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

again, I withdraw from her and catch her as she collapses. I sink onto the bathmat, careful not to rely on my left leg for balance, and pull her into my lap. She’s limp against me, and I check her face to make sure she hasn’t passed out. Her eyes are rolled nearly to white, but she blinks every few seconds. And her smile is one of pure bliss. I cuddle her and stroke her back, before pulling my robe around both of us so she doesn’t get cold.

When she begins to stir against me, I kiss her forehead. “Back with me, baby girl?”

She nods and works her mouth for a moment before she finds her words. “Tuh-ta, Daddy. Thank you for my orgasms.”

She’s okay. That was rough and intense, but we both glory in rough and intense. Even though Emily looks so delicate a strong wind could blow her away, she can take the roughest I can dish out. And grin at me afterwards.

“You’re very welcome, sweet girl. Into the shower now. Daddy will help you wash.”

She obeys like a robot. Lobotomized by pleasure. That thought makes me grin during my second shower of the day as I remove the plug and wash my dazed little girl. I clean her labia carefully, making sure I’ve gotten off all the toothpaste. Emily’s a little sensitive to it and I don’t want her to get a rash. She washed her hair yesterday and she doesn’t wash it every day, so I just wet it and then wring it out before I wrap her in a towel. She hasn’t cut her hair while we’ve been together. It was past her shoulders when we met, and now it’s brushing where her bra-strap would be if she were dressed. Perfect to run my fingers through; perfect to wrap around my fist.

She still looks glazed, and well-fucked, as she dries off. I get out the lotion, which also has sunblock in it because Emily burns easily, and, starting at her little toes, rub lotion into every inch of her. This is a ritual, as much as her offering her mouth to me first thing in the morning. Her eyes glaze again as I rub in the lotion, and she gives me another of those beatific smiles when I finish.

After I brush out her damp hair and leave it to curl naturally, I lead her into the bedroom. Most days, I let her pick out her own clothes, but I always select something, even if it’s just her panties, so she knows all day that she’s wearing something Daddy gave her. Today’s going to be a roaster, hot and sticky as only August in the City can be, ten degrees hotter than yesterday, and we’re going to be outside for some of it. When I tell her the forecast, she picks a blue, pin-striped, sailor dress with a wide, white collar and pairs it with white bike shorts so she doesn’t flash the world every time she bends over. Since she’s wearing shorts, I take her panties away and hand her a lace bra with demi-cups, a pair of tiny, daisy nipple clamps, and white ankle socks.

She looks up at me, all huge eyes and rosebud mouth. I’ve never made her wear nipple clamps outside a scene, but I like the idea of them today. It will keep her mind off the heat.

When she doesn’t make any move to dress, I reach out and tug on her nipples until they’re little red pegs, take the wire daisies from her, and fit them around each nipple. Emily blinks in shock as the wire contracts and pinches.

“We’ll take them off every few hours to give your nips a rest, but you’ll wear them for me today until dinner time.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she breathes.

I kiss the top of her head. I like keeping her on her toes. Emily’s a very sweet submissive. She doesn’t make me work for her submission the way many of my former bottoms have. It would be easy to take her for granted. Small surprises, little twists, remind us both of how precious the gift of her submission truly is.

After staring at the nipple clamps like she’s never seen herself clamped before, and wriggling in helpless delight, she dresses. I help her with her socks, to keep her feeling little. When I finish, she’s glowing, pink suffusing her cheeks, eyes alight. Happy girl.

I pull on a black tee and board shorts, loose enough that I’ll be able to do physical therapy in them. Emily watches me, a glint in her eyes despite the two orgasms she just had in the bathroom. When it’s not nearly a hundred outside, I feed Emily’s schoolgirl fetish by dressing in “headmaster casual:” waistcoats and white Oxfords. Emily drools watching me roll up my sleeves. But today’s heat will make button-downs and waistcoats unbearable, so, on hot days, I’ve taken to wearing muscle-shirts and not shaving so I have matching scruff.

Turns out, the “bad-boy” look works for her, too.

I tap my adoring little girl on the tip of her nose before I take her hand and lead her downstairs.

Egg-white omelets with fresh dill from the garden are on the menu for breakfast. I leave our daily menu to Emily and only veto her choices when she tries to feed me tofu burgers and grilled portabella mushrooms more than two days in a row. I appreciate her efforts to help me eat healthy, but there’s only so much meat substitute I can take.

While Emily separates the eggs, I head into the garden to cut the dill. It’s still early, but the sun’s already fierce and has burned off the morning dew. There’s a breeze that will keep the day from becoming unbearable, if it sticks around. The climbing roses and the blue flowers Emily’s planted that look like pom-poms wave gently, stirred by the air current that dips over the twelve-foot brick walls surrounding our little patch of green. Mum loved her