hour like a good girl, then Daddy will give you a big cuddle and you’ll have free time until lunch with the captain. Meals are the blue blocks.” He shows me on the schedules. “After lunch, Daddy will edge you for forty-five minutes. Same rules. Then you have free time until five-thirty, although I think Vashi would like it if you met up with her again.”

  I nod eagerly. After last night’s scene, Vashi and I have lots to talk about.

  “At five-thirty, Daddy will edge you for an hour. I know that’s a long time, but I also know you can take it. If you can stick with it, I think you’ll like what Daddy does to you. We’ll finish up with a shower and then we’ll have dinner at seven. You’ll wear Stanley to dinner. After dinner, you can have a free hour, or we can watch some scenes. If you’ve made it all day without an orgasm, then we’ll start playtime at nine with Knee Time followed by a good girl spanking. Your orgasm restriction ends at nine. You can come whenever you want after that without permission and Daddy guarantees you some orgasms that will blow your head off after being edged all day. What do you think of your reward?”

  I like the sound of mind-blowing orgasms. I don’t like the rest of it. I’ve done both edging and orgasm denial before and all I wanted to do was kill my damn Dom. But Logan makes it sound kind of sexy and exciting. Well, Logan makes pretty much everything sound sexy and exciting. And hours of attention from my daddy sounds great, even if I can’t climax.

  “Yes, Daddy. Ta very much for my reward.”

  He feeds me the last of the berries. “This is the first reward where I haven’t given you any input or choice, beanie. I appreciate there’s some aspects of it you might not like while we’re doing them, but it is a reward. You may be frustrated, but you shouldn’t be in pain or anywhere close to using your safe word. If you are, I want you to tell me. Give it a chance. Daddy’s not committed to any one form of reward, but this is the kind of thing that Daddy really likes, so if it works, we’ll be doing it again.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” I pick up my empty teacup, check Logan’s coffee cup, and remember to ask before I scoop it up. “Please, can I get you more coffee?”

  He smiles and leans back in his seat. “Yes, good girl for asking.”

  While I’m getting him coffee—decaf, because he has several cups a day and that amount of caffeine can’t be good for him—a question begins kicking around in the back of my head. He�
��s said this is a reward, even though it doesn’t sound rewarding. When does a reward turn into torture? Logan’s a sadist. If this is something he does a lot, that he enjoys, how long will he want it to continue? Because I’m not into long-term orgasm denial. Not even a tiny bit. Long-term frustration just makes me . . . frustrated. And resentful.

  When I return to the table and while I wait for my tea to steep, I ask him. “Daddy, if we do this in the future, how long would it go on? It wouldn’t be more than a day, would it?”

  Logan stirs his coffee, to which I’ve added milk but no sugar after seeing him fix it that way. “I have edged bottoms for more than a day before, why, sweetie?”

  Because I’ve done orgasm denial overnight before. I barely got any sleep because I was so pissed off at my Dom and ended up giving myself an orgasm in the morning anyway and then being super-cranky when I saw him the next night. He punished me and I wasn’t even sure if it was because I admitted I’d had an orgasm or because I was being such a bitch. Either way, the stresses that eventually led to him smashing my phone on my kitchen counter and walking out definitely started that weekend.

  “It wasn’t quite the same because he wasn’t edging me, but I’ve done orgasm denial overnight before and I couldn’t sleep, and I was kind of horrible the next day. I got punished for real and I don’t want that to happen again.”

  Those dark, daddy eyes watch my face closely and I’m pretty sure he sees everything I’m not saying.

  “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. I’m not promising that I won’t edge you over two or more days, but I’ll always make sure you get a good night’s sleep. I’m not a fan of sleep deprivation under any circumstances. I don’t use it as a punishment. Sleep is very important, especially when we’re playing hard. You need to recover and heal, and that happens primarily when you sleep. Do you trust me on this?”

  “I do.” I trust him with my life at this point, even if I don’t like the sound of being edged for days. “Ta for reassuring me, Daddy. That wasn’t topping from below, was it?”

  He reaches across the table and takes my hand, holding my fingers in his palm and rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. The gesture gives me happy shivers.

  “No, little girl. I need you to tell me your previous experiences, particularly ones that made you unhappy or led to you breaking rules, so that we don’t repeat them. What’s the old saying?”

  I think about it for a second. “Winston Churchill said that those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it. Is that the one?”

  “Exactly.” He takes my teacup, dips the teabag a few times and tests it with his pinkie before handing it to me to drink. “I want you to feel free to tell me anything. Don’t worry about topping from below. I’ll tell you when you’re doing it.”

  “You’ll give me a chance to fix it before you punish me?” I ask over the rim of my teacup.

  He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles. “I will, but punishments are for deliberate rule-breaking. Remember the contract? You haven’t done anything while we’ve been together that was close to earning you a real punishment, little girl.”

  I don’t want to, either. If the soaping was discipline, and flogging with the crazy metal flogger was play, a real punishment might be the death of me. “The contract says you can punish me when I challenge your dominance. Topping from below kind of does that, doesn’t it?”

  “Topping from below’s usually an attempt to control a scene, but I suppose it could be any time you try to exert your will over mine since we’re doing this full-time. If it’s going to worry you, sweetie, we’ll do three-strikes. I’ll give you plenty of warning.” He nips my knuckles and smiles at my squeak. “Emmy, you’re a very sweet bottom. The way you constantly try to please me blows me away. I know Matthew warned you about topping from below, and I know most highly intelligent bottoms do it from time to time. But try not to be anxious about it, little girl.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” His reassurance smooths the knots in my tummy. I take the last few swallows of my peppermint tea and tidy up my place. When Logan finishes his coffee and puts down his cup, I take that as my cue to do the plate ritual. Logan watches me and gives me a big wolfy smile when I lick a crumb of sausage off my thumb.

  * * *

  He’s still smiling that wolfy smile thirty minutes later when I say “yellow” for the first time. I’m lying on the bed, propped up on a couple of pillows, because he doesn’t want me lying flat right after I’ve eaten. He’s lying partly on my left leg, pinning me with his weight. One of his warm hands holds my right leg, knee bent, spread wide as he strokes and kneads my inner thigh. His other hand rests on my mons, with just the tips of his index and middle finger brushing my clit, over and over, the lightest of touches.

  My clit burns. My pussy burns. My ass burns. Cold-hot-cold-hot. Wave after wave, gnawing away at me, amplified by his delicate touches, by his breath feathering over my hyper-sensitive skin, but mostly from the damn toothpaste he’s oh-so-gently smeared all over my clit, vagina and sphincter.

  “Tingly, baby girl?” he asks, never losing that wolfy grin.

  Something almost bursts out of me that would definitely earn me a punishment. I clamp my jaw, grinding my teeth together, and toss my head from side to side, which is the only movement he’s left me, pinned by his weight and the cuffs holding my arms spread wide across the bed.

  He gives me a minute while I shudder, trying to think of cold showers, toenail fungus, bad text grammar, dead puppies, anything, anything that pushes back an orgasm. Finally, replaying that porn video where the girl kept spewing yellow chunks in my mind’s eye does it. The squeezing heat in my belly relaxes a fraction.

  He drops a warm kiss on the top of my mons. “Good girl, Emily.”

  Fuck you, Daddy.

  Those words nearly burst out of me again. Did I mention how much I hate being edged? I really hate it. Asking permission for my orgasms is enjoyable, mostly, because it lets me feel his control in that moment when I’m losing all control. But this just sucks. Having him play with me knowing I can’t come all day is miserable. And the toothpaste is too much. It’s burning in a horrible way. Like the top layer of my skin’s being chewed off. Even the pleasure’s not pleasurable; I feel like my body’s being forced into arousal. It’s like riding the Sybian, which I hated, too. How could this ever be a reward?

  “Emmy, look at me.”

  I blink back my seditious thoughts and lift my head to meet his eyes. He holds mine for a long moment, gauging me, and I sink a little into his dominance, but then I get another wave of biting cold-hot through my vagina and ass and have to fight not to scowl at him.

  “Mmm. Let’s get rid of a little toothpaste.”

  Let’s get rid of all of it. And let me up so I can shower, with a scrub brush.

  But he doesn’t. He licks around my clit and opening—which does not help me cool off, thank you very much—before he begins touching me again, this time brushing my inner labia instead of my clit. Did he remove any toothpaste? It doesn’t feel like it. If it’s burning less, it’s the difference between a hundred-degree day and a ninety-nine-degree day. Both are really fucking hot. I drop my head back and grind it into the pillow.

  “Emmy, relax, baby. You’re doing well. Just let yourself feel.”

  I am feeling! I’m feeling the burn in all those places he spanked and plugged and fucked yesterday that were swollen and sore before we even started and I thought this “reward” was supposed to help me heal quickly? I’m not feeling healed. Not. At. All.

  He places his warm palm on my belly, which he still hasn’t let me wash, and the sweat filming my skin is making his come sticky again. Gross. The pressure makes me cramp and the orgasm I fought off before is back, tightening my insides, but even the pain-pleasure is horrible and cold and hateful. I focus fiercely on yellow chunks and it disappears, leaving behind a sour sense of frustration and simmering anger.

  “Sweetie, what are you thinking about right now?”

&n
bsp; Killing him. And yellow chunks.

  “The video I told you about on our first date. The one where the woman was throwing up big yellow chunks while her Dom deep-throated her.”

  He chuckles and kisses my mons. “Okay, that’s effective. Since you all but dry up when you think about that, we want something a little less nasty for you to focus on.”

  Toenail fungus. Rancid-goat body odor. Cold showers.

  “Like cold showers?”

  “Uh-huh, like cold showers. If you’re really close, why don’t you think about cold showers for a minute? But only a minute. Mostly I want you to just feel and not think about anything. This is a reward. It’s supposed to get you out of your head.”

  I’m going out of my head, all right. Out of my head wanting to kill my Dom. And there’s nothing rewarding about this. It’s just torment. Which should appeal to me as a masochist, but really doesn’t.

  “Let’s try something a little different.” He shifts up so he’s no longer pinning my left leg and reaches for his toy bag, which he’s put on the bed next to his phone. His phone is counting down my thirty minutes of hell. The bag blocks my view so I can’t see the timer, and he’s put a pillow over the clock next to the bed. He says he doesn’t want me focused on the time but knowing how much longer I had would really help me endure this. He’s such a sadist.

  Logan brings my attention back to him by wiping my clit off with a baby wipe he’s pulled from his bag. He snaps on a latex glove and squirts some lube on his gloved fingers.

  “Head back, Emmy. Just relax and feel. Close your eyes for now. I’ll tell you when you can open them again.”

  I tip my head back over the wedge of pillows he’s made under me and close my eyes. Without my sight, the sensations intensify. The bonfire in my vagina and ass. The lingering sting in my clit. It’s a lot better now that he’s wiped most of the toothpaste off, but any enjoyment is overshadowed by the fact I can’t come.