The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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I can believe that. βAnything other than water to drink?β
She shakes her head. βWhat are you having?β
βA glass of wine with the meal. Would my little girl like a sip?β
βDoes Daddy share that, too?β she asks, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth.
Oh, that pert tongue. βI could be persuaded, but Iβd need something from you, baby doll.β
She lifts her eyebrows, quizzical and engaged. βWhat, sir?β
βWhatever you feel like sharing.β
βOh.β She bites her lip as she thinks. βDoes it have to be embarrassing?β
βNo, but your story about the flip-flops had me laughing all the way home yesterday. I watched a couple of those βPeople of Walmartβ videos last night. I havenβt laughed that hard in a long time.β
She smiles and soft color rises to her cheeks. βI have an entire library of embarrassing stories.β
I reach across the table and take her fingertips in mine. I slide the pad of my thumb across the edges of her pink-painted nails. βHow about you share a fantasy instead?β
Her pupils immediately widen. Score.
βYes, sir, butββ
Weβre interrupted by the waiter. I order for us both, watching the flush spread down Emilyβs throat as I do.
After the waiter leaves, I pick up her hand again and stroke her knuckles with my thumb. βYou were saying?β
βBefore we were so rudely interrupted?β She smiles at the clichΓ©, but then her smile fades and a little line appears between her brows. βMy fantasies can be a little, um, dark.β
I start to say that nothingβs too dark for me, but thatβs not true. I have limits of my own, which weβll discuss if and when they become relevant. Instead, I squeeze her fingers. βIβm good with dark.β
βOkay.β She worries her lip with her top teeth for a moment. βThereβs this one. I havenβt told anyone. Itβs about a princess in a castleββ
βI play the princess?β I ask, to inject a little humor.
She sticks the tip of her tongue out at me. That tongue. Iβm going to clamp it before too long. βThe castle is stormed by a knight dressed all in black. He takes the princess hostage and-andββ She pauses. βI canβt believe Iβm telling you this.β
βIβm liking everything Iβm hearing so far,β I say, to encourage her. βIs the Black Knight good to his hostage?β
She shakes her head.
βMmm.β I can see where this is going. I stretch my legs under the table to relieve the pressure growing between them. βDoes the Black Knight force the Princess?β
She nods and breaks eye contact, blushing brilliantly. βIn front of his men, so everyone knows sheβs his. And he makes her serve him. Like his slave.β
I can think of all kinds of service the Black Knight could force the Princess to give him. My balls throb so hard a hot wire shoots up into my belly. βIs she a good little slave?β I ask, watching her reactions closely.
She shakes her head again. βShe runs away. He goes after her and catches her and punishes her for escaping.β
Fuck, yes. Iβm loving this fantasy. Thereβll be flogging and face-fucking and so many sweet tears. βDoes he put her in chains?β
Her eyes flash up to mine, pupils hugely dilated. βI hadnβt thought . . . yes, yes, he does. On her ankles, so she has to shuffle around when sheβs doing chores and she canβt run away again.β
Fuckyesfuckyesfuckyes. Then I do a mental run through my catalogue of toys. Cuffs. Spreader bars. No ankle manacles. How is it I have no fucking ankle manacles? Do I have time to make some before we fly? I should have bought a pair at the expo. I remember them being on display. I focus for a moment, and with the recall that got me through a year of N.Y.U. while nursing a permanent hangover, I remember the shop name printed on the tablecloth under the manacles. Hereβs hoping they have overnight delivery.
βOnce sheβs chained, does she accept being his?β I ask, to see how her fantasy plays out.
Emily opens her mouth to respond, then snaps it shut as the waiter returns, bearing our appetizers. Her blush puts Times Square to shame. While the waiter arranges the plates in front of us, I tap my finger to my lips. Emily, watching closely, sits silent until the waiter leaves.
βWait,β I murmur to her.
βYes, sir,β she whispers.
βBefore you eat, we say grace and you ask for permission.β
She squeezes her eyes closed and when she opens them, theyβre wet.
βToo much?β I ask, keeping my voice low and soothing. Iβm very, very much enjoying dominating her all the time, but we havenβt discussed whether sheβd accept that, or whether sheβd find it overwhelming.
βNo, sir.β
Sounds like she might be receptive to it. The thought of dominating her full-time sends another hot zap through my blood.
βGood girl. Bow your head.β I use a simple, secular grace that I remember my great-grandmother using to bless the table, since Iβm not sure about Emilyβs religious preferences. When I finish, she lifts her head and watches me with over-bright eyes.
βSir, may I have permission to eat?β
βYes, you may.β
She smiles, her lower lip trembling, picks up her utensils and begins cutting up the white slivers of fennel into small bites.
Thatβs a job I want.
βIn future,β I say conversationally, βDaddy will cut up his little girlβs food. And I want to see you chew each bite ten times.β
She puts a bite-sized piece in her mouth, chews carefully and swallows. βYes, Daddy.β
There it is again, and this time Iβve got her number. I let her eat for a while before I say, βGoing back to this fantasy, does the Princess ever accept being his?β
βI havenβt really thought that far. Itβs just the early scenes that Iβve thought through when I, uh, when Iβve thought about it.β Her cheeks flare again, brighter than the glowing red thatβs banding the sky above our heads.
This is something sheβs fantasized about. A hot and dirty rape fantasy. My sweet, filthy baby doll.
βWhat do you think?β she asks.
I love that she wants
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