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

She nods. “He might meet someone this weekend he likes.”

“He might, but we’re not going to push it the way you did with Max and Cynnie, are we?”

“No, Daddy,” she says, all solemn, big eyes that I don’t believe for a second. I swat her pink-panty covered bottom.

“Up against the chains, little girl.”

Normally, I’d cuff Emily’s wrists and ankles and clip the cuffs to the chains, but tonight’s scene is going to be abbreviated anyway since Emily’s not allowed orgasms, so I take the extra time to tie her.

There’s such pleasure in binding my sub. Stroking their soft skin as I wrap it with rope. Seeing the coils pull taut and squeeze the tender flesh. That pleasure’s enhanced by the way Emily relaxes into my bindings. She doesn’t quite go limp: she’s still supporting her own weight. But there’s no tension in her body anywhere. Her eyes follow me as I move around her, but they’re glazed and dreamy, her blinks slow. As she begins to sink, I soar. All my senses are heightened but also trained completely on her. I’m aware of the other people in the room, including Niall when he leads Shaan over to the adjacent chains in a choke hold, but they don’t really register beyond background noise. Emily’s my sole focus. I stroke her forearm below the tie and feel the slide of the peach fuzz on her skin against my fingertips.

“Clothespins now, my sweetheart. Yellow if I catch a nerve.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, her soft voice slightly slurred with subspace.

I pick up a bucket of plastic clothespins that Martyn’s thoughtfully provided and set the first few across her shoulders. She shivers whenever one bites deeper than the others but doesn’t complain and by the way her little ass is wiggling at me, she’s enjoying each pinch.

I make a pattern across her back and upper arms that looks a little like the wings she was wearing with the Victorian fairy outfit, with trails of pins dropping down her back. When I’ve set the last pin, I run my hand through them to see her shiver and her skin goosebump and hear her little wail. It’s very muffled, so I move around to her front to check on her.

She’s all the way down. Her head’s hanging forward and tipped slightly to the side. Her eyes are hooded, just a glimmer of hazel showing. I cup her chin in my hand and bring her face up. She blinks dreamily and smiles at me. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, cutie. Feeling floaty?”

She nods into my palm. “Love my forever-daddy.”

I lean in and kiss her forehead. Subspace always bring Emmy’s deepest feelings spilling out. She told me she loved me the first time in subspace. Not long ago, she told me she wants to give Olivia a brother or sister when I had her deep after a breath play scene. Now she’s telling me she feels we’re forever, which I’ve felt for a long time, but I haven’t wanted to project my feelings on Emily when she was so badly let down by her first “forever man.”

“Love my forever-baby,” I whisper into her skin. “You’re my yesterday. You’re my today. You’re all my tomorrows. No matter what happens, I will always love you, Emmy.”

She tips her face up for kisses and I give them to her, sinking deep into her mouth, caressing her throat with one hand and gripping her soft ass with the other. She wriggles in the bondage, inching closer so she can press her breasts and thighs against me, making needy noises in her throat.

“Good girl,” I praise her when I let her up for air. “Ready to take the pain for daddy?”

“Yes, Daddy. Please.”

I give her a long moment of eye-contact to help cement the connection between us before I hurt her. She looks sleepy when I release her, but she’s not. She’s just dropping through what she’s described to me as the “white clouds of subspace.”

I smile to myself at her cute description as I move behind her and pick up a crop. I check the tongue to make sure there are no cuts in the leather or sharp edges that could catch Emily’s soft skin. The leather’s smooth, recently cleaned and polished from the smell of leather oil. Impressed by Martyn’s attention to every detail, I flex the crop in my hands and take position behind my baby girl.

A sharp crack and cry next to me pulls my attention away from Emily’s plastic-pin decorated back for a moment. Niall nods at me as he plies a devil’s tongue across Shaan’s ass again. I return his nod and wish him luck in getting the answers he needs out of his sub.

Then I flick the crop at the lowest clothespin on Emily’s back and let her little wail and the red mark that rises on her pale skin fill my soul.

There was a time, not so many years ago, that hearing my sub’s cries, seeing my marks flushing her skin as I work up the line of clothespins, filled me with self-loathing as well as a primal sense of satisfaction. What kind of man am I that giving my lover pain gives me such pleasure? Even if they want it, beg for it as Emily so often does, what kind of monster does that make me?

The man who told me it didn’t make me a monster, who cracked open his own deep secrets to help me accept mine, is in the next room, playing with Harry because watching what Emily and I have is too painful. As topspace opens me to my own feelings, I can admit that Mac not wanting to play with us hurt more than a little. But on a rational level, I understand it. Before I found Emily, I watched scenes that left me aching in a bad way because I didn’t have anything close to the intimacy and connection the players had. Now Emily and I