The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βOh, sorry, baby doll. Itβs too cold in here, isnβt it? Iβve called the front desk. Theyβre sending someone to fix the thermostat after dinner.β
βI might be a popsicle by then, Daddy,β I say plaintively.
He chuckles. βIβll get you something.β
He retrieves a fluffy white robe from the bathroom and drapes me in it. Then he sits next to me and opens the black folder.
Inside, thereβs a single sheet of paper, covered in words and symbols. Thereβs a rough square in the center of the page, surrounded by wavy lines. Is that supposed to be water? Inside the square, there are small symbols: cliffs, mountains, an oval lake. The symbols are labeled. The Pillowy Mountains. Shipwreck Cove. Bathtub Lake. Pirateβs Lookout. Rum-un Cliffs.
There are three fancy Xs on the map, drawn with curlicues and shaded in. One in Rum-un Cliffs, one in the Pillowy Mountains, and one in Pirateβs Lookout.
βIs this a treasure map?β I ask, tracing my fingers over it. βDid you draw this? Itβs so cool.β
He nods. βX marks the spot, see? You have an hour to find the three treasures and bring them back to me.β
A treasure hunt? Heβs made a treasure hunt for me?
A naked treasure hunt?
βPirate treasure?β I ask, blinking up at him.
βUh-huh.β
I can play pirates. I have the perfect thing. βDaddy, please, can I have just a second? Well, maybe five seconds? Please? It wonβt take long and I think youβll like it. Please-please?β
It will keep me from freezing to death and is much more enticing than the frumpy robe.
He gives me a quizzical look before he sits back and shrugs. βSure.β
I give him a peck on the cheek, then run back into my room. Throwing off the bathrobe, I root through my dresser drawers until I find a fairy tale nightie I bought at Macyβs for the cruise. I pull it on over my head, lifting my hair out of the wide, white satin neckline, and settling the ruffle off my shoulders. I draw on the matching thigh-high stockings, smoothing out the little ruffles at the top. The silk is lovely and cool on the sore skin of my thighs. Thereβs about an inch between the tops of the stockings and the bottom of the nightie. I hope Logan likes ruffles, because there are lots of them. I think he will. Ruffles are pirate-y.
I run back through Loganβs room and skid to a halt in front of him.
His dark eyes sweep over me and ignite. βFuck me.β
I put my hands behind my back, so he gets the full effect of the ruffles, and the sexy stockings, and what the air conditioningβs doing to my nipples. βArr, Daddy.β
He chuckles. βArr, yourself, little pirate. Come here.β He holds his hands out. βWhere did you get this outfit?β
I climb into his lap, straddling him and winding my arms around his neck. βMacyβs. Itβs one of the nighties I bought that day I went to the mall.β
He runs his hands up and down the outsides of my thighs, plucking at the ruffles, before sliding under my nightie to cup my bare bottom. βYouβre the sexiest little pirate Iβve ever seen.β
Looking up into those dark, burning eyes, I feel like the worldβs sexiest pirate. Much sexier than Anne Bonny, or even Elizabeth Swann. They didnβt have a daddy to devour them with his eyes, the way Logan is right now, or to press his thick bulge up between their legs. I wiggle on it and thrill to Loganβs groan.
βGo find the treasure before I forget all about it and just take you to the captainβs quarters for a pirate ravishing.β
Iβd be up for a ravishing, particularly if heβd nap with me afterwards since Iβm kind of sleepy. But I can see how much effort heβs put into this game; I donβt want him to think Iβm unappreciative or to be put off playing with me in the future. Wriggling, I reach back to grab the map off the table. I spread it on his chest so I can study it.
βI think I need a GPS, Captain Daddy. Whatβs a Rum-un?β
He squeezes my ass. βYou are a rum-un, wild little girl.β
I giggle and contemplate the map some more. I turn it around. The labels are written sideways, so the map can be read from any angle. Thereβs no up or down. No point of reference. The X at Rum-un Cliffs keeps catching my eye. Rum-un. Rum-rum-rum. I turn my head and glance at the long, polished wood bar to the left of the couch weβre sitting on.
βDaddy, is there rum in the bar?β
βGo look.β
I give him a huge kiss and jump off his lap. The bar is a six-foot curve of dark wood, set with four stools that are bolted into the floor. No treasure hidden among the stools. I run around the far end. The back of the bar has a little sink, a rack that holds a dozen glasses, and the roomβs mini-fridge.
I open the mini-fridge. There, between tiny bottles of rum and cans of Coke, winks a silver ace of spades.
A butt plug.
βOoo.β I take it out, feeling the weight and coldness of it in my hands. I turn it around to admire the pink crystal in its base. Cradling it between my palms, I trot back to Logan.
He grins. βClever baby.β
βLook what I found? Pirate booty. So shiny.β
βPirate booty for your little booty?β Logan laughs. βThis is Stanley, Morrisβs big brother. I think youβre ready for him.β
The idea of an even bigger butt plug would have terrified me a few days ago. Now it just gives me a warm, shivery feeling. And a giggle that heβs named it Stanley. βYes, Daddy.β
βGood girl. Kneel up on the couch.β
Heβs going to put Stanley in me now? The glint in his eye says he definitely is, and I get to wear Stanley while I hunt the other two treasures. Oh, boy.
I pass Stanley
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