There was a single lamp glowing in the front window. The rest of the house was dark. Daisy clicked on her flashlight and checked the address she’d written down. Yes, this was the right place. She sat the paper down on the passenger seat and caught a glimpse of her legs in the beam. A shiver went through her body. The span of pale white thigh between the top of her stocking and the black skirt was somehow more obscene than anything the young schoolteacher could imagine. She tugged at the skirt and was able to hide most of it. She flicked off the light.

Daisy at quietly watching the house, wrestling with herself. She’d never done anything remotely like this before. Telling herself that she wasn’t being unfaithful, that it wasn’t an affair was pure bullshit and she knew it. While it was true that sex wasn’t her primary motivation, she had little doubt that she would be used that way at some point. That turned her on – just thinking the words ‘would be used’ – made her pussy twitch. That was all she wanted. To be used. No. No, that wouldn’t be enough. She’d learned that in reading Peter’s stories, in masturbating online to his words and images, in experiencing his hands on her body that one single, solitary time. She didn’t just want to be used. She needed to be hurt.

A car pulled into the driveway and turned out its headlights. The driver’s side door opened and a short man in a suit and cap walked around and opened the back seat passenger door. Daisy slid down in her seat, scared they might see her, but desperate to see what was going on.

A tall, blond woman got out and walked around the car while the driver closed the door then raced ahead of her to open the other one. Daisy’s eyes widened when she saw the second woman slide out of the backseat. She came out feet first, the shoes bent wildly so she was walking on the balls of her feet, the long, spiked heels raising her heels into a near-vertical line. There was a bar of shiny silver metal that kept her ankles exactly eight inches apart. As her body slid slowly into sight, Daisy saw that she was naked from the waist down, then corsetted in what looked like the same metal. Her chest was circled by a painful looking contraption, metal rings though which sections of her breasts protruded. Daisy thought of her fingers squeezing a handful of dough, seeing it squishing out wherever it could. She shuddered, the pain must have been intense. She slid her hand between her legs and started stroking her pussy, imagining herself in the getup.

The woman’s nipples weren’t visible but there were long metal cones where they would be. Daisy imagined what torment might be going on underneath that metal and rubbed herself faster. The woman’s face was covered with a single plastic mask, painted like a doll face – long lashes, big blue pupils, a bright red, puckered mouth. Her hair was done in a single ponytail sticking straight up in the middle of her head.

They helped her stand and turned her around. Her arms were pulled back painfully behind her, elbows pressed tight together, forearms and wrists circled with the same silvery metal. She tottered but managed to get her balance and took a step toward the sidewalk.

Daisy heard her scream all the way across the street. The woman dropped to her knees on the concrete and her body shivered. The driver and the blond grabbed her harshly underneath the shoulders and pulled her erect. Daisy heard her moans, quieter now but still telling. When she regained her balance, she took another step. This time, her knees buckled again but she didn’t fall. Daisy pinched her nipples hard, pulling and twisting, rubbing her cunt, watching the slave walk from the car to the sidewalk to the porch, body trembling, moaning her pain with every movement. Daisy imagined a hundred different things that might be causing the pain and all of them turned her on. The blond turned and looked up and down the street, stared for a moment in Daisy’s direction, then kept walking. When she turned her head, Daisy let herself cum, her body shaking, hips up off the seat, crotch grinding against the steering wheel.

The couple vanished into the house and the driver returned to the car, backed out of the driveway and pulled away. Daisy’s mind was on fire now, she wanted so badly to run to the door, knock, throw herself at the feet of the blond and tell them to use her however they wanted. But she was afraid. She’d found the listing online on a BDSM meetup board but didn’t know anyone there. How would they treat her? Would they do more than let her watch? After all, it was her first visit and she was unescorted. Would they think she was with the police? And after what she’d seen, what did she have to offer anyway? That woman with the blond, her body was so perfect. Slim hips, long legs, and clearly she was already trained, she belonged to the beautiful blond woman. Daisy looked down at her own body now, the little pooch of a belly underneath the French Maid outfit she thought a slave should wear, and felt silly, embarrassed, childish.

Sobbing softly now, she drove home.
—
Daisy leaned her head over the rim of the toilet and threw up again. She spit the last few threats of muck out of her mouth and stood up. She flushed and brushed her teeth, splashed herself with cold water.

How could she be so stupid? So completely and utterly careless? Everything was in jeopardy now, her job, her marriage, her life. She washed her hands and flushed the toilet again, walked slowly back to her desk, defeated and destroyed.

There it was.

The single free-frame shot she’d sent Peter two nights ago.

There was no doubt it was her, her face was clearly visible. Along with the nipple rings, the rings that flared her nostrils, her taped ears, rubber-banded tongue, slicked down hair — all the things she’d done to her body to emulate Peter’s ‘punana’ character. Her chin, neck and chest were shiny with the spittle that dripped from her distended tongue and the look on her face clearly said she was masturbating.

She’d sent it to him trying to entice him to come into her video chat, but he’d ignored her. She’d been in the middle of masturbating, needing something more and when she’d seen him come online, she wasn’t thinking. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now, the photo was out there.

He’d sent it back to her this morning. No note, nothing in the email except the photo. He wasn’t online, he hadn’t posted any new stories, just that single email.

She screamed and deleted it. Daisy ran to the bedroom, unlocked the box she kept her toys in and carried the whole lot of them to the kitchen. She dumped them in a trash bag, tied it, and ran to the garage. She buried it deep in the trash bin, underneath the other bags, where it would sit until trash day, two days from now.

Fuck Peter, fuck all of that, fuck it all! She was done with it. She sat at her desk and cried until she was exhausted and empty, then wiped her face and signed on to her email account. Her sex account. The one she’d set up years ago so she could keep her lives separate. There were chat logs and video logs and downloaded favorite stories. The email addresses of men and women she’d fucked online, shared stories with, shoulders she’d cried on and men she’d learned from. And Peter. An entire folder of Peter. Her journal from her trip to Las Vegas, her notes back when she was trying to figure out who he was, everything.

She highlighted them all and clicked “delete”. Then, she went to her browser and deleted her favorites. Finally, she went to the Main Profile page and closed her email account.

It was over.
—
Daisy pushed her tongue between Ben’s balls, her hand stroking his cock gently while he rubbed the top of her head. She moved herself lower, started licking his asshole.

“Hey! Hey!” He pushed her head sideways and she looked up. “That’s kind of sick.”

“I just thought you might like to try something different,” she said softly, trying to be sexy, pushing her head back between his thighs again.

Ben pulled back, sat up. “No, darling, no. That’s not sanitary and it…it’s just wrong.”

Daisy nodded. “I’m sorry.” She tried to laugh. “I just read it somewhere.” She shifted, lay next to him, snuggled against his side. “Would you like to try something new with me?”

Ben relaxed, ran his hand up and down her back. “Well… like what?”

“You could…” Daisy froze. She wanted to say “You could bite my nipples,” but she was afraid. She’d been good for a full week. She’d stayed off of the internet, she’d masturbated only once and her fantasy hadn’t gone any further than an over-the-knee spanking. The image of the woman with the silver corset had popped into her head twice but she’d fought it off. She couldn’t go down that same rathole again.

“You could pull my hair a little bit,” she said, biting her lip. Ben reached around behind her and made a gentle fist, tugging lightly at the hairs between his fingers. She immediately felt frustrated. It was nothing. Nothing.

“Harder, Ben,” she whispered. He gave a nervous laugh and pulled his fingers tighter together. Daisy whispered, “I won’t break,” and slid her hand between her legs. Ben tried to pull but was afraid and let go. Daisy dug her fingernails into her thighs and scratched, feeling the rush of juice in her cunt. “Ben, please, Ben, please, just a little bit.” He took both hands and grabbed handfuls of hair on each side of her head and pulled hard while she scratched her nails along the outside of her pussy lips, then along the edges, then along the insides, her thumb working her clit, then pressing her thumbnails into her clit, both of them hard, and jerking her head back and forth so Ben had to hold on tighter and lifting her hips up and down, fingers digging into her cunt, nails biting along the tender flesh just inside the opening and finally she came, moaning and screaming “yes, yes, yes”, bucking her hips up and down, knees spread wide, slapping her pussy hard with one hand while pinching her clit with the nails of her other hand.

Ben stared at her for a long time. She was breathing hard, eyes rolled back in her head, body still shaking. When she finally calmed down, he said gently, “I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight.” Ben got up, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and took a blanket and pillow out of the closet.

Daisy cried herself to sleep.
—
The next party wasn’t until the following Saturday. It was at a different place but was posted on the same board. It was a ‘munch’ and said “newbies welcome”. Daisy couldn’t concentrate on anything at work or at home. She made love to Ben twice. It was good, very good in fact. She still loved him but her hunger wouldn’t wait any longer. She watched him and tried to imagine what it would be like if he knew. She pushed it out of her mind. She didn’t have a choice.

She wanted to email one of them and introduce herself but she wasn’t ready to go down that path again. She’d felt guilty enough opening the anonymous account at the Internet cafe so she could look up the next meeting. She wasn’t about to set up another account on her home machine. So email was out of the question. As was reading stories. Or seeking out Peter. All she wanted was the date and address. Which she had.

She shopped for an outfit she could wear. She decided the French Maid getup was too cliche and amateurish. She remembered a movie called “The Image” and the simple white dress Anne wore in one of the scenes. She went and found something similar. A one piece smock dress with no sleeves and a simple neckline. That, white thigh-high stockings and white heels.

A sacrifice.

She masturbate every night that week, feeling the anticipation of the Saturday meeting. She would show up at the door and offer herself. They would bring her into the torture room, tie her hands above her head and whip her until they were bored. Then, the fucking would start. It was the same scene every time she fantasized it and she came wildly.

When Saturday came, she told Ben she was leaving for her overnight spa. She’d set that up early on too. He would believe her, she’d done it before. A massage, a sauna, sleepover in an oxygen room, then another morning ritual. She’d come home relaxed and ready for the week. It was the perfect cover.

She left with her overnight bag and drove to a gas station, where she changed into her sacrificial uniform. Then, she drove straight to the address they’d listed. She locked her belongings in the trunk and walked to the door with nothing in her hands except a small white clutch with a pair of nipple clamps. Her offering to her own destruction.

Daisy raised her hand to knock but froze. This was a threshold. She was entering a new world. This was no longer online video chats and masturbating for strangers. This was real, live human beings touching her body. She dropped her head. They might have cameras. Someone might recognize her. She might actually get hurt. A thousand fears swam through her head. Did she actually trust this ‘community’? Were they really just having fun? What if she was kidnapped and sold?

Daisy turned and looked down the street at her car. Safety. The real world. She stepped off the porch and started walking to the sidewalk.

“Afraid?”

Daisy froze. The porch light turned off and she heard the door pulled closed. Footsteps. Someone stopped directly behind her. She heard someone sucking on a cigarette. He blew smoke then dropped it on the ground. She heard his shoe grinding it down.

“How long were you standing there?” he asked.

“A long time,” she said softly.

“Not an easy decision, is it?”

Daisy didn’t say anything.

“But you did come. I think that says it all, doesn’t it?”

Without turning around, Daisy nodded.

“If you were a dominant, you wouldn’t have hesitated.”

He paused. He waited a long time before he went on.

“Are you collared?”

Daisy shook her head.

“Pain or humiliation?”

“Both,” she whispered.

“Louder.”

“Both. Sir.”

He chuckled. “New at this, I see.”

“Yes.”

Daisy felt herself shaking. His voice was slow and measured, he was used to being obeyed. She could tell he was probing her, testing her, finding her limits.

“Turn around.”

Daisy turned, hands behind her back, eyes lowered. Without warning, he slapped her across the face. She turned back to center and he did it again, coming back the other way. He repeated it four more times, both of them completely silent.

Daisy stood, eyes watering, tears running down her cheek.

“Lift up your dress,” he said.

She took the hem of the skirt with her fingers and raised it, waist high, showing him the tops of her stockings and her clean-shaved crotch.

“Open your knees.”

Daisy turned and looked up and down the street, then parted her knees, pushing her hips slightly forward.

“Open up.”

She held the dress with one hand and used two fingers of her other hand top open her lips. He stared at her face the whole time.

“Enough.” She dropped the dress and smoothed it in place.

He turned and started toward the house. Daisy followed him and he stopped.

“What are you doing?” he asked without turning around.

“Following you, Sir.”

“Don’t. We’re not interested,” he said. Daisy stood paralyzed as he opened the door, went in and closed it behind him without looking back.

She burst into tears and ran back to the car, puzzled, humiliated, and angry.

—
Over the next two weeks, Daisy slowly rebuilt her collection of toys. But this time they were harsher. The clothespins she’d used on her cunt lips were replaced with binder clips. She didn’t bother with spring-loaded nipple rings, she used alligator clips now, attaching weights and swinging them from side to side so she could swim in the pain.

The dildoes were bigger, stiffer, hard plastic and ebonite now, not rubber and silicon. The ones she used in her ass were longer and had ridges so she could feel them. The rings she used for her ‘punana’ nostrils had rough edges, she felt them biting her every time she took a breath. She didn’t just bind her tongue with the rubber bands, she snapped them fiercely over and over until tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Whenever she fucked Ben, she first pushed one of the big, ribbed dildoes deep up her ass so she could pretend she was being fucked by two men at once. She stared making him wear condoms, then swiped the inside of her cunt with mint oil or watered-down Tabasco so she could feel the burn.

In the end it still wasn’t enough.

She opened a new email account and wrote to Peter.

He responded with just one word.

‘maybe’

---