The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  As she rocks back, I inspect her labia. They’re already flushing pink. They’ll be a deep reddish-purple by the time we’re done, and the sadist in me feels a cold thrill of expectation.

  I don’t expect Emily to be aroused by her punishment. She enjoys impact, but isn’t overly stimulated by clamps, and riding the horse is the same sort of sustained, compressive pain. I want it to overload her, break her down, and let her release all the guilt and shame she’s carrying for breaking the rules. It would be easier for her to endure the pain if she was turned on, but I don’t expect her to be and as I look at her dry pussy, I see she’s not.

  “Emily, give me a number for the pain, with zero being no pain and ten being more pain than you can handle.”

  “Five, Daddy.” Her voice has a little hitch in it, but she’s not crying. Not yet.

  “About as bad as a paddling with Belphegor but not as bad as a caning?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” She rocks all the way back onto her ass, which can’t feel good with the pressure on her coccyx, either. She grimaces but holds her position.

  “I’m going to ask you for a pain number every few minutes. If you want to ask Daddy for help, you can. I’ll flog you to distract you from the pain if you ask me to, but the timer stops while you’re being flogged. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” She swallows and sweat pops out across her upper lip and forehead. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “Okay. I’m going to put your headphones on now with the white noise playlist. I plan on giving you a few minutes to think about what you’ve done, how it made me feel, and why it’s never going to happen again. Just because you can’t hear or see me, doesn’t mean I’m not right here. I’m watching you and I hold you in my hands. Understood?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” Her voice hitches; she changes position. “Tuh-ta, Daddy.”

  “Good girl.” I retrieve her headphones and phone, start the white noise playlist and put the headphones on her before securing the phone to the horse with a strip of bondage tape. I run my hand up and down her back, above her crossed arms, allowing her to connect with me for a few minutes, giving me time to observe her closely, before I step away, leaving her in the hissing dark with pain as her only companion.

  I sit down on the bed between Maude and Javier, who lean in like vultures eying their next meal.

  “What on Earth did she do?” Javier asks immediately.

  “Broke two rules, for a second time, and a promise.”

  “That’s very unlike Emily,” Maude chips in.

  Ten snorts. He’s got his back to us, his eyes on Emily, but he’s clearly listening to every word. “What’d I say about you two being too close to her?”

  “If you’d spend less time terrorizing our subs and actually have conversations with them, you’d discover Emily’s an extremely sweet submissive who wouldn’t deliberately break a rule,” Maude says, without even a glance in Ten’s direction.

  “She did this time,” I tell them.

  Javier lifts a dark eyebrow. “Deliberately?”

  “Yup. She didn’t think I’d overhear her, so she swore at and insulted my guest. When I confronted her, she panicked and tried to run away from me after promising she wouldn’t do that again.”

  Javier snorts. “Let me guess, the British She-Devil?”

  “Doesn’t matter who it was, J. She broke my rules, on-fucking-purpose—”

  We all go silent as Emily rocks forward with an agonized whimper. Her blindfold darkens with the first tears.

  There will be many more.

  We all watch her, taking in her expression, her breathing, the tension in her muscles, her coloring. She’s in pain, substantial pain, but it’s not overwhelming her yet. She’s still coping with it. She still has a way to go.

  When I’m confident Emily doesn’t need my intervention, I continue, “She doesn’t stop being my submissive, under my rules, just because I’m not in the room. She knows to walk away from confrontation and let me deal with it. She had opportunities to walk away and instead she goaded Miranda and escalated the confrontation. She’s been disciplined for this before, and this time she’s going to learn a lesson she doesn’t forget.”

  “Hmm,” Javier sits back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. “So, she was provoked.”

  His Dom-dar should be patented. “Still not the point.”

  “I understand the point, and I agree that discipline is necessary. Rules are the cornerstone of her submission and you have to enforce them. But does the punishment fit the crime?”

  I give him a hard glare. “Are you questioning my right to punish my submissive as I see fit?”

  “No, not at all,” Javier responds, as Maude gives one of her eloquent sniffs. “I’m observing that Emily isn’t the least aroused by this, even though she’s a masochist. Which means she’s simply enduring the pain to win your forgiveness.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. I know where he’s going. “And?”

  “And you’re not aroused, either.” He nods at my crotch. Fucking observant prick. He’s right, I’m not even semi-stiff. “That takes this out of the realm of sexual submission—”

  “This isn’t just about sex, it’s about our power exchange. She wants to be my little girl all the time. The rules are there to allow that. If she breaks the rules, she ruptures our power exchange and I have to put that right. You should have seen her. She was so overcome that all she could do was run away. She needs this.”

  “But you don’t.” Javier uncaps the bottle of water he’s holding and offers it to me. I wave it away; I’ll drink when Emily does. “Tell me you haven’t already forgiven her.”

  “Of course, I have.” I got over being pissed at her pretty much as soon as I fucked her.

  “Then cut this short.” He nods at my phone. “An hour will leave her bruised for a week.”

  I check her again. Sweat’s making her pale skin gleam. Her breathing’s become audible in the quiet room: fast, shuddery breaths that rise to a whimper as she shifts position.

  “That’s the plan,” I grit. “I want her to remember this.”

  “You think she won’t? First of all, I’m willing to bet that what will stay with her far longer than the pain is your disappointment—”

  “She’s felt that before and it didn’t make a sufficient impression. Stop pleading for leniency, J. You’re not the one in the middle of the constant cat-fights.”

  Ten shifts and casts a dark glance over his shoulder at Javier. “Can’t believe you call yourself a sadist.”

  “I’m a complete proponent of giving and receiving pain,” Javier retorts. “When it’s for the gratification of both parties. This isn’t gratifying anyone.”

  He’s wrong about that.

  “I don’t agree,” Maude says quietly from my other side. “Emily will feel much better when the punishment is over, even if she can’t sexualize the pain. She’ll feel free and forgiven. It’s you I’m worried about, Logan.”

  “Me?”

  Maude nods her sleekly styled gray head. “Your sub is suffering. Why aren’t you aroused?”

  Because I don’t want to be doing this. I want to skip over the punishment to the part where I reassure Emily that everything Miranda said was a lie. It’s rare that my nurturing side overrules the side of me that wants to see my bottom suffer, but my inner caregiver is hammering my sadist into the closet right now. I want to make sure Emily knows she’s my future, and I want to be certain that nothing Miranda’s said has tarnished the brightness of that future.

  But Emily’s not ready for that conversation, or my comfort, yet. I need to break her down first, allow her to release all the guilt and shame and insecurity she’s carrying, and get her to that very open place where every word I say sinks deep and bolsters her belief in herself and in us.

  She needs that, and I need it, too. I need to know she still believes in her daddy. That my own mistakes haven’t ruined what’s between us. I need her to forgive me as much
as she needs me to forgive her. That’s why I’m enduring Emily’s punishment as much as she is.

  “I’m worried that some of the things Miranda said to Emily might have damaged her faith in me,” I admit. “I said we’d talk it out, and we will when she’s ready, but we need to get through this first. I don’t have to like it, though. Excuse me a moment.”

  Emily’s battling. The muscles in her thighs flex constantly with the temptation to go up on her tiptoes. The color in her cheeks and chest is still good, but her labia have darkened to red. She whimpers with each breath. I want to check in with her and push her along a little bit towards the catharsis I want her to achieve.

  I move to her side and let her know I’m there by running my hand down her upper arm. She shivers but doesn’t flinch at my touch.

  I lift the headphones off so she can hear me. “Emily, give me a pain number.”

  “Seven, Daddy,” she whimper-whispers.

  “As bad as a caning?”

  “Yes, Daddy. Bit worse.”

  “Do you want Daddy to flog you to help you deal with the pain?”

  “No, Daddy.” She shifts position and a wounded moan escapes her.

  “Still a seven?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Okay. Have you had a think about breaking my rules and running away from me and how that makes me feel?”

  She nods so fast the blindfold slips. I cup her nape to steady her while I fix the blindfold. When it’s back in position, I prompt her. “How do you think it makes me feel, Emmy?”

  “Angry and frustrated and like I can’t do anything right.”

  My poor little girl. That’s how she feels.

  “No, sweetheart. I’ve never, for one second, felt that you couldn’t do anything right. I was frustrated, and annoyed, but mostly I was scared. Do you understand why I might be scared?”

  “No, Daddy.” She bites her lower lip and her chin quivers.

  “I’m scared that you could be badly hurt if you keep getting into these confrontations.” I run my hand over her soft head, careful not to dislodge the blindfold again. “And I’m so scared of losing you when you run away from me that I can barely fucking breathe.”

  Her mouth forms a little round O, but no sound comes out for a moment. Then she says all on one breath, “I’m-sorry-Daddy-I-didn’t-mean-to-scare-you.”

  I lean in and kiss her forehead. “I need more than words, sweetheart. I need to be absolutely certain, and the only way I can be absolutely certain that you’re safe is if you walk away from confrontation in the future. You did it perfectly with Pence. Why didn’t you do it with Miranda?”

  “Sorry!” she wails, her face collapsing in pain and grief. The bottom of her blindfold turns shiny as her tears saturate it. “I’m s-s-sorry, Daddy!”

  “I know you are, baby girl. Okay, give me a pain number again and then I’m going to put your headphones back on and let you think a bit more.”

  Her voice is a little stronger than before when she says, “Seven.”

  I give her another kiss on the forehead before I settle the headphones back over her ears.

  Maude watches me as I sit back down, her gray eyes gleaming with approval. “I take back everything I’ve ever said about the emotional unavailability of dominant men. Well done, Logan.”

  It didn’t feel well done. It sucked. I’m not at all a fan of exposing so much of my inner life, particularly not in front of Vultures One, Two, and Three. But Emily needed it. She’s still too mired in self-doubt to achieve a catharsis. Hopefully, the prompting will set her on the right path.

  I check my phone and take the rubber flogger out of my toy bag before I answer Maude. I’m going to flog Emily’s breasts at the half-way mark whether or not she asks me to. It will give her some pain relief and also break her down a little more.

  “How can I expect Emily to be honest with me if I’m not honest with her? Truth is, I am scared,” I admit. “The running away thing scares the shit out of me. I nearly have a heart attack every time she does it. The idea of Emily squaring off with Rachel or Miranda also scares the shit out of me. What if one of them really hurt her? They’re each twice her size and she’s such a little pacifist that she won’t even let me kill spiders. To say nothing about the shit they say to her that takes me weeks to undo. The rules are designed to help her avoid confrontation and to give me some fucking peace of mind. She knows how to follow them. She did it perfectly when Pence was an asshole to her. She just needs to get past her insecurity about my previous relationships and she’ll be able to do it with my exes, too.”

  Javier folds his hands over his knee. “And you think this punishment will get her there?”

  “Would you stop undermining his damn scene?” Ten growls over his shoulder, still watching Emily like a hawk.

  “It’s a legitimate question. I understand now how Logan’s constructing the scene but not why he’s giving Emily such extreme pain. This isn’t about rule-breaking. It’s about her insecurities undermining her submission. He’s pushing her towards a catharsis. Wouldn’t a spanking or flogging have gotten her there?”

  I shake my head while watching my little girl rock.

  “I know Emily seems delicate,” I tell Javier. “But she’s not. She has a steel core. It’s just wrapped in this dirty skin of disbelief. She’s able to sexualize a spanking or flogging. They don’t pierce that skin. I need to rip it away. That requires pain she can’t eroticize.”

  Javier nods. “There you go,” he says, to Ten’s back. “He had a perfectly good answer.”

  “Thanks,” I say drily.

  “You’d wonder what was wrong if I didn’t question you,” Javier tells me.

  “It’s part of his dubious charm,” Maude says. “Getting back to that refreshing honesty, Logan, where is this all going?”

  I shoot her a frown. “What do you mean?”

  “Why work so hard on getting beneath her insecurities?”

  I feel my frown become a scowl. “I’m trying to clear away the obstacles to her happiness.”

  “Her happiness matters to you?”

  “Of course, it does. What kind of question is that?”

  Maude waves her hand at my sweating, sobbing submissive. “You haven’t collared her.”

  Here we go. Mother Maude.

  “I’m going to. Give me a bloody chance.”

  “She wears what you both call a memory chain, without a lock—”

  “Maude, fuck’s sake. I bought a lock. I’m offering it to her for our three-month anniversary. She knows I am.”

  Maude sniffs. “Did you buy her a ring, too?”

  She’s worse than Lizbeth.

  “I don’t need to.”

  “So, this is just temporary.”

  “No, it’s not temporary. Not that it’s any of your business. I have my mother’s ring, and, yes, I will be offering that to her on our three-month anniversary, too. Now, butt out.”

  Maude sits back in satisfaction, crosses her legs, and taps her red-soled shoe in the air. “She might prefer a pink diamond.”

  I’ve never heard of a pink diamond. “How the fuck do you know that?”

  Javier snorts. “One of her insidious knitting interrogations. You know the one, where she sits there looking like the world’s most benevolent grandmother, while she pries out every secret of your heart?”

  I’ve been on the receiving end of a couple of those. “When did this happen?”

  “On the train back from San Diego,” Javier says. “I caught the tail end of it, but I missed the part about a pink diamond.”

  I can have the stone in Mum’s ring replaced with a pink diamond if that’s what Emily wants. I love my little girl in pink.

  “I did, however,” Javier continues. “Catch the part about eloping to Vegas.”

  “What?” I whip my head back and forth between Javier and Maude. “She wants to get married in Vegas?”

  Maude nods.

  “By Elvis,” Javier says. I love the man like
the very meddlesome uncle I don’t have, but I’m going to kick his teeth in if he doesn’t quit smirking at me like that. “Viva Las Vegas.”

  “Sexy Elvis or fat Elvis?” I ask.

  “I didn’t think to ask,” Maude admits.

  “You’re an amateur, woman. Everyone knows that’s the crucial question,” Ten throws over his shoulder. “Logan, I’m not happy with her color.”

  “Uh-huh.” I’ve been watching the blood drain from Emily’s cheeks. She’s not so pale yet that I’m worried about her, but it’s definitely time for some pain relief.

  I check my phone as I rise. She’s only a few minutes off the half-way mark. More than good enough.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Emily

  I thought I understood pain. The gnawing pressure of a clamp. The burning kiss of a flogger’s tips. The white-hot shock of the cane’s cut. The breath-stealing slice of the tawse.

  None of it prepared me to ride a wooden pony.

  The pain comes in waves. Scalding. Icy. Scalding again. At first it was like a sunburn, taut and itching as my weight on the unyielding rail crushed the capillaries all the way from my pubic bone to my tail bone, interspersed with shockingly awful pinches as my skin caught and stretched. As the swelling grew, my groin went numb. That should have been a respite, but it wasn’t. It was the numbness of nerves fraying, and it was accompanied by the most unbearable pressure. My body keeps trying to flinch away from the pain, but I lock my muscles and hold each position, knowing that rocking back and forth will only make it worse, layer bruise on bruise. My muscles scream from the strain and that brings the pain back, beating through the numbness.

  I was crying from the pain before Daddy lifted my headphones and redirected my thinking, which was muddy and muddled anyway. Sometimes pain gives me clarity, but not this pain. This pain is ugly, throbbing, cruel. There’s no purity in it. It reduces me instead of lifting me. It chews into me, biting into whichever part I rest against the rail for a few seconds. I hold each position until it’s unbearable, until I’m gasping against a scream. Then I rock to a new point of pain.