The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βAre you doing a scene? Fuck, Iβm sorry to miss that.β
βJust a taster tonight. Thereβll be plenty more when we get back from L.A. Little girl says she needs heavy play.β
Ryan rolls the whip handle between his palms. βDamn, I know a man who can give it to her.β
βSo do I, brother, so do I.β I clap him on the shoulder again and go to retrieve my girl.
Emily bounces on my arm all the way to the library. If she didnβt have a plug in her ass, sheβd be skipping. βDo they hunt every night, sir?β she asks.
Sheβs peppered me with questions about the hunt. Far more than she asked after that ugly moment with Rachel.
βNo. Once or twice a week. But any time you want a ride, baby doll, you can have one. Iβm sure I can draft one of the house subs.β
She bounces up on her toes and kisses my cheek. βYes, please, sir! That was so much fun.β
Her enthusiasm is infectious and I grin back at her. βEven with the plug? I thought that might be a little rough for you.β
She bites her lower lip and flushes a sweet pink. βIt was fine.β
More than fine, Iβd say. βIβm glad, because I missed checking in while you were spurring that poor bastard like a bronco.β I stop her at the library door and rub my hand down over her soft, curved behind. Her ass is delightful. As I touch her, her flush deepens. βHowβs it feeling?β
She nods. βFull, but okay.β
βGood.β I show her the timer running on my watch, which is at eleven minutes, thirteen seconds. βIβd like to do the scene with the plug in, but if it becomes too much, or you feel like youβre going to lose control of your bowels, I want you to say βdiaper,β and weβll stop and take it out.β
βBut, sir, wonβt that disrupt the scene?β
βJust for a few minutes. Itβs not a problem, sweetheart. Something youβll learn about me? I always finish a scene, even if it takes a couple of replays. Unless you safe word, I finish what I start. Thatβs why Iβve given you a different word for the plug. Itβs just a pause button, not a full stop.β
She nods happily.
βReady?β I ask, putting my hand on the library doorβs knob.
At another happy nod, I turn the handle and open the door.
I know Emily will be impressed by the library. Itβs a real library, as well as a playroom. The walls are floor-to-ceiling books, broken only by the windows, with rolling ladders to reach the highest shelves. There are thousands of titles, from leather bound classics, all the way to yellow-spined paperbacks, like the well-thumbed Gor series. Anything we donβt have, the librarian can get from the public library. There are e-readers in several flavors on reading tables throughout the library, and deep leather seats to read in, most with a pillow or two on the floor beside them.
Itβs to one of these leather couches that I lead Emily after giving her a few minutes to wander around, wide-eyed as a kid in a candy store. The libraryβs mostly empty at this time of night, but a few of the chairs around the scene areaβindicated by a round Persian rug on the floorβare occupied. Itβs to those occupants that I say, βGentlemen, Emily has been a naughty girl and needs to be punished.β
One grumpy bastard who is reading the Financial Times, takes his paper and moves, presumably seeking a quieter place to digest the stock report. The others set aside their reading materials. Master Javier, one of the clubβs silverbacks and a top almost as fearsome as Maude, taps the head of the woman in an elaborate red evening gown kneeling in front of his chair. She lifts her head from his crotch with a rattling gasp, so he must have been down her throat. βPut me away, Celina. Watch and learn.β
The woman fumbles with his tux, then turns and sits between his feet, surreptitiously wiping tears and saliva from her face with the back of a diamond-ringed hand.
βMaster Logan,β Javier acknowledges me.
βMaster Javier, good to see you.β
βAnd you. What has this bad girl done?β
βTell Master Javier, Emily,β I instruct, while I sit down on the couch.
Emily puts her head down and twists her hands together in front of her. βI didnβt hand in my homework,β she says.
I blink at her, surprised. Not by her words. I told her the broad brush of the scene and sheβs just elaborating. What surprises me is how completely she goes into role. Her whole body-language changes. She looks smaller. Younger. Her voice changes, not a childish lisp, but higher-pitched. The voice of a young teen, who has done wrong and is more resentful than contrite at being caught.
βWhen was your homework due, Emily?β Javier asks sternly.
βToday.β
No βmaster,β no βsir.β Javier notices just as I do. He sits forward in his chair and wraps his hand around his slaveβs throat. She gasps and slumps against his thigh, submitting instantly to his hold.
βDid you do the homework?β His voice drops to a growl.
Emily shakes her head, looking at her feet. She starts digging a hole in the carpet with the toe of one Mary Jane.
βStop fidgeting, Emily,β I tell her. βAnswer Master Javier.β
βI didnβt do my homework,β she admits.
Javierβs mouth thins to a white line. βDo you understand the importance of doing well in school, girl? Do you understand that itβs disrespectful to your teachers and your master when you donβt give everything your best effort?β
Emily nods without looking up at either of us. The hands sheβs twisting in front of her have gone white-knuckled and I wonder if this is becoming too real for her. I have no idea how she did in school. Maybe the truth of why she became a writer is that her grades werenβt good enough to get a job in journalism. Nowβs not the time to
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