The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (i love reading txt) 📗

bag and push in my chair. I dip him a little curtsey and say, “Thank you very much for dinner, sir.”

Then I flee, one step at a time, out of the restaurant and down the hall to the bathroom.

* * *

I’m sitting on the toilet seat when he knocks. I open the door with a shaking hand and step back to let him enter.

“Sir, I’m really, really sorry,” I say quickly.

He reaches out and shapes my cheek with this hand, even while he moves forward, backing me up towards the sink. “That’s a good girl. I accept your apology. I don’t like it when my girl throws my gifts in my face. I need to make sure it doesn’t happen again. You have to be kept focused, don’t you?”

“Uh, yes, sir?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I would like to be focused, sir. I just—I’m afraid.”

“I know you are, sweetheart. This is where trust begins between us.”

Oh.

I don’t know why that calms me, but it does. The horrible knot that was tightening in my belly loosens. I stop backing away from him, so he bumps into me. Instead of pushing me away, he pulls me into his arms, and I feel safe. Even though I know he’s going to discipline me—probably not in a fun way—I’m safe. I turn my face into his shoulder and whisper, “Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Have you worn a plug before?”

“No, Daddy.”

Matthew wasn’t interested in anal play and I’ve made it a hard limit with my other Doms. Why, why, why didn’t I make it a hard limit with Logan?

“Bend over the sink, pull up your skirt and pull down your panties.”

I squeeze my eyes closed for a second, then I turn and do exactly as he’s said.

He makes me stand bare-assed for a long minute, not saying anything, although I can hear his steady breathing. My sphincter keeps twitching, which I’m sure he can see. He can probably also see how wet I’m getting.

“Sir,” I finally whimper. “I’m very, very sorry I disrespected you. It wasn’t intentional. It won’t happen again. I’ll be more focused.”

“How will you stay focused, Emily?” he asks softly.

Oh, God, I think that soft tone of his is worse than anything else. It feels like a lash across my brain.

“I’ll remember this, sir. I’ll remember how angry you are. I don’t want you to be angry with me. I want to be your good girl.”

“You are very responsive to praise,” he says. “But I think you might need a bit more to help you focus. Have you done any anal training, Emily?”

My sphincter doesn’t just twitch, it locks up like a fist. “I haven’t done an enema or anything. I’m not prepared.”

“You won’t need one tonight. I’ll always tell you if you need to do something to prepare.”

I hear him move, a soft shifting of fabric, that tailored suit he’s wearing that makes him look like a million bucks, so much classier than Rick in his pimp suit. Then I hear the tear of foil. Is that a condom? Is he going to fuck me? I thought he said he wanted privacy for our first time together. I don’t want it to be in a bathroom. And I really, really don’t want our first time to be in my ass.

But what touches me through the latex isn’t his cock, it’s a fingertip. The condom’s lubricated, and he works the slickness over and over my sphincter with the pad of his finger. I don’t know when I start whimpering, only that by the time he presses his finger into me, I’m making lost, helpless noises and gripping the edges of the sink.

“What experience have you had with this, Emily?” he asks, and his voice isn’t soft anymore. It’s rough and hot.

“I tried anal sex twice with my ex-husband.” I gulp at the memory. It didn’t go well. We were both drunk each time: Ash because he wouldn’t push me for anal unless he’d been out drinking with the guys, me because I wouldn’t agree to it without a lot of liquid courage. The first time, he didn’t get it in and we gave up and just had regular sex. The second time he was more determined. He rammed it in and my rectum prolapsed as he pulled back. After a half-hour of sobbing and bleeding on the bathroom floor, I finally managed to stuff it back inside. That’s not an experience I want to repeat. “One of my Doms used anal beads.”

“Did you like the love beads?”

“Yes.” I did, despite my trepidation, and Ben praised me for weeks for overcoming my fears. Then he got himself a younger, blonder model, presumably without my hang-ups.

“We’re going to do anal training, Emily. I think it will keep you very focused.”

Oh, God, isn’t there a better way to keep me focused? I shake my head, dropping it to hang between my shoulders as I brace against the sink.

“We’re going to start with thirty minutes tonight,” he continues. “I’ll check in with you every five minutes. If you feel like you’re going to lose control of your bowels, you have permission to immediately go to the bathroom. I’ll follow and help you as soon as I see you go. You don’t need to wait. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” But I don’t. Are we going to walk around for a half an hour with his finger up my ass? If so, he’ll be the first one to know if I lose control of my bowels.

“Good girl. I feel you getting very tense with my finger in you. I want you to brace your forearms against the backsplash and try to loosen-up your shoulders. Focus on your neck and shoulders and getting each muscle to relax. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try, sir.” There’s a wide, white lip of tile at the back of the sink. I cross my arms on the lip and rest my forehead on them. Leaning forward and taking the weight off my