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

the back of the door. He walks back to the bed naked and although I feel ridiculous peering between my legs to ogle him, I do. He grins when he sees me, and wiggles his hips so his distended cock slaps against his thighs, which make me giggle.

He sits on the edge of the bed and traces each of my legs from my heel to the first stripe where my thigh meets my ass. His touch is light, just trailing his fingertips over my skin, but that’s all it takes to make my nerves sizzle.

“Where does being paddled hurt most, Emmy?” he asks. His growly tone makes me shiver.

“Here.” I point at the juncture of thigh and butt-cheek, where I’m already wearing a stripe from his belt.

“Uh-huh. So, we’ll go a little higher with these. Five on each leg. Do you think that will help you remember to ask permission before each orgasm and say thank you after?”

I nod earnestly.

“Good girl. Do you want Daddy to help hold you?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.” My biggest fear when being punished isn’t the pain, but that I’ll disappoint my Dom.

Logan puts his hand, light but firm, behind my left knee.

“Head back, baby. This paddle is whippy and I don’t want to catch your face. Here we go. Count them out.”

I wait this time until he smacks me with the paddle before gasping out the count. The strokes are lighter than he’d give me on the ass, but he wasn’t kidding about the paddle being whippy. It wraps my leg, covering the whole back of my thigh and smacking my IT band at the end of the stroke, which knocks the wind out of me, the pain’s so sharp. I whimper and pant and jerk. Logan’s dark eyes follow each movement, drinking in my pain. For the fourth stroke, he turns the paddle and strikes the length of my thigh, which brings fresh tears to my eyes. His turn feral. The last stroke is almost a caress, a French kiss of flame, and leaves me shaking.

“How are you doing, Emmy?” he asks after the fifth stroke.

I nod but don’t try to speak because I’m sure my voice will break. His eyes flick over my face. He releases my knee and puts the paddle down on the bed. His fingers feather over my flaming skin, drawing another whimper out of me.

“Let go of your legs, baby,” he says gently, and when I do, he pulls me up into his arms.

“Daddy?” I whisper, still not trusting my voice, and not understanding why we’ve stopped mid-punishment.

“Give us a cuddle, then we’ll finish up,” he says.

I like the sound of that. I’m feeling shaky, even though I’ve had harder beatings. Something about this morning—our disrupted hide-and-seek game, Satan’s damn paddle, him watching me take the pain—is breaking me down more than usual. “Another great Daddy idea,” I mumble, sinking into his warm embrace.

He holds me for several minutes, humming deep in his chest. I bury my face in his neck, and to my surprise, find myself crying. These aren’t sad tears, or pain tears, or even angry, bitter tears. I’m not even sure why I’m crying. I just am, and Logan lets me, holds me, rocks me. When I trail off into sniffles, I wipe his neck and my face self-consciously and say, “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby. I could see you were struggling. Paddle’s intense, isn’t it?”

I nod against his neck. “And you’re watching me.”

“Is that why you’re having a hard time? Because you can see my face?”

I shake my head. “It just makes it more intense. I can keep going, Daddy. Promise. I’m not upset. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m not usually this weepy.”

“Emotional intensity.” Logan strokes my hair. “It’s okay to be emotional with me, baby. You’re doing a great job of processing the pain, but if you’ve had enough, say so. This has been a very full-on first date.”

That he’s giving me the option makes it totally okay. “I want to keep going, Daddy. Can I still have an orgasm?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Maybe even two.”

That makes all the ups and downs worthwhile. “What are we waiting for, Daddy?!” I bounce on my un-paddled leg.

Logan chuckles. “Okay, nympho-baby. On your back. Knees to your chest. Wrap your arms around your knees this time and get that bum up.”

“Yes, sir!” I disentangle myself, give him a quick salute and hit the deck, getting back into position with such alacrity, Logan’s chuckle deepens to a belly laugh.

“Someone’s eager,” he says.

“Me, Daddy.”

“Oh, it’s you this time, when you’re about to get an orgasm, huh?”

I nod and pull my knees in tight so my ass tips up. “Still me, Daddy.”

He rubs my right thigh, warming up my skin. “Still you? But it wasn’t you last night when someone was cute and noodle-y from her orgasms.”

“Not me. I’m super-tough. That was Daddy.”

“Sure it was. Okay, tough girl. Five more with Daddy’s whippy paddle. Head back.”

I drop my head back and wait. He rubs the back of my leg for another few seconds, before sliding his hand under my ass and pushing his thumb into my pussy. He leaves it there, flicking it inside me, while he picks up the paddle and gives me three hard, fast strokes with the paddle, tapping my IT band with each one so I gasp and jerk.

“Owie, Daddy,” I say as he repositions the paddle to give me that long stroke up the length of my leg.

“Uh-huh. Is that owie making you all wet, baby doll? And don’t you dare say, ‘you, Daddy,’ because I’m not the one who is wet here.”

I squeeze my pussy around his thumb and say, “You, Daddy.”

“You are such a naughty little girl sometimes, Emmy. Five more for that.”

As long as he keeps moving his thumb inside me, he can give me as many as he wants. “Still you, Daddy.”

“You’ve bought these, monkey. Here they come.” He gives me the agonizing fourth stroke and the caressing fifth stroke that make