Daddy PI: Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles by Frost, J (reading comprehension books .txt) 📕

My offer makes her brighten. I give her another nip and a kiss to soothe it before I slide out of bed and gather up the sex toys. I leave the soft cuffs clipped to the headboard. We’re going to get a lot of use out of them, I can tell. She loves being restrained.

Emily rises more slowly, stretching. As she gathers up the towel she was lying on, she fingers her collar, toying with the pearl clasp. Her immediate attachment to her collar makes me smile.

“Baby doll, go into the bathroom and bend over the sink, and I’ll take Morris out.”

“Oh.” She drops her hand from her collar and reaches for her bum, as though she’s just remembered she’s still plugged. “Um, I can take it out. I don’t mind.”

“What Daddy puts in, Daddy takes out,” I remind her.

“I know, but it might be . . .” Her voice goes tiny. “Messy.”

“Does Daddy clean up his little girl’s messes?”

“Yes.” She twists the towel between her hands. “It might be gross messy. Really. I came a lot and I didn’t do an enema.”

I finish putting the toys away, take the towel from her and toss it on the bed before taking her hands in mine. “I didn’t tell you to. Emmy, trust me.”

Her chin quivers. “I do trust you. I just don’t want you to be disgusted with me.”

I lean in and kiss her forehead. “There’s nothing disgusting about your body, baby. Not a thing. Daddy adores every inch of it. Inside and out. Go into the bathroom, bend over the sink, and wait for me.”

“Yes, Daddy.” When I release her hands, she holds them out to me. “Daddy, please?”

“Baby doll.” I gather her to me and cuddle her to my chest, skin to skin. I might have gotten up too abruptly. She said she doesn’t need much aftercare, and that might be true for lighter scenes. What she and I are doing is intense, and she needs cuddles and reassurance.

I hug and stroke her until she gives me a tight squeeze and pulls away. I let her go and watch her pad into the bathroom. She’s touching her collar again. Despite jumping the gun, I’m glad I’ve given it to her.

When I take it out, the plug’s not particularly messy and having the condom on it makes clean-up easy. If the idea of mess is going to upset her, though, I’ll start her on psyllium husk pills, because I absolutely cannot get enough of fucking her while she’s plugged.

The expressions that cross Emily’s face as I remove the plug and tidy up are priceless: consternation, relief, and, I think, loss. Like her attachment to her collar, her reluctance to lose the plug makes me smile. I want her to have positive associations with the plug, and after only three sessions with Morris, she’s already getting there.

I invite her into the shower and claim Daddy’s privilege in washing her, which is partly an excuse to examine her all over. The marks from her spanking are healing well and the silicone paddle hasn’t left any bruises, just a fading heat. It’s also partly an opportunity to tease her. She leaves the shower pink from more than the scrubbing, and I make a mental note to put the Ben Wa balls back in her after breakfast to keep her on that happy edge.

After I towel her off, I teach her a morning ritual. As I open a bottle of lotion, I think of Mir. She loved rituals. We had several for every time of day. I numbered them for her; when we were apart and she’d performed a ritual, she’d text me the ritual numbers. One of the ways I knew we were really done was when those texts stopped.

I shake myself out of that memory. I’ll create new rituals with Emily. She’s eager to learn. I can see her memorizing each step of the ritual: how I position her, where I start with the lotion, the circular motions of fingertip and palm I use to rub it in, how I smooth the cream into her breasts and throat last, holding her against my chest and humming my appreciation as she arches against me. Touching her makes my blood thrum in my ears and my cock distend, even though I just had a magnificent orgasm. Emily makes me feel like a horny teenager again.

After I teach her the lotion ritual, I take her into her bedroom and help her unpack, which she hasn’t had a chance to do since we boarded. Directing her where to put her things and hanging up her dresses on the pretense that she’s too little to do it herself, lets me see the wardrobe she’s brought. Her clothes are a mix: casual tees and shorts, several very nice dresses that she clearly brought for the formal dinners aboard, and a few special little girl pieces like a pink panda onesie with the most fucking adorable back-flap that I make a mental note to put her in sooner rather than later. There are no more surprises like her bunny, but she has brought a Hibachi vibrator that nearly takes my arm off when I plug it in to test it. I chuckle and confiscate it before I dress her in a soft denim skirt and PowerPuff Girls tee that says, “Don’t Call Me Princess” in sparkly pink letters. She asks to wear a pair of pink and white thigh highs and seeing her in them gives me a semi-stiffy. Anticipating how sweet her little breasts will look in the soft cotton shirt, and how her nipples will react to the air-conditioning, I allow her panties but no bra. Then I leave her to do her hair while I dress.

Since I’m doing interviews this morning and Emily’s crazy for the headmaster look, I pull on a white, cotton button-down and a dark blue waistcoat. Since it’s Saturday, I leave off