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

crease where my thigh meets my ass. His rubbing soothes the sting and makes everything hot and pulsing and erotic. I wiggle in sheer delight.

“That’s my good girl,” Daddy says, snapping on a glove. “I love seeing you enjoy your spanking. Spread your legs for me and let’s get Stanley into your bottom.”

Dazed, I push my legs apart. Daddy’s warm fingers spread my cheeks. The cool, slick tip of the metal plug presses against my sphincter and I push back to let it in. There’s always that moment of resistance before the muscle yields, before my body opens and accepts the invasion. Then a cold fullness. I sigh. I’ve discovered pleasure in each part of being plugged, but I particularly like this part, before the metal warms, before my body adjusts. While I feel speared by the icy thing he’s put in me. His possession of this very private part of me.

“Mmm, yes.” He rubs my bottom around the plug, moving it around in me as I whimper and moan. “Legs together and cross your ankles again.”

The fullness of the plug in me is more acute with my legs together, even though it’s warming now, and I know that’s what Daddy intends. He’s so deliberate in how he controls me, in each thing he makes me feel.

“Strap now, sweet girl.” He rubs his strap all over my butt. I love his belt, which has a roughened edge that leaves welts. But I love this short, stiff, oiled leather strap even more. It’s the perfect combination of sting and whump, and because it’s shorter, I can often feel the graze of his knuckles over my skin. Even more intimate than his belt.

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl. There’s no number. I’m just going to strap you until I feel like stopping. No coming. I want you to save your orgasms for when my cock’s in you, but if you’re getting close and feel like you can’t stop, say ‘yellow.’ ”

Boo, no orgasms while I’m being strapped, but at least I’ll get them later. I haven’t had an orgasm yet today, which isn’t a surprise after my discipline this morning, but at least he’s not going to make me wait until tomorrow.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

He rubs the strap a final time over my cheeks, then lifts it away. I clench my hands into fists, because my instinct with the strap is to reach back and rub after each strike, and in the Bara position, my hands are right there above the ouchie-zone. But Daddy doesn’t like it when I reach back and I’ve been trained better than that. I tuck my thumbs in and clench around them, but relax everywhere else while I wait for the strap to fall.

The first strike, across both cheeks, takes my breath away and floods my eyes with smarting tears. The initial sting is always a surprise, until it morphs into a line of pure need. As I get my breath back, I moan. Every muscle unwinds as I let the air flow out of my lungs. I imagine it like the videos I’ve seen of wildfire: the transparent shimmer of heat, followed by the crackling line of flame, sweeping up from my ass, into my lungs, and out of my mouth as I breathe.

The second strike is easier: a little hitch, and then my body releases, every muscle going limp. The third is faster, and with the fourth, we find our rhythm. Our breaths come together. Our bodies move together. My back arches to lift my bottom for each strike. His torso twists slightly as he lifts and lowers the strap. He hasn’t told me to count and I don’t. The lines of heat spread down over my cheeks, each one just a little lower than the one before. When he reaches the crease, he reverses direction and works back up. These strikes are more intense, overlapping skin that’s already scorched. My moans become gasps, and if Daddy hadn’t told me not to come, I’d be humping his leg, chasing my orgasm. Instead, I relax into it and let the sensations flow through me, while I imagine that I’m a baby dragon stretched over my Daddy’s knees, breathing fire with each strike.

A really horny baby dragon.

I don’t know how many I’ve taken when Daddy lays the strap across my cheeks, bends over, and kisses the skin he’s blistered. He turns his head so his cheek, so smooth he must have just shaved, rests on my fevered skin. “Your ass is a gorgeous color, little girl.”

I swallow, and giggle, and think again of that picture of the suspended subbie. What Daddy sees isn’t what most men would see: the knobs of my spine, my prominent ribs, the small imperfections in my skin. Daddy sees the marks of my submission, and those are beautiful to him.

“On your back, little girl. I think your pussy needs to be matched up.”

I squee. There’s nothing better than a pussy spanking when I’ve already had my bottom beaten and I’m pumped up on endorphins.

I scoot off Daddy’s legs and pause until he points at the headboard, then arrange myself on my back with my head on a pillow and my legs spread. Daddy runs his hot palm up and down my body, between my breasts, over my bare mound. He tickles my labia, slick from the spanking, with his fingertips, before he sits back on his heels and smiles at me.

“Will there be any coming during your pussy spanking?”

I shake my head. “No, Daddy. I’m saving my orgasms for when you give me your wolfy-penis.”

“That’s right.” His rich tone is full of both laughter and pride. He’s happy with me. Daddydaddydaddy.

He reaches around the sides of the bed and pulls up the long black straps he’s fixed to the frame. At the end of each strap is a Velcro cuff. He fastens the cuffs around my ankles, then adjusts the straps so my legs are spread wide.

“I’m leaving your arms free, little girl. I want