The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βEmmy, relax, baby. Youβre doing well. Just let yourself feel.β
I am feeling! Iβm feeling the burn in all those places he spanked and plugged and fucked yesterday that were swollen and sore before we even started and I thought this βrewardβ was supposed to help me heal quickly? Iβm not feeling healed. Not. At. All.
He places his warm palm on my belly, which he still hasnβt let me wash, and the sweat filming my skin is making his come sticky again. Gross. The pressure makes me cramp and the orgasm I fought off before is back, tightening my insides, but even the pain-pleasure is horrible and cold and hateful. I focus fiercely on yellow chunks and it disappears, leaving behind a sour sense of frustration and simmering anger.
βSweetie, what are you thinking about right now?β
Killing him. And yellow chunks.
βThe video I told you about on our first date. The one where the woman was throwing up big yellow chunks while her Dom deep-throated her.β
He chuckles and kisses my mons. βOkay, thatβs effective. Since you all but dry up when you think about that, we want something a little less nasty for you to focus on.β
Toenail fungus. Rancid-goat body odor. Cold showers.
βLike cold showers?β
βUh-huh, like cold showers. If youβre really close, why donβt you think about cold showers for a minute? But only a minute. Mostly I want you to just feel and not think about anything. This is a reward. Itβs supposed to get you out of your head.β
Iβm going out of my head, all right. Out of my head wanting to kill my Dom. And thereβs nothing rewarding about this. Itβs just torment. Which should appeal to me as a masochist, but really doesnβt.
βLetβs try something a little different.β He shifts up so heβs no longer pinning my left leg and reaches for his toy bag, which heβs put on the bed next to his phone. His phone is counting down my thirty minutes of hell. The bag blocks my view so I canβt see the timer, and heβs put a pillow over the clock next to the bed. He says he doesnβt want me focused on the time but knowing how much longer I had would really help me endure this. Heβs such a sadist.
Logan brings my attention back to him by wiping my clit off with a baby wipe heβs pulled from his bag. He snaps on a latex glove and squirts some lube on his gloved fingers.
βHead back, Emmy. Just relax and feel. Close your eyes for now. Iβll tell you when you can open them again.β
I tip my head back over the wedge of pillows heβs made under me and close my eyes. Without my sight, the sensations intensify. The bonfire in my vagina and ass. The lingering sting in my clit. Itβs a lot better now that heβs wiped most of the toothpaste off, but any enjoyment is overshadowed by the fact I canβt come.
The warm swipe of his tongue is a shock. My eyes fly open, but thereβs only the ceiling to look at, so I close them again. Only for them to fly open again when his lubed finger circles my sphincter before gently pushing inside. For the first few thrusts, his finger spreads the toothpaste and the burning-cold intensifies to an ice pick in my ass. I canβt hold still and fight to keep my legs spread while my ass tries to wiggle away across the bed.
He nips my labia. βEmmy, stay still.β
Try staying still when someoneβs sticking an ice pick in your ass! But his command helps me center myself and I pin my butt to the pillows. His finger slides in and out, in and out, and slowly the ice pick sensation eases, helped by the soft, warm lap of his tongue over my clit.
He lifts his head and blows over my clit, hot then cool. βThatβs it, little girl. Relax and enjoy your reward.β
This is not a reward! Thereβs nothing rewarding about being tormented and not allowed to come.
I blow out a long breath as I try to center myself again and focus on the good sensations: the warm, slick pressure in my ass, the sweep of his tongue over the firming bundle of nerves at the top of my slit. My openingβs still burning, but that sensation merges into the other stimulation and adds an edge that suddenly has my thighs and belly shaking. βYellow, yellow!β
βCold showers, Emmy,β Logan says, lifting his head. βBack off a little.β
I imagine that first, skin-shriveling shock of the cold water hitting my skin. My breath seizing in my chest. Raw and tight.
βThatβs it, little girl,β Logan rumbles approvingly, thrusting his finger a little faster in my ass. βRide it and back off when you need toβ"
A beeping interrupts him.
βThank G-goodness!β
Itβs over. It has to be over. And the bathroom is only a few steps away. Scrub brush, here I come.
Logan chuckles. βWhat if I told you that was a five-minute warning?β
No, it canβt be. This has been going on for eons. It canβt only have been twenty-five minutes. βPuh-please, Sir, is it?β
βNo.β He kisses my mons and slowly withdraws his finger. I hear the snap of the latex as he removes his glove. βLet me clean you up, little girl.β
I wrestle with myself for a second, wanting nothing more than to bolt for the bathroom. But he wants to clean me up, so I hold myself still and let him. Soft, cool swipes remove the last traces of toothpaste from my clit and sphincter. He leaves my still-burning opening for last, but finally, finally he wipes me there, too. Sweet relief.
βSir, may I go to the bathroom and wash up now?β
He pauses in the middle of pulling the Velcro cuff off my left wrist. βEmmy, why arenβt you calling me βdaddyβ?β
Because heβs been pure Dom since breakfast. Actually, pure sadist. I donβt identify that part of him as Daddy. ββSirβ feels right just now. Please, may I
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