by E J Frost
“Thanks. Look, you don’t need to worry about me, okay? I have no interest in re-opening old wounds.”
He sinks back into the couch with a sigh. “Thank you. I know you owe me nothing. Things—” He spreads his hands in a gesture I’d call a Gallic shrug, if he wasn’t Italian. “Have not gone the way I would have wanted. Winning Rachel was the most important thing. I did not stop to think what it would mean here.” His eyes flick to Javier, who is engrossed in deep-throating his slave. “I do not wish to create any more bad feelings.”
Have there been bad feelings other than mine? A few of my brothers tried to talk with me about it after Rachel made her choice, but I shrugged them off. The holidays were coming and, unusually, Miranda was in the States, so I plunged into celebrating with her. Mir never particularly enjoyed the club; I don’t think I brought her at all last year. We had a weekend in Maine after Thanksgiving, eating lobster, and another on the Jersey shore before New Year’s, walking on the beach in the snow. But no days or nights at the club. I rub the bridge of my nose. Maybe I’ve just been too preoccupied with my own crap to notice what was going on here.
“It’s all in the past,” I say to reassure him, something I definitely would not have done even a month ago. “Let’s just forget it and move on.”
“That would be best,” Sante says quickly. “You should come here whenever you wish.”
Does he think I’ve been staying away? Does everyone? I’ve been busy, and my last few jobs have required extended travel. But I haven’t made much effort to come to the club when I’ve been home, either. I even set up a treadmill and weight bench in my basement so I could exercise without coming to the club’s gym, which I used to do four times a week. I told myself I was saving time by eliminating the commute, but the truth is that coming to the club didn’t hold much appeal when I knew I was likely to bump into Rachel, or Sante, or, worse, Rachel and Sante.
“I do come whenever I feel like it,” I say, to ease whatever guilt he’s feeling about driving me away from the club, where I’ve been a member a lot longer than he has. “I travel a lot.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Maybe now that you have a lady to come home to, you will travel less, eh?”
“Sure.” Let him think that. I’d prefer to take Emily with me, but that’s a bridge it’s too soon to cross.
He runs his hand through his hair again, then heaves himself to his feet. He’s a big guy, a little shorter than I am but with a body that belongs on a pro-wrestler. He hesitates, then sticks his hand out to me. “Enjoy your night.”
I reach around Emily to shake. “See you around.”
He nods tightly and strides out of the room.
Emily gives me a squeeze, before she whispers. “Is everything okay, sir?”
“Yes, baby doll, everything’s fine.” I rub noses with her and she grins. “Did you have a nice nap?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”
“I’m not. It was a perfect way to end the scene. I see lots of naps on Daddy in your future. But now—“ I show her the timer on my watch, which is at forty-two minutes, thirty-seven seconds. “I think we need to go to the bathroom, don’t you?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flare. “Yes, sir, but I can do it. By myself, I mean.”
“What Daddy puts in, Daddy takes out. Also, I think you might be too little to take out a plug by yourself, don’t you?”
“I am?” Her eyes widen until they’re almost round. “I mean, yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl.”
She hugs me very tight.
We leave Javier throat-fucking his slave.
As we reach the library door, Emily looks up at me from where I have her tucked against my side. “Sir, do you like it that deep and rough?”
“Hmm? Oh. Like Javier’s doing to his bottom? He’s teaching her to hold her breath while he deep-throats her.” I open the door and lead her into the long gallery, which is quiet and empty. Looks like the “fox” got away and the “hounds” retired to the spa to nurse their bruises. “That’s advanced breath play, baby doll. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything like that without a lot of preparation.”
“I can already hold my breath for a minute, sir,” she says.
“You can?” Fuck, that’s a gift. God bless Matthew, wherever he is. “Do you swim or something?”
“Laps.” She gives me a grin. “Going to the pool gets me out of my jammies.”
“Well, exercise is very important.” And the side effects are a big fucking bonus. “Have you done breath play before?”
She shakes her head and goes up on her toes to whisper to me. “What he’s doing looks really exciting, Daddy.”
“It does, does it? If it would turn my naughty baby on, we can do throat training.” I’ll work it into the things I’m already planning for the cruise.
“Thank you, Daddy.” She snuggles into my side, wrapping her arm around my waist. “Is there other training we can do?”
“Besides your ass and throat? What did you have in mind?”
“You were in the military, right?” At my nod, she continues. “Would you teach me how to shine things? Like your cufflinks and your shoes?”
She wants domestic training? The idea shoots straight to my balls. It’s been too long since I trained a service sub, and I’ve missed it like hell. “Of course, sweetheart. You know you have to lick them clean before you shine them, right?”
She gives me those killer, big eyes. “I thought I just had to spit on them?”
“A spit shine might be good enough for some, but for Daddy’s things, they need a baby’s tongue.”
She giggles. “Yes, Daddy.”
Her ebullience doesn’t abate even when I take her to the bathroom and instruct her to bend over the sink. She does it without hesitation. There’s no hint of the brat that appeared during our scene in the library. She’s sweet and compliant, giggly and playful. Is this still her little, just in a different mode? As I pull on a blue nitrile glove from the stash in my pocket, I ask her about it.
“Baby doll, when we were doing the scene in the library, what were you thinking about? Pull up your skirt and pull down your panties as you answer me.”
She does, wriggling a little as she works the band of her wet panties down her thighs. That sends a fresh spike of heat through my cock, which hasn’t stopped throbbing since I got her over my knees in the library.
“I wasn’t really thinking, sir,” she says. “I was just inside the scene. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were amazing.” I rub her ass with my bare hand as I speak to her, gentle on the welts from my belt. With my gloved hand, I take a small plastic bag out of my pocket and set it on the tail of her flipped-up skirt. “Mmm, you look gorgeous. Your pussy’s still flared and wet, and your legs are so pink. Beautiful.” I slip my fingers between her cheeks and stroke her labia until she squirms. Paddling my fingertips against her, I part her lips and tickle her clit.
She grabs the sink. “Oh, yes, sir, yes.”
“Does that feel good, honey baby? I didn’t pay much attention to your clit when I was finger-fucking you. Don’t worry, I’ve got plans for this sweet little clitty later.”
She writhes and I grin at how much a little dirty talk turns her on.
“You are such a sweetheart, Emily, but you didn’t really answer my question.”
“Wha-what was the question again, sir?” She presses her knees together and squirms on my hand.
“What were you thinking about while we were doing the scene? You had to be thinking of something.”
“I don’t know,” she says with a little wail. “I don’t want to get the answer wrong.”
“There’s no right or wrong answer. I’m just curious what was going on in your head. You were different during the scene. Defiant and sullen and so fucking bratty it made me want to beat you black and blue.” I press the plug’s base with my gloved fingers while I continue to play with her clit. I want her
distracted, physically and mentally, when I take it out.
“Did you not want me to be, Daddy?” She lifts her head and looks at me in the mirror over the sink. Her little face is knotted with anxiety.
“Emily, relax. We’re just recapping. I’m interested in finding out about your headspace. I loved our scene and I want to do a lot more with you. Absolutely nothing I’m saying is meant as criticism.”
“Oh, okay.” She gives me a tentative smile in the mirror.
“While you’re telling me about where you went in your head during the scene, I’m going to take out the plug. I want you to bear down when you feel the tug, okay?”
She nods. “Like the love beads.”
“That’s right. Did they hurt coming out?”
“No, they felt kind of good.”
“Once you’re used to Morris, he’ll feel good, too. You’ll want to be plugged.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound at all sure, and I gather that we’re not quite to that stage yet.
I grasp the jewelled base and gently pull back.
“Oooh.” She arches her back. Then her shoulders drop as she bears down and the plug slides out.
“That’s it. All done.” I slide the plug into the plastic bag, pull off my glove with my teeth so I can keep stroking her cunt with my other hand and toss the glove in with the plug. After sealing the bag, I pop it in my pocket. I’ll clean up later.
“Thank you, Daddy. That didn’t hurt at all.”
“Good, baby doll. I don’t want it to hurt, just keep you focused. Now focus for me and tell me where that bratty, bratty girl came from?”
“Inside me,” she says, her voice tiny. Her shoulders shake a little. I clasp her upper arm and draw her upright, still teasing her cunt with my fingers. I move in close behind her and pull her back against my body, crossing my arm over her and holding her while she settles.
“Is that your little?” I ask her, rubbing my cheek in her hair and speaking soft and low into her ear.
She nods, watching me anxiously again in the mirror.
“Your little’s deliciously naughty, sweetheart. I want to play so hard with that naughty little girl.”
She bites her lip. “You do? I didn’t make you angry? You seemed kind of annoyed.”
“I was only annoyed when I spanked you. You’re not allowed to lie to me, or be disrespectful, even when you’re little.” At her wide-eyed nod, I continue, to reassure her. “But I wasn’t angry the rest of the time. I was turned on by that naughty little who kept pouting at me. I’m going to have so much fun playing with that little girl.”
“You are?” Her eyes fill, but these aren’t sad tears. They’re liquid hope. She wants so badly to be able to let this deep part of herself out, to stop hiding it behind all the adult armor she wears, but she’s afraid of censure. Someone, maybe many someones, have told her this part of herself is not okay. She needs me to make it safe for her.
And I will.
“Yes, I am. How did you feel about the tawse?”
“It’s really stingy, and it got me warm fast. But it’s fading already. My butt stings more than my legs.”
“Uh-huh. I like the tawse for that reason. It really makes an impression, doesn’t it?”
She nods fervently.
“You handled it very well, Emily.” I’m not normally this effusive with praise. I let my actions speak for me. If I’ve given my bottom pleasure, then she knows she’s done well. With Emily, I feel more need to build her up. “I thought when you asked me to stop that you were reaching your pain threshold and needed a break. You surprised me when you told me you were close to coming. And that was such a good girl. You could have tried to slip an orgasm by me. I’m proud of you for not doing that.”
She glows under the praise. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“Can we make that a rule, baby doll? No coming without permission? No stealth orgasms?” I’ve always owned my bottoms’ pleasure. With Emily, I feel the need to take it a step further. “You’ll always ask Daddy to let you come and thank Daddy after you do?”
She nods. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl, Emily. Such a good girl. I think we’re going to get along great, better than John and Yoko.”
“Better than Wesley and Buttercup?” she asks with a tremulous smile.
Ah, my baby girl likes The Princess Bride. Classic.
“Better than Wesley and Buttercup. Maybe even better than Inigo and Fezzik.”
She giggles and I kiss her temple, holding her eyes in the mirror and watching the light fill them.
I hold her for another minute, until I’m sure her body’s settled, then sit her on the toilet while I wash my hands. As I’m humming “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” she joins in.
“You know that trick, too?” I ask her.
“No, I just know the song.”
I finish and turn off the tap. “Most people don’t wash their hands long enough to actually get rid of germs. If you sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ while you’re washing, by the time the song’s over, your hands are clean.”
“I’ve never heard that, sir.”
“No? My mother taught me. She was a nurse, so she had a real thing about hand-washing.” I shrug. “Long time ago. You need to use the toilet?”
She shakes her head.
“I do. You can watch me, or you can turn your back. I don’t mind, either way.”
She stands and moves out of my way, turning her back. I guess she meant what she said on her sign about no bathroom play. While I piss, a process that’s both more complicated and more uncomfortable than it should be with my cock still at half-mast, she washes her hands and brushes her hair.
I finish and wash my hands again while she watches me, big eyes shining. I’m not sure if I’ve done something particularly right, or if she’s just still basking in the afterglow. “All good, baby doll?”
She nods and takes my clean hand. “Awesome, Daddy.”
“Awesome, huh?”
She grins up at me as I lead her out of the bathroom. “Really awesome. When you said we were going to dinner at your club, I didn’t expect any of this. I thought it would be a buffet followed by strippers or something. I’ve never been inside a gentlemen’s club. I love it.”
I chuckle. “Not all men’s clubs are like this. The one I belong to at Sunningdale? We just golf.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Golfing isn’t very awesome.”
“Then you’re not doing it right,” I tease. “Blunts is special. I’m glad you feel it, too.”
“I do, sir. Has it always been like this? I mean, has it always been a club for Masters?”
“Uh-huh. When we come back from L.A., you can dig through the archives to your heart’s content. The whole history of the club’s in there. Major scenes and events have been recorded all the way back to our founding, and we have the personal diaries of several members that you can read if you’d like.”
She bounces on her toes. “I would, oh, sir, I’d like that so much.”
I tap her on the tip of her nose affectionately. “Something to look forward to when we get back from two weeks in the sun.”
She wraps her hand around my arm and snuggles in, squeezing my arm between her little breasts. “Thank you so much for everything, sir.”
“You’re very welcome, baby.”
I’m relieved to see Austin manning the upstairs desk in Rachel’s place. He greets me the way a house sub should: bowing and waiting for me to acknowledge him before he introduces himself politely to Emily and asks if there’s anything he can do for us. I thank him and lead Emily downstairs, pleased by his decorum. This is what I wanted Emily to see; not the trailing wreckage of my old relationship.
“Emily,” I say to her as we descend the stairs, much more easily than we came up them. “I hope you’re not bothered by the thing with Rachel and Sante.”
She hugs my arm again. “No, sir. Thank you for telling me about it in advance. I think I might have been upset if i
t had taken me by surprise, but I was prepared for it and you told me there wasn’t anything between you anymore. I could see it in your face, too. You were disappointed in her. I felt bad for her, actually.”
“I trained her,” I explain. “And I trained her better than that. We don’t throw our drama around in front of other people.”
She squeezes my arm like a python. “I’m not a fan of public displays, either, sir. They’re icky. But I really do feel sorry for her. She’s made a bad choice, and I think she’s realized it.”
I chuckle, disentangle my arm and put it around her as we reach the ground floor. “How do you know that, little girl?”
She beams up at me. “Because no one is as awesome as Daddy.”
That should sound ridiculous. Instead, her words sink into my brain like I’ve been waiting to hear them my whole life. My heart pounds and my balls draw up tight. I stop her, draw her close to the wall so we’re not obstructing the hallway and give her a deep, thorough kiss, my hands up under her skirt, gripping that hot, soft ass, while her arms lace around my neck.
When I let her up for air, she’s gone from beaming to dreamy-eyed and quivering. I can smell the faintest hint of gingerbread over the lemon polish of the parquet floor. I love how responsive she is.
“Daddy has not always been awesome,” I admit. “But Daddy is going to do everything he can to be awesome for his little girl.”
She gives me a beatific smile. “That’s all any daddy can do.”
I tap her on the tip of her nose and lead her down into the nightclub.
The nightclub is decidedly not awesome. It’s too warm, too loud and too crowded. Emily shrinks against me, clutching my hand, before we’re even through the bar into the main floor. I guide her along toward the VIP booths, where I’m sure Rick will have set out his stall.
The VIP booths, two dozen raised booths off the main dance and performance space which don’t hold much more than a semi-circular couch and a low table, aren’t really for VIPs. They’re for guests who want to feel important, and for our house subs to make a little extra money. It’s five hundred to reserve a VIP booth; only the house subs serve in the VIP booths and the minimum tip is a hundred. Throwing a grand at five rounds of drinks is not my idea of a good night.