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

“It’s really stingy, and it got me warm fast. But it’s fading already. My butt stings more than my legs.”

“Uh-huh. I like the tawse for that reason. It really makes an impression, doesn’t it?”

She nods fervently.

“You handled it very well, Emily.” I’m not normally this effusive with praise. I let my actions speak for me. If I’ve given my bottom pleasure, then she knows she’s done well. With Emily, I feel more need to build her up. “I thought when you asked me to stop that you were reaching your pain threshold and needed a break. You surprised me when you told me you were close to coming. And that was such a good girl. You could have tried to slip an orgasm by me. I’m proud of you for not doing that.”

She glows under the praise. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Can we make that a rule, baby doll? No coming without permission? No stealth orgasms?” I’ve always owned my bottoms’ pleasure. With Emily, I feel the need to take it a step further. “You’ll always ask Daddy to let you come and thank Daddy after you do?”

She nods. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl, Emily. Such a good girl. I think we’re going to get along great, better than John and Yoko.”

“Better than Wesley and Buttercup?” she asks with a tremulous smile.

Ah, my baby girl likes The Princess Bride. Classic.

“Better than Wesley and Buttercup. Maybe even better than Inigo and Fezzik.”

She giggles and I kiss her temple, holding her eyes in the mirror and watching the light fill them.

I hold her for another minute, until I’m sure her body’s settled, then sit her on the toilet while I wash my hands. As I’m humming “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” she joins in.

“You know that trick, too?” I ask her.

“No, I just know the song.”

I finish and turn off the tap. “Most people don’t wash their hands long enough to actually get rid of germs. If you sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ while you’re washing, by the time the song’s over, your hands are clean.”

“I’ve never heard that, sir.”

“No? My mother taught me. She was a nurse, so she had a real thing about hand-washing.” I shrug. “Long time ago. You need to use the toilet?”

She shakes her head.

“I do. You can watch me, or you can turn your back. I don’t mind, either way.”

She stands and moves out of my way, turning her back. I guess she meant what she said on her sign about no bathroom play. While I piss, a process that’s both more complicated and more uncomfortable than it should be with my cock still at half-mast, she washes her hands and brushes her hair.

I finish and wash my hands again while she watches me, big eyes shining. I’m not sure if I’ve done something particularly right, or if she’s just still basking in the afterglow. “All good, baby doll?”

She nods and takes my clean hand. “Awesome, Daddy.”

“Awesome, huh?”

She grins up at me as I lead her out of the bathroom. “Really awesome. When you said we were going to dinner at your club, I didn’t expect any of this. I thought it would be a buffet followed by strippers or something. I’ve never been inside a gentlemen’s club. I love it.”

I chuckle. “Not all men’s clubs are like this. The one I belong to at Sunningdale? We just golf.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Golfing isn’t very awesome.”

“Then you’re not doing it right,” I tease. “Blunts is special. I’m glad you feel it, too.”

“I do, sir. Has it always been like this? I mean, has it always been a club for Masters?”

“Uh-huh. When we come back from L.A., you can dig through the archives to your heart’s content. The whole history of the club’s in there. Major scenes and events have been recorded all the way back to our founding, and we have the personal diaries of several members that you can read if you’d like.”

She bounces on her toes. “I would, oh, sir, I’d like that so much.”

I tap her on the tip of her nose affectionately. “Something to look forward to when we get back from two weeks in the sun.”

She wraps her hand around my arm and snuggles in, squeezing my arm between her little breasts. “Thank you so much for everything, sir.”

“You’re very welcome, baby.”

* * *

I’m relieved to see Austin manning the upstairs desk in Rachel’s place. He greets me the way a house sub should: bowing and waiting for me to acknowledge him before he introduces himself politely to Emily and asks if there’s anything he can do for us. I thank him and lead Emily downstairs, pleased by his decorum. This is what I wanted Emily to see; not the trailing wreckage of my old relationship.

“Emily,” I say to her as we descend the stairs, much more easily than we came up them. “I hope you’re not bothered by the thing with Rachel and Sante.”

She hugs my arm again. “No, sir. Thank you for telling me about it in advance. I think I might have been upset if it had taken me by surprise, but I was prepared for it and you told me there wasn’t anything between you anymore. I could see it in your face, too. You were disappointed in her. I felt bad for her, actually.”

“I trained her,” I explain. “And I trained her better than that. We don’t throw our drama around in front of other people.”

She squeezes my arm like a python. “I’m not a fan of public displays, either, sir. They’re icky. But I really do feel sorry for her. She’s made a bad choice, and I think she’s realized it.”

I chuckle, disentangle my arm and put it around her as we reach the ground floor. “How do you know that, little girl?”

She beams up at me. “Because no one is as awesome as Daddy.”

That should sound ridiculous. Instead, her words sink into my brain like I’ve been waiting to hear them my whole life.