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

you wear the plug until lunchtime, but no orgasms until midnight, and I fuck you whenever I get the urge, and it’ll be at least three times. Or you wear the plug until I get home tonight, I’ll let you re-lube twice, and I’ll give you as many orgasms as you want, any way you want them, after lunch, before dinner, and before bed.”

Demon Daddy. He knows how aroused I am, how much I hate orgasm denial, and how hard it is for me not to come when he fucks me.

“I’ll wear the plug all day, Daddy.”

He rubs his thumb across my lower lip and smiles at me. “ILY, little girl.”

I taught him the silly text-speak for “I love you” and now he uses it whenever we’re in public or when things are getting a little too intense.

“ILY, too, Daddy. Even when you’re making me choose between the devil and the deep blue sea.”

Logan chuckles. “You know how much I love predicament play, baby doll.” He reaches around and pats my bottom under the skirt. The warmth of his hand on my bare skin, and the jostling of the plug, send delicious shivers through me. “All day, while I’m enduring Miranda, I’ll be thinking about the little pink jewel nestled between your ass-cheeks. The jewel that I put there, that you’re wearing to please me, even though you’re already sore. All day, I’ll be thinking about how proud I am of you, and how many orgasms I’m going to give you for being my wonderful girl. That will keep me out of the throttling zone.”

I giggle and lean in to hug him, which Logan allows no matter what we’re doing because he understands that little girls need to touch their daddies. “No throttling, Daddy. I’ll be thinking all day about this huge thing in my butt—”

“Tiny thing in your butt,” he grunts.

“Monstrous boulder in my butt that I’m wearing because I love my daddy even more than Karamel Sutra ice cream and want to please him and make him proud of me—”

“And want him to give you lots of orgasms.”

I smooch his cheek. “And that. But mostly I want to see him happy. I know today will be tough and if torturing my poor, sore bottom makes it easier, I’m good with that.”

He pulls me onto his lap which jams up the butt plug up, ow-ow-ow, and holds me for a long kiss. When he lets me up for air, he rubs the tip of my nose with his. “Torturing your bottom pretty much makes everything better, little girl. Now, downstairs. Don’t even try to convince me that the come you swallowed has enough calories to substitute for breakfast. I want you to eat something real. After Hendry’s done putting the thumbscrews to me, I’ll take you and Miranda out to lunch so you don’t have to cook.”

We’re going out to lunch? With me dressed like this and something sticking out of my butt?

“Please, can we go to Konk?”

That’s the only place I can think of in walking distance where what I’m wearing won’t stand out a mile. It’s a café in a converted greenhouse on Clinton Street, and it attracts an eclectic crowd. Mid-week there will be as many goths and grungy students as there are hipsters and yummy mummies.

“You bet. We can eat wherever you want.”

“Konk, please. And pretty-please with sugar on top, can I have underwear if we’re going out?”

“Mmm.” Daddy pushes out his full lower lip as he considers this. “Underwear will obstruct my view. Not sure I like that idea. Give up your orgasms after lunch and I’ll let you have knickers just while we’re out. You’re still getting fucked, though.”

I shudder at his deviltry. “Deal, Daddy.”

I’ll think about body odor, cold showers, and vomiting, and somehow keep from coming while Daddy pounds away inside me.

He pulls me into a huge hug. “You please me so much, little girl.”

I hope so, given the torture I’ve committed to today. “Ta, Daddy.”

As we head back downstairs, Logan gives me a look that’s filled with frustration and I know he wants to carry me down. I take his arm instead and let him escort me into the kitchen.

Miranda’s made herself at home in the breakfast nook and is sipping a cup of tea while she reads what looks like a news feed on her phone. How she can drink hot tea on a day that already promises to be as steamy as only August in the City can be, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a British thing.

I put on a playlist while I was making crepes. Linkin Park is playing now, and Daddy doesn’t like rap, so I switch it and hum along to Sia while I wash some blueberries and layer them in a highball glass with homemade granola and protein yogurt into an impromptu parfait.

“That looks good,” Miranda says without looking up from her phone.

I guess she’s still hungry. “Would you like one?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Logan clears his throat from where he’s leaning against the breakfast bar, watching me. I meet his eyes; he shakes his head.

Am I not supposed to feed her? Surely, he doesn’t want a pregnant woman to go hungry? I don’t understand.

“I’ll do that, little girl,” Daddy says.

Oh, he doesn’t want me to serve her. I give him a big smile and move out of his way. He tosses a handful of granola into a bowl, glops some yogurt over it, and sprinkles a few berries on top before he sets the bowl down in front of Miranda. It looks as little like what I’m eating as Sable’s cat food looks like a roast chicken dinner.

“Come, Emmy.” He picks up my parfait and beckons. I grab a spoon before I follow him out into the garden. He sits on the bench and draws me into his lap before he takes the spoon from me.

“Ta, Daddy,” I say after I’ve chewed the first bite ten times. Yum, blueberries.

“You’re welcome. Same rules with Miranda as last