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

His words sizzle all through me, making everything from my nipples to my clit tingle. I didn’t even consider taking the clamps off during my shower. He said what he puts on, he takes off. Taking off the clamps myself would be like reaching for the check. I’m never making that mistake again.

“Up on the bed, then, baby. Spread the towel out under you in case we make a mess and lie on your back with your head off the edge of the bed.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I scramble to follow orders.

When I’m arranged on the bed, lying on the towel, my head back, knees up, Logan joins me. He stands beside me at first, examining my position, sliding a pillow under my arched neck and another under my hips. Then he moves around behind me, his closed robe brushing my forehead. He strokes me with his big, warm hands, sliding them from my upraised knees to my inner thighs and back again a few times, before he trails his hands up my belly and cups my breasts. “How do these feel?” he asks, squeezing my clamped nipples gently.

“Owie, Daddy.”

He chuckles, looking at me upside-down. I can guess why he’s put me in this position. Maybe throat training starts tonight. That thought makes all my nerves sizzle again.

“Owie, huh? Well, then, let’s get them off you.”

“Yes, please.”

“Mmm.” He slides his hand up and cups my throat again. “That’s what I like to hear. Lots of pleases and thank yous from my grateful little girl. Can you be polite when you’re little? Or is your little only bratty?”

“No, Daddy. I can be polite.” I can tell he’s trying hard to understand my little headspace. His efforts make me teary again.

“You know what little girls say to be polite in England?” he asks, stroking my arched throat. He doesn’t put any pressure on it, which is good because I’m already getting a head-rush.

“No, Daddy.”

“Little girls say ‘ta’ instead of ‘thank you.’ I’d like to hear that. Can you say it for me?”

“Ta, Daddy.”

“That’s right. When I take off these clamps you’re going to say ‘ta very much’.”

I nod, working my throat against his hand.

He reaches down and unclamps my left nipple. I gasp as the blood rushes back into it. A little nuclear detonation going off in my tit. He presses his thumb against it, so hard I can feel the blood throbbing against his firm flesh. Blinking back tears, I gasp, “Ta very much, Daddy.”

He grins. “You’re welcome, baby doll. I’m going to clamp your nipples often. They’re so pretty. Like little rosebuds.”

He plays with my freed nipple, stroking and tugging until I see stars and heat zings from my breast to my belly. Then he frees my right nipple and gives it the same treatment. I squirm helplessly on the towel, overwhelmed by all the sensations. He’s tugging and rolling and pinching my nipples so hard my breasts feel fever-hot. The towel’s slightly rough against my abraded backside, and when I straighten my legs, the towel brushes sandpaper kisses over the sensitized skin of my calves. I whimper and Logan chuckles.

“I can smell you, gingerbread baby.” He releases my nipple and reaches down between my thighs to give my clit a little rub that has me arching up off the bed.

He can smell me? Even after my shower? I moan with embarrassment and feel even more heat rise to my face. Then a truly horrible thought hits me. “Do you even like gingerbread?”

He laughs, deep and masculine. The happy sound of a man about to get laid. His laughter makes me bubbly and warm and I don’t even need him to say, “I love gingerbread,” to reassure me.

“You have the sweetest smell,” he continues. Then he lifts his fingertips to his mouth and licks them. “Mm, and the sweetest taste. My gingerbread baby.”

He undoes the waist tie on his robe and lets it hang open. I have an upside-down view of his bronzed torso: firm chest and stomach, cut hips, the complicated heart, chain and anchor tattoo close to his trimmed, black curls, and hanging between his strong thighs, his distended cock.

His cock is beautiful. Having seen it erect, I know it’s curved and thick enough that he’ll more than fill me. It is already flushed red, the glans extended, shaft heavy with veins.

“Please may I touch you?” I ask, tentatively reaching for him.

“Good girl for asking.” He guides my hands to him, my fingertips to his balls, the other palm to his shaft. “A baby girl needs toys to play with, doesn’t she?”

I nod eagerly.

“Then these can be baby’s toys.” He groans as I rub his shaft and stroke his firm, dark sac. “What do you say?”

“Thank you for my toys, Daddy.” None of my Doms have let me play with their bodies freely, or given me their cock and balls as toys.

“Ta,” he reminds me.

I swallow hard. How could I forget? “I’m sorry, Daddy. Ta very much for my toys.” I wait to see if he’s going to punish me for forgetting, but he just smiles down at me. “Can I name them?”

He chuckles. “What makes you think they don’t have names already?”

He’s named them? “Please tell me their names.” I press my hands together in a “pretty please” gesture.

Logan guides my hands back to the parts in question before he answers, “Fuzzie, Wuzzie, and Winky.”

He winks at me.

“No, they’re not, Daddy. Don’t tease.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He traces a cross over his heart with his forefinger before reaching down and cupping my face. “Would my baby girl like Winky in her mouth while Daddy warms her up?”

I nod and open my mouth hopefully. Logan chuckles and traces my lips with his fingertip. “Mmm, little dry.” He reaches over to the night-stand, opens a drawer, takes out a tube of lip balm and applies it carefully to my lips while my heart swells in my chest.

“Ta very much, Daddy,” I whisper earnestly when he finishes.

“You’re