Daddy PI: Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles

by Frost, E J

  “Baby doll, tell me my name.”

  “Daddy.”

  He grunts. “What’s my other name?”

  “Logan.”

  “Good girl. We’re going to count backwards from ten again. When we reach one, I’ll release your wrists. You’ll lift your head and blink twice. You’ll feel relaxed and ready to enjoy a scene or two before bed. Ready? Ten.”

  I count backwards with him. The transition is less jarring this time: an easy rise, like coming up to the surface after swimming a lap underwater.

  At one, Logan releases my wrists. I lift my head, blink twice, and smile at him. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. Have you been hypnotized before?”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay, we’ll explore that later. Ready for a scene?”

  I nod eagerly.

  “Good, I’ve got a couple picked out.” He gives me his wolfy grin and all the tranquillity inside me tightens into a delicious excitement that has me bouncing beside Logan as we make our way to the dungeons.

  * * *

  After watching a feeding scene with strawberries and whipped cream that made my teeth ache and a pussy-flogging scene that made every muscle in my body tighten, Logan turned to me and picked me up, with his big hand under my ass, his opposite arm an iron bar across my back. Held so securely, I relax completely into his hold.

  Logan carries me, in the koala-baby style that makes me feel so safe, through the corridors, up the elevator to our deck, and along the passageway to his cabin.

  “Bed or bathroom, baby doll, what do you need first?”

  “Bathroom, Daddy. Too much water.”

  Logan chuckles and alters course through the connecting door, to the bathroom in my cabin, where he sets me down. “Take your time. Leave your dress on the back of the door. Come back in just your panties and we’ll get you ready for beddy-bye.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  I follow instruction and when I emerge, Logan’s waiting for me at the connecting door. He’s stripped down to his black, silk boxers, and I stumble a step seeing him, that wonderful, golden chest with its fuzz of black hair, the tight abs and cut hips. I’ve seen him naked several times, but his body still stuns me every time I see it.

  I cross my arms over my chest, feeling small and ugly compared to him.

  “Baby doll.” He opens his arms to me and I rush to him. He folds me into his chest. “I want you to sleep naked in Daddy’s bed tonight. Can you do that, or do you need pajamas?”

  “I want to sleep naked in Daddy’s bed,” I whisper to him.

  “Good girl.” He picks me up again, in the same snuggly, koala-baby carry, and I melt into him for the few steps around my cabin to turn off the lights, through the connecting door and into his bed. He’s folded back the covers on his side and sets me down there, immediately following me down, covering me with his big body. He strips off my panties in one smooth motion, and I spread my legs, ready for him.

  He holds himself over me, propped on his forearm, then lowers his head so our foreheads touch. “I don’t think so, greedy baby, as tempting as you are. Six orgasms today is enough. Your pussy needs to recover, and my dick sure as hell does, so it’s snuggles only tonight, and Daddy will fuck your brains out in the morning.”

  I giggle. “Yes, Daddy.”

  He shifts to the side, scooting me towards the middle of the bed. “Just this once, you could argue with me a little, baby doll.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to be disrespectful, Daddy.”

  Which is the truth. That my pussy is quite sore is also the truth. And while I do like pain during sex, a really raw vagina is not the good kind of pain.

  Logan sighs and turns out the lights from a plate of switches on his side of the bed. Then he crashes heavily into the mattress, stretches and holds his arms out so I can cuddle to his chest. “With the time change, you might be up in the middle of the night. If you wake up and can’t get back to sleep right away, wake me. I’ll help you count sheep.”

  “Ta, Daddy.” If I wake him in the night, there might be counting, but I don’t think it will involve sheep. I wriggle, trying to find comfortable spots for my arms and legs. As I do, my elbow sinks into a groove in the mattress under the pillows. I lift myself off Logan to inspect it. “Look at this.”

  “Hmm?” Logan feels his way along the depression. “That’s a good idea. Here.”

  He arranges me so I’m tucked against him, his arm under my shoulders, my arm around his neck. The slot in the mattress makes it possible without ending up in the weird lobster positions I usually twist into to avoid my arm falling asleep. He slides his thigh between mine and I relax bonelessly against him.

  “This is so nice.”

  “Yeah.” He kisses my forehead. “Crap, Emmy, I forgot your bedtime story.”

  “It’s okay, Daddy, I’m too tired.”

  “Good girl. Close your eyes, sweetheart. Time for bowbies.”

  I giggle softly. “What’s a bowbie?”

  “Sleep for tired little girls. Mmm, it’s been a good day, hasn’t it, Emmy?”

  When I agree around a yawn, he chuckles and says, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

  “Me, too.” I haven’t seen my schedule yet, but I’m confident Logan will have given me free time, which is good because I’ve got a blog tour to do and although my PA does the posting for me, I like to visit the blogs and interact with the host and readers. I’m also confident Logan will have scheduled more playtime. Hopefully lots of playtime, but if he needs to work more than he did today, that’s okay, too. It’s not like there’s any shortage of entertainment on this boat.

  I yawn again and snuggle deeper, letting myself drift into dreams of exploring dungeon after dungeon.

  5

  Emily falls asleep on my shoulder in less than five minutes. I thought she’d hit her wall. I didn’t want to drag her away from the scenes when she was clearly enjoying herself, little voyeur that she is. But there were purple shadows smudging her big eyes, and she was yawning every time she thought I wasn’t looking. We have nine more days aboard. Plenty of time to see and do everything without wearing her out on the first night.

  We’ve also got a full day tomorrow. Emily hasn’t seen her schedule yet, because I left it in her cabin while she was at lunch and she hasn’t been in there for more than a few minutes since we boarded, but it’s a busy day. I tried to balance her free time and our playtime, but between the scene, her meet-up with Vashi, and a game I want to play before dinner, I’ve carved into her free time by several hours. I’ll have to make it up to her on Sunday. I don’t want her getting resentful of how much time I’m demanding from her.

  Not that I’m sure she’d be resentful. The only thing she seemed unhappy about today was when I left her alone for the Ladies’ Lunch. The rest of the day she was content. More than content. She was skipping around all day, when she wasn’t impaled on my cock or the plug, like she didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe I should stop worrying about turning her life upside-down and just bask in the happiness of a satisfied submissive.

  It’s an unfamiliar feeling; Miranda was never satisfied. That’s what kept her coming back. Looking back, I can admit I used it as a crutch. She wouldn’t commit to me, so I made sure she always left me needy and wanting. And I got so used to it, that I did it with my other subs.

  Emily’s opened my eyes to what a bad pattern that is. I don’t want Emily to go away from every interaction unsatisfied, not emotionally, anyway. I’ve met every one of her emotional needs today, even the ones I didn’t know she had, like that incredibly painful moment with her bunny. That’s why she’s such a happy girl.

  Emily sighs and shifts on my shoulder and I take the opportunity to roll her over so I can spoon her. Her breathing stays deep and even, like when she tranced before dinner. That was unexpected. My bottoms have always needed extended scenes to hit subspace. Emily dropped into a waxy trance just from me manipulating the
pressure points in her wrists. She said she hasn’t been hypnotized before, so it couldn’t be an implanted trigger. She’s just very hypnotizable.

  Lots of trauma survivors are.

  I already know there’s some deep trauma in Emily’s past. I assumed it was her divorce, but that just goes to show what you get when you assume. Tabula rasa. That’s the way I approach investigations; that’s got to be my motto in dealing with Emily, too. She’s not like my previous bottoms. Treating her the same way I treated them would be a mistake. She’s much more vulnerable than Mir or Luisa, the most extreme masochist I’ve been with. I love Emily’s vulnerability, but I have to be respectful of it, too. Push her too hard and I could break her trust irrevocably. It’s been broken before, I can tell. The fine, parallel scars on her thighs, the calorie-counting. Those are mechanisms for coping with a pain so deep, she has no other way of managing it.

  I’m her Dom, not her therapist, but I know we’re going to have to deal with the source of her pain eventually. It’s not something I can ask her about. Not yet. Not while her trust is still tentative. But I’ll get us there, one baby step at a time. It’ll be worth the effort. I can already see the prize at the far side of the minefield. I saw it tonight when she came up from her trance. That shining prize, Emily’s heart, is pure platinum. She’ll never cheat, never lie, never betray the man she gives herself to. She’s wrapped her heart in mines and barbed wire because she’s given it before and had it handed back to her in pieces, but once she trusts me completely, she’ll be mine.

  Then I’m going to collar her.

  Her deep vulnerability over her bunny made me so mental to reassure her that I broke out her collar days before I intended to even show it to her. I ordered it after our first date, though. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but deciding to collar her after that crazy-good first date? I’ll buy that.

  And she wants to be collared already, whether or not she realizes it. The look in her eyes when I took it off tonight nearly undid me. She wanted it back immediately. Despite what I told her, which I only said because I didn’t want to come across like some psycho who collars his bottoms after the second date, she’s already thinking of it as a collar. Good girl that she is, she wanted her collar back. That’s exactly what I want her to feel. I want her to want her collar, need it, crave wearing it so badly that she forgets the pain of her past. I want her to feel worse than naked without it. I want her to feel skinless. One big, exposed, throbbing nerve. Which is already how I feel around her.

  I’ve admitted things to her I’ve never admitted to anyone. I feel more intensely around her than I’ve felt since I was a ball of hormones and confusion as a kid. I almost broke down tonight when she admitted her calorie-counting to me. She tried to hide it when we were in New York, but whether it was the debacle in L.A. or just the slow building of trust between us since, she trusted me with it tonight. I felt like fucking Superman in that moment. I haven’t felt like a hero in a long time, certainly not since leaving the Navy. But I could hear the snap of my cape when I was holding her.

  I want to keep my cape. I want to be her hero. If that means I have to survive a couple of landmines and tear myself up on some barbed wire, so be it. That platinum heart is going to be mine.

  * * *

  The beeping of my phone pulls me out of a dream involving Elektra Natchios and power tools. She’s screaming, “Drill me, Daddy. Drill me!” when I jerk awake.

  I disentangle myself from Emily, who gives a little whimper at the loss of my warmth, and roll over to check my phone. Mir sometimes forgets about the time difference and calls very early in the morning.

  Not this time. It’s my alarm. Oh seven hundred California time. We’ve slept for over nine hours, and, as far as I know, neither of us even twitched.

  Time to get up. I haven’t managed to keep us on schedule since we arrived in L.A. That’s on me. Control starts at home. If I can get back on my own schedule, then I can get Emily on track.

  I slide the pillow I was sleeping on, still warm, against Emily’s back and tuck the covers around her. Despite her chirpiness yesterday, I don’t think she’s a morning person and she might get another hour of sleep if I don’t disturb her.

  Grateful for the cabin’s thick carpet, I move quietly around the suite, gathering my running gear and a bottle of water from the stock in the bar’s fridge. Housekeeping has left me almost as much water as they have soap. I guess they think I’m chronically dehydrated as well as very dirty. I scratch a quick note to Emily and leave it on the covers next to her so she’ll know where I am, then let myself out.

  When I return forty minutes later, dripping from a three-mile run around the deck in heat that’s already more intense than August in the City, Emily’s exactly where I left her. I smile at her sleeping figure as I go to shower and shave. Playing with her will be a sweet reward for my morning exertions.

  She taps on the bathroom door as I’m toweling off. “Daddy, I’m just going to my own cabin for a minute.”

  I can guess why; I’m tempted to make her use my bathroom. None of her bodily functions disgust or repulse me, and she’s going to have to get used to my handling of the most private spaces of her body. But I don’t want her to think I’m pushing the boundary into watersports or scat-play, which I know are hard limits for her. There’ll be plenty of other opportunities for her to get used to me handling her ass.

  “Five minutes, baby doll,” I tell her. “Then you’re back in my bed, naked and waiting for Daddy.” I check my watch. “Playtime starts at five of eight.”

  I hear her eagerness clearly through the door. “Yes, Daddy.”

  She skips away, her feet pattering on the carpet, and I grin at my own reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror.

  She’s back in my bed, under the covers, big eyes full of light as she watches me emerge from the bathroom, right on time.

  “Morning, baby.”

  “Morning, Daddy.”

  “Sleep well?”

  “Like a log. I didn’t wake up once. Did you?”

  “Nope. Not until the alarm.” I move to the dresser and take out the implements I want for this morning’s play. Emily’s eyes get brighter as she sees me pull out her collar. When I take out the paddle and cuffs, she sits up in bed, clutching the covers to her chest.

  “That paddle really stings, Daddy,” she says.

  I see she hasn’t forgotten it from our morning at my place. I haven’t either. Each slap, smack, and moan figured prominently in my masturbatory fantasies for the three days we were apart. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  She presses her lips together, and I know she’s fighting the urge to resist. Instead, good girl that she is, she asks, “Can I please have some cream?”

  “Is your bottom sore this morning?” It very well could be. It looked a lot better last night, but there were still a few bruises.

  She shakes her head.

  “Then you don’t need any cream.”

  I can see her confusion and anxiety in the way her shoulders draw up and her little brow furrows. I let her marinate in those feelings for a moment while I get ready, rolling a fresh condom onto Morris and snapping on a glove. Then I pile everything for this morning’s play onto a pink towel and take it over to the bed.

  “On top of the covers, Emily. Face down. Arms up over your head. Ass in the air.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” Whatever her feelings, she doesn’t hesitate, my wonderful, obedient girl. Once she’s in position, I lock her wrists in the soft cuffs and snap the chain to one of the headboard’s many attachment points. I test the play of the chain. She can twist and turn on it, but she’s nice and secure. Then I slide the pink towel under her. This morning’s play could get messy and although I’m sure the cleaners are used to it on a kinky cruise, I don’t want to make their job any harder.

  Emily’s already breathing hard, her back trembling, by the time I lube up my fingers and rub them between her ass cheeks. She whimpers when I circle the tip of my finger aro
und her sphincter. I love that sound. Her helpless little whimpers. She’s still slightly afraid of anal play, and I don’t blame her, given what her idiot ex did to her. But now that she trusts me not to tear her up, the anxiety is becoming part of the turn-on.

  I rub until her sphincter is soft and rosy and there’s a faint sheen on her flushed labia. Then I slide my finger into her and give her long, slow strokes while she whimpers and trembles.

  Her ass is wonderfully pliant this morning, admitting my finger easily, opening and clenching with each stroke. She shudders when I slide my finger out and press two fingers against her tight closure, but when I push them in, she arches her back, tipping her ass up further to take the invasion with a humming moan.

  “Good girl,” I tell her, rubbing my other hand up and down her back. She responds the way she always responds to praise. Her body rises, flushes, and shivers. I can’t see her face, pressed into a pillow, but I know her eyes will be rolled back. “Are you such a good girl for Daddy? Daddy’s so proud of the way you give him your ass.”

  “Uhhhnuh, Daddy.”

  I smile at the back of her head. I love how quickly she gets flustered and lost in the sensations of our play.

  I warm her up for another minute, working my fingers in and out but not scissoring or doing anything to stretch out her sphincter. Wearing the plugs will stretch her sphincter gradually, and I’m content to wait.

  When she feels nice and relaxed, I slide my fingers out and introduce Morris.

  Her ass tips up even further. “Oooh, Daddy.”

  “You want your plug, baby doll?”

  She turns her head to the side, and I brush her hair off her face with my clean hand so I can look down into her glazed eyes. “Yes, Daddy. Please.”

  “Good girl.” I push it in slowly, letting her adjust. She shakes as the plug goes in, and her labia flare, pink and wet. I seat the plug, then take off the glove, turning it inside-out, and toss it to the floor. I’ll clean up later. Right now, the siren call of her needy cunt is too strong to deny, and I rub my fingers up and down her pouty lips to wet them, then slide my fingers into her.