The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

or, if there is, he hasn’t taught it to me. Instead, I slide my left foot behind me and drop into a deep curtsey. “Ta very much for Knee Time, Daddy.”

When I rise, he smiles, hot and wolfy. “You’re very welcome, little girl.”

Grinning to myself, I scoot off to the bathroom to empty my bladder, wash my face, brush my teeth and hair, and do my nightly gag-reflex training. He hasn’t told me to get ready for bed, but if we’re going to be two hours, it will be after eleven-thirty before we’re done and Daddy’s very strict about my bedtime.

Blowing through my bedtime once when I was trying to get something done for my publisher, which didn’t really have to be done that night, won me my second trip to the playpen and twenty-four hours without an orgasm, during which Daddy fucked me five times, just to make his point. Not an experience I want to repeat. Now I’m very, very, very careful to be ready for bed no later than quarter of twelve. Since I’m a total night owl and habitually stay up past three in the morning, or sometimes all night, when I’m not with my Dom, I thought I’d grow resentful of Bedtime. Or, at least, restless with the routine. But it hasn’t been like that at all. I love Bedtime. I fall asleep pretty much as soon as Logan spoons me and I sleep so, so well in his arms, cuddled in his big bed. Daddy sleeps well, too, and Hendry’s told me that our very regular sleeping patterns have contributed to his speedy recovery, which makes me crazy happy.

Once I’m clean and ready to play, I return to the bedroom. Enigma’s gone off, which would be a sign that I’ve spent too much time in the bathroom, except that now there’s a heavy, insistent beat in the air. I wriggle, recognizing the music. It’s an instrumental version of Depeche Mode’s “Master and Servant,” but a better name for it would be Daddy’s Spank Track. He’s only played it a couple of times, and always during impact scenes. I’m getting a super-spanking. He really meant it when he said he was happy with me.

He’s sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, a line of toys on the pillow next to him. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from just throwing myself at him. The little pain helps me concentrate on moving gracefully—which I always try to do and how wonderful is it that Daddy noticed?—as I climb onto his high bed, drape myself across his thighs, put my hands behind me in the small of my back, and cross my wrists and ankles. I can’t keep my butt from wriggling a bit, though, and Daddy chuckles.

“Excited, little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“What are you excited about?”

“I think I’m about to get a good-girl spanking.”

And a good-girl strapping. And then I’m really hoping for a good-girl fucking, since Stanley-the-Stainless-Steel-Butt-Plug is on the pillow next to Daddy’s thick leather strap. There’s almost nothing better than a hard fucking from Daddy while I’m wearing Stanley. I don’t see any condoms on the pillow, so he’s not planning on anything going in my bottom except Stanley, which is kind of a relief, since I’m still a little conflicted about anal sex. And best of all, Daddy’s evil, whippy paddle is nowhere to be seen. He’s given me enough sexy paddlings that I know play with Belphegor can be pleasurable—in a really owie way—but I’ll never prefer a paddling to a spanking or a belting.

Daddy rubs his big, warm hand in circles over my bottom and the backs of my thighs.

“And why are you getting a good-girl spanking?” He punctuates each word with a tap on my bottom. Not even enough to sting yet but starting to warm me up.

“Because I’ve been super good while you’ve been recovering?”

“Yes.” A harder tap-tap-tap. “And what else?”

I try to think. Nothing immediately comes to mind. “Daddy loves me?”

He chuckles and smacks my butt hard enough to sting. “Yes, I do. But I was thinking of how proud you’ve made me. Today especially, but every day we’ve been together. I’m proud of you as my little girl, and my submissive, and my friend, and my lover.”

“That’s a lot to be proud of.” I wince, because he’s slapping hard enough to really sting now. The crossed wire in my brain will kick in and convert the sting to sexy, needy heat eventually, but it takes a little while to get there.

“It is.” He pauses to rub the sting in. The familiar warmth and pressure works into the muscles of my butt, making me wriggle happily. “I know you didn’t enjoy your time in the playpen this morning, but I was proud of you.” He starts spanking me in earnest. Hard, heavy thuds with the flat of his palm, alternating cheeks, punctuating each word. “I’m proud of you accepting my discipline. I’m proud of you trying to be the bigger person. I’m proud of you even when you stumble, because it shows how hard you’re trying.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Ta very much,” I whisper, turning my face into the soft covers under my cheek. I let every muscle relax and absorb the blows. My legs jerk with the heaviest slaps. Certain reflexes are really hard to control. But mostly I lie still and let the heat spread through me. It starts as a smarting shock that soaks in as Daddy layers blow after blow over my bottom. He’s spanking me to the rhythm of the music, and the beat echoes through me. My heart synchronizes to it. The throbbing in my nipples and clit. My whole body becomes one pulsing mass of pain-pleasure. The sensation wipes every thought from my mind. I simply feel.

When the song switches back to Enigma’s “Return to Innocence,” Daddy stops to rub again. He’s concentrated on the roundest, fleshiest part of my butt-cheeks, and mostly avoided the super-owie