The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection, Frost, J [famous ebook reader TXT] 📗

but she might have bitten a towel or something to silence her cries.

“No, sir.”

“Then why do you need to be disciplined again?”

“For lying to you.” She crosses her forearms under her head.

I don’t think that’s why. “For lying to me about your name, or for lying to me right now.”

She turns her head sharply to look at me. “I’m not lying to you right now.”

“No? Then tell me why you really need to be disciplined again.”

“I need the pain to distract me, sir.”

“Distract you from what?” I ask, shifting so I can rub the horsehair over the purple-pink stripes on her upper ass-cheeks. I don’t have any intention of abusing her feet with the brush. If she’s lied to me again, she’s going to get another ass-whipping. Right on top of the welts that must be stinging like a nest of bees already. If not, I’ll figure something else out that doesn’t involve bruising the soles of the feet she needs to walk around on all night.

“Bad . . . thoughts,” she whispers.

I almost ask her what the bad thoughts are, but remembering her history of depression and self-harm, I can probably guess.

“Were you having bad thoughts in the bathroom?” I ask instead.

She nods, her hair rustling over her shoulders and back. Now that I’m free to play with her hair, I pick up a curl and hold it to my lips, enjoying the texture and faint, sweet scent.

“Are you having bad thoughts now?” I ask.

“No, sir.”

“Okay.” I bring the brush down on her ass, above where she’d sit, but across several stripes. Caught by surprise, she jolts and yelps.

“Any bad thoughts now?” I ask. I don’t wait for her answer before I bring the brush down again on her other cheek, harder, since she’ll be expecting the second blow.

“No, sir. No, sir,” she pants.

“Good. Stand up.”

She does, scrambling backwards across the bed. I observe her as I slide more slowly out of the bed. The color’s back in her cheeks, and her eyes are bright and clear. No bad thoughts in there.

“Give me your bag,” I say, and when she gives me a little black backpack, I slide the hairbrush into it. “If you have any bad thoughts for the rest of the night, you bring me the brush, and I’ll take care of them.”

She nods, trembling.

“Good girl. Now show me your uniform.”

She opens her suitcase and draws out a blazer, classic white cotton shirt, pleated skirt, clip-on tie, knee socks and black Mary Janes. I smile at the memories of my junior school back in Morecambe. Good things the girls there didn’t look anything like Emily or I’d have failed all my classes.

I take the clothes from her and lay them on the bottom of the bed. “Perfect, baby doll. Do you know why I asked you to bring a costume?”

She shakes her head, looking up at me, eyes bright with questions.

“My club? It’s a kinky club. The members are all Doms. We bring our bottoms and play with them and do scenes. We can do anything we want inside the club. I’d like to play with you tonight. Do you think you’d be up for a scene?”

She nods eagerly.

“Would you like to be a naughty schoolgirl?”

The big eyes get bigger and her cheeks flush the deepest pink. “Yes, sir,” she says, in a tiny voice. “I’d love that.”

I rub my hands up and down her arms. “I’d love that, too. Let’s get you dressed, gorgeous girl.”

I’m not just flattering her. She is gorgeous with the high color in her cheeks, the light in her eyes, and that bloom of dark hair framing her peaches-and-cream skin. Is she a stunner like Mir? No. Emily’s cute, adorable even, a little doll. She’ll never be elegant, never be the beauty that every man turns to stare at when she enters the room. And I’m totally fine with that. I want my little doll all to myself.

“I’d like you to display yourself as you get dressed, Emily. Do you know how to do that?”

“Yes, sir. Should I bend over?”

At my nod, she turns and looks at me over her shoulder, before bending gracefully at the waist, keeping her legs straight.

“All the way.” I run my hand down her back, helping her into a deep bend. “Let me see you.”

She spreads her legs a half-step for balance, stretches and places her palms on the carpet between her feet. Fuck, that’s a nice view. I snag the high backed, wooden chair beside my parents’ old armoire, pivot it on one leg so I can straddle it and sit down behind her to watch.

“You can keep these panties on.” I run my fingertips along the white, ruffled edge. She moves into my touch. So responsive. “For now. They’re very sweet. Put your socks on first, little girl. Stay bent all the way over.”

“Yes, suh-sir,” she says.

She’s probably struggling, but she doesn’t let it show other than a little breathiness in her voice as she follows my instructions to the letter. She remains in that deep bend as she draws each white sock up over her knee. I run my fingertips up and down her inner thighs, fingering her on the outside of her panties at the top of each stroke, just to see her shiver. “Shirt next. Take off your bra first. No bra tonight.”

“Sir, um, the shirt’s thin. People will be able to see my nipples.”

“That’s a good girl to bring an issue to my attention without refusing my command. I want to display you tonight. You can keep your blazer on coming and going from my club.”

In fact, I think I’ll make sure everyone can see those little rosebuds.

She unhooks her bra and lets it drop down her arms before she reaches up for the shirt. She puts it on awkwardly, without straightening. I stroke her hips with my palms to reward her and when she starts to fumble with the buttons, I stop her. “Leave your clothes unbuttoned, baby doll. I’ll help you