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

He settles the headphones over my ears, and the rolling hiss of waves echoes the pain as it works up and down my body.

Pain makes time slip. Stretch and contract. I know the time is passing, because my heart keeps beating and my lungs keep emptying and filling. Each of those things takes time, but I lose all sense of it. There’s only the next wave of pain, and the next. The flavor of it is slightly different depending on whether I’m resting on my butt, my pussy, or my pubic bone. But it’s all pain.

A noise rises over the hiss in my ears. It’s a broken, keening noise. Harsh and red-raw. I know I’m making it because I can hear it inside my head, but it doesn’t sound like any noise that could come out of my throat. It’s the noise of some deep place inside me breaking open like a rotten egg and spilling out all the green, stinking stuff inside. There aren’t any words. There’s just feeling. A desperate, primal need for the pain to stop and for me to be forgiven.

My throat catches on that awful noise and I cough, jerking forward onto my clit with a soundless scream. The straw presses against my lip again and I gulp down the cool liquid. It brings back the memory of sitting in the yard with the rain misting my face and Daddy coming out to cuddle me. I cling to that memory as I submerge again into the pain.

I don’t know if it’s a long time later or a short time, when Daddy lifts the headphones off me again. I only know that I’ve gone limp from the pain. There’s no strength left in my legs. Even if I wanted to go up on my toes, I’m not sure I could. My body keeps jerking even though I’ve run out of tears. The muscles in my stomach shake as though I’ve done an hour’s worth of sit-ups. My spine’s all that’s holding me from slumping on the rail and increasing the pressure on the spot where I’m sitting. The spot that feels like a dozen nails are being slowly hammered into me.

“Emmy, give me a number.”

“N-n-nine,” I gasp.

“Nine, or nine point five?”

I don’t know if the pain can get any worse. I suppose it can always get worse, even though it doesn’t feel like it right now. “Nuh-nine, Daddy.”

“Tell me why you walked away from Pence but not Miranda.”

“I-I didn’t care what Pence said.”

“But you care about what Miranda said.” He doesn’t make it a question.

“I’m sorry!” The words come out in a broken cough.

“Do you think Miranda still means something to me, little girl?” he asks.

Does she? Doesn’t she? I don’t know. When I first met Logan, I was sure he was still in love with her. Now, I’m not sure he ever was. I just don’t know.

“Y-you were with her for such a long time, Daddy.”

“Probably not even six months, if you added up all the days. But it doesn’t matter how long we were together, Emmy. What matters is how I feel about her. Yes, I cared about her. Yes, I let myself get drawn into a stupid competition with her husband and, during that, I asked her to marry me. Thank God she rejected me, because marrying her would have been the biggest mistake of my life. When I look at her now, do you know what I see?”

I shake my head.

“I see a rapist. What’s rape, little girl?”

He really thinks that about her? Consent is a huge, big deal for most Doms. For Daddy, it’s the biggest deal. He’s calling Miranda the worst thing he could call a person.

“Having s-s-sex with someone without their c-consent,” I say, fumbling to form the right words through the pain. “Or, when they can’t give consent.”

“That’s right. When she had her IUD removed without telling me, when she had unprotected sex with me, knowing that breached my hard limits, that was sex without my consent. I look at her and I see a rapist. I see someone I could never trust. Is that the person you think still matters to me?”

“I d-d-didn’t know you felt that strongly, Daddy.”

“I do, little girl. I feel that strongly. I don’t want her near me. I don’t want her near you. I don’t want her in your thoughts, but I know she is, so we’re going to talk about the things she said and you’re going to understand how she twisted the truth to tap your insecurities and you’re going to let them go.”

I hate that Miranda was able to hurt me so easily. I should never let her fill that much space in my head and heart. I want to be impervious to her. I really do.

“Yuh-yes, please, Daddy.”

His hand settles in my hair. “Up on your toes while we’re talking. I want you focused on what I’m saying, not the pain. Timer keeps going.”

I sob with relief, and then with despair because my legs won’t hold me. I try to go up on my toes, but my calves and thighs cramp and I drop back on the wood with a strangled scream.

“It’s okay, little girl. I’ll lower the horse.”

The cessation of pressure, of that driving nails sensation, makes me sob and wobble. I remember to push out against Daddy’s ropes, which hold me and after a moment, I get my balance.

“Keep your legs straight, Emmy. Rail’s only about an inch below your groin. If you feel like you’re going to fall, warn me.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I feel him checking the ropes and my cuffs. He kisses my hip before he stands. His body warms my left side, even though he’s not touching me.

“Now, little girl, we’re going to talk about Miranda’s lies.” He settles his hand on top of my head. “First lie, you’re nothing but my maid. Are you my maid, Emmy?”

“If you needed a maid, I’d be one for you,” I offer.

“Thank you for that, little