Negotiation: Daddy P.I. 0.5, E Frost [best thriller novels of all time txt] 📗

I close my eyes to savor the release. It’s sweet, if brief and a little hollow.

When I open my eyes, she’s still kneeling at my feet, but she’s lifted her palms to take the used tissue from me.

I almost drop the paper into her waiting hands. Then I remember her sign: “Daddy-Dom wanted for pampering and play.” Dropping a spunk-wet tissue into her hands doesn’t feel like pampering. I wad it in my fist and toss it into the toilet instead.

“Up off your knees,” I tell her. “My turn. I want to see you.”

She looks uncertain for a moment. Then she rises, gathering up the tissue on the floor, dropping it in the toilet and brushing off her hands.

To banish that uncertainty, to make it easy for her, I give her precise instructions: “Same as last time, sweetheart. Turn around and face the mirror. Take off your skirt, fold it and lay it on top of your bag. Then take off your panties and put them on top of your skirt. Put your hands over your pussy, turn around and face me.”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice is so small I barely catch her words.

“Good girl. If you need to stop, say your safe word.”

She shakes her head and gives me a tiny smile. Then she obeys. She does it carefully, following my instruction word for word. Her disrobing reveals smooth, pale skin, slender legs with coltish knees, a softly curved ass. I thought I’d like what was under her skirt, and I’m not wrong. She’s small, and slender to the point of being skinny, but that’s not a turn-off. Women’s bodies excite me, and it really doesn’t matter what size or shape they come in. It’s their softness, the way their bodies yield to mine, which fires me up. Kitty’s got plenty for me to enjoy.

Her little panties match her bra: white silk, bordered with lace. Full back; not a thong. I decide then that there will be no slutty underwear for my Kitty. Only demure silk, satin and lace, as much as I can rip off her.

She turns around slowly and stands with her hands cupped over herself, her arms framing her breasts, her eyes downcast.

From the front, I can see a fine tracery of scars across her upper thighs. They’re straight, surgical, and I know right away what they are. Kitty’s a cutter. The scars are recessed, a shade darker than the rest of her skin. Not recent, but something to keep an eye on.

“Gorgeous. Show Daddy what you have for him.”

She bites her lip, and looks away—ashamed of her body, afraid of rejection—before dropping her hands to her sides.

I growl with pleasure at the bare little pudenda she reveals.

“Do you want me to—?” She trails off, looking around. Is she trying to figure out some way to prop herself up so I can examine her without going down on my knees?

“No, sweetheart. Just let me look at you.” There’s so much to like. The little creases of her hips. The flushed spots on her knees. The tiny freckles dotting her thighs. “Reach down and spread your lips for me.”

Blinking rapidly, following my instructions carefully, she does it, but with the strong light and our height difference, all I can see is shadow.

“Turn around and bend over the sink, baby doll. Can you do that for me?”

She’s shaking now, arms and thighs trembling, but she whispers, “Yes, sir,” and obeys. So well trained. She turns slowly and clutches at the edge of the sink. I shuffle forward a step, with my pants still around my ankles. My belt buckle clinks on the tile.

At the sound, a light bulb goes off. I can touch her without touching her. I reach down and pull the belt free.

“This is my belt,” I tell her, running the leather tongue down her back. “I’m going to touch you with the belt, not my hands.”

She shivers and nods. “Yes, sir. Yes, please.”

I run the belt’s tip up and down the smooth curve of her back a few times, coming to rest in the small of her back. I press down with the belt’s tip and she arches her back, exactly the way I want.

“Perfect, baby doll. Reach between your legs and spread yourself open with your fingers. Show me what I want to see.”

She lowers her head to the pile of clothes mounded on her bag and whimpers. Then she braces herself against the sink with one hand and reaches between her legs with the other.

Despite just coming a few minutes ago, my balls prickle when her fingers splay her outer lips. Within those smooth curves, her body shades to the softest pink-brown, with the opening a darker rose. Her anus, clenching as I watch, is a tight, pink furl. So beautiful. So delicate. Like a little doll.

A doll I want to fuck until she comes apart in my hands.

I double my belt in my hand and run the folded leather down between her legs. Where I most want to put my hands. Her skin flushes as soon as the leather touches her. Her knees buckle and she grabs at the tap handle. I reach out to stop her from accidentally turning on the water and soaking her clothes, but she realizes it at the same moment and moves her hand to clutch at the sink’s rim. Grinning, I rub the belt along her vulva a little more firmly, and flick the tip of the belt over her sphincter.

She arches and shudders, trying to hold her position while writhing against the touch of my belt.

I draw a step closer to her, so she can feel my body heat. As I move the belt over her, the leather brushes my cock and thighs. Even though we’re not touching, I feel a connection blossom between us.

“Sweet little girl.” I lean over her so she can feel my breath on her back. She arches to me, stopping just short of