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About:
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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'
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