Page 285 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
I take it as a sign of how far I’ve come that I don’t feel a wash of jealousy at finding her already kitted-out for pony play, knowing that she must have done it with other Doms, probably some of whom are in this room. She hasn’t done it with me yet, and that’s what matters.
“And does my mare know any fancy steps in her hoof boots, or is she just a slutty little breeder?”
Bren’s shivering continuously under my hand. Her camisole slips off one nipple and sags to her waist. Her breasts are perfect pears, golden and pink. I pull on her nape until her back arches and I can lean over and taste her. Suckling on her nipples, while I continue to pull on her neck, draws a soft cry out of her. Her thighs clench, muscles shifting under the yoga pants she’s wearing.
I trail my mouth back up to her ear. “Now, if my filthy little filly had been a good girl and not sassed her owner about the food being better than the orgasms he gives her, she could be having one right now. Instead, my mare’s going to have to suffer for an hour or two until her food goes down and her owner can put her in a proper position to be bred. Answer my question, slutty mare.”
She flushes even more deeply, which I didn’t think was possible.
“I— I know how to walk and trot on them, Sir, and I can dance a little.”
“Mmm, then after lunch, you’ll go get changed into your tack and show me your paces. Leave off the mask. I want to be able to check my mare’s teeth.” I’m not a fan of masks and they didn’t figure into Bren’s fantasies, so I don’t feel any need to include one. “And if my saucy mare gets any ideas about biting her owner, I’ll put her in a Jennings gag for the rest of day. Just think of how embarrassed my dirty mare will be if she has to go for drinks with her friends wearing a gag?”
Bren bends over toward the table. “Please, Sir, I’m going to come,” she whispers.
“No, you’re not.” I pick up a butter knife and press the dull edge into her nipple. She jolts and lets out a little squeal of surprise at the touch of the cold metal. Across the table, Logan and Harry chuckle darkly. “Behave yourself, my slutty mare. No creaming yourself at the lunch table.”
“Sir, please. Please, I’m asking permission.”
“Which you don’t have.” I flick the camisole off her other nipple and snap the butter knife against it with my thumb, eliciting a bigger jolt and a louder squeal. “Now we’re going to finish lunch, and then I’ll hose down my dirty filly before she puts on her tack. A little cold water will keep those orgasms at bay, won’t it?”
“Yes, Sir,” she pants.
Although Bren begs me for orgasms, she rarely begs for anything else, particularly not an end to her torment. The only time I can remember was when I was breaking her pussy with the dragon dildo. Otherwise, despite her sass, she’s more than happy to take what I dish out. My sweet, sweet slut.
I let her cool off a little while I feed her the rest of what’s on her plate and eat what’s on mine. When we’re both finished, I release her from the honor blindfold so she can watch me tipout a little of the hot pepper sauce, rub it between my fingers, reach down the front of the yoga pants she’s wearing, and paint her clit with it. She squirms on her chair, but I think that’s more from me stroking her clit than because of the heat. It will take a moment for the burn to sink in. While she’s squirming, I tip more hot sauce on my finger and rub each of her nipples with it. She looks at me curiously. It takes a while for capsicum to work on tissue that’s not mucus membrane like the mouth, throat, and pussy, but she’ll be feeling it in a few minutes, particularly after repeated applications.
While everyone drinking coffee and tea, or in Emily’s case, a banana milkshake, I keep painting my dirty girl’s nipples and clit with pepper sauce. It hits her hard after five minutes, the burn biting deeper and deeper, until she’s writhing in her chair, gripping the seat with white-knuckled fingers to prevent herself from rubbing off the burn. Her face is so crimson its purple, dotted with sweat; her breath comes in delightful little hisses. Each breath makes my cock pulse.
“Is my filthy filly ready for her hose-down?” I murmur in her ear.
Bren nods frantically and my cock jumps at her predicament. No one reallywantsa cold shower. Even in the middle of the summer, they’re barely pleasant. But she knows cold water will soothe the burn, which has to be something she wants, probably more desperately with every passing minute.
Just to prolong her delicious agony, I make another pass over her nipple and clit with the hot sauce.
“Sir, please,” she hisses.
“Ah, have I finally gotten you to beg, girl? Is that yellow I hear?”
“No, Sir.” She sets her jaw and huffs out a breath through her nose. My salty-sweet, stubborn sammie.
“Well then, I think we should let your lunch digest a little more before I hit you with the cold water. I don’t want to upset my filly’s delicate tummy.”
“My stomach’s cast damn iron,” Bren grumbles. “Sir.”
“Is that your way of saying, ‘please, Sir, I’d like the cold hose now’?”
I hear her teeth grind. That makes me chuckle as I lean in to nip her ear.
“Was that a ‘yes, Sir,’ girl?”
Her teeth grind so loudly I bet Logan and Harry can hear her.
“Yes, Sir.”
I slap her thigh. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Brenna’s expression when I offer her my hand and help her out of her chair is pure murder. It makes me roar with delight.
