Beth was bored. When that happened she usually went online and surfed the kind of sites she would only look at in private. Some pretty bad things happened there. Things she would never dream of doing in real life, but she liked to imagine. Girls tied up and beaten, sometimes till the blood ran. Girls with dogs. Girls enslaved. (Look away now, gentle reader!) More and more she was being drawn to embarrassment and humiliation. Girls forced to undress in front of groups of men. Girls fucked in public. Girls with all manner of things inserted in them. Girls eating their dinner off the floor. She guessed it was only a matter of time before she and Daddy got round to some of that stuff. But she wasn’t in a hurry. Too many more or less normal things to do first.
Half an hour of surfing and she was even more bored. She knew she would have to get out and do something. There was a hotel in the West End she had been to a couple of times, a good place to meet businessmen looking for company. She’d find a guy, do something with him and then she’d feel better. It always worked. Of course Daddy might not like it, and she would have to be punished, but that was OK. In fact it was more than OK; she’d got to like it. She would never do anything bad just so he would punish her. That was manipulation, and she didn’t care for that. But she was ready to take responsibility for her actions, suffer the consequences. It had never occurred to her not to tell Daddy about these little episodes.
She got dressed up, just a bit. If you went out looking for a man you had to wear stockings, it seemed. She’d never found a man who didn’t like them. Men were so predictable, poor things. She’d bought some new underwear, black satin, and she put it on. She felt good in things like that. She chose a tight black skirt, not so short it would show the tops of her stockings. And heels, of course. She did her make-up carefully: some eye-liner, a little eye-shadow, some mascara. And lipstick.
She sat up at the bar. The bartender looked at her suspiciously. But she gave him a lovely smile and said something nice about his appearance, and he smiled back. She wasn’t obviously a tart; she could have passed for a respectable businesswoman, just about. She ordered a vodka and tonic. It took somewhere between five and ten minutes before a man approached her and offered to buy her a drink. She hadn’t finished the first one, but she accepted all the same. Dutch courage.