The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection Frost, J (good beach reads .TXT) 📖

want her to tell me how she feels. It’s not that I don’t reciprocate. It’s that it’s too soon. She hasn’t said it, not until I took away her conscious filter. Then it was the first thing she blurted out. She feels it. She wants to say it. But her conscious brain is telling her it’s too soon. So I’ll give her time. Let her feelings build. Reinforce them with small gestures so she knows her feelings are fully reciprocated before she articulates them again. Daddy’s gift to his little girl.

“Daddy’s going to warm you up now, little love,” I tell her. “Daddy’s going to give you his thumpy flogger, then his stingy flogger, and, last, his bitey flogger. Every time you feel the thump, or the sting, or the bite, I want you to say to yourself, ‘this is Daddy’s gift to me.’ Can you say that, little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I take my half-inch, suede flogger off the rack, flick it a few times to warm up my wrist as I move around Emily, trailing my fingers over her hip so she knows where I am, since her eyes are so glazed that I don’t think she’s registering anything through that sense.

Before I position myself behind her, I kiss her head and run my hand down her spine, shaping the gauze to her body so I can see the bones and muscles beneath. “Little princess,” I whisper in her ear. “Feel Daddy’s gift.”

She shudders, shoulders to toes, rattling her cuffs against the stiff, heavy chains. Once she goes still, I slap the flogger against her upper back. Whap. Harder than I usually would for a warm-up, because it’s over the gauze and she’s already floating. Whap-whap. The dress ripples with each blow, but I’m not hitting her hard enough for the fabric to tear. Yet. Whap-whap. Her head sinks forward.

“Princess,” I murmur to her, keeping my voice low. “What do you feel?”

“Daddy’s gift,” she slurs.

“That’s right.” I move down to her bottom. Whap-whap. She arches her back and sticks her ass out for me. “Good girl, just like that.”

I can be rougher on her ass, where she has more padding than her shoulders. The sweet, slapping swish of the falls deepens. Thwack-thwack. Her breathing matches my rhythm: a soft huff out as the tails hit, her back rising with her inhalation as they lift. Remembering the infinity-symbol brand she liked, I work in a figure-eight pattern. She’s had plenty of impact to her thighs in the last couple of days, so I focus on her ass, which looked nicely healed when I examined her earlier, even after a playful fifteen with my whippy paddle.

Tiny holes appear in her dress as the suede pulls at the fragile fabric with each strike. Thwack-thwack. I work up her back. Thwack-thwack. She rounds her shoulders very slightly, so her muscles take the impact instead of her shoulder-blades. Perfect girl. I reward her by upping the intensity and speed, flicking from back to bottom in double figure-eights. Thwack-thwack, thwack-thwack. The falls sing their heady song, filling my ears. My shoulder and arm have warmed up; the motion feels effortless. Thwack-thwack, thwack-thwack. The flogger pulls me along to its rhythm. I watch with fascination as the holes in the gauze widen. Emily’s pale skin gleams through. When her skin pinkens, I let the flogger drop to my side and lean in.

“Emily, what do you feel?”

“Daddy’s gift.” It’s barely words, more of a slurred whisper.

“That’s right, my beautiful girl. Is your skin singing?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

It shouldn’t. She should be floating on a king tide of endorphins.

“No, Daddy.”

Good. “Do you want more of Daddy’s gift?”

“Yes, please. More-more.”

“Good girl. Stingy flogger now, Princess. You’ve been very quiet so far. You don’t need to hold anything back. Let me know how you’re feeling.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I move back to the rack and swap my suede flogger for the knotted leather. The tails are soft and well-conditioned, but with the knots, they pack a punch. They’ll also turn the gauze into Swiss cheese.

As I move back into position behind Emily, Niall comes to stand in front of her. He looks her up and down, then catches my eye over her shoulder and winks. I give him a nod. I’m aware she’s in a very, very good place.

Niall watches me start off with the knotted flogger. Whump-whump. Emily’s body sways gently with each stroke, but she keeps her shoulders rounded and her back arched. Asking for Daddy’s gift. She’s so relaxed that the position looks effortless, but I know from years of training bottoms that it’s not. This is more than good training and a lot of practice. This is a desire to please her top so deep that it pervades even subspace. Angel baby.

Niall moves back towards the table where Shaan’s still bound, as I pick up the pace, working from her shoulders to the bottom of her ass, while avoiding the middle of her back where her organs aren’t protected by her ribs. The knots tear the small holes left by the suede flogger wider and wider until there’s nothing left over her shoulders and ass but threads. I back up a pace so I can give her just the tips of the flogger, more sting than thump. Crack-crack-crack. Once her skin’s gloriously pink, I switch my stroke, swinging upwards so the knots catch the undercurve of her ass on the up-swing. Crack-crack-crack-crack. That draws the first whimper out of her.

“What do you feel, little love?” I ask.

“Daddy’s gift,” she moans.

“That’s right. Is Daddy’s gift getting stingy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Do you want Daddy to stop?”

“No, Daddy. Please-please.”

“That’s my girl.” I reverse the swing so I’m striking between her shoulders on the down-swing. Whump-crack-whump-crack.

She shudders uncontrollably, muscles flexing from her shoulders all the way to her calves.

“Are you close, Princess?”

“Yes, Daddy. Puh-please, can I come?”

I told her she didn’t need to ask permission during the scene, but I’m delighted she has. Such a good girl.

“You may.” I switch my swing again, stepping in