The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βHere, sweetheart, letβs take this off.β He unclasps the silver necklace, so it doesnβt interfere with the dressβs neckline.
I shiver without the weight of it. My neck feels bare even though itβs circled by the satin halter. I pat the base of my throat forlornly.
I want my necklace back.
βDaddy, please, could I wear the necklace again after dinner?β
Logan raises an eyebrow. βSure. You like it that much, huh?β
I nod eagerly.
Logan puts it back in its velvet bag and slips the bag into the top drawer of his dresser and locks it. βYou can have it back later. Itβs sturdy enough to wear all the time, so you can keep it from now on.β He draws his finger in a soft line from my forehead to my nose to my lips to rest at the hollow of my throat. βAre you ready for Morris, sweet baby?β
I nod without hesitation, if a shade less eagerly than over my necklace. The stairs down to the restaurant are going to be a challenge.
βGo into the bathroom, dress up, panties down, brace yourself against the sink and wait for me.β He opens the second drawer of his dresser, which is full of sex toys, neatly lined up on a pink towel.
βYes, Daddy.β
I pad quickly to the bathroom. Loganβs toiletries are set out on the sink counter, aligned just as neatly as the sex toys. Deodorant, a fancy razor that looks like it should be on the space shuttle, an old-fashioned shaving brush, and sandalwood shaving cream from Taylor of Old Bond Street. No wonder he smells so good. I make a mental note of the brand, which isnβt one Iβm familiar with, so I can buy his favorites if I ever get a chance to buy him anything.
βEmmy, while youβre in there, take a look under the sink.β
I open the cabinet door and peer under the sink. Thereβs a stack of pink towels, which he clearly brought for me since the boatβs towels are white, but I donβt think thatβs what he wants me to see. There are dozens of neatly wrapped cakes of soap piled under the sink: stacks and stacks of them. There must be over a hundred. Puzzled, I close the cabinet door and arrange myself as instructed.
Logan enters a moment later and sets a condom-wrapped, bright purple, butt plug and a tube of lube on the sink. He runs his hand over my ass, warming my skin and making me wiggle.
βThatβs a lotta soap, huh?β he says.
βWhy have they left you a hundred cakes of soap?β
βNo idea. I guess they think Iβm really dirty. I hate to disappoint them, but I brought my own shower gel. Their soap smells like flowers. Bit girly for me.β He squeezes some lube on his gloved fingers. βRelax your shoulders, baby. Iβm going to touch you now.β He rubs a cool path down the cleft of my ass to the pucker, then circles his slick fingers over my sphincter, around and around. The motionβs hypnotic. I relax back into his hand, feeling everything inside me loosen. Thereβs no discomfort when he presses his finger into me. It just feels full. After a moment, my sphincter relaxes and the pressure inside me starts to feel good, in a very bad way. I shouldnβt be enjoying his finger in my ass, but I am. He works his finger, sliding it in and out, and I get caught up in his rhythm.
He puts his free hand between my shoulder blades and leans over me. βYour pussyβs flaring, sweetheart. I think you like that.β
I donβt try to deny it. Even without Loganβs insistence on honesty, itβs important to be truthful with my Dom about what I like and what I donβt.
βYes, Daddy.β I lower my shoulders, so my back stretches and my ass tips up further. When I push back into his finger, he rewards me with long, slow thrusts, all the way in, all the way out. God, that feels so bad-good.
βThatβs my girl. You ready for your plug?β
βYes, please.β
He picks up Morris from near my elbow. His finger slides out of me and Morrisβs blunt tip presses in a moment later. I take a deep breath, clench and then push back. I donβt need any more than the one breath, because thereβs no fear this time. I know Loganβs not going to damage me; heβs too careful for that. Iβm still nervous about being plugged, but itβs a good kind of nervous. Itβs an anxiety that makes my blood race and my body flush like I have a fever, but not the kind that shuts down my mind. He slides Morris into me, pulls back gently on the base to test the seat, and, when heβs satisfied, takes off the glove and rubs my ass with his hands, skin to skin.
βThis is looking much better, baby,β he says. He must be looking at my bruises. βDo you want some more cream on it before we go down to dinner?β
βNo, Daddy, it feels fine.β I took painkillers this morning after breakfast but didnβt need them after that and didnβt even notice my ass during lunch, but then, I was distracted by the Ben Wa balls and book talk.
βSweet little girl. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look with my marks and my plug in your ass? So beautiful.β
Iβm not beautiful. Maman despaired about my plainness for years and I know what the mirror tells me. But under his hand, under his growly words, I melt and
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