by Frost, E J
The timing sucks. If I’d met Emily three months ago, our relationship would be solid now. I’d know where her landmines are. I’d have mastered the daddy thing. We’d have complete trust and I wouldn’t have to worry about how the clusterfuck with Miranda might undermine us. For a second, I’m tempted to just walk away from any responsibility I might have there. But that’s not me. I had unprotected sex with Miranda, knowing what the consequences might be. I’m not going to run away from those consequences just because Miranda screwed me.
I kiss Emily’s forehead and tuck the covers around her before I rise. Her bedroom’s chilly. What is it with the air conditioning on this bloody boat? I toss on a bathrobe, retrieve my laptop from the room safe, plug in a pair of earphones, and settle at Emily’s desk to watch the rest of the CCTV footage.
Three-quarters of an hour later, I’m finally at the end. Black left his cabin again on Saturday night, probably to hit the pig roast. He returned alone a little after twenty-two hundred and stayed in his cabin until nine on Sunday morning when he left wearing shorts and a towel. No sign of the pill bottle, but it could have been rolled-up in the towel. He was gone for over two hours, which might just have been a long swim, but his duck-walk when he returned tells a different story. He had room service for lunch and then disembarked with the rest of the passengers at fifteen hundred. I’ve rolled the footage of his final departure back and forth several times. He was steady on his feet, showered, shaved, and dressed in khakis and a white polo shirt.
Absolutely no sign that he’d collapse and die just a few hours later.
I fire off an email to Ed Isaak with my thoughts on the CCTV footage as well as the questions I’ve compiled for him and his tech people. Grabbing one of Emily’s pens, and grinning to myself at the glittery purple ink, I make a few more notes before sticking them inside my laptop. I pop everything back in the room safe. After looking at my bare wrist, damn, still getting used to that, I check my phone. Just after oh seven hundred. The time change messed me up for a few days, but I’m almost back to a normal schedule. I’ve got time for a run before I wake Emily for breakfast. I jot her a note and leave it on the pillow, then head into my cabin to change into running gear.
No sign of anyone having been in my cabin but I text Niall anyway. He knocks on the door ten minutes later, and, when I open it, I’m surprised to see not just Niall but also his partner, Shaan.
“If it’s ah’right, Shaan’ll stay here to keep an eye on yer gurl and I’ll run with yeh.”
They both look red-eyed and rumpled. I’m reminded that not everyone had an early night of Star Wars, giggles and pillow-talk.
I offer my hand to Shaan and he shakes with more strength than I expect, given that he’s several inches shorter, and several inches wider around the middle, than I am. But I suppose he must have some serious hidden reserves to keep up with Niall.
We head up to the Lido deck, and after stretching for a few minutes, join the parade of other morning exercise nuts on the track marked around the deck. Niall snorts when a pair of twenty-somethings in full sprint and matching Lycra lap us, but by unspoken agreement, we keep an easy pace.
Both of us are breathing smoothly enough to talk while we run, but we don’t, and I like the quiet companionship we’ve fallen into.
Three miles and we drop into a walk to cool down with no more than an exchange of nods. The cruise line has water stations at either end of the deck and we stop at one to pick up water bottles. Niall drifts to the starboard rail, looking out over the water. We’re close to Cabo now and the sea-lanes are getting busy.
“How’s yer gurl?” he asks.
“Better.” He left before the soaping disaster, but he’s an experienced enough Dom to know that a melt-down was coming. “I had it wrong. She’d gone into a non-verbal headspace. She wasn’t being willfully disobedient.”
“Ah.” He rolls his water bottle around between his bear paws. His hands are even bigger than mine; how does he not break his subs in half? “T’be fair, she doan seem the type.”
“No, Emily’s a very sweet sub.”
“Is it a little thing?”
“Evidently.” A little thing that took me by surprise; where was that on all those Daddy-Dom websites? “She thought I was angry with her for talking during class.”
“Cocksucking Class?” Niall snorts. “Why’d yeh care?”
“Exactly. Between that and breaking my rule about swearing, she went into a bad place and the corner time just made it worse.”
“What fecking corner time? She weren’t there for more than two minutes together without yeh touchin’ her.”
I shrug. “I’m still figuring out what works for Emily and me. Corner time definitely doesn’t work for us.”
“Time-outs doan work for Shaan an’ me, neither. He gave me the cold shoulder for three days once after a time-out. ‘Feared I’d lost him.” Niall takes a long drink from his bottle. “I’ve had to get creative with his punishments.”
That’s why I broached the idea of being caged with Emily. I’m going to have to come up with alternative punishments for her. Corner-time is a no-no; humiliation is right out, particularly now that I know it was part of her bullying. I want to save sex and impact for scenes. I can take away privileges like hot water, but the visual of Emily caged, naked and plugged, does more for me.
“Keeps things interesting,” I say.
“Aye.” Niall flashes me his huge grin. “Yeh still gonna scene tonight?”
“Uh-huh. Emily and I are in a good place now. I’d have liked a test run.” I grin at the memory of last night. “Other things were more important. She’s great in role-play; she’ll do fine.”
“I’ve signed up with Shaan. I’m gonna dress him as a serving wench. The humiliation’ll drive him mental. The scene itself’d be too much for Vashi, but I’ll restrain her where she can watch unless yeh object.”
“Fine by me. I didn’t see that you’ve posted any scenes.”
Of course, I haven’t checked the scene board since just after lunch yesterday. I don’t even know how many knights and wenches have signed up for tonight. It doesn’t matter. Even if it’s just the five of us, it’ll be a blast.
“Nae, not yet. Yesterday unsettled Vashi. She was worried about yer gurl all night. Took me and Shaan a while to get her out of her head. She’ll settle in another day or two and then I’ll put up some scenes.”
I grunt, unhappy to hear that there’s been a ripple effect from yesterday.
“Doan fret about Vashi. She’s sensitive but I wouldn’t want her any other way.”
“Fair enough.” Emily’s pretty sensitive, too, and I certainly wouldn’t want her any other way. I knock his water bottle with mine. “To sensitive subs.”
“Sensitive subs.” He lifts his bottle and drinks. “Yeh were sayin’ the daddy thing’s new. Got anyone whose ear yeh can bend?”
“Not really. I’ll try to find some other Daddy-Doms when I get back to New York.”
“Anything on board? Fecking boat has everything.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I noticed. I haven’t seen anything for age-players, though. Maybe it’s not a West Coast thing?”
“Sure, it is. Post somethin’ on that Meet-up Board. Someone’ll answer.”
That’s a good suggestion, actually. I’ve been a Dom for a long time and I trust my instincts but Emily going into non-verbal headspace came as a hell of a surprise yesterday. I could use some tips about topping a little so other quirks like that don’t bite me in the ass. “I will. Thanks.”
Niall tips his chin. “Number of times I’ve asked fer help figurin’ out how to manage a fecking trio? I can’t count that high.”
“More fingers and toes than you’ve got?”
“Wanker.”
* * *
Back in my cabin, I thank Shaan and shake his hand again before checking on my little girl.
She bounces up from her desk when I open the connecting door. Bright-eyed, wrapped in one of the ship’s
white bathrobes. “Morning, Daddy!”
“Morning, little girl. I didn’t expect to find you up.”
She tucks her hands behind her back and wriggles. “I heard you leave, so I thought I’d catch up on my blog tour and write for a bit. I’m already cleaned up if you wanted to go straight to breakfast, but I didn’t do the lotion ritual in case you wanted to paddle me first.”
“You didn’t?” Color me impressed.
“No, Daddy.” She gives me a Cheshire cat grin. “Did I do good?”
I draw her into my arms, even though I’m sweaty. “Excellent.” She didn’t use lotion so the silicon paddle could grip her skin? What a doll. And she’s bubbly and bright this morning. No sulking. Just like L.A., she doesn’t hold a grudge. What a sweet girl. “Think of a reward while I take a shower.”
“Can my reward be washing Daddy?”
Those eyes. I swear, they could swallow the world.
“You can wash Daddy but that’s not your reward. Think of a reward just for you. Whatever would make you happy this morning.”
“A good girl spanking?” she asks hopefully.
“A good girl spanking it is.”
A good girl spanking, wearing Stanley to wake up all those nerves in her sweet ass; five with Belphegor to reward her for her thoughtfulness during her morning ablutions; two orgasms from my fingers while she’s still quivering, pink-cheeked, over my lap. And a spine-melting demonstration of her deep-throating skills in the shower. They add up to a little girl who’s so happy she bounces on her toes and wiggles her adorable, plugged, little ass all while I dress her. And a daddy who doesn’t have a care in the fucking world, despite everything that should be weighing on me.
I leave Stanley in her ass with the promise that I’ll take the plug out after a pre-lunch fucking. Her grin gets wider. I dress her in a blue and white, sailor dress over a two-piece bathing suit. She looks so cute I nearly toss her over the arm of the couch before I get my dick under control.
“Bum okay, sweetie?” I give the soft globe a rub and a pat.
She quivers.
“Emmy?”
“I’m good, Daddy, it feels fine. I’m just really excited.”
So responsive. “Are you still turned on, naughty baby?”
She trembles and I fold her against my chest.
“Tell me what’s exciting. Daddy wants to know.”
“You said we’re going to, um, have sex before lunch. While I’m still wearing Stanley. I love orgasms from your fingers but your penis is so much better. I really want that, Daddy.” A shiver runs all the way through her. “I really, really want it.”
“You do, huh? Better work on earning another reward, then.”
Her face turns as pink as her bottom but her arms squeeze tight around my waist. “I will. I’ll be super-good.”
She is. Angelic, even, as we pack our beach bags, grab a quick breakfast on the Lido deck and wait in line to disembark. She’s bright-eyed and chatty but not so much it gets on my nerves. Her quirky little observations keep me smiling. Such a cutie.
There’s evidently no port in Cabo, so we’re loaded into small boats and ferried to Tender Dock. Our boat is just for people who have signed up for the ship excursion to Playa Coral Negro. The excursion leader, a curvy brunette equally as bouncy as Tina-the-Cruise-Director, uses the bumpy ride in to brief us. It sounds more like a military invasion than a trip to the beach as she talks about transports and rendezvous points. Still, it should be worth it to be on a beach that has shade, as well as private cabanas, one of which I’ve already reserved.
I’m more convinced of the worth of the excursion when the bouncy brunette deals with passport control and we breeze through the port in record time to a waiting fleet of mini-buses. Even in the shady terminal, the mid-morning heat is fierce. I appreciate the air-conditioned bus as we wind around the bay.
I put Emily in the seat by the window so she can see the sights. With the fake cold blasting down on us, I don’t have to worry about overheating her. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and press my cheek against her temple to share her enjoyment of the view out across the marina. Even churned by boats, the water’s a deep azure that you don’t see on the Hudson or East River.
“Pretty, huh?”
“Beautiful,” she breathes. Then she tears her eyes away from the scenery and looks up at me. “What should I call you now?”
I kiss the tip of her nose. “Good girl for asking. My name when we’re in pubic. Daddy only if you feel safe and comfortable. I’ll miss hearing it if you don’t say it all day.”
She grins. “Okay.”
“What color would you say that water is?” I tip my chin at the marina.
She regales me with synonyms for blue, along with their etymology and symbolism, which have me and the people in the seats around us chuckling the rest of the way around the bay.
Playa Coral Negro is a long, golden crescent of sand, dotted with a few boulders, which cast no more than a sliver of shade. Not exactly what I’d consider a “shaded” beach. But there’s a line of tikki-type fake trees staked into the hard sand that provide some shade, and our cabanas, easily distinguished from the other umbrellas and cabanas that litter the beach by their hot pink hue, are cool and surprisingly spacious. Within the four canvas walls, there are two sturdy, wooden, padded loungers and a table for our beach bags.
“Want a dip in the water first? You’ll stay cooler if your bathing suit’s wet.”
Emily’s as little used to this heat as I am. Sweat’s beading along her forehead under the brim of her hat and her cheeks are flushed from more than wearing Stanley.
“Yes, please, Daddy.”
She looks around after she says it. Because I plan to be right at hand, and because I really will miss hearing it if she doesn’t call me Daddy all day, I reassure her, “No one’s listening. You can call me whatever you want in here. But if it’s not respectful, I can draw the curtains and . . .” I tap my belt meaningfully.
“Yes, Daddy.” She giggles as she unpacks towels and spreads them on the loungers. I draw the curtains so we can both undress. She takes off her sailor dress and spreads it over the back of a lounger so it doesn’t get wrinkled. As I pull off my shirt, I catch her tugging the boy-shorts of her swimsuit down so they cover the scars on her upper thighs.
“You look adorable,” I say, drawing close and smoothing my hands down her arms. “Don’t be self-conscious. Look, Daddy has scars, too.”
She’s seen my scars before: appendectomy when I was in the Navy, a couple of lumps on my back where I’ve had moles dug out because my Anglo-Irish skin doesn’t like sunshine as much as the rest of me, rippled road-rash on my right shoulder where I got stupid racing a motor-bike when I was old enough to know better, and the long white slash across my ribs that she hasn’t asked about yet but I know is going to spark an unhappy conversation when she does, because that’s where the bullet from the Edinburgh dungeon’s embezzler grazed me.
Fortunately, she doesn’t ask, just smiles at me and when I take her hand and run towards the water, races alongside me, squealing gleefully.
We play in the water until the sun’s a burning beach ball high overhead. Some of the other Pink Pearl passengers get a game of volleyball going, made all the more interesting when the excursion leader gives us the thumbs up and most of the women take off their tops. When we get overheated from volleyball, I drag Emily back into the water, and when I can tell she’s getting tired from fighting the strong current, back onto the beach where I show her how to build drip castles. She creates an empire of sculpted sand and shells while she tells me some wild story about pirate treasure hidden in a pit on an island off the coast of Maine. I’m not sure if this is something she’s read or something she’s making up, but it’s a compelling story. We’re definitely playing pirates again in the near future. The incoming tide eventually destroys her empire and she sits giggling amongst the ruins as the water laps over her legs.
When even sitting in the
cool water can’t kill my stiffy any longer, I toss her over my shoulder and carry her sand-covered ass up the beach to our cabana. I draw the curtains, push her face-down across the loungers, and fuck her. I keep her wrists clasped in my hand at the small of her back. She muffles her moans in a towel. Stanley provides so much stimulation that she comes twice without me even touching her clit, bucking like a bronco. With her sweet pussy milking me, I slap my hand over my mouth to prevent my own roar of release from blowing down the cabana. After shuddering together through the blissful aftershocks, I collapse over her in a sweaty, sandy, happy heap.
“Worth the wait, little girl?” I ask when I have enough breath to speak.
“Yes, Daddy.” A contented sigh. “I might ask for this as a reward every time, although I really, really liked the good-girl spanking, too.”
I chuckle and run my fingers through her tangled hair, down her damp back, tugging on the fabric of her bathing-suit top, which she’s modestly left on. “I’ll keep that in mind for future. Good-girl spankings should be followed by a plugged, prone bone.”
That gets me a giggle. “And lots of crazy orgasms just from penetration. Ta, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome, beanie.” She asked permission for her orgasms and thanked me after the first one, so I don’t hold the delay against her. I can tell she’s trying hard to be perfect today. Maybe a little too hard. “Emmy, I want you to enjoy yourself today. This is your holiday. Is it more relaxing for you to be my little girl while we’re sightseeing, or would you like to just be my girlfriend for the rest of the day?”
She scoots over, careful not to fall off the edge of the recliner, and tucks her hand under her cheek while she looks up at me. “That’s a hard question, Daddy.”
“Is it?”
I’d have thought being my girlfriend for the day would be a no-brainer.
“You said you’d make it safe for me to be little all the time. I want to be. It’s not relaxing . . . no, that’s not right. It’s not mentally relaxing because I have to remember your rules, but it’s emotionally relaxing. Does that make any sense?”