I'll never forget the tone of his voice. How could I resist him? I couldn't! He dominated me with his voice. He told me to suck it, and to swallow.
The hot liquid filled my mouth. Again, he repeated the command.
"Swallow it, bitch. Suck that stuff and swallow it."
I knew that if I didn't gulp down the salty, foamy piss, he would beat me again. Already he had me tied securely. My wrists were beginning to ache because the leather bands which secured them were fastened so tightly.
"You'll learn to love my wastes," he told me. He was the master. His word was law. And he said that I would soon be begging for the very tortures and degradations which he now forced me to endure.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
Growing up in the city most likely had something to do with my quick development. I was born in New York, right in Manhattan. Yes, I am one of those rare native New Yorkers.
They say that people from New York are fast. They say we're always in a hurry and maybe that's so. It's a quicker lifestyle here.
For a while I went to live with a boyfriend in Baltimore. Now, Baltimore is a quiet little town compared to New York. In New York, there is always something happening. At every hour, there's something to do. The city never sleeps. I liked Baltimore, but I was soon back to New York. I couldn't stay away. I wanted the excitement that this city offers. I wanted to experience that again.
So, I left my boyfriend and this time I moved into a small apartment. I had lived with my parents before, the last time I had been in New York. But now I was on my own with my own apartment, and I planned, for the first time in my life to really live it up and take full advantage of all that the city had to offer.
Even in the short time that I had been away, things had changed in New York. New clubs had replaced old ones. That's the way it is in that city. One week, a club can be very crowded with all the right people. By the next week, something else is the rage, and the original favorite is forgotten.
I was eighteen years old and ready to be on my own. After all, now I was eighteen. I was all grown up.
And my figure was proof of that. My breasts were more than budding. They had blossomed! And they had blossomed beautifully, if I must say so myself.
Not that I had to praise myself. I received plenty of praise from all the guys. The young men chased me like crazy. But I was bored by them. I wanted something that was really exciting. Something really different.
That's what I was looking for when I returned to New York.
It hadn't been difficult finding an apartment. I bought the New York Times and read the apartment ads. I guess I was the first one to answer the ad for the little apartment on West 16th Street. The man who was renting the apartment took a liking to me right away.
He wanted to date me, also. I knew he would ask. When I saw the way he looked me over, I knew that it was only a matter of time.
I told him that I'd have to have a signed lease before I did anything like go out with him. He couldn't resist the chance. The papers were signed that day.
I knew that he would soon be at my door, and sure enough, he was. We spent one boring evening together.
He told me that he was into really getting to know a girl. He told me that he didn't like impersonal sex. He was interested in love.
That didn't please me too much. You see, I'm all woman, even at the tender age of eighteen. I don't want to be tied down, though. Well, not tied down to one man. .He was very conservative in his lovemaking.
He turned the lights off when he removed his clothes. I had been feeling his cock through his pants, to see if I could tell how big it was. I like a hard, big cock.
His was alright, but I wanted to see it, too. I turned the lights back on, and I think that made him uneasy.
Not that there was anything wrong with the way he or his cock looked. It was just that he was a bit on the shy side.
That didn't turn me on. I liked the guy and I wanted this to be somehow more than just a return favor for his signing the lease over to me so quickly. He hadn't - even checked my references or anything. He pulled strings for me. And now I wanted to pull strings for him, if you know what I mean.
But I just couldn't get into it because it seemed that I had to make all the first moves.
We were down on the couch and I had unfastened my skirt and dropped it to the floor. The couch had been left by the previous tenant, which was good, because at least it gave me something to sleep on, even though I didn't care for the flowered pattern of it.
Bill, his name was Bill, the superintendent of the building, pressed his body up against mine. I could feel his hard prick rubbing against the soft outer lips of my pussy. But he didn't direct his cock into the slippery slit.
I wondered what he was waiting for. Did I have to make all the moves?
You may think that I'm a spoiled bitch, of something, but I just hate to have to take the cock and direct it into my pussy. I want the man to do that. I want him to take me.
I don't even care if he has to subdue me with the force of his body and plow the cock in. In fact, I've always liked roughness and authority.
But this guy was real gentle with me, and my pussy juices just weren't flowing. I almost felt like turning the little smile on his face. I wanted to see a sneer.
I know that this sounds strange. I know that a pretty, blonde, eighteen-year-old girl should want to be loved and cuddled and treated with affection.
But I wanted something more.
I wanted him to be rough with me. I wanted him to hold my arms up over my head and keep my wrists held tightly together so that my heart couldn't pound at his chest, and so my nails couldn't scratch him away.
I wanted to know that if I tried to resist him, he would punish me and make me behave. He would insist that I obey his every whim.
But it didn't happen like that.
I was hoping that his big, hard prick would ram in and out of my gaping cunny hole. I was hoping that he would burn my cunt with the friction of his fucking stick.
But I didn't have to scream at the power of his hurting lunges because the prick strokes he gave me didn't hurt. He didn't dominate me. I needed more.
He came pretty quickly, once he finally got inside of me. It took a long time before he gathered up the courage to ask if he could stick it in. I became a bit hotter then, when he asked if he could fuck me, but still, I didn't want him to ask. I wanted him to tell me what he was going to do.
I smiled after it was over and told him that I had experienced orgasm right along with him. He asked if he could see me again, and I told him that I only saw a guy once. That was it.
"I'm just a one-time girl," I told him.
You should have seen the expression on his face. I know that he thought I was a tramp when I said that. But what can I do? We just had different opinions about sex. For me, sex was to be something forbidden, mysterious, hot, dirty, piggy, uninhibited, lewd, loose, and wild. I didn't have to have love.
But I needed sex. Dominating, bizarre sex!
I would think, that most men would want a girl like me, if they could meet the challenge, that is.
But I guess that most men couldn't meet that challenge. They would be unable to rope me. I'd be like a wild animal to them. They would be unable to train me and they would be unable to make me behave.
I just dare men to tame me!
I'm a little hellcat. Maybe that's why I need the domination.
I need to find the man, or the men, who know how to handle me.
Meeting guys in the city was easy enough. I started out by trying the so-called swinging singles bars of the east side. They were crowded, smoky places with a lot of people all looking to get laid. But again, the males I bumped into were just not for me.
Now, some of them were more macho than Bill the superintendent, but they always turned out to be gentle in bed. That wasn't what I wanted.
I wanted something bizarre.
When I just couldn't take the singles scene any longer, I investigated something new. There was a store on Times Square which presented the key to me. You see, I was in the Times Square area and I chanced to look at the newspapers in one of the adult bookstores.
This newspaper told about the kinky side of New York nightlife. It excited me. I thumbed through the paper there in the store and I could feel the dampness coming from my pussy. I closed my cunt tightly using my inner muscles. Still, the sheer panties beneath my jeans were getting wet with cunt flow.
At last I found something that interested me. It was what I knew just had to exist in this city. No other city in the United States could have such a place. There it was, advertised in the pages of the sex-newspaper. They called it The Underground.
The paper listed the place and explained it as follows: "A raunchy, filthy place for pigs of all sexes. Anything goes. Several big rooms with liquor bars. Also, orgy rooms, piss room, S & M activities. Women admitted free."
What more could I ask for?
I could hardly wait to get to the place. Action started late there, so I didn't arrive at The Underground until nearly midnight.
I was dressed for the place. I wore a tight mini-skirt to expose most of my tapered, long legs. I wore a blouse, but no bra. I wore high leather boots.
I was greeted warmly at the door. Heck, it was difficult finding the place! I took a cab there because it was all the way on the poor side of town. And you better believe that New York's poor side of town is poor!
It was down by the docks which made me wonder how many people would actually venture down to the empty area for sex. It was lonely and dangerous. It was isolated, and nobody actually lived around there.
But that was part of the appeal of the place. Obviously, the police were paid off well, and stayed away. There were no neighbors to complain about the sounds of whips cracking through the night. There were no little kids to be corrupted. There was only the atmosphere, and it was an atmosphere of dirt and degradation.
The place was dark and as soon as I entered, I was struck by the stench of piss. The floor of this club was wet and I had to assume that there was human piss all over the floor. This place was really dirty!
I had to go to the bathroom as soon as I arrived. I had been holding it in since leaving my apartment. I should have taken my pee before, but I didn't and now I had to go.
I asked' somebody where the ladies room was. The response, from a woman, by the way, was only a laugh. She said that there were no ladies in this place. Only women who were out for a dirty time. Besides, she told me, males and females had to share one bathroom.
I had never heard of such a thing. Certainly no place in Baltimore was like that. But I was a visitor at The Underground (which was located down in a cellar, which explains the name) and so I had to follow the customs of the house.
The little John was filthy, as you can imagine, considering that everybody had to use it. There were several urinals for the males. There was a tiny sink. And there was only one sit-down toilet, and that didn't even have a seat on it!
Aside from that, there was a man sitting on the only real toilet, and frankly, he didn't seem to be doing anything. He was just sitting there watching the other people who came in to use the John. But he wouldn't allow them to use it.
You see, there was no stall, no booth, to hide him. Everything was out in the open and he intended for women to straddle him and piss right on him!
I was stunned. I could feel that stickiness at my pussy again, just the way I felt it when I first discovered the club's listing in the sex newspaper. Only this time the pussy lips were stickier.
I also felt a very strange feeling, in my stomach.
Now I knew why women were invited to play at the club without charge. Few decent women would enter such a hole. But I didn't consider that being decent was all too hot a thing to be. I was there for dirty fun, just as it had promised in the sex newspaper.
Since I was one of the few girls in the place, I guess all eyes had been on me since I first entered the club. Someone had followed me into the John.
He didn't introduce himself. None of that bullshit that goes on at the piss-elegant singles bars went on here.
At The Underground it was out and out sex. He got right down to it, demonstrating what he demanded without asking any questions.
He stepped into the john, strode up to me, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and forced me, with the pressure of his strong arm, down to my knees at the urinal bowl.
I suppose I could have struggled away. Or at least, if I had resisted, maybe he would have kicked my ass and told me to fuck off, then and there.
But I submitted, half out of fear and half out of the sheer fascination of it.
He held my head at the urinal bowl so that my chin was resting on the cold, damp, white tile. When I inhaled, I could smell the un-flushed wastes. I tried to turn my face away, but he held me down.
"Sniff it up," he told me. "Get dizzy on that piss."
Tears came to my eyes. He increased the pressure of his hold on my neck. He was hurting me. I breathed in. I followed his dominating command.
The scent of the stale piss was strong. I breathed it in. I did what he told me.
To my further humiliation, other members of the club had drifted into the John. This was a very public atmosphere where people were either voyeurs or exhibitionists. Obviously, at this moment, I was an exhibitionist, even if only a half-willing one.
But I had no choice except to concentrate on the orders of the new master who was dominating me to be his piss slave. Of course the horny men who frequented the sex club were eager to see a beautiful, blonde eighteen-year-old girl be abused at the public urinal.
"That's man piss in that bowl," he told me.
I must have been whimpering.
A guy stepped up to the urinal next to the one where I was being held as a piss slave. He unzipped his pants and started pissing. I heard the sound of the piss smacking wetly against the porcelain bowl of the urinal.
The man who pissed did not flush it. My master reached over into the other urinal, took some of the urine in his hand, and slapped it onto my face.
His piss-wet hand made, quite a sound against the soft cheek of my face. The piss of a stranger was now matting my blonde hair. The hot piss cooled on my skin and I felt a chill as the wetness dried.
Down on my knees as I was, with my mini skirt hiked way up, I could feel more wetness on my knees. The floor of the john was very wet. People weren't very careful about where they pissed here. Or maybe they wanted the floor to be soaked.
My master was up above me and soon I heard his zipper coming down. I knew that he was going to piss.
"That was just a sample," he said of the wetness he had slapped across my face from the other urinal. "Now you're gonna get drenched."
I was shivering. I could feel the anticipation which swelled up around me from those who were getting off on the sight of me as a slave girl to my new master's piss. I didn't even know the man. I didn't know his name. I had only seen his face for a moment. But here he was, taking full control, and seeing to it that I was totally humiliated.
That was all part of the scheme.
This, in a way, was what I had been looking for. True, this was a bit more severe than I'd imagined it would be. It was heavy.
But I had been bored with plain, ordinary sex. I had had it with the mild mannered guys who couldn't satisfy me.
I wanted something more, and now I had it!
"Stick out your tongue," he told me. He said it loud enough so that everybody who was standing around Observing could hear him. I was humiliated.
He gave my butt a swift kick with his booted foot.
"I said stick that tongue out," he repeated. "Stick it out as far as it will stretch. I want to see a pink tongue muscle across that white bowl."
"Yeah, and we want to see a yellow stream on the pink tongue," a man in the circle around the urinal laughed.
You can imagine how tense I was. I could see the shadow of his prick up over me. It was big and filled with steaming piss.
At first there was just a drop of it. Then another. And another.
And then, the stream started pouring out of the hole of his cock. It came streaming out and bouncing up against the bowl of the urinal.
My tongue was out. He didn't aim all of his piss on my tongue. Some of it was directed at the bowl and it splashed back in my face. I felt many hot drops being splashed back at me. I closed my eyes.
When he wanted to, he got me right on the tongue. He aimed his big dick at my mouth and the hot flow came heavy and hard. It was bitter!
I know it was bitter because all of my taste buds were alive with his piss. And he ordered me to swallow it.
"Stop wasting that golden liquid!" he said. "Swallow it down."
I thought I would gag. I couldn't take it. It was making me sick.
True, the fantasy of it had appealed to me. I had gone out seeking domination, and what more powerful way is there for a man to dominate a woman than making her drink his piss?
But I was crying. My tears were mixing with the yellow liquids of his body. I tried to squirm away, but he held me down. He kicked my ass again. He called me a bitch.
"You're an unworthy bitch," he said. "I'll train you, though. I'll have you lapping at my feet. I'll have you begging to take my piss. All of it!"
I cried and cried. His stream was coming harder now. He aimed it away from my mouth, which was a way of sparing me, I guess. But he directed it at my head which soaked my long, beautiful blonde hair! That was ultimate humiliation.
Or so I thought. But I was wrong. There was still more. Much more.
There was another female in the smelly piss room. She made her presence known. She started begging for the man's piss. She was begging to drink what he was spilling all over me.
"Go on then," still another man in the circle around us said. "Get down on your fucking slut knees and fight for the man's piss."
The other woman, a slender woman with long black hair, fell to her knees beside the urinal. The next thing I knew, her face was next to mine. He inched her way into the bowl. She started licking the piss off my hair.
"That's what I like," the master said. "I dig seeing two piss slaves down on their knees in a smelly John, fighting for my golden prick juices."
I wasn't going to let her get the best of it. I guess that her presence sort of perked me up. It was that sense of competition that I've always had. All of a sudden I started fighting her for the piss.
Both of us had our tongues out. Both of us were begging for the single stream.
It was quite a scene. And it became more involved. After all, the master's stream couldn't last forever. His piss was running out.
Other masters filled in for him, though. They stepped around the urinal. They pulled down their flies and pulled out their pricks. They started pissing.
There must have been three or four men pissing on the two female pee-slaves. And to think, I was one of the slaves!
The heat of their piss pelted us with steaming wetness. The stench was unbelievable. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get the smell out of my clothes or my hair. I still had to return to my little apartment. I had to take a cab home. And I wondered how in the world I would explain the smell of piss all over me to the cab driver!
"This is how we handle whores," one of the pissing men said.
I realized that this was my wet punishment for being a slut and coming to a club like The Underground. I deserved this abusive treatment. This man knew how to train me!
I was soaking wet when I was finally grabbed by the hair and yanked up to my feet. I was shaking. I was dizzy from the experience. I could hardly stand.
I was looking into the cold blue eyes of the piss master. He was mean-looking.
"You're coming home with me tonight," he said. He was the one who had first thrown me to my knees and started the piss scene.
"B-b-but...."
"Shut up," he said. "Do as you're told."
He dragged me out of the club. All eyes were on me, I know they were. Except, of course, for the eyes of those who were fascinated with the black-haired woman who was taking the piss from the men and wetting her nipples and breasts with it.
It seemed that New York cab drivers were aware of this late night hangout. There was a cab waiting in front of the club and there was a second cab behind it.
I was humiliated because I was dripping with piss. But the master, who at this point did tell me that his name was Marty, kicked me into the back seat of the first taxi.
I started to seat myself, but he forced me down onto the floor of the cab. There were dirty tissues and cigarette butts on the floor. That was to be where I would ride. . .. like a dog. His dog. His bitch in training.
I knew that the driver was aware that I was being made to stay on the floor with the boot of the man in my mouth. He placed the pointed toe of his leather boot between my lips. He twisted it. I sucked the leather and made it shine.
Marty gave the address and the cab zoomed off into the night. Soon we were at his place, but before I was permitted to leave the cab, I found myself blindfolded. Marty took a yellow handkerchief from his rear pocket and placed it over my eyes.
Then he led me up a staircase and, I assumed, into his apartment.
There were more stairs once we got inside the place. This time the stairs led downward. The smell of fresh piss did not assault me this time. But there was a coolness in the air. I imagined that we were going into a dungeon of some sort.
When Marty pulled the blindfold off my eyes, I was in for a horrible sight. I gasped! There before me was another slave girl. She was secured to a strange machine.
Her arms were fastened with thin ropes. The ropes tied her arms to a metal bar which connected to a pipe and two tanks. Her naked body straddled the unusual piece of machinery. Her cunt was positioned in a harness-like seat. Her legs were fastened at the upper thighs with leather straps. She was tightly buckled in so that she couldn't escape the torments of the machine.
There was a bizarre rubber mask around her face. It covered her hair completely. In fact, the only part of her face that was exposed was her eyes. Her nose and mouth were secured and covered by more of the rubber mask. And then there were two rubber tubes which attached to the tanks.
"She's been bound like that for hours,"
Marty said, telling me of her torment as she stood there in restraint. "Look at how well-behaved she is," he added.
Indeed, the slave girl was like a well-trained dog. When the master came home, she began to writhe, the way a dog would wag its tail for the master.
But tied to the machinery as she was, her enthusiasm rewarded her only with pain.
I wondered what the purpose of the elaborate device could be.
I would soon find out for myself!
I would soon discover that she was being punished for some minor infraction of his rules. She was being punished on one of the master's piss machines.
CHAPTER TWO
"I'm a sadist," Marty told me.
Not that I needed the explanation. It was rather obvious by this time that Marty got his kicks abusing women. He was into degrading women. That was how he reached orgasm.
"It's a two-fold thing," Marty explained. "On the one hand, I think that women must learn to submit to men like me. I think they need to be dominated, for that seems to be the natural way. The women who run all over their men are shameful. They need discipline. I give it."
I wanted to know all the ways in which he gave that discipline. Water domination was obviously one of the ways. He had pissed on me to keep me in line. He had this other slave girl tied to a piece of machinery and it seemed as if she might be, dare I even say it, drinking her own piss!
"On the other hand," Marty continued, "as much as I dominate because I believe that women need it, I do it because I get a raging hard-on over it. And I cum a lot when I see a bitch suffer."
It seemed that it would be alright for me to speak. I didn't dare smile, the way I normally did, because I was afraid he would wipe the smile off my face with the back of his hand. He was obviously in the habit of wetting his hands with piss and slapping faces like that. He had already done that to me back at The Underground.
My voice was a-quiver. I asked him if he wanted to train me.
"Do you deserve to be trained?" he said sternly.
"I deserve to be trained," I replied softly. "I deserve to be trained by you."
"Oh, do you?" he replied in a sarcastic tone of voice.
I wondered if I had said the wrong thing. Always, I had been a challenger. I had been a little girl rebel. But now I was totally subservient. The position I was in was totally decided by this man, Marty, my new piss master.
"I need training," I said. "I need to be taught a few lessons."
He stared at me. I continued.
"The guys are all after me, but they do not dominate me. I need to be dominated. I need to be trained."
"You need to be abused," Marty said. "Then you'll know that you were not put on earth to be a bitch. You put on earth to be the lovely sex hole for the pleasure of a man like me; a man who is up to the task of handling you in the manner which will make you respond."
"Will the training be painful?" I humbly asked.
He answered me by slapping me across the face. The sound of the smack echoed through the chamber which was, as I had suspected when blindfolded, a dungeon.
My head was reeling from the crack across the face. I saw stars. He hit me so hard, I could feel the tingling handprint which remained on my smooth cheek.
The other slave, the young woman who was fastened to the bizarre machine, was, of course, forced to watch this new training. Marty spit at me, landing his saliva directly on the stinging face slap.
"Yes, some of the training will be painful," he said. "Especially when you ask stupid questions."
"I'm sorry," I replied.
Anger swelled up in his face. His eyes were like piercing darts. His eyebrows were raised in rage. He hauled off and slapped me again.
This time tears came to my eyes. Now both sides of my face were red and stinging.
T didn't know what to do or say. I didn't know what I had said to arouse his wrath.
"I-I, I'm sorry," I repeated. It was the most I could say.
With that he started a series of assaults on me. He hit me in the face, back and forth, back and forth, until I was nearly screaming.
Tears were rolling down my face, and the salt from the tears burned into the newly and repeatedly abused flesh of my cheeks. He also smacked me against the neck, and slapped my mouth so many times, I felt a swollen lip, a fat lip, already starting to develop.
"When you address me, you treat me with respect," Marty said. "When you tell me that you're sorry, you are to say, 'I'm sorry, Sir! Remember that."
So I learned that it was not what I said that offended Marty. It was what I hadn't said. I had not given him the respect of calling him by the names I would call him from that point on. Not only could I address him as 'Sir.' It was also permissible for me to address him as 'Master.'
And so I kissed his boots a hundred times and said 'I'm sorry, Sir' with each and every kiss.
As the bound slave girl watched, I smothered his leather boots with kisses. He offered the sole of each boot for my lips to clean. He told me that he'd been walking on the New York streets and that he didn't care if he stepped in dog shit as long as he had a slave girl like me to take care of him.
"The slave takes care of the master," he said. "And, the master takes care of the slave."
I wondered in what ways he would take care of me. Already he had taken care of me in the most degrading manner I could imagine. But then, my imagination was not as vivid nor as perverted nor as extreme as Marty's obviously was.
"Have you learned to give your asshole?" Marty asked.
I didn't understand the question. I was afraid to respond. I was afraid that I would earn new welts across the face. Or maybe worse.
Since I was already down on my knees before him with my mouth on his boot, I crouched down even smaller. He seemed to like that. He enjoyed seeing me crouching like a frightened dog.
"No, Sir," I said meekly. "I have not learned to give my asshole."
"You will learn to give your asshole," he said. "You will learn to give your asshole for sex," he said.
For sex?! I had never imagined it. I knew that men screwed women in the pussy hole? But in the asshole? That I had never heard of before in my life.
I was fearful. I knew that my asshole was narrow. The channel was young, delicate, untouched. I knew that it could not take the thick cock that had been exposed to me by Marty back at The Underground. That big prick would rip me apart.
Marty was grinning. I knew that he had that very idea in mind. He wanted to make me suffer.
"An asshole is nice and tight," he said. "It's like a virgin pussy, only tighter. It feels good on my prick. You'll learn to take it. You'll learn to stretch."
I wanted to ask him how much it would hurt. I knew that it would hurt. But then I realized that I would be punished for asking foolish questions. Since he was a sadist, he would get off on hearing me cry as he screwed my asshole. That would be more stimulating for him than fucking me in the pussy ever would.
"Hopefully, with your virgin asshole, we'll get to have some blood," he said.
I felt the tears come to my eyes again. I wasn't used to all this. I was only eighteen and perhaps my sexual fantasies were more extreme than what I was willing to act out. I'm sure that was so. But I had no choice. I had given up all choice when I gave myself over to Marty.
I had been led by my innermost desires. They were telling that I had found my dream man in Marty, back at the club, The Underground. I knew that he was too severe for me. But that was exactly what drew me to him. And believe me, it drew me to him like a magnet.
The slave girl who watched had an expression of fear in her blue eyes. Perhaps she was empathetic and was worried about me. Or perhaps she was just going through her own pain and suffering, tied as she was to the machine with the hose attachments filtering piss into her mouth.
Marty ordered me to strip.
I took off all my clothes and stood totally naked in front of him. I felt so very vulnerable because now I was nude and my smooth-skinned body was a ripe target for whatever abuse he decided to heap on me.
My attention had been focused entirely on Marty, my master. I hadn't even noticed all of the bizarre equipment in this 'game room' as he called it.
But he had to prepare me for my anal abuse, the opening up of my asshole for his perverted pleasure. And this required that he pull the wooden attachment down from the ceiling. It was hanging there by heavy chain links.
I assumed that I would be strung up on the wooden bar by my hands. But I was wrong on that account. It was much worse. It was much more severe than that.
When the bar was down low enough, Marty bent my naked legs up so that I was almost in a sitting position. My legs were then stretched way back up behind my head!
Can you imagine it? It was awkward and painful. Every joint and muscle in my legs was stretched. My cunt and asshole were fully exposed when I was forced to remain in that humiliating position.
The wooden bar had a heavy leather clamp on each end of it. The heavy leather was used to bind my legs to the wooden beam. The clamps were secured. Once I was tied in, there was no way that I could get away.
Marty took my arms and tied them together behind my legs. Since my legs were up in the air the way they were, my arms had to stretch far, also.
I .was in total torment. That was exactly the way he wanted it.
I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to tell him that I'd like to experience some of this and that I wanted to learn about slavery and that I wanted my asshole opened. But I also wanted to tell him that I didn't like being tied down, or tied up, the way he had me. I had absolutely no defense. My privates were completely exposed.
I didn't dare utter a word. I remained like that, with my head bowed in humility and shame. He hoisted the bar back up by pulling on a pulley-type device, the way a person would raise a set of Venetian blinds.
Once the bar moved up, I found myself suspended in mid-air!
And Marty's device did more than move up and down. It also moved from side to side, and he directed me to still another instrument of torture and abuse.
"I created this myself," Marty announced with a wicked glint in his eyes.
He was very talented when it came to creating instruments of pain. This one that he was talking about was now situated directly below my puckered little asshole.
My breasts were hanging over my thighs in the unusual position in which I'd been placed. My asshole was begin to quiver and twitch.
Directly below me, there was a large square box. The box was probably constructed of smooth wood and then spray-painted silver. Or perhaps, it was made of a metal of some kind. Sticking out of the top surface of the box was a phallic object. It was shaped like a prick, a fat prick, and it had a hole hi the head of it. It seemed to be made of a hard rubber; a less-than-very-pliable rubber.
Marty got his kicks by positioning the tool at my asshole. Then he used his pulley-like device to raise me and lower me. He was teasing my quivering asshole.
He warned me that I had better keep my mouth shut and obey him. He told me to keep my mouth shut and my asshole open.
Then he lowered me so close to the extension that I could almost feel the tip of it against the puckered tan flesh of my asshole. The projection seemed to be hot because when
I got real close to it with my hairless hole, I could feel the heat around the sensitive asshole flesh.
He would lower me just to the point that I could feel the heat and then he would yank me up suddenly. Each time he did this, it was a shock to my system. My breasts bounced each time. The bonds which secured me to the wooden bar felt tighter each time he yanked me back up.
And then, each time, he would lower me back down. It was quite a torture because I had no way of knowing if he would suddenly decide to lower me all the way down on the thing. I had absolutely no control over the situation. He called all the shots. I was just hanging there like a piece of meat with my hairless hole now getting closer and closer to the nasty prick-like thing sticking straight up.
I couldn't even try to wiggle my ass away from the thing. Bound as I was, I was helpless. My asshole was vulnerable. And I didn't dare beg off or scream out.
Marty had warned me that if I did, I would be very, very sorry. I could tell that he meant what he said. He meant every word he uttered. And he uttered some really obscene things.
He taunted me as he raised and lowered me repeatedly; He called me abusive names, some of which I had never even heard before in my life.
Haying been raised on the streets of New York, and having gotten into sex at an early age, I had always considered myself to be 'hot shit' in that area. I thought that I was jaded at the age of eighteen. I thought that I was bored with conventional fucking and sucking sex.
Now I was being given strict lessons in humility. I was being trained in the most degrading and abusive manner so that I would know that I was not such hot stuff. I would have to learn that I was there to submit to the master. That was my purpose. And as far as Marty was concerned, that was my only purpose.
I began, as I hung there, to wonder. I wondered about love. I had rarely thought about love when I was with the boys who came on in a loving way. With them, I always wanted just the sex, and their love got in the way of my pleasure.
Now, as I experienced abject pain and humiliation, I wondered about love. Could Marty possibly be doing this for my own good? Could he be doing this out of love?
It really didn't matter at the moment. There was no answer at the moment. The only answer to any question was the hot prick sticking up at my tender, virgin asshole.
I had been hanging from the ceiling over the torture device for what seemed like hours. Actually, the time had been shorter than that, but not much shorter. Clearly, I had been teased for nearly an hour, and that it quite a while to have your asshole teased while hanging from a board.
Marty craned the board more carefully now. He wanted to get it exactly where he wanted it. He wanted my naked buttocks and tan hole positioned exactly four inches directly above the black rubber prick.
It was then that he stepped behind me and for the first time since I'd been suspended, I realized that there was more to this obscene device. The large box was connected to another part of it. There was a tank on a support base, and there was a metal pipe connecting the tank to the box, and possibly connecting the tank to the prick which stuck up from the box at my nervous little bung hole.
Marty was grinning as he unwound the knob which stuck up from the center of the connecting pipe. It was a pressure system. As he twisted the knob, pressure was redistributed. This released the contents of the tank. The contents traveled from the tank, through the pipe, and up into the prick at the top of the box.
From there the contents went directly into my asshole!
To my horror, I discovered that the tank was filled with stale piss. Marty usually had an eager mouth on his prick when he had to take a leak, but when there was no mouth to drink up his yellow liquid, he deposited it into the tank for a time such as this.
Because of the pressure arrangement, the stale pee shot up like the sperm of a whale shooting from the spout. It gushed up at my openly splayed asshole.
Marty laughed. -"That will wash your asshole out," he said. "That's a piss douche for your shit chute," he said cruelly.
With my asshole stretched open by the uncomfortable position in which I was tied, the forceful stream went right up my ass channel. I couldn't help it. I couldn't prevent it.
I felt my bladder filling up. I felt my insides getting filled with stated piss. This was like an enema. A piss enema.
A squirmed. I tried to avoid the gushing flow. It was coming up like oil from a well. It was a geyser of piss and it filled my guts.
The piss streamed down from the open hole as new and more piss shot upward. I felt a terrible tingling on my hole. Up in my ass channel, I felt the stale urine. It was filling me up. I was filled with my master's piss.
I had not yet been given the opportunity to suck on his prick. I hadn't been permitted to kiss him, except for his boots. I had not been given the chance to get fucked by him. I hadn't earned those rights as yet.
Perhaps I never would, I thought. He was strict, and his standards were high. While other guys wanted nothing but to fuck, this man made me wait. He wanted me to know that getting fucked by him was a privilege, and I had to work hard to earn his cock up my asshole. Yes, my asshole. That was where he would fuck me.
The piss from the tank really splattered my asshole. The underside of my bare ass globes was also dripping. There was still a pocketful of piss up in my hole. The sphincter muscle would not allow the piss to be released.
That was when he lowered me down on the prick extension.
Wham! I went right down on it, asshole first.
The prick was made of hard rubber, alright. It didn't yield to my ass. My ass was forced to yield to the prick. It was still spouting piss which only made it more painful for me. The piss really streamed up into my body when my asshole was opened up and then placed harshly down on the prick.
I moaned. I was trying my best to stifle the cries. I didn't want to earn a whipping on top of everything else. As it was, I would have fallen faint to the ground if I hadn't been tied up by the leather straps which connected me to the adjustable wooden bar.
The chains were rattling above me as Marty raised and lowered me. He had the thing worked out so that he had complete manipulative control and he raised and lowered me very fast on the shooting prick; the piss-shooting prick.
I was getting my first ass-fucking from a piece of piss-soaked rubber. That was enough to get Marty's big stick really hard. He had it sticking out of his black leather pants. He was stroking it and the veins were straining on it, and the piss slit had become a dripping gash.
He squeezed pre-cum out of his penis as he watched me get fucked on the rubber extension. I was groaning and trying to hold back the tears. But the pain was terrible.
Piss was still flowing from my hole, being forced out by the probing prick. Piss was still shooting up from the projection into my hole.
The prick was pounding me. I felt like a real whore, getting fucked in this manner. All the while, Marty moved the bar up and down and twisted it so that my tender, newly devirginized asshole would feel every inch of the wicked fat stick which shot an endless load of piss.
He was cursing me, calling me a slut, a whore, a bitch, a cunt. I felt that he hated me. Possibly, he hated all women, and needed to prove his masculinity by abusing us in this manner.
But at the same time, I felt a perverse desire to thank him for the abuse. No other male had ever provided it. And I had dreamed about it so.
I wanted to kiss him and be held by him. I wanted to feel the hands that had given me this torture, but this time I wanted them to be caressing the soreness.
Was I insane?
Was I twisted beyond all reason? Probably!
But I loved it. I hated it and I loved it at the same time.
Does that make any sense at all? At the time, I wasn't sure. But it didn't matter. Suddenly, all that mattered was pleasing the master. Marty enjoyed watching me suffer. So, that was what I had to do.
I knew that he had told me to stay quiet. But I had to take a risk. I decided to cry out, telling him how much I wanted all of this.
"Fuck me with that pissing cock," I cried. "Slam my asshole down on that prick until my asshole feels like a second cunt to me."
"Oh, you bitch," Marty groaned. "You hot fucking bitch."
He liked it. He liked hearing me beg like a cunt.
"Yes, yes, yes!" I screamed when he slammed my asshole up and down on the pissing prick. "Give it to me real hard. Let me know that I've been ass-raped by a hard rubber piss-prick."
"You'll know it," he growled. "You'll know that you've taken it up the ass," he said, jacking his prick. "And you'll never forget it:"
My exposed cunt was more than damp. It was sticky and dripping. I felt the tingling deep inside of me. The lips were alive. Yes, my cunt lips felt alive for the very first time in my young life.
My clitty felt as if it was on fire. It was swollen. It was aching.
But nothing was aching so wonderfully as my asshole. What had started as pain had become sheer pleasure; voluptuous pleasure. Now I wrenched my ass muscles so that the asshole, slicked with stale piss, would cling to the pissing cock.
Like a cat in heat, I took it wildly. My wet asshole was well stretched. The piss was stinging the delicate membranes which had been torn by the harshness of the unyielding projection.
Marty grabbed a thin riding crop. Conveniently, it had been placed beside the tank of piss. He striped my naked breasts with a dozen quick strokes of the crop. One of the stinging blows landed on a sensitive nipple. I yelped.
For crying out like that, he started whipping my cunt. My asshole was firmly down on the pissing cock now. The piss filled my gut. My bowels were full of piss. The prick filled the channel. My cunt was whipped, as were my tits. My legs were straining in the ungraceful position which bound and exposed me.
Marty didn't need to stick his cock in me in order to ejaculate. He was jerking his stiff meat as he watched me suffer. He turned the valve again and the piss flowed up into me with renewed force.
He whipped my juicing cunt with the crop as he masturbated with the other hand. Suddenly, his load flew from his prick and splashed all over my belly. The thick cream dripped down into my cunt.
That was when I reached my climax. As my. cunt contracted violently and in multiples, my asshole closed on the piss-shooting prick. I knew I would be a slave to my piss master, forever.
CHAPTER THREE
"Let the party begin!" Marty announced. Or should I say, Master announced. Already I was beginning to see him as the dominant force in my life. I had been a brazen, unruly little girl. I needed his discipline, intense as it was.
Master Marty had invited several guests to the large town house which he occupied. I had little idea of the house's location, especially since I had been blindfolded when we first entered. But the invited knew of Marty's place. They knew of it quite well.
They had attended Marty's parties before. Always, they knew that a good time would be had by all. Well, perhaps some of the slaves would think differently of it, if their treatment were too harsh. But Master Marty insisted that he was fair.
"If the punishment is severe," he would say, "then you can be certain that the girl in question required severe discipline."
On "Party" nights, girls knew for sure that they would punished, and punished severely. Master Marty believed in group training.
"The effect of a group situation on unruly bitches has been proven time and time again. The red bottoms of my bitches are nothing compared to the red faces they wear when abused and humiliated in front of large groups. I shame them and they behave better for it. It provides lessons that the bitches never forget."
Needless to say, the guests, all of whom were into the kinky and fetish life, enjoyed the demonstrations to the fullest extent.
Often, guests would participate in the demonstrations. Unruly wives would be given some extra lessons under the stinging whips of Master Marty. Angry husbands would learn how to better train their wives.
They were treated to a bizarre device which decorated the basement playroom. Yes, the festivities of training young girls in the most extreme bondage, discipline and water punishment, took place in the famous basement playroom of Master Marty.
The guests looked me over. I was naked. My wrists were bound together and were then tied to the lips of my cunt with a rawhide strip. Needless to say, the tight bondage hurt my wrists, nearly stopping the circulation. But the sensation in my cunt was much worse.
One of the guests couldn't keep his eyes off of me. He was tall, slender, and dressed in black leather from head to toe. At one point he spit in my face. I was humiliated. His nasty saliva was dripping down my face. It had landed on my nose. It was dripping into my mouth.
My Master Marty saw the act. I thought that he might reprimand the ungracious guest. Perhaps he would even discipline him. But no, quite the opposite was so, much to my amazement and horror.
Marty got off on the sight.
"Lick that dripping spit into your mouth," Marty told me.
When I paused, he slapped my naked buttocks. My ass was positioned way up. He moved from slapping my ass globes to slapping me squarely on the exposed vaginal lips. I felt the moisture from my dripping cunt smack against the Master's heavy hand.
Then Marty stepped around and he too spit in my face. He told me to open my mouth and to keep it open until he was finished. He cleared his throat, bringing up the most nasty spit, and then he made certain in landed on my lips and in my mouth.
I was insulted because I felt like Marty's property and I thought that he would take better care of his possessions.
But he explained that I was there to be trained. This was all part of the group experience, and therefore, all part of my training.
"I want my guests to have a good time," he announced. They all agreed that Marty's parties were always fun. "Feel free to do whatever you to my slave girls," he added. "Whatever your whim," he said, "feel free to indulge."
The evil glint in his eyes told the guests that their whims certainly included all forms of sexuality. In fact, sexual abuse was encouraged. That was the most effective type of training, Marty felt. That was why we were tied to bizarre machinery, and left naked for the guests to use.
There was a block in front of me. My breasts had been positioned by Marty. He had placed each soft globe of breast flesh on the top of the block. My nipples had been secured to the top of the block so that if I dared to move, my nipples would be tugged. In fact, if I writhed too much when I was abused, physically and otherwise, I would feel my tit nipples being ripped.
I couldn't see what was behind me. In fact, I was afraid to turn my head around to take a look. There was no doubt in my mind that I would learn what was behind me, and that I would learn it in a painful manner.
The man of the house had other specialties which the guests came for. There were two bathtubs in the basement playroom. One of them was a modern bathtub. It was flat on the floor. It was blue in color.
The second tub was an old-fashioned type. It was white and stood on four legs. In it, one of the female guests had already "bedded down." She had stripped down to a bra and panties. She was lying in the tub.
Marty knew what this one wanted. I guess that she had done this sort of thing at his parties in the past.
"There's a beer bar at this end of the room," Marty announced. "There are mixed drinks over here," he added. Female slaves who had been chained in various other parts of the townhouse were released for the party. They were corseted into waist cinchers and
French maid uniforms. Hobbling around like Geisha girls in high spiked heels, they served as bar maids and ashtrays.
"If you have to piss," Marty also told the guests, "please don't waste it. There are several human toilets around here. There are the two bathtubs, also. The liquids that are not taken orally will be saved. That's why there are stoppers in the tubs."
God only knows what Marty had in mind for other bodily functions. I hated to think about it. However, it seemed that his main interests revolved around what he called water sports.
Now, water sports, to me, had always meant things like water skiing, swimming, sailing and the like. But Marty explained that he trained his slaves with water sports domination and submission. I quickly learned that water skiing, swimming and sailing had nothing to do with the kind of water sports Marty had in mind.
"Let's have a blow-up," one of the women .said to Marty. This woman was wearing a leather dress which exposed her breasts, nearly to the nipples. The dress hugged the curve and cleft of her cunt, as well.
Her face was pale and gaunt. Her hair was straight and long and dark.
"Yes, blow-ups can be a lot of fun," said her husband. It was obvious that she and her husband had planned on asking Marty for the blow-up fun. I had no idea what exactly they were talking about, although I was soon to find out. The woman's husband was the man who had spit in my face. How rude! And now he and Marty were setting up something behind me. The tall, thin, exotic-looking wife was also in on the entire affair.
Little did I realize that they were placing a tank behind me. It rested on still another box. My feet were tied to the base of the box, just as my nipples were fastened to the box in front of me.
Just as before, when Marty inserted the piss-shooting prick in my asshole, I was going to be assaulted with an artificial prick. This time, it was my cunt that would take the abuse.
There was a tank, and it wasn't filled with water. It was filled with hot air. But that was to come later. For now, they were going to open up my cunt with the hard rubber prick.
"Ow!" I cried, when the nasty prick started doing its work.
"Shut up," Marty told me. He warned me with his hand. It was up near my face. I knew that he would smack me if I didn't keep quiet.
It was very difficult to stay quiet with that prick doing its work. You see, it was a hard prick, and a rather long one, but it was very narrow. As a result, it prodded and probed the tender inner part of my body in a most hurtful and insistent manner.
I was moaning and I couldn't help it. The prick was being controlled by the husband of the tall woman. She watched on in obvious amusement as I withstood the torment.
"This will open her cunt up," the man said as he worked the cock in and out of my pussy. I could feel the lips being stretched and strained.
"Please, please," I moaned. I wanted to say "Please stop."
But the woman gave me a cruel look. It was even colder and more cruel than the looks given to me by Marty. It sent shivers down my spine.
"Please, give me more," I said. I hated to say it, but I had to.
After they had rotated the hard rubber penis around inside my abused vagina for nearly twenty-five minutes, they started using a new movement. The prick was attached to some kind of a switch. By moving the handle of the switch up and down, they were able to make the unyielding cock move in and out of my pussy. Sometimes the strokes played at my outer lips and clit. Other times they jabbed me very deeply.
They continued this treatment for nearly a half hour, as well.
All around me, more and more party people gathered. Some had just arrived, and I was the center of attraction.
However, seeing me turned on many of the guests. They retreated to their own areas of the party room, and they did their own things, so to speak. All around me, I could hear the moans of sex and sexual abuse.
People were getting fucked as they were punished.
I was very weak by this time. I had been tortured with that cock for nearly an hour. Unlike a human penis, this one stayed hard forever. It knew no fatigue. And if the arm of the man abusing me grew tired, there were plenty of other people at the party who were more than willing to take over.
"I think she's ready," Marty finally said. "Her cunt is nice and loose. A big sloppy cunt," he said.
"Yeah," the man, whose name, I discovered, was Marlon, said. "Let's give her the blow-up treatment now. I want it all in my face."
"Now, now," Marty said. "You must share it with the other guests."
"I don't mean to be greedy," Marlon admitted.
"Good. Then everybody can enjoy it," Marty replied. "Besides, I have a slave girl who needs some blow-up in her face."
There was another slave girl who had been trussed in a corner. She was finally released, only to endure this new punishment.
While Marty sternly lectured her on her behavior, Marlon moved the rubber prick from my pussy to my asshole. His wife, Marion, watched eagerly.
I could hear Marty telling the other slave girl that her hair wasn't neat enough. She had been through hell. How he expected her to stay neat was beyond my comprehension.
I could see that woman in her bra and panties in the old-fashioned bathtub. A man was pissing on her. Another was jerking off on her. She rolled her eyes back in her head and moaned, begging the men for more abuse.
"Heap it on me," she cried. "Just give me more and more."
As for me, I stayed there with intense pain in my stomach. My belly was in knots from the tension of this entire scene. But it was nothing compared with the unnatural abuse that was next to come to my asshole.
The lever which attached to the "cock box" was the control switch for the tank which attached to the "cock box" by a heavy tubing. When he pulled the lever, hot air moved from the tank, through the tube, and into my ass!
More and more air pumped into me. It was terribly painful. My gut was expanding like a balloon.
I groaned. "Oh, God, you're filline me up with hot air," I cried. "That's right."
Marion dropped her slender fingers to her juicing cunt.
"Oh, oh, it's killing me," I cried.
"Give her some more, Marlon," Marion told her husband.
"Can she take it?" he asked.
"No, no. I can't take it," I moaned, pleading.
"She can take it," Marion insisted.
I wanted to call her a bitch. Cunt! How dare she say how much I could take! I thought I would explode. It seemed as if the walls of my inner asshole had been pried apart. The force of the air was more filling than any cock could ever be. It just kept expanding me, and expanding me.
I feared that I might break apart!
I was bloated. I was aching.
The air was in my ass channel and in my stomach.
When it was just impossible for me to take any more, Marlon snapped his mouth down on my hole. He let the prick leave my asshole, and he covered the opening with his mouth.
I could feel the stubble of his beard around my delicate, hairless ass. Marty had shaved my cuntal realm completely clean before the party. The flesh was very sensitive and baby-smooth.
"Oh, oh, I have to let it out," I cried. "I have to expel some of that hot air. It's hurting me."
"Don't you dare," Marion said. "You learn to hold it in."
"That's right," Marty added, coming over to make certain that I kept all the air inside of me. "Marlon will tell us if you let any of that air out. Then you'll really be punished."
He didn't need to prove his point with me. I knew that when Marty spoke, he meant business. Still, he accented the seriousness of his command with the flick of a whip.
This was a long, thonged whip with knots at the end of each leather strip. Yes, it was actually a cat-o-nine-tails.
He raised it high in the air. There was a moment of silence. I gasped, holding the hot air inside of me.
Then the whip came whistling down and cracked forcefully on the floor.
"That's what you'll get if you let it out before you are given permission," Marty said.
Then he took the whip, raised it again, and began flailing my back with it. He didn't hit hard at all. Quite clearly, he was carefully controlling the strokes, making certain that no damage was done to my flesh.
But the leather strips were heavy, and since they were knotted at the tips, even light strokes caused the skin to become very red. I certainly did feel it, especially when he laid on stroke after stroke after stroke.
I could just imagine how painful it would be if he sliced that wicked weapon through the air with all his might. Why, it would remove the skin from my back!
I was straining terribly to keep all that air inside of me. The pain was intense. There were several reasons for this treatment.
Firstly, I was being trained. They wanted me to bear tremendous pain. I felt that I had some idea of what it would feel like to have a baby. My body was stretched to that capacity. There must have been seven pounds of air pressing up inside of me. Seven pounds at least.
Marty, Marion, and most especially Marlon had a second special interest in mind when they forced me to keep all the air inside of me. They wanted all that hot air to mix with my inner body; my inner core.
"Ooooh, I just don't think I can take it any longer," I cried. The tears were dripping down my face. One landed on one of my strained and aching breast nipples.
Each time Marty flicked the whip across my body, it encouraged me simultaneously to let the air out and hold it in. The stroke hurt enough that my body needed to respond by letting that air out. But on the other hand, the whip was a painful reminder of what I would receive if I aroused Marty's wrath and let it all out before he had told me to.
The strain I felt at holding my body in place was enormous because I was "standing up" to the beating as well as keeping every muscle in my body perfectly tense so that I would be able to withstand the terrible strain of the air, which was turning to foul gas in my ass.
"From now on you'll learn that you live for me," Marty said. "You're my bitch slave. At a party, you perform for me and my guests, just the way an animal would. I want to show my guests how well trained you are. If I tell you to suck off every dick in this place, you'll do it. Understand?"
I wanted to tell him that even an animal has to experience love in its training. I wanted him to treat me with love as well as with discipline.
Why? Because strange as it might seem, I was falling in love with him.
I know that you must think that the pressure of the abusive treatment was making me go insane. I know that you think that I was absolutely cracking up.
"I understand," I whimpered.
I was about to tell him that I loved him when something snapped inside my body. I couldn't help it. All of a sudden, a stream of the hot air escaped my asshole and farted itself into Marlon's face.
As soon as the air reached his lips, Marlon started groaning and writhing. He did not take his mouth away from my asshole for a moment. He did not dare let a single drop of the foul air to escape his mouth.
But it was obvious that I had failed in my assigned task. Marty flared up. I saw him raise the whip high above his head. Then came a rain of blows.
I must have passed out, because I remember nothing more than that. However, when I awoke some time later, I was in the new fangled bathtub. My body was covered with welts. The wicked cat-o-nine-tails had broken the skin in several places.
I was given further pain and humiliation. The bathtub was filled with piss. There was so much piss in the tub, it couldn't have all been squirted on me by party members. Some of it must have been poured from one of the tanks in which Marty stored the stuff.
At any rate, the salty piss was stinging every weal. I could feel hundreds of strips of pain throughout the surface of my body. The piss made certain of that. Deeper in my body, the pain throbbed.
By now the guests were gathered around a table. They were talking and eating. Some of the slave girls were serving the food on silver platters. Others were bound to various torture devices. They were merely decorations for the eyes of the jaded visitors.
I listened to the conversations around the dinner table. How those heartless people could digest a meal while girls like myself and the others were bound and gagged and tormented by bodily wastes all around them, was beyond my comprehension.
But they talked about enemas and other things of that nature.
"I think the fascination with urination is due to the fact that it is such a forbidden thing, in a way," one guest said.
"I agree, and I think that it should be secretive and forbidden," a hefty woman replied.
"You do?"
"Yes. I always tell my children that when they are at a party or in any public place, they should piss on the side of the toilet bowl, not directly in the water. I think the sound of the splash is terrible. Then everybody in the outer room knows what's going on."
"I think the sound of the splash is terrific," Marty said. "That's why I often have my slave girls open up and I piss in their mouths while telling them to hold the urine- in. I tell them not to swallow. That way, it sounds like a toilet when I piss into the puddle that has collected in the back of their eager throats."
"Disgusting," the woman complained. "Absolutely disgusting. Ill bet you wet your bed when you were a child," she said disdainfully. "I'll bet anything that you walked around in wet, soggy diapers when you were small."
"No, but my slave girls do now, and you'll find yourself in a pair of wet diapers if you're not careful. You women have to learn to obey and behave. But you talk back too much."
"You should become a male nurse," the hefty woman replied. "You'd get a kick out of changing the bed pans."
'"No, I'd save the stuff to pour over the head of a bitch like you,'' Marty said. He wasn't losing his cool, but I knew that if the woman kept up her fresh talk, Marty would punish her. There must have been a reason for his kindness with her now. Perhaps she, too, knew that Marty wouldn't stand for this kind of talk from a woman. Maybe she wanted the very things she spoke against. You know, the lady protested too much.
The next course was served. The slave girls in their tight, waist-cinched uniforms brought trays full of hot soup.
"This is delicious!" the hefty woman exclaimed as she tasted her first spoonful. "It's rich and full bodied. Pea soup, isn't it?"
"Exactly," Marty replied with an evil look on his face and a sly smile to go with it.
"What aroma! What seasonings! It's salted, but not salty. It's just perfect. What did you use to flavor it like this?" she asked.
"All natural ingredients," Marty said.
"Oh, but you must tell me. I've never tasted any pea soup like it."
"I'm sure you have the ingredients required. But I can't give my secret recipes away. I'll give you one hint though," Marty said.
"Please do."
"The secret is in the aging. The special ingredient that I use in the pea soup is natural, and it has been aged." Then he glanced slyly at the piss tank which hovered threateningly behind another slave girl who strained her trussed and bound body away from the dangerous rubber tube which served as an exhaust pump.
Other party guests continued the topic of" conversation.
"Have you seen that marvelous sign that's for sale in the novelty stores?" Marlon asked. "It's for people who have swimming pools. They're supposed to tack it up around the pool area."
Marion jumped into the conversation, spoiling the punch line by taking it away from her husband.
"It says, 'We don't swim in your toilet. Please don't piss in our pool.' "
Everybody laughed except the hefty woman, whose name was Helga.
"Pee jokes. How immature some adults can be," she said snidely.
There was not so much as a raised eyebrow in response from Marty. However, I knew that he didn't take his discipline sessions lightly. I already felt that I knew him well enough to know that he would not let this woman's remarks pass by without punishment.
The other guests continued to talk about piss while Marty whispered something in Helga's ear. Whatever he said, Helga responded well. She giggled and rose from the table. She followed Marty to another part of the downstairs playroom.
I could see them both from my humble position in the tub. I didn't let them see me looking. I didn't want to draw undo attention to myself. That could earn me further punishment and humiliation. Besides, I couldn't even crane my neck up high enough to be discovered watching, peeping, peering. That was because, although I hadn't noticed it before, my neck was held down with rubber tubing.
The hose of an enema bag was keeping me tied in place!
The stale piss continued to burn into my abused flesh. The smell of it was enough to make a normal sick. But there were no normal people at this party. At least, not by my definition.
But don't think that I was being a snob in making that judgment. I was not what I would call normal either. I was now fully immersed in the bizarre world that Marty introduced me to.
Marty told Helga that he wanted to show her some of his special equipment. Perhaps she imagined that he was referring to his penis, which was large, thick, and certainly qualified as a piece of special equipment if anything did.
But that wasn't what he had in mind. Not as yet, anyway. He didn't get his hard-on until he was certain that he had observed pain and humiliation. i
Helga was a prude when it came to bodily functions, but she liked nudity. She stripped her clothes quickly. Probably Marty had encouraged her in some way or another. Her striptease was very arousing, even I as a woman must admit.
She peeled each piece of clothing off her body, and ran it through her teeth.. She caressed each of her undergarments with her wet lips.
When she was nude, Marty told her to seat herself on the bench which was part of the complicated device he had built, and which he was showing her.
She seated herself, still unsuspecting of what Marty intended for her. I was able to see Marty give Marlon a high sign. Marlon tiptoed up behind them, and suddenly, the two men trapped Helga.
They managed to snap a leather strap around her naked body, securing her to the bench. The belt was locked in place by a buckle which fastened itself above her naval.
How she could have missed seeing the strap on the bench was beyond me. Probably she was so taken with Marty that her dripping pussy clouded all reality. I couldn't blame her, though. Marty had a hypnotizing way about him. I guess I was a little bit jealous of her. I wanted Marty to give his full attention to me, even if it meant beating and punishing me.
I wanted anything and everything from him. Already I'd taken a lot. I wanted to drink my breakfast from between his legs. I wanted to take it all from his natural faucet. Drip, drip, drip, and then the hot stream.
Of course, there was little doubt that I would experience all that I could handle and much, much more.
Helga started to squirm and claw and kick when she realized that she had been tricked. But it was too late. Marty had already snapped a special gag over her mouth. It was a cup, actually, a rubber cup attached to a tube which connected to another one of his weird inventions.
The thing looked like a gas pump; the kind you see in gas stations. But instead of one tube through which gasoline would be pumped, there were several tubes attached to this machine. On top there was an exhaust pump. That was the way it was designated with a little sign. That was the tube which was attached to Helga's face. Her mouth was covered by some kind of mask which was tied to her head.
I wondered what horrible substance might be pumped into her mouth through that tube and mask. I believed that it could be her own bodily liquids.
You see, there was an intake pump on this machine as well. There were three intake tubes, each with a special attachment on the end. Two narrow tubes with suction cups on the end of them were placed on Helga's breasts!
There was also a pointed extension inside each suction cup. That was obvious from the look of terrible pain which came to Helga's face when Marty fastened the cups on her nipples. She couldn't squirm far because of her restraints. But clearly, she had been pierced in each nipple. The scream echoed only as far as the mask-like thing which covered her mouth like a gag.
It was probably one of the most horrifying sights I'd ever seen. Helga was a hefty woman because she had a large bone structure, but there was more to it than that. She had just given birth to an infant several weeks before.
What she was doing at this perverse party was a question. She should have been home with her baby. But this was all tied into her punishment.
"You should be nursing your baby instead of busting my balls with your fucking fresh mouth," Marty told her meanly. "Now you will pay."
She didn't pay through the nose.
A heavier tube with a cuntal attachment was placed on her cunt. As Marty and Marlon attached this part of the machinery to Helga's pussy, I saw the horrible point which stuck out of that piece just like the points which pierced Helga's firm nipples.
It was even possible that she had been seated squarely on a point as well, so that she was actually spiked up the ass, in the cunt, and in both of her full bosoms.
Then Marty and Marlon took off their clothes. Both of them had raging boners. Marty's was huge. I wouldn't even begin to estimate its length and width. I wanted to take it in my mouth, down my throat, up my ass and deep in my cunt. But I didn't deserve that. Not yet, anyway.
I knew that I would have to work for that.
But they straddled Helga, sticking their cocks in her ears. They fucked her ears! This actually means that they rotated the big heads of their dicks in her ears simultaneously while jerking off.
They shot huge loads in her ears, filling them with globs of thick, sticky semen.
The thick goo dripped down the sides of her face.
With their cum all over her, they moved on to the next phase of Helga's treatment. I realized that they were even more cruel to Helga, a party guest, than they had mean to me and to some of the other resident slave girls. Maybe that was because Helga had one evening to spend under Marty's domination. I was beginning to think that I would be his slave girl for all time.
There were, I gather, knobs and switches at the side of the machine. Perhaps they were vibrating devices of some sort. Anyway, when Marty turned them, there was a marked difference in Helga.
She began squirming. If there was a point stuck up her asshole, I shuddered to imagine how it felt as Helga wiggled.
She couldn't keep from moving. Obviously, she was being given a special stimulation to her most erogenous zones. Marty and Marlon laughed at her anguish.
"I can keep it on this level all night," Marty told Marlon. "That will keep her just at a point short of orgasm for as long as I want."
"That must be maddening!" Marlon howled in glee.
"It's more intense than Spanish Fly. It drives the bitches crazy!"
Every muscle of Helga's beautiful, voluptuous, naked body was experiencing the treatment's effects. She was virtually vibrating!
"What happens if you turn the controls up?" Marlon asked.
Since Helga had, by this time, been on the verge of orgasm for nearly twenty minutes, Marty decided to give her exhausted body a break. He turned the control knobs up, adding more electrical stimulation to her nipples and cunt.
The added stimulation really penetrated her where it hurt the most. She was completely controlled by Marty's machine.
The machine was making her orgasm! It was making her cum!
The intake pump swallowed up the juices which filled her inner cunt. The points attached to her nipples sucked up the milk which belonged to her baby. It all went into the machine and filtered back through the exhaust pump. This meant that poor, humiliated Helga was being forced to swallow her own milk and cunt cream!
As I remained in my dank, wet tub of piss, I wondered what kind of a mind could devise such a perverted machine. I wondered what kind of lusts a man would need to go through with the act of submitting a woman, even a rude and outspoken one, to such bizarre treatment.
I wondered, and I nearly reached my own climax.
I don't know why. I just wished that Marty would do all that to me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Madame Lisa was on her way to the party. She had just flown in from Yugoslavia. Her wolfhound, Marcum, was with her.
Madame Lisa was an expert at administering discipline, especially water discipline. Wet punishment was what she called her specialty.
She hailed a cab and demanded to be driven directly to the townhouse of my master, Master Marty. It seems that there was some problem. Later, she told about it, so I heard the story straight from her.
I know that the problem was mostly the fault of Madame Lisa and her demands, not that she would recognize that. I certainly would never mention that to her. I know that I would suffer for such a remark.
It seems that Madame Lisa has no patience at all. She is a very demanding woman and since she is served hand and foot by slaves (both male and female) she is accustomed to having her way.
At home in Yugoslavia, she has a huge mansion filled with humble slaves. They consider themselves her lowly servants. "You are scum. You are shit," she tells them.
She warns them that they must beg for her beatings. She is very cruel.
But she insists that she knows exactly what she is doing. "I would never administer something I did not know about," I heard her tell Marty in passing once she had finally arrived. "I have been through all of it myself."
Marty agreed that a good sadist had experienced pain firsthand.
Anyway, the problem was that the cab driver, not familiar with the section of town in which Marty's place was located, made a wrong turn. He turned up a street which happened to be a dead end. As a result, he had to turn around and go all the way back.
He was nice enough to apologize for the mistake, even though it could have happened to anyone. Madame Lisa didn't see it that way.
"You fool," she said. "You're supposed to know the city," she added in her abrupt manner. "I see that you don't know your ass from your elbow." (She had heard that American expression from a very lowly bum on the street one day in New York. Although she was reported to be from a royal family, she took a liking to that particular expression and used it frequently.)
"I'm sorry," the driver said politely.
Madama Lisa told him that he would pay for his mistake.
He assumed that she said that she wouldn't pay for his mistake; she would not pay the added fare which retracing the path would cause. He didn't think that she would be so aggressive and so rude as to say what she actually did threaten.
"Ill stop the meter before we arrive at the destination," the cab driver said, making a further concession to the stern woman.
Madame Lisa paid him no mind. She devoted her full attention to Pisser, her wolfhound. The dog was a nervous one. His name had been given because he was so highly strung, that he often pissed when it was less than appropriate. He mistook human legs for fire hydrants, if you know what I mean.
When they finally reached the area, the cabbie did turn off the meter. It wasn't enough to appease Madame Lisa. Madame Lisa is a stern dominatrix. She is used to getting her way, and once she is foiled in that respect, she sees to it that she has her revenge. She needs that.
She paid her fare. Then she told the driver, "Take a look in the back seat. That's what should be all over your face."
The confused cabbie leaned back and looked in the back seat. It was covered with steaming piss.
"Hey, your dog pissed all over my cab," he called out to Madame Lisa.
"That wasn't only my dog," the madame retorted. She pulled up her floor-length skirt to reveal her naked pussy. It was still wet with pee. The golden pubic bush gleamed with wet drops.
"You pig," the cabbie muttered under his breath. He wanted to punch her. But something stopped him from following her into the townhouse. Perhaps he had some guiding angel who prevented him from stepping into the devilish doings of Marty's orgy of punishment.
"I have arrived. I am here!" Madame Lisa announced as she entered the foyer of the townhouse. Everyone knew her. They had been to Marty's parties before, and Madame Lisa was a woman who, once seen, could not be forgotten. Furthermore, once a person felt her sting, there would be an indelible impression left on them, body and soul.
Marty didn't really seem to need a hand in the training of his bitches. At least, that's the way I felt about it. Frankly, I didn't want to be trained by Madame Lisa. No way.
In the first place, she was a woman. I didn't want to be handled like that by a member of my own sex. I wanted to be dominated by the male animal. And Marty was certainly a male animal. Yes he was, in every sense of the words.
But Madame Lisa had her own ideas. That was for sure, and it became obvious with the way in which she rolled up her sleeves, all ready to get to work.
"Work of this kind is pleasure for me," Madame Lisa declared. "I've come from Yugoslavia with some new, up to the minute techniques for training naughty girls."
"Do any of them involve water sports?" Marty asked, although surely he already knew that he would receive a positive response to that question.
"Of course, darling," Madame Lisa replied, tossing her head back and laughing outrageously. "So many of them do. The pressure of water can be much greater than the pressure of a human hand."
"Up an asshole, it certainly can," Marty replied. He certainly was in a position to know, and I do mean the top position.
"I have some wonderful new douche materials," Madame Lisa said. "I've had wonderful response with them. Is there a girl here who needs domination by enema?"
I tried to crouch down lower in the tub of piss. My long blonde hair was soaked in the pungent liquid. I didn't want to be singled out for abuse from wicked Madame Lisa. Beautiful as she was, I could tell that she possessed a heart of stone.
"Yes, I have a new slave girl who has just joined my stable of sluts," Marty said. I hated to hear it. I hoped he wasn't speaking about me.
But of course, he was. I heard the spiked heels of Madame Lisa coming closer to the tub. The sounds echoed through the damp chamber like menacing clicks, each one bringing me closer to ultimate degradation.
I wanted only Marty to dominate me. Shit, it was more than just the fact that Madame Lisa was a female and I needed to be dominated by a male. The truth of the matter was, I needed to be abused by Marty because I loved him. I loved him for his rough treatment of me. I was already beginning to need it that way. In Marty I had the dominating male I had always dreamed of.
This wasn't a dream. But it was very wet.
However, Marty had his ideas about how he intended to dominate me. I had no say in the matter.
"You'll take whatever Madame Lisa says you need," Marty say as he grabbed me by my hair and yanked me up from the pissy tub. He had untied my rubber hose bonds. He slapped my naked tits with the piss that had collected in the tub.
"B-but, Marty, please," I begged.
He was having none of it.
I told him that I wanted to be dominated by him and him alone. I blurted out my need for him. I screamed it out so that everyone could hear. I didn't care. Nothing mattered but Marty, and I knew that if he considered me to be disobedient for this outburst, he would punish me for it, and that was what I wanted.
Painful as existence was with him, it would be more painful without him. I needed only several hours under his roof to know that. It was a blazing truth in the deepest part of my cunt.
The guests observed my outburst. Some were stunned into silence. Others whispered among themselves. I guess that some of the other girl slaves were straining at the bonds over the remarks I yelled. I know that they must have been jealous. How could they have been anything but jealous. We were slave girls and Marty was not beyond putting us in a ring to fight it out among ourselves for the right to sleep on the floor by his bed.
Yes, that is how low he made us feel, and I am not ashamed to say it.
Marty has a large ego. It must be part of his need to dominate. But I am not going to start to analyze the situation. I am not a psychotherapist or anything like that. If I were, I would be finding reasons from my dark past for every need I have and for every move I make.
But I have no interest in doing that. My time is too valuable to waste on reasons. What difference do they make? All that matters is Marty and my time must be spent in his service. In his service, I will learn. I will become a good slave girl and a better person.
And a happier, more fulfilled person, also.
Marty was pleased that I had told the truth and admitted my immediate love for him. He told me that I would have to be punished for yelling in front of his guests, and he assured me that the beating I would receive would take several hours to administer in totality, and that the soreness and bruises would stay with me for several days just as reminders that I had been a bitch.
But he did like it that I had been moved to that point, and he spoke to me, for once, explaining that he would not change his mind. I was to take the abuse of Madame Lisa, like it or not. That was it.
But the way he explained it gave me new incentive for withstanding what was surely to be torture.
He said, "You will still be doing for me. I have chosen you to take the punishment of Madame Lisa. Not only is it an honor to be on the receiving end of Madame Lisa's wrath, but you will still be my slave."
I understood that Marty would still be in ultimate control. He was the god and he would be watching over as Madame Lisa taught me a few lessons.
As for the madame herself, she was highly insulted that I should speak out against receiving a punishment session from her. She would see to it that I would receive an extra dose of whatever was coming to me.
The wolfhound had to be chained outside. The smell of piss was making him get all hot. Being a lower animal, he was more primitive than the rest of us. Of course, we were a primitive bunch, so he wasn't that far below us. But the scent he was sniffing for was not to be found in the playroom. So Madame Lisa chained the dog outside.
But she had one of Pisser's dog collars which she snapped on me. To my dismay, it was spiked on the inside. The spikes pressed into my neck.
She also had a suitcase of things which had brought with her. She called the things "toys" although they were hardly play things as far as I was concerned. But then, this basement was called a playroom, so toys were appropriate, even though both the location and the objects were, I felt, misnamed.
"I'm going to flush some of that sass out of your system," Madame Lisa announced to me.
She was holding a menacing douche bag.
"First, the warm water douche," she said. I couldn't fight her off. She was a large woman, but besides that, I was already exhausted from all that I had been through. There was no way that I could fight her off, even if I dared to try.
She worked like the expert she was. Within moments, she had me turned in such a way that my asshole was up for the nozzle of the enema hose.
There must have been some kind of a knob that she turned to release the water pressure. It started flowing into my anus, filling me up. She had filled the bag with warm, soapy water.
"Hold it in," Madame Lisa told me.
I looked up into her face. She was terrifyingly beautiful. I felt the warm water pumping into my belly. She knew just how much to give before turning the valve to the closed position. She would make me suffer with a gut of warm water, then she would start it up again, pumping more water into me once I had gotten used to the bloated feeling of the previous pumping.
Never had I experienced a sexual desire for a woman before. I had started off by taking a disliking to Madame Lisa, simply because she was doing what I wanted only Marty to do.
But as I stared into her face as she let more water into me, I knew that if there would ever be a woman that I could have sex with, it would be Madame Lisa, for she was my mistress.
She took her hands and placed them on my belly. She pressed into my flesh, putting pressure on the water which was giving pressure from the inside out.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Not only had she done this many times with many girls, but she was a female herself, and therefore she knew better than any man how much a female could take into her body. She was personally familiar with the plumbing, if you get what I'm saying.
When she pressed into my filled gut, I whimpered uncontrollably. She shot me a look like I'd never seen before. If looks could freeze, then I would have had a block of ice implanted in my body.
But the water remained warm and soapy. I could feel it sloshing around inside of me.
"If there's room for it to slosh around," Madame Lisa said, "then there's room for more water."
I was trembling.
I couldn't refuse Madame Lisa, even if I wanted to.
I looked up at Marty who was standing with his arms folded across his massive chest. A slave girl was down between his legs, sucking him off.
I couldn't believe it! It was ultimate humiliation.
Here I was was enduring this terrible enema treatment, and to humiliate me further, Marty stood watching while a slave girl sucked on his naked prick. It was cruel. Marty knew that I wanted him sexually and in every way. I had professed my desire in an unrestrained confession.
And that was exactly why he tormented me this way. Knowing that he was punishing me even more made his cock rock hard in the suctioning mouth of the slave girl. Or, to be more accurate, I should say that the cock was down the girl's deep throat. There was too much meat there for just a mouth.
When Madame Lisa gave me exceptional abuse, that prompted Marty to bump his pelvis so that the girl really received the throbbing boner to the hilt. I imagined that when Madame Lisa subjected me to the most intense pain, Marty would shoot his big load of gism down the slave girl's throat.
"I'm not going to let you go without taking a second enema," Madame Lisa told me. "I need another slave."
"There's one over there," Marty said, pointing out a girl who was crawling around at crotch level, servicing the unleashed dicks of all the male party guests, at Marty's command, of course.
Madame Lisa's booted high heel kicked the naked slave girl in the ass.
"Lie down in that tub," Madame Lisa told the slave girl. "On your back."
The girl did as she was told. As for me, I was groaning. The pressure in my gut was just too much. It was just too painful. I had to let that warm water out of me or I thought I would explode.
Once the girl was down in the tub, Madame
Lisa brought me over to it. She made me squat over the girl's body.
I was holding my ass cheeks together as best as I could under the circumstances. However, since I was being forced to straddle the tub, and since I had one foot on either side of it, keeping my ass cheeks pressed tightly together was a very difficult job.
I was afraid that if a drop escaped my hole when I was told to keep it in, that I would be given a new punishment, and that might be even worse.
But luck, for once, was with me. Madame Lisa ordered me to let it all loose. And with great relief, that was exactly what I did-
It poured forth from my hole like a torrent.
I know that it was mostly soapy water. Still, it had been sloshing around inside of me, and Madame Lisa had said that she would clean out my sassy attitude. I was afraid that the enema would be cleaning out even more than that, and all over the naked slave girl who, under the order of Madame Lisa's whip, was being forced to take it all on herself.
I didn't look down into the tub. I just let it flow.
The water didn't all come out at first. I thought, at one point, that I had finished releasing it. But I was wrong. When I changed positions slightly (still straddling the tub, of course), I felt a new gush come forth. There was another heavy load to be dropped all over the naked slave girl.
It was a great relief to me to have the water out of my system. I did feel clean and almost renewed. But as far as my mistress was concerned, the soapy water enema was only the prelude.
It was hard to believe that there could be more to come. But there certainly was as I was soon to find out.
Madame Lisa raved about the next treatment she was going to give me.
"After you take this next enema," she told me, "you will be treated to a very special surprise. All this discipline and domination is making me hot and horny. I have to put my pussy on your face."
I didn't think I could stand it. I looked at Marty. He nodded his head as if to tell me that I would do that, and more.
His word was law, and so I winced, closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and raised my rounded rear for the next session of enema discipline. I knew that I would be a better girl for it.
This was really a special enema treatment! It wasn't warm water that Madame Lisa next hosed up into my ass.
She again greased my hole and inserted the tube. This time she had filled the enema bag with another substance. She had filled it with whiskey!
The whiskey contained something which started to burn the membranes of my torn inner ass. I squealed.
"Do I have gag you to keep you from squealing like the pig that you are," Marty snapped at me.
Just because I am a bitch at heart, a bitch in need of discipline, I screamed again. It wasn't an act, because the sting of the whiskey was really burning me. My hole, my asshole that is, had been a virgin hole up until a few hours earlier. Suddenly it was stretched, abused, and now burned by stinging whiskey.
I must admit that I wanted to be gagged with the fleshy gag that Marty was using to fill the throat of. the slave girl who was swinging on his dick.
Yes, when he asked if I needed to be gagged, I squealed again because I wanted little more than to feel his big dick sticking me in the mouth, down the throat, shooting his sticky seed into my enema-punished belly.
But if Marty knew what I wanted, he didn't give it to me. I should have known better. It shouldn't have taken me so long to know that whatever he did was designed to torment me, because it was for my own good, and because that was the way in which he got his perverted kicks.
He followed through on his word, as he always did. He gagged me, alright, but not with his dick. Instead, he stuck his booted foot into my mouth.
"Bite down on it," he said. "That way you won't squeal like a fucking snot-nosed pig. But if you leave teeth marks in my leather, you'll be very sorry that you were ever born."
He shoved the toe of his rounded engineer boot further into my mouth. It was filthy. But I was, in a way, glad to have it. It was a part of my man, my Master Marty, and I wanted to feel that as I received my punishment.
Madame Lisa turned the valve so that my insides would receive the full flow of whiskey from the enema bag. Perhaps she had warmed the whiskey before putting it in the bag, because a warmth pervaded my body once the insides of me were stuffed full of whiskey.
In fact, a heat came into me. It was a physical heat, but it was a sex heat, too.
I began licking the boot, instead of biting it. I stuck my tongue way out so that Marty, looking down on me, could see my slippery pink tongue gliding over the blackness of his leather boot. I wanted to let him see that I would be a boot slave to him, making the black leather shine.
I was writhing now, and it wasn't only out of the pain of being filled with whiskey. It was also because I was sexually hot.
What I didn't realize was the fact that I was totally drunk. I was smashed! That whiskey was very strong stuff. My tolerance for liquor has never been too great. After all, I only just reached drinking age, and besides, even when I managed to get a nip here and there before legal age, I wound up soused.
Imagine taking it through the ass channel!
It had its effect, only quicker! It was in my system, not through the oral channel, but through my butt hole. I had never experienced anything like it. I was flying!
I felt something very soft against me. It felt like soft velvet being brushed against my bare flesh.
When I blinked my eyes and focused in on it, to my surprise I discovered that the softness was actually the skin of Madame Lisa!
When I was tripping away on my Master Marty's boot, Madame Lisa had removed her clothes. Her beauty was now fully revealed. Even the triangle of her pubic area exhibited a defiance which revealed her dominance. She had shaved her pussy of all its hair.
Her cunt lips were fully visible. I was soon to feel those sticky lips against me. Without asking any questions, for she never asked permission, except of another dominant, such as Marty in his home, Madame Lisa began making lesbian love to me while the whiskey enema was still inside of me. "Relax," she told me.
"But if I relax, the whiskey will come out of my hole," I stammered.
"Yes, I know it will," Madame Lisa said. It was then that I realized what was happening. Madame Lisa had unscrewed the bag of the enema device, leaving only the nozzled hose up my ass. Now the other end of the hose was unattached, and Madame Lisa placed it in her own mouth!
To assure that I wouldn't get away, Madame Lisa had cuffed her wrists to my ankles. We were in a position which would have been uncomfortable for me, Were I not bombed out of my mind.
But as it was, I was floating on a cloud of sexual desire. I knew that I had been fully abused. I was ready for the new sensations which Madame Lisa was showing me.
I felt her suctioning the whiskey out of my asshole. Since she had given me a thorough enema previously, my insides were completely clean. She was drinking pure whiskey, only she was sucking it through the tube which was embedded in my asshole.
This was an arousing show for the other guests, as you can well imagine. It was going to get even better. As Madame Lisa sucked the liquid from my hole, Master Marty gave Madame Lisa a treat! He placed one. of his special cunt-cups on Madame Lisa's pussy.
His own invention, the cunt-cup also had a hose attachment which Marty connected to my own voluptuous pussy. The two of us, Madame Lisa and I, were now connected, cunt to cunt. Since the hoses were deeply inserted into the piss-part of our pussies, we were able to exchange piss between ourselves.
You see, as Madame Lisa sucked out my asshole, I squeezed my sphincter muscle so she could get the full flow of whiskey from it. Well, as I squeezed my muscle, the muscles of my cunt pushed out the piss that had been building up there. Marty hadn't allowed me to use the bathroom. He told me that if I had to go, I would have to do it all over myself.
It was bad enough that I had been forced to lie in a party piss tub. I didn't intend to stew in my own juices as well.
But now I had to let loose, and I could feel my piss traveling from my body, through the tube, and into the cunt of Madame Lisa!
It was outrageous!
At the same time, she was sucking out my asshole. She was wearing a complete black rubber mask which left only her nostrils and her eyes exposed.
It was quite a gadget, although not as bizarre as another of the things that Madame Lisa had brought with her from Yugoslavia.
This other gadget was the most bizarre contraption I had ever seen. And not only did I get to see it, but I was given the honor of trying it out!
I had almost reached climax at the very idea of all that was happening to me. But just before I reached the point of no return, Madame Lisa decided that she wanted me to wear the special contraption she had brought from Yugoslavia. She wanted me to please the party guests by being a total slave and wearing this bizarre thing.
I was now willing to be a slave for both Master Marty and Madame Lisa. I would do anything to please them, for that was how I would please myself.
"Get her in the mood," Madame Lisa told Marty. "She's drunk from the whiskey enema. The stuff really went to her head. She needs to get real piggy and slutty in order to take her next punishments with this special head gear which I had designed for me by a lowly slave in Yugoslavia. The slave is lowly, but he does know how to create instruments of total degradation. He should. That is his ultimate fantasy and he thinks of nothing else."
Yes, I was ready to be treated grossly by Marty so that I would be ready to accept the discipline of wearing this special device which Madame Lisa spoke of. I didn't realize that I would be made to speak before all of the party guests. I didn't know that in order to "warm me up" I would be asked questions which would totally embarrass me.
"Alright, bitch," Marty started. "I want you to answer every question fully. I want you to speak loud and clear, so that everybody in the room will know just how much of a pig you are. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. And thank you, Sir."
"Alright, scum-queen. Look into your past and tell me about a time when you pissed when you weren't supposed to. Don't think too hard. Just bring back the experience and spill out every detail. And don't try and say that it never happened. Every cunt like you has pissed in her panties."
Yes, I'm sure that there have been times when I couldn't control myself; times when I pissed on myself, in my own lace panties. But the incident that came into my mind was very clear to me, even though I hadn't thought about it for several years.
It was as clear as if it had happened the week before.
"Come on, bitch. Speak up. Let everybody know what you did."
I swallowed hard and began my true confession.
"When I was fifteen-years-old, I had a summer job. I worked at Lane's Department Store on Main Street and Fifth. I worked there at night in the credit office, filing, sending out letters, things like that."
"Come on, cunt," Marty snapped. "Get to the good part."
"Well," I continued, "I worked in the store after the store had closed to the regular customers. Nobody was in the place at night except myself and a night guard."
"Did the night guard come in and piss on you?" long-haired Marion asked. "That would be exciting. To have him come into the office, late at night in the deserted department store, and take a leak all over the front of your panties. That would be hot, to feel the heat of his steaming piss on the cleft of your cunt through pee-soaked undies. Oh, yeah, that would really make a slut out of you."
"Shut up, Marion," Marty said. "If you're not careful, I'll handcuff you to the toilet of a public john and make you stay in there all day."
"That would be hot," Marion snapped back. "I know the guys wouldn't use the urinal if they saw me handcuffed to the john."
"They'd piss all over you," Marty said.
I continued my story. "I had to take a pee. I hadn't gone all day, but I had been drinking a lot of soda. The problem was, I was locked in the office on the fifth floor. The place was wired so that if anybody had hidden in the store and tried wandering around to steal at night, an alarm would go off alerting the night guard who would know exactly where to look for the thief.
"I couldn't leave the office without having that alarm go off. I had to wait until the guard decided to come up and check on me, which he did several times a night. Then he would escort me to the bathroom, if I had to go."
"So the guard came, took you to the bathroom, and raped you on the wet tile floor by the toilets," Marion interjected. "And that's why you have this strange desire to be punished with piss."
"Shut up, Marion. If you're not careful, you'll be the one to wear Madame Lisa's new device," Marty told her.
When Marion was again silenced, I continued. "I simply couldn't wait for the night guard to come. I had to pee. I looked around the room, hoping that there might be something that I could pee in. Then, I would dump it later. I found nothing, nothing except a flower pot, that is. So I pulled up my skirt, pulled down my panties, and crouched over the pot. It became my pottie, you might say. I pissed in that.
"When the night guard finally did come about a half hour later, he held his nose and complained about the terrible smell which was coming from that plant. I was very embarrassed."
"You should be forced to lie under a pissing horse," Marion said. "We should tie you down under the horse dick of a race horse and just let him piss a stream on you."
"We have something more exciting than that lined up for this one," Marty and Madame Lisa agreed. They brought forth the special punishment device which Madame Lisa had spoken of.
"That story you just told," Madame Lisa said. "It had been inside of you for a long time."
"Several years," I replied, bowing my head, and then adding, "Mistress."
"And do you admit that you were wrong to spill your body waste into a plant which did not belong to you?"
"Yes, Mistress," I replied, head still bowed in humble submission.
"Then you must pay for your crime."
I wanted to tell her that the plant did not die. In fact, my pee seemed to have a nurturing effect on the plant. But I didn't dare talk back. Madame Lisa told me I needed this punishment. Besides, I wanted to take it to please Master Marty and give him an all-day hard-on.
"You have been walking around with guilt over this wrongdoing," Madame Lisa said as she removed her device from a case. "You will pay for your guilt, and then you will feel better."
When I saw what she was holding in her hands, I wondered if it wouldn't be better simply to carry the guilt around with me! She was holding a bizarre piece of leather and rubber and glass.
"This is the headpiece," she said. "Bring your head here so that I can attach it to you."
The next thing I knew, she had inserted tubes into my nostrils. The tubes attached themselves to a glass container which was held below my chin by a leather necklace which tied behind my neck. ; .
There was a rubber cap which fit over my head, too. Madame Lisa piled all my hair snugly under this cap. There were hoses attached to the glass container so that it would fill up with piss from one of Marty's tanks. Luckily, the attachments fit Marty's tanks perfectly, even though this device had been created many, many miles away. "This will fill you where you need it most," Madame Lisa explained. "You will learn that you must have pee near your face. You will come to know the substance, and to worship the cunts and dicks which produce it for you."
Once the bizarre contraption was fully in place, there was no doubt that I would have to familiarize myself with the substance like I had never done before.
Although it could have been revolting, I was given a special favor, and it made everything worth what I had gone through.
The sight of me with the precious golden liquids so close to my face, aroused Marty very much. I guess it was a demonstration of my extreme subservience to him, that I would actually keep his piss near to my face like that.
"I'd like to see you with that on you all day long, day in and day out," Marty told me. "I'd like you to sleep, like a dog at the foot of my bed, harnessed to the bedposts, wearing that piss bottle around your neck."
"If I lived like that, everybody who ever laid eyes on me would know that I was a slave to your piss."
"Yes," Marty said, stroking his enormous tool. "You would walk several feet behind me with my piss jar around your neck, and there would be no mistaking the fact that you are my piss slave."
My clit was swelling. My cunt was dripping. His words aroused me. His strength and dominance aroused me.
"Fuck me, Master," I begged, and I was' really pleading. "Oh, please, please Master. Fuck your slutty piss slave."
He spit on the prick which had delivered the piss which was now around my neck. My cunt had been stretched open by previous abuse during the course of this orgy for dominants and their submissives.
There was no question which side of the fence I was on, standing there, waiting to be violated up the cunt while I wore a head harness which held my Marty's hot piss.
He positioned the flared head of his magnificent piece of penis at the puckered flesh of my girlish pussy lips. The juices of my pussy, my honeyed nectars, started to pour forth.
It was a good thing that I was well-lubricated because Marty did not go slowly or gently. Despite the fact that he possessed what is known as a "Dick of death," once he felt the warmth at the opening of my tender portal, he rammed his stick in to the hilt.
In one mighty jab of his thick boner he had reached the very bottom of my young pussy.
The impact of his body against mine caused the hot piss to splash from the glass container into my face. This turned us both on. We were like wild animals.
All the horny party guests were watching our primitive mating, but they faded into oblivion as far as I was concerned. All that I knew was that I was being sexually taken by the first man who had ever really dominated me. Not even my Daddy had given me treatment like Marty did.
He slammed his big prick in and out of my abused cunny as if it were a piston. He fucked me and he fucked me. Each time he lunged his big dick into my aching pussy, the piss splashed up into my face, provoking him to bang me even harder on each following series of thrusts.
"Fuck me, Master!" I screamed.
He hit the bottom of my juicing cunt with his prick, and my words were drowned out in splashes of his piss.
CHAPTER FIVE
How long I had dreamed of abuse such as this!
Still, strange as it seems, now that I had it, it was almost too much for me to take. I was afraid that I might not be able to withstand the plunging pressure of his cock, nor the shameful filth scenes he forced me to endure.
The liquid in the container which was fastened around my neck was what I would call "real piss." It was very yellow, very strong, and by that I mean that it was strong in color and taste, too.
It was what I would call pungent!
When it splashed up into my face, I was breathing hard and heavy from the intensity of the fuck motions. The strong liquid made me snort. It went up my nostrils.
"Oh, you like to take it up the nose!" Marty said sadistically. He accented each cruel word with a thrust of his boner.
"No!" I shouted. "No!"
He wouldn't take no for an answer. He had never done so before.
He knew that I hated the idea of taking anything up my nostrils. It sounded perverted to me, even when I heard that people snorted cocaine and other substances up into their systems through their nostrils. Ooooh, it made me sick to my stomach even to think of it. It sounded like such a primitive thing to do.
But Marty wasn't interested in refinement. He was what you might call "basic" and he was definitely into a "pig scene."
"Please, Marty, no," I pleaded.
"What? What did you say?"
"I begged you, please don't make me take it up my nose. I'm afraid that I won't be able to breathe."
"No, no, not that," Marty said, snapping his fingers as if to brush that part of my plea aside. "No, you said something else. You called me something else."
"I called you by your name," I said, with tears running down my cheeks. "I called you ... .oh," I gasped. I had called him Marty. I had promised that he would be called Master, or Sir.
"You need the punishment more than I imagined," Marty said. It seemed that he was happy that he had caught me with my guard and respect down. It seemed that he was glad to have a reason for punishing me, even though, nothing will ever convince me that he didn't intend to punish me even from the start.
He connected the tubes which were immersed in piss. He connected them to my nostrils. I tried to move my head away from him, but he was much stronger than I could ever be. I couldn't get away from him.
Somehow, by grabbing my ear and pulling and twisting it, he managed to keep my head in place. I thought that he might rip my ear off if I didn't obey him. At least, it felt that way from the pain he inflicted with venom on my ear.
Once he got the tubes inside my nostrils, pulling away would have only made me sorry. It was too late to even hope to get away from him. The tubes were already inserted. I would be forced to obey him.
He twirled the other ends of the straw-like tubes in the yellow liquid. He swished the substance up so much, a foam formed on the surface of it.
I know that he was trying to make my agony worse. He was taunting me with the piss. He was threatening me with what I knew I would have to endure.
"You're gonna get it now," he snarled. "Sniff it!"
Trembling, I breathed the substance in. Some of it dripped down my nasal passages into the back of my throat. Can you imagine how bitter this substance was, dripping down the back of my palate?
The taste would stay in my mouth for a long time after the act. I knew it would. I could just imagine walking around with piss on my breath. That was what Marty wanted. He wanted to watch my embarrassment. He wanted to watch as I spoke to party guests while I had the stale piss of my man on my breath. Then there would be no doubt as to who was the boss.
Once he was satisfied that I had done something that absolutely made me sick, Marty was pleased. He told me that he liked the idea of my becoming so physically ill that I might have vomited. He said he got off on seeing his slaves throw up. He told me that sometime I would have to .... no, it's too disgusting to even think about.
As horrible as he was to me, he always told me that I was in my beginning phases of the training. He said that there was much, much more for me to learn.
"When you leave this place, you'll think about all that has happened to you," Marty told me, looking right into my eyes, so close to me that I could feel the heat radiating from his powerful body. "Maybe you'll be in your bathroom, and something in there will remind you of the taste that you will never forget, the taste that's in your mouth and throat now."
"Maybe feel the aches you've smacked into my body," I said.
He seemed to like that I said that. "Yes, maybe you will," he said. "And you'll think about all things I've promised you; about all the punishments yet to come, and about all the lessons yet to learn. And your cunt will lead you back to me."
"But, I thought that I would be staying here from now on," I blurted. In a way, I could hardly believe I was saying it. It should have been the last thing I would want to do, and yet, I was insulted that Marty seemed to be preparing me for my departure. My departure was going to be on his terms, as was everything else. I found myself wanting to stay.
Stay for more abuse? What was wrong with me? Was I insane?
"I will be your Master," Marty told me, "but only when I know you want it. And I mean, when I know that you want it totally. No reservations. No protests. You'll beg for it. You'll think about the way I treated you, the way that no other man has ever been able to treat you. Then you'll come crawling back. Then I'll take out my big dick and piss all over you."
"Yeah, then you'll know that I am your shit," I said.
"Now open your cunt for more fucking," Marty told me. "Open or not, I'm gonna fuck you until your cunt is aching."
Before I had a chance to prepare myself emotionally, Marty grabbed me and slammed my body up against the wall. He pinned me there with his powerful arms, and in the standing position, fucked me with a fury.
His cock was moving in and out of my pussy with such speed, it seemed to be a blur between his hairy crotch and my shaved one. .
He was raping me.
Still, his piss pervaded my senses. It was impossible to stop thinking about it. But knowing that I would soon be deprived of ft, I let it splash where it would. I valued 'it and didn't try to wipe it off, even if Marty would have permitted that.
"You're a lucky cunt," he told me as he pumped me so hard I could feel his prick at the deepest portion of my cunt each time my back slammed harder against the wall. "You're gonna get a load of my gism."
As soon as he said it, his face twisted into a new expression. It was clear that he was fucking furiously because he was ready to cum.
The friction was tremendous. The inner membranes of my pussy had been scraped almost to ribbons from the frictioning in and out. The deep part was sore in another way. And then I felt it.
"Ahhhhh! Oh, shit!" he groaned. "I'm cumming!"
I could feel the thick prick swelling and contracting against the walls of my clinging cunt. I felt the shudders of releasing cum.
My pussy was filled with the steaming thick discharge.
"Master, oh, Master," I sighed, after he had relieved himself up my little, but stretched, teenaged pussy hole.
I ran my fingers through his hair. I felt the sweat on my fingers, just as I felt his splashed piss drying on my face, burning slightly as the salt dried into the creases of my skin.
He recaptured his breath, and as soon as he did, he pulled his cock out of me abruptly. I felt the cunt pucker up around his withdrawn prick.
Some of the cum was still hanging from his cock opening. It was hanging down in one long string of clear goo from the piss slit.
The cock was not soft yet. It was still hard!
"Turn around," he ordered.
I did as I was told. He had me up against the wall. I had to crane my head back so that I wouldn't crack the container and all that other apparatus against the wall. My breasts were pressed against the wall. The nipples pushed into the barrier, "Stick that ass up," Marty commanded.
I arched my rear globes higher for him. .
"Come on, stick it up! Higher!"
I obeyed him. I strained until my ass was way up and out for him.
From behind me, I heard him spit.
"You know what that means," he said after the spit hit his hand and he rubbed it on his swollen dick.
"It means an ass fucking," I sighed.
He told me to reach behind myself and spread my cheeks apart so that the naked hole would be fully exposed.
"Stretch it open," he said.
I opened the hole as best I could. I felt the heat of his bulbous cock head. Then the pressure came. He pushed his cock into the hole with a firm and steady force. Then once he felt the warmth of my tightly clinging inner lining, he rammed his stiff thing all the way in. I screamed.
"You better grit your teeth, baby. It's gonna take me longer to cum this time."
And so he forced me to withstand the battering of my bunghole. He forced me to stand there up against the wall as he fucked me.
"Up against that wall, mother fucker," he said, humiliating me still more. Everybody was watching us. Oh, what shame!
When he finally stopped pumping, he held his cock way deep inside of me. I could feel his wiry pubic patch pressing against the smooth cheeks of my ass. I could feel the dampness which stayed between the cheeks. The hairless crack was sticky with the spit, the anal juices, and the sweat of our bodies.
He stayed very still for what seemed to be several minutes. I needed the respite, and so I remained pressed against the wall with his still swollen prick deeply embedded up my anal channel.
I guess I felt the tenseness in his body and that was when I knew that he was going to do it. Everyone in the room was watching with rapt attention, and that silence of anticipation got to me in the moment before I realized what was about to happen.
The hot flood started and filled me. It was a sensation that I had never known before, and I could hardly believe' it was happening. But it was.
Only hours before, I would have thought it was a sick joke if somebody told me that a man would actually piss his guts out into a woman's asshole.
But as the hot liquid burned into my asshole, filling me like the piss enema that it was, I could do nothing but whimper.
"You've got a load of piss up your hole," Marty said. "Keep it up there. I don't want to see a drop escape your asshole. If it does, I'll have to whip you again. This time I won't miss an inch of your body," he added.
I could picture him flailing me raw, every inch of me. He would probably make me spread my cunt and ass cheeks so that he could lay the whip on me, inside and out!
As a result, I focused all my energy and concentration on my muscles, determined not to spill any.
He pulled his prick out, and I feared that I felt warm splatters against my upper thighs. But Marty didn't seem to notice, or else, he spared me that time.
The next thing I knew, I was given a very swift kick in the overloaded butt.
"You've got my piss up your ass and my scum up your cunt," Marty growled. "Now get the fuck out of here."
I wanted to tell him that I loved him and that I wanted to sleep at his feet. I knew that he would wake up with me sucking his feet, licking him between his toes. That was how devoted I would be to him, if given the chance.
He found me, fucked me, abused me, and now he was kicking me out.
"Go on, hurry up," he snarled, throwing my clothes at me. "Dress out in the hallway. I don't want to see your ugly bitch pussy around here now."
Of course, I did as he commanded. Holding my clothes up against my breasts, I hobbled out into the hallway of the townhouse. It was still protected from prying eyes, since Marty owned the entire place.
I hobbled out, bow-legged. After all the things I had been through, it was a wonder that I could even walk.
Naturally, I was hurt by Marty's rude treatment of me. One might think that he hated me, or that he hated all women. But I knew better. I knew that in his own way, he loved me very much. I'll admit that some would say Marty had a peculiar way of demonstrating his affection. However, I did understand. Something inside of me told me that as much as he treated me badly, he was doing it because he cared for me.
I wanted to live up to his expectations. I wanted to be a good slave for him.
Thinking back on the things he had told me, I realized that he had told me no lies. He was correct. I would return. I had to.
Now I was concerned about getting my clothes on without releasing all the urine which was up inside of me. I had visions of Marty coming out to catch me off guard, and to lay on the punishment which he threatened. With Marty, threats were followed through and acted upon.
Now my concern was in getting home where I would be able to sit down on the toilet and let all the pressure out. I hoped that I would be able to manage it without any accidents on the way.
And all the time I realized that he was right, I would return. I would have to. I would be compelled to return for of my lessons.
Always, I keep some extra pocket money in my clothing. I had enough to get me home I knew that I couldn't be too far from home, even though I wasn't certain of where I actually was. Marty had blindfolded me earlier.
I would be able to hail a cab and return home where I would think about Marty. Funny, the last image that flashed through my mind before stepping into the cab was something I must have blocked from my consciousness earlier.
I had seen the sight in a corner of the so-called playroom. I turned away. It was too horrible for me, even though some of the other guests seemed fascinated by it. They formed a semi-circle around the sight, making it all the more painful an experience for the poor slave girl who was being tortured there.
My heart went out to her. I knew that it could have been me.
Obviously, she was in pain. Her face was contorted into a grimace, and I can understand why. Even though I had forgotten about the sight throughout the demands of my own torture, I couldn't deny that the sight stayed clear as anything in my mind. Strange that it should come for me just as I left the clutches of my new master, my Master Marty.
The poor slave girl was bound to one of Marty's mad creations. Like all the rest of his works, this one was simple. Only a few basic materials were required to construct a bizarre machine of ultimate degradation for a young girl.
She was seated on her bare ass with her legs crossed under her. She was practically nude, but like several of the other slave girls, was wearing leather belts around her arms and legs. The belts held her in place.
She was also wearing a cuntal piece which tied around her body, snapping closed behind her. The crotch piece was practical as well as decorative. In the center, where her slit would be, was a short rubber tube. It was like a funnel, designed for taking liquids in through the opening of her pussy below it.
There was a rubber hose hanging down behind her. Marty had draped it over one of her legs. Since she was tied, there was no way that she could avoid .it. And since it was draped over her leg, there was no way that she could avoid thinking about it.
No wonder she was grimacing, straining helplessly in a vain effort to avoid what was going to take place. The tank to which the hose was attached was clearly marked regarding its contents.
The hose was going to be attached to the opening in the crotch piece, so that the substance in the tank could be channeled into her pussy. The words on the tank disclosed contents as follows: Liquid steer manure.
She was going to have to hold that foul mixture in her pussy. Knowing that she must be a more advanced slave than I, I couldn't help but wonder when Master Marty would force me to take a cuntful of liquid steer manure, too.
I knew that when it happened, he would make me carry it around inside my pussy all day long.
But I had all I could do now to keep the piss "up my ass as I hailed a cab and started on my way back home to sanity.
"And please, driver," I was sure to say, "step on it. I'm in a terrible hurry."
Needless to say, I was anxious to get home and let it all out. It's funny, but the cab ride home wasn't too much of a challenge, except several times when the taxi hit some bumps in the road.
I did manage to keep it all inside, just as Marty had told me to. Up until the last minute, that is. Just as I reached the hallway of my floor of my apartment building, I felt that the dam was going to burst.
Imagine my shock, under the circumstances, to hear music coming from my locked apartment! Not only that, but the lights were on in my apartment. I could see that because there was evidence of the light through the cracks around the door.
At first I thought about calling the police. I was afraid of going in there alone. Maybe there were burglars at work inside. Maybe they were armed.
Another problem, and one that nearly had me banging my head against the wall, was the fact that I was overloaded with hot piss. It was all up my ass and threatening to burst free at any moment.
I thought about Bill, the young superintendent who had gotten the apartment for me; the one who wanted some nookie in return, but was just too passive to get anything too great out of me.
Even though he was too gentle to satisfy me in bed, he was forceful enough to take control of the situation, I was sure, when it came to a prowler or a burglar in the building which he helped run.
The situation made me forget about the load up my ass for a few moments, at least. I ran down to the super's apartment, which was located on the first floor of the six story building on sixteenth street.
When I reached his hallway, even from a distance I saw that there was a note tacked on the door. When I was close enough to read it, I discovered that it said, "Gone up to Apartment six-B."
Why, that was my apartment! What in the world Bill was doing in my apartment was beyond me. He had the key. I hadn't been in the apartment long enough to have a top lock placed on the door. Only the bottom lock was working, and the super had the second key to it.
When I arrived back on my floor, I noticed something that I had failed to see before. There was a slip of paper on the floor near the door. It was the same size, shape and color as the paper on the super's door. He must have tacked it up to my door, and it must have slipped off onto the floor.
I read it. It said, "Dear Miss Knight, there was a complaint about water dripping from your apartment into the apartment below. Do not be alarmed. It is only me, Bill, your friendly super, fixing the leak."
With my head still reeling from all I'd been through, I entered the apartment. As he had said, Bill was inside working on the leak. He had a few lights on in the apartment, and the stereo was playing.
He had made himself feel right at home, and frankly, I resented that a little bit. I understood that if there was a leak, it was an emergency situation and he would have to enter the premises, even though I wasn't home. At least he had left me a note to warn me of his presence inside the apartment.
But I didn't like the way he just took over, playing my stereo, turning on lights all over the apartment, and things like that. Who knows what he had done? He might have gone through my drawers when I was out, looking at my stockings and panties, my bras and other personal things.
He had been real aroused over me that night we spent together. He had been the one to suggest seeing me again. I had been the one to tell him that I was a one time only girl; that I wouldn't see him again. Actually, the problem was that he didn't dominate me enough.
I turned the stereo down and walked into the bathroom. He hadn't heard me enter the apartment, so naturally he was a bit startled when I opened the bathroom door.
"Oh, Diana, uh, Miss Knight," he said. "I hope you don't mind the fact that I came in when you were out. It was an emergency."
"I guess it was," I replied, rather snidely, I'm afraid.
"Do I detect some anger or irritation in your voice?" he asked. "You do. Both."
I thought that he would cower and retreat. Maybe he would apologize.
But I was wrong. My attitude made his own anger come up.
"Look," he said, "you've been giving me the bad side of you since we were together that other night. I got the point. I wasn't your type. Alright. But that's no reason for you to be on the rag now."
"Don't tell me about being on the rag," I shot back at him. "This is my private place and I don't like strangers coming in here and playing my records and going through my drawers, sniffing my underpants and putting my bras on."
"Hey, wait a minute," he said firmly. "I did play your records. But that's where it stopped. I've got work to do and I don't have the time or the inclination to go through the things of a snotty little teenaged brat like you."
Well, I was stunned.
"Furthermore," he said, "you need a good spanking. Maybe that would do your manners some good."
I hadn't seen this side of him before. He wasn't nearly as dominant as Master Marty, of course, but then, that was why Marty was called a master. He truly was a master, and he had earned that title. It had been a long road for him.
But in his own natural manner, without all the equipment and true sadistic nature, there was, I now discovered, something more of a backbone to Bill than I had previously imagined.
You see, it's men who allow me to walk all over them that provoke me to do just that. If they put me in my place, I tend to stay there quite subserviently.
"I'm sorry, Bill," I apologized. "I didn't mean to be a cunt."
Bill is no fool. I guess that he was quicker to size me up than I gave him credit for. Seeing that I backed off and responded submissively once he exerted the pressure, he sized up the entire situation which had transpired between us before my time with Marty.
I could see the wheels turning in his head. I could almost hear the gears clicking into place.
He realized that my lack of sexual response to him had been due to his passive manner in bed and out. Now he tapped another part of his personality.
I doubted that he would be able to satisfy me after my enormous need for domination had been whetted by Master Marty, truly a king in his field.
But after a workout from Marty, I was hardly ready for another session of severe degradation so soon.
Maybe Bill would be a nice change of pace. This time I would be able to respond, because this time he did not retire into the woodwork like a soggy dish cloth.
"I accept your apology," Bill told me. "But you do admit that you have been a bitch, don't you?"
"Well, sometimes."
"Come on, now," he said. "When I was with you, you were a complete bitch, now weren't you?"
"Alright, I was."
"You need a spanking then!" he said, and before I could protest, he dropped his tools and grabbed me, there in the bathroom.
"Hey, no, wait a second!" I yelped as his strong hands grabbed me so tightly he left marks on my flesh.
"You're going to learn to behave, bad girl," he said.
Like a Daddy with his spoiled girl, he promised to make me sorry for being a bitch. He seated himself on the edge of the bathtub and pulled me across his knees.
Holding my arm behind me to keep me in place, he started to pull my dress up to expose my bottom. He was holding my arm so tightly, I was afraid that he would break it.
"What? No panties!" he declared, seeing my naked, and probably already bruised (from Marty) bottom. "You little slut!"
He thought that I had been sitting on buses with my short skirt hiked up high enough to tease male passengers with glimpses of my smooth, naked pussy.
He raised his hand and started to spank.
If there were bruises on my bottom, they weren't enough to stop him from smacking me real hard, repeatedly with his big, calloused hands. The hard-working super made my bottom red hot with the overlapping smacks.
He started on the right ass globe, then switched to the left cheek. When both cheeks had been reddened to the stinging point that nearly brought tears to my eyes, he started smacking both sides at once.
Nothing can convince me that the strong man wasn't using all of strength in his hand as he beat my bottom blood red.
I hadn't had a chance to observe my behind in a mirror since returning home from Marty's place, so I really didn't know if it was already showing Marty's bruises. But the tender flesh had certainly been hurt by Marty, and the aches remained, only to take new abuse.
It felt like a double walloping due to the previous punishment.
The bathroom was small, so while Bill sat on the edge of the bathtub with me held firmly on his lap, my head faced the toilet bowl.
I noticed that I had pissed in the toilet before leaving my house many hours earlier. The reason I noticed it was that I had forgotten to flush it down. Either I had been in a hurry to get to The Underground, or I had simply been too much of a little slut to care.
Anyway, I felt that Bill was punishing me for that as much as he was punishing me for my fresh talk and behavior.
I just hoped he wasn't as kinky as Marty. I knew that if Marty had been punishing me at that moment, he would have forced my head into the bowl of my own waste.
"Take that, and that, and that...." Bill repeated as he spanked my blazing bottom. "This will teach you!"
Smack. Smack. Smack. SMACK!
Since I was positioned on my belly, the full load of Marty's piss which was still up my ass had not escaped. I did my best to keep it in, but after several especially hard spanks, I felt the first drops of golden liquid seep out the hole. I felt them drip down my sensitive inner thighs.
Bill started spanking my inner thighs. Maybe he had seen the wetness. Maybe he wanted to smack it dry with the heat of his hand against my tender flesh.
When he started blazing my inner thighs, near my pussy, I couldn't hold it in. He had found something that even Marty hadn't discovered. He had found the most sensitive area on my body.
I was in agony. I guess that I wasn't concentrating on anything but the spanking. I saw the toilet bowl. I heard the smacks echoing throughout the tiled bathroom. I felt the sting that was making my body red as Bill laid spank after spank into me.
Without warning, the dam finally did break loose. The piss of my Master Marty started to flow from my rear portal. It flooded from me, covering my rounded cheeks, making them blaze even more.
Bill must have been bewildered. He stopped his spanking in mid-stroke. His hand was raised in the mid air and he watched what was happening with a confused expression on his handsome face.
The piss from my asshole drenched me. It formed yellow puddles jon the white tile floor.
With tears running down my face, I admitted the worst. After all, to admit the worst was to admit the truth.
"I'm somebody's piss slave," I cried. "I can't help it. He treats me worse than a cur dog, and that's why I love him. I need his abuse."
Stunned, Bill remained quiet for a few moments. Then he started spanking me again, harder than before.
"And after I finish tattooing your ass with my hand," he shouted, "I'm going to take you to bed and fuck you."
CHAPTER SIX
Light filtered through the window lace the following morning.
I awoke to find that I was curled in Bill's arms. I had been sleeping in his grasp like a snug little kitten.
Looking around, I saw that he had removed his clothes. His overalls were on the floor beside the bed, along with his work boots, sweat socks, and underpants.
My things were also on the floor, but while his were left in a pile, mine were strewn all over the room. Somehow, my memory of the night before was hazy, but he must have stripped me, and my clothes must have landed in every corner of the room as the result of a tussle.
Bill was breathing heavily, fast asleep. I had a chance to look at the sleeping man. He was quite handsome, really. I hadn't noticed how handsome he actually was on our previous date. Maybe the fact that I knew of his dominance was part of the reason for his new appeal for me.
I was watching his face when his eyes opened. It didn't take him long to adjust to the situation, and to realize that he was in my apartment lying naked beside me.
My cunt was still aching this morning after, and I knew that my adventures with Marty weren't totally responsible for that. After learning of my desire to be treated roughly and taken by force, Bill had given me a much harder fuck this time than last.
He devoured me with his eyes now, and turned over on top of me. I could feel his hairy chest pressing into my breasts.
"Give me your cock again," I moaned. "Let me have your fucking thing inside of me again."
He started to fuck me all over again. He used a large variety of strokes. It was heavenly.
He was on top. I was able to look into his face as he did it to me.
"Mmmmmm, you're good," he groaned as he pumped me. "You're beautiful and you have a magnificent cunt. I could fuck it like this for hours."
"Fuck it for hours," I begged him.
This was quite a change from my relationship with Marty. When Marty screwed me, he told me what a piece of shit I was. He cursed me in several languages. He spit on me and made sure I knew that sex with him would only come after punishment. That was just the way it was.
It was quite a different story to be told how good I was, instead of how bad. I was beautiful, I knew that for sure, but many men refused to tell me that. At least, they refused to say it during the sex act.
Prior to the sex act, they would say virtually anything. But I knew that they were saying their compliments with a specific reason in mind, a motive, if you will. They wanted to get me in bed. To reach that goal, they would say anything.
But Bill's praises came after he had me. It was a switch, and one which I liked.
As much as I liked it, I kept comparing Bill with Marty. I couldn't make up my mind. The conflict was very definite.
I liked the way Bill treated me, now that we understood one another better. He was considerate of my limits, but not without making sure that I didn't get away with anything.
Now that he had asserted his masculine authority, I was able to relate to his fucking. I was able to feel the swelling of my clit as he pressed his body on top of mine and pressed his tongue between my lips, into my mouth, and down my throat.
I kissed him back with all my might.
I wrapped my legs around his waist so that his cock (which was bigger and harder than it had seemed the first time) could reach more deeply into my vagina.
There was also Marty to think about. He had been correct. Nothing, not even Bill, could keep Marty off my mind.
I had become aware of the strange desire which pervaded my heart, my soul, my head, and my body. The warmth which burned like fire in my pussy, and spread to my loins, was the warmth of lust; lust for painful domination, even filthy water domination.
I had a handsome man in my bed, in my cunt, and yet I flashed back to the image of the girl who'd been punished with liquid steer manure.
As wonderful as Bill was, he would never be able to put me through the bizarre punishments that Marty could.
Only someone as perverse and as intense as Marty could punish me like that.
While I needed this morning fucking, I needed something else more. Bill could never satisfy the unnatural urge which gripped me like a vise.
As Bill fucked me, I fantasized about other things. It was horrible, because I had a wonderful man in bed with me, and yet, I couldn't fully get off on him.
I didn't want him to know what was going on in my mind because I knew that he would never understand, and he would think that I was insane. Maybe I was. But I couldn't help it.
I could have thought about Marty, Madame Lisa, and the others back at Marty's townhouse. That would have gotten me off. But I wanted to save those thoughts for another time when I would be horny and alone.
Then I would frig myself, using my fingers to prod my cunt meat, as I fantasized about what had happened. Marty and Madame Lisa had done a lot to me. Not only could I frig myself over that, I could think about the future discipline they would give me, too. That would help me reach quick and multiple orgasm.
For now, as I was treated to the wonderful pumping of Bill's firm shaft inside of me, I imagined myself out in the woods on some kind of overnight trip. In my mind's image, I found myself all alone.
For physical relief, I had one of those portable toilets with me, the kind sometimes used on camping trips. Funny, Marty had called me his portable toilet. Maybe that was where that image came from. He had told me that he would take me with him wherever he went so that he would always have a toilet bowl ready to take his wastes.
Sure enough, that must have been the origin of the image. Marty appeared in the fantasy.
As Bill continued to fuck in and out of me, the way he could do for hours at a time, I saw Marty in my mind's eye. He had tied me to a stake in the ground. It was early evening. The first stars began to appear in the sky, and Marty had built a fire to keep us warm.
There was a collar around my neck. Maybe it was the spiked collar that Madame Lisa had used on me. Attached to the collar was a long leash which was then tied to the stake.
Consequently, I was able to move about only in a circle with a radius of three feet.
"That's so you don't stray away too far from me," Marty told me. "My bitch dog has to stay down on all fours and crawl around. When I want my bitch dog to do something, she does it. When I want to fuck her, I do. Come on," he added. "Let's see you open your mouth for me. Make a circle with your lips. Show me what a good dog you are."
I formed an 'o' with my mouth.
When Marty was satisfied that I had followed his directive, he turned around, squatted slightly, and offered me his asshole.
"I should fart in your face," he told me. "That's what a dog is for. A bitch dog like you must stay on a rope, tied to stake, crawling around on all fours and sniffing my asshole."
He took the portable toilet seat and placed it over my head. The seat part was resting on my head and shoulders.
He pulled down his jeans and seated himself on top of me. I thought about the steer manure again. I wondered what Marty had lined up for me this time.
Before anything could happen, there was rustling noise from beyond the clearing. Marty jumped off the 'pot' and leaned through the foliage to see who was out there.
When he returned to me, there was a broad grin on his face.
I had been taught not to ask questions.
Luckily, this time Marty told me what was going on beyond the bushes without my having to ask.
"It's a troop of young boy scouts," he laughed. "They're on a camping trip, too. They're out there digging a ditch."
I wondered what they were doing that for. I would soon find out.
Later, after the boys had returned to their tents which were pitched not far away, Marty unhooked my leash from the stake. He led me beyond the clearing like a cur bitch. He pulled me and it was difficult for me to keep pace with him. My knees were soiled from the mud. They were hurting, as were the palms of my hands.
He dragged me out to where the boy scouts had been digging. I wouldn't have known what it was that they had been working on if it hadn't been for Marty. "A latrine!" he announced. "They've made a latrine."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what a latrine was. All I saw was a rectangular hole in the ground. There were several planks of wood over the opening.
"You're gonna do some latrine service," Marty told me.
"W-what?" I stammered.
"You heard me!"
He removed several of the planks.
"Get in there."
I didn't understand what he wanted of me.
"I said, get in there!" he shouted, and with that, he pushed me into the hole.
Then he replaced the planks had they had been before.
"Just stay down there," he warned me.
It was cold down there in the ground. I wanted to get out. The collar was around my neck. I didn't know what to expect. All I knew was that I had to obey Marty.
Before too long, I heard voices in the near distance. The voices grew louder. Boys voices. The voices of young men, not yet fully matured. They were coming closer.
They hung a kerosene lamp on the limb of a tree.
"This way nobody will fall into the latrine," one of the boys told the other.
I remained silent. I looked up. Above me, I saw the uniformed legs of the two scouts. I watched as they unzipped their flies. They pulled out their pricks. They aimed the pricks down into the darkness of the hole in the ground.
First a few drops from each of them, and then they both let loose. They were pissing. Now I knew what a latrine was! I understood what Marty meant when he'd insisted that I was going to do latrine service.
Because of the darkness down in the hole, the boy scouts were unaware that I was down there. I wanted to call up to them, to let them know, but I didn't.
At first I just bore the humiliation of being pissed upon.
Then, realizing that I was being given the precious golden juices of youth, I did my best to open my mouth and drink it all in. What missed my mouth was appreciated by my body. I was naked, of course, and I arched my breasts so that the flood would hit my nipples.
The golden boy piss covered my nipples and dripped down my breasts. Some of the drips even fell into my naval. I rubbed the liquids all over my nakedness. I enjoyed the sensation of fresh, warm piss, especially in my cunt area. I rubbed it into the cuntal flesh.
My pussy was shaved, of course, since Marty liked his slaves that way. He said that the whip welts showed up better on a smooth body. He had shaved one side of my cunt, but not the other. Then he whipped each side, the hairy side as well as the hairless.
When I rubbed piss into the pubic hairs, the hairs became covered with a foam, like the foam at the top of a beer. Later, Marty cut the hairs and forced me smell them. The scent of piss remained on each strand. He constructed one of this devious little devices so that the collection of piss-soaked hairs would stay by my nostrils all night.
Anyway, as the boy scouts pissed on me, I learned what it meant to be a latrine. All through the night, the young men in uniform stood over the latrine. Although they never knew it, they were spraying their piss on a beautiful, naked young girl.
When my belly was full and my body drenched, I opened my cunt wide so that the boys would piss in it.
Some of the young guys enjoyed playing with their cocks as they pissed on me. They spelled out words with their pissing cocks by moving the flowing stream as they traced letters with their pricks.
It was all an exciting fantasy for me. Strange that I should have to think of such things as Bill fucked me.
Bill was everything most girls wanted. He was young, handsome, and very nice. I had to concentrate on the new authority he had demonstrated, and on the authority of his position as super in charge of the building.
I liked the way he worked with his hands. I wished that his hands would do their handiwork on my body the way that Marty's did.
However, what I knew all too well was the fact that while Bill's hands were as skilled as
Marty's, only Marty's twisted mind could come up with the bizarre techniques that it did; techniques with which to punish unruly girls like me.
As Bill's cock continued to pound my openly-splayed pussy, I thought about Marty. It was then that my cunt was overtaken by inner rumbles. I felt the contractions. There was one heavy blast of cunt cream, followed by a series of ripples and a flow which wouldn't stop.
Later, after each of us has reached climax, we stayed in bed talking. Again, Bill spoke of his desire to be with one woman, and one woman only.
I told him that I would find such an arrangement inhibiting. I needed freedom to roam.
"Even if you had one strong man who satisfied you in every department?" Bill asked.
I had to think about it. I answered honestly.
"Well, if I ever found such a man, that might make things different. But I haven't found him and I'm not so sure such perfection exists."
I didn't tell Bill that I was sure he wasn't the man in question.
If I had been certain that Marty fit that bill, I might have returned to him to beg him to
I, keep me for good. On my return to New York, I had been unable to find work. Being eighteen and pretty much unskilled, except in things sexual, my opportunities for legitimate employment were limited.
"It would be nice to settle down and be taken care of by somebody else," I admitted to Bill.
"Somebody who keep you and pa your rent and everything?" Bill asked.
"Yes, that's right," I replied wistfully. I was thinking of Marty and the arrangement he had with his slave girls. They spent their days and nights at his service; at his whim. Surely they didn't pay rent to live under those conditions in his townhouse. Surely they paid with their bodies.
"It might be possible for me to work out some kind of a deal about this apartment with the landlord," Bill said, breaking my chain of thought. "We're on friendly terms, he and I."
Realizing that he was still trying to make a play for me, I had to put him off. Yes, he had been much, much better sexually this time. He had proven that he could dominate me without being heartless.
But Marty would lead me to my breaking point, and then take me just a little bit farther. It was that kind of challenge that I craved.
Just thinking about it made me quiver, especially in my pussy.
"Bill, you're a really nice guy, and that spanking you gave me was hard enough to make me admit that I had been a real bitch with you. I apologize again for that. I want to thank you for a very nice time. But I don't think that this relationship thing that you want would work out. I just don't."
"Why not? Have you got another guy? I noticed some bruises on your ass last night, and I could tell from your cunt that you'd been fucked recently. Don't get me wrong," he quickly added. "I don't mind that. In fact, I love fucking a sloppy cunt. I was pretty sure that I felt the slippery gism of another guy on my cock when I fucked you. That was when I really went wild and really started fucking. The idea of screwing you with somebody else's cum up there really made my dick hard."
I felt my nipples stiffen when Bill told me that. I had him pegged as a square. But he had the ability to keep surprising me. This launchiness on his part was a new surprise. I liked it. We spoke the same language and I hadn't even known it.
While I didn't want to lose Bill completely, I didn't want him to think that he had a chance for this one-to-one relationship he spoke about. Not with me, anyway.
"Actually, Bill, you're right. There is another man."
"Who is he?" Bill asked, in an almost demanding tone.
Being old fashioned to the point of wanting fidelity in a relationship, Bill also expressed the old fashioned notion of possession. He wanted to possess me, and even though he had no right to do so, he demanded to know who his challenger was.
Most girls would have told him to go stick his head in the mud. They would have been offended at his attitude. But without thinking I responded to him. On some level, I guess, I liked the fact that he was that bossy and domineering.
"I went to a club and I met a man there. Ill bet that you've never heard of the club. It's sort of off the beaten path. There isn't even much of a marking on the door. It's a real private place and people don't happen to stumble upon it. They get there by knowing about it in advance."
"And how did you get to know so much about it?" Bill asked.
Since he asked me these questions with such insistence, I decided to tell him all the details; the full story. If he wasn't up to handling it, then that would be his hard luck.
Heaving a sigh, I explained that I had gone to the porno shop, found the sex newspaper, and decided that The Underground was the place for me because I felt that I was ready for real sadomasochistic sex.
I explained that I met a man named Marty and that he'd taken me to his townhouse. Bill's expression remained the same throughout my telling of the story. Even when I described the basement playroom with its torture devices, Bill remained completely blank and expressionless. I thought that perhaps I'd shocked him into silence.
Suddenly, when I got to the part where I explained that I'd been kicked out after my first training session, I realized that I had left the townhouse and hailed a cab without checking the address.
I'd gone home with the intention of returning again for more discipline after my body had recuperated somewhat from the initial strain. But now I realized that the entire punishment scene at Marty's place had shaken me up so, I'd forgotten to take down the most essential information.
I didn't know Marty's address. I had no idea where I'd been, and so I couldn't wander back there. I didn't even know Marty's last name, so there was no way for me to look him up in the telephone book.
"What a fool I am," I sobbed. "I deserve all the punishment I get.
Bill could no restrain himself any longer. He broke out in hearty laughter.
"You're almost as sadistic as Marty," I sobbed. "Laughing at my suffering. Oh, if only you knew what I'm going through now." It was really going to be a difficult withdrawal if I'd be forced to do without Marty due to my own stupidity at not noting where to reach him."
"All things are meant to be," Bill told me. "If you weren't supposed to return to Marty's place, then circumstance will dictate that you don't return."
"But I just know that I have to find him again. I need that kind of treatment. I need all the advanced punishment equipment that he has created." Just to make certain that Bill wouldn't suggest that he could take Marty's place, I emphasized the strange machinery which Marty had created for the training of his slave girls.
"This guy Marty who you speak of," Bill said, "wouldn't happen to have a tank of liquid steer manure on his premises, would he?"
My jaw dropped. I hadn't mentioned that to Bill.
"How did you....?"
Bill started laughing again.
"New York isn't as giant a town as people tend to think it is," he told me. "I suppose it's one of the best cities in the world for getting lost in a crowd. But on the other hand, it is comprised of a lot of little subcultures, and sooner or later, everybody seems to meet up with everybody else in each particular subculture."
Bill was pretty bright for a superintendent.
"Are you saying that you know Marty?" I asked, still not fully believing the coincidence.
"I've been to several of his, shall we say, parties? I've been to The Underground several times."
I must have been beaming. The fact that Bill had been to Marty's place and to the S & M club, indicated that he was not the novice I'd imagined him to be when it came to discipline and bizarre bondage training.
"Don't get the wrong idea," he said, aware of what I was thinking, no doubt. "I thought The Underground was a raunchy hell hole. It's not for me, not at all. But I do have Marty's address downstairs in my address book. If that's your bag, your enema bag, so to speak, then enjoy yourself. But you can count me out. It's not that I rejected the scene without exposing myself to it first," Bill added. "I tried it. I didn't like it."
"But you have Marty's address?" I asked. I must have been panting.
"Yeah, I've got his address. In fact, if you want to get into his abuse, I'll escort you right to his door. I just hope you can handle the severity of his treatment. He's rather extreme."
"That's what I crave," I said honestly. "When can we go?"
It was several days later that I was to make my return to Marty's townhouse. Bill looked up the address for me. As it happened, he also had Marty's telephone number, and we called first, so as not to be impolite and take Marty by surprise. To arrive uninvited would be to invite discipline.
But the number that Bill had for Marty had been changed. A voice clicked on the wire after the ringing of the phone was mechanically intercepted. "I'm sorry, but the number you have reached is not in service at this time. The number you have reached is not temporarily disconnected, and is not in service at this time."
It was a recording, and I assumed it meant that Marty had changed his number to an unlisted one. Bill said that the last time he had spoken to Marty had been over a year ago.
Knowing the address was enough, though. That was the important thing. So what if I was inviting punishment on myself by coming without calling first!
Bill told me that it would be just as easy to get to Marty's place by bus as it would to get there any other way. There was a bus which practically went from our door to his.
I was wet in anticipation of my second set of lessons from Marty. I held my legs tightly together, feeling the stickiness between them. I was excited. I was aroused. My sex lips were very pink and inflamed with desire.
Bill sat next to me in the rear of the bus. It was an off hour, and there were one or two other people at the front of the bus, and a woman with her children still behind us on the back seat.
The family behind us was rather noisy. I think that they were Spanish. They were all talking at once.
Even though my concentration was on what was to happen when I arrived at Marty's place, I did pick up bits and pieces of the dialogue going on behind me. True, much of it seemed to be in Spanish, but some of it was in English.
One of the younger boys was babbling on about something. Since he did speak only in Spanish, I was lost as to what he was saying.
His mother answered him by saying something about the fact that he "should have thought about that back at the house" and that "now it was too late because they were on the bus for a long ride."
He continued to whine and finally she responded angrily, also in Spanish.
That might have been the end of the conversation. However, something caused me to look down at the floor. Perhaps my newfound sexual interests were deeper than I imagined, and some sixth sense had caused me to glance downward at that moment.
The young boy, obviously unable to hold it in, had pissed on the floor at the rear of the bus! I looked around. His mother's face showed an angry expression. I guess, however, that she had told him to pee on the floor rather than have them all get off the bus after having paid their fares.
With the forward motion of the bus, the urine started to flow down the aisle of the bus. I saw it coming close to me.
I had everything I could do to keep myself from pouncing down on it. Can you imagine how much I wanted that stuff? After my training session with. Master Marty and Madame Lisa, I had been made to respond to such a thing, and I do mean respond with fury.
Oh, how I wanted that stuff. Of course, I knew that if I did what I wanted to do, the family behind would be quickly ushered off the bus by the mother. Even though she would hate to pay new fares, and even though she had advised her boy to piss on the floor to avoid doing that, I know that she would have gotten them all the hell out of there if she had seen me acting like a woman crazy for piss.
But that was exactly what I was, and although all of this went by unnoticed as far as Bill was concerned, I knew that if I had been on the bus with Marty, I would have already been forced to my hands and knees to lick up that piss until the surface of my tongue was raw and every drop had been swallowed!
We were close to Marty's place. I could feel it. Not only did the neighborhood become closer to the way I recalled Marty's neighborhood, but there was a crackling in the air which set my teeth on edge.
"This is the stop," Bill told me. He helped me off the bus.
"Aren't you going to go in with me?" I asked him.
"No way. I told you, this scene is too damn much for me. When you need a good spanking and a good fucking, let me know. For now, you're on your own."
So I was left on my own and I used my nose to direct me to the house. It was almost as if I could smell it out.
I felt like a little girl being left by her Daddy the first day of school.
Who knows what Marty had in store for me this time? I felt that he had been waiting for me, plotting what he would do on the day I returned for more abuse.
I entered the house. It was unlocked. These people didn't have fears. They were not breaking any laws or harming anyone who didn't want to be harmed.
True, Marty would do things against the will of his slaves. But he would also make sure that he had slaves who were committed to their training.
When I entered the foyer, there was a tall woman waiting for me, or it seemed to me, at least, that she was positioned there in anticipation of me. She was strikingly beautiful, but in a cruel way. Her eyes were shockingly violet, and I knew that they could register purple violence and anger.
"We've been expecting you," she said.
"Have we met before?" I asked.
"I was one of the party guests the other night. I watched you go through your paces. It was inspiration for me. I, too, require such training. I only hope and pray that I can do as well as you in taking it. You're really good at it."
"I've been suffering already. Master Marty told me that I wouldn't be permitted to begin my training until you returned. There was fear on my part that you wouldn't come back. And then, I know that Master Marty would have made me wait forever."
"But he must have known with certainty that I would be back for more of the same. He is a cruel Master."
"Yes, he is."
It was then that he appeared. Speak of the devil!
"Strip," he said, snapping his fingers.
He didn't give us much time. He looked at the grandfather clock on the wall. The pendulum was swinging back and forth, back and forth, hypnotizing so. Once he had us both stripped nude, we would swing like that, too.
"Get into the sixty-nine position," he said to us.
We did as we were told, lying on the floor with my mouth on the other girl's pussy and her mouth on mine. I am not a lesbian. I do not relish the idea of being so close to another girl's privates, no matter how beautiful she and her pussy might be.
But this, too, was part of my training. Forced lesbianism.
The brute!
He had it all worked out. When we were on the floor in that position, he fastened ropes around us to keep us like that. He inserted a tube into my mouth and the connection, as you might guess, was inserted in the other girl's private place. .
"I call this the piss connection," he laughed sadistically.
The girl was looking at him with fear and excitement in her eyes.
The girl, whose name was Alice, hadn't told me that Master Marty had forbidden her to urinate since her arrival at his townhouse many hours earlier.
Of course, throughout her stay, he had given her tall glasses filled with various liquors.
He had also given her another of his devilish treats. The ice cubes! There was no way of telling it at first, because the cubes were submerged in her drinks. But when she finished her drinks, she noticed that the ice cubes were yellow in color.
"Suck on them," Marty insisted. "They're flavored."
I can only imagine the expression on Alice's face when she tasted them melting in her mouth.
But obviously, it hadn't turned her completely off. Perhaps, in fact, the piss cubes, as Master Marty called them, had awakened those inner desires. She wanted to be a slave girl now.
When we were both in the uncompromising position, Master Marty attached our naked bodies to a harness which he then hoisted up to some contraption on the ceiling. We were then forced to swing back and forth according to Master Marty's whim.
He had control of the motions we went through. It was humiliating.
Some of the people who I had seen days before were still at the house; still in the evil party spirit. Of course, the slave girls who had taken residence with Master Marty for training, were still there.
Fortunately, some of the guests didn't pay any attention to us as all. I guess that they were too busy engaging in their own bizarre adventures.
I could hear Alice and her muffled crying. I could feel her tears on my pussy patch. It was, perhaps, more difficult for her to endure this torture, because Marty had seen to it that when we swung back and forth like a pendulum from the harness, it was Alice who was positioned upside down!
All the blood was rushing to her head. I knew how uncomfortable it must have been for her.
Not that I had an easy time of it. Not at all. I was forced to drink her piss. She had consumed a lot and now it was I who had to consume it all again, this time, recycled, if you know what I mean.
Even as I swung naked back and forth from the ceiling, bound to the pussy of another slave girl, I wondered what further humiliations Master Marty had up his sleeve.
He joked about it, saying that he was into conservation. He said that he believed in recycling natural wastes. He said that the recycled liquids I was drinking now would later be given to still another girl.
He was insane!
But he was in control and I had willingly returned to him, holding my naked wrists out to him for cuffing. I had returned, licking my luscious lips in a plea for degradation, pain, and piss!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Later, after we were finally released from our humiliating position as the party's human pendulum, Master Marty caressed our flesh in the places which were aching. The ropes had dug into our skin. "But, any Master who is worth anything, will also take care of his slaves."
I felt my heart go out to poor Alice. This was her first lesson, and she had gotten the worst of it. While we were swinging, other members of the cult of disciplinarians saw fit to pinch her naked ass globes which were so rounded and inviting. They reached up, found her flesh, and gave her a few marks on her ass.
Her head was held down for a long time, and I know that made her dizzy.
As for me, my task was not too easy a one, either. Forced to drink her piss, when I couldn't swallow any more, I was beaten. This made it difficult for Alice also. She was treated to dribbles of her own piss from my mouth when I let some escape my lips.
Marty told me to go upstairs and wait for him in the piss room. It was just a bathroom, but his sense of values was not ordinary. He called it a piss room.
He told me that he had to make a round, I 'giving the other slave girls their nightly discipline training. He told me that each girl was waiting for him in another of the townhouse's many "piss rooms."
Knowing that he would soon be up to get me, there was a knot in my stomach. I could j feel it growing, and sometimes getting smaller. But it was always there, and would probably remain there until Master Marty whipped it out of me.
The bathroom was a small one. I noticed j that there was no toilet paper on the roll next to the toilet. I had heard Master Marty boasting to the other guests about that. He had said that he didn't waste his money on toilet tissue. He used the tongues of his slave girls instead.
Master Marty had told me that I would be given an enema, whipped, and forced to sleep in the piss tub. Again, he called bathtubs by his own name for them.
I saw the menacing looking enema bag hanging from a hook inside the bathtub. It sent shivers up and down my spine because I knew that it would soon be sending rushes of hot or cold water into my gut.
I had heard Master Marty bragging to the guests of the many techniques of enema punishment he used on his slave girls. He said that he liked to make the girls weak by alternating steaming hot enemas with ice cold ones. Having had some experiences with Marty's techniques, I also knew that the substance in the enema bag might not be water.
Master Marty had permitted me to wear my bra and panties up to the bathroom. Having already been exposed before all the party guests in total nudity, this was now the more erotic alternative; to be seen in the pink bra and nylon panties.
I looked at myself in one of the full length mirrors which lined the walls of the bathroom. It was funny, because the other rooms of the spacious townhouse did not have any mirrors in them. However, all the bathrooms were lined with full length mirrors on most of the walls.
There were mirrors facing the toilet so that if somebody were using it, they could watch themselves at all times.
I have to admit that I felt a sexual rush surge through my body as I observed myself in the mirror. My full breasts were almost overflowing the bra that cupped them. Because the pink bra was made of a soft almost sheer material, my nipples could be clearly seen through it. Maybe it was because my nipples were stiff that they poked so insistently through the material.
The shape of my cunt mound could be clearly seen through my panties. The material of my panties was the same as the material of the bra. I guess that's why my pussy was so clearly seen, and why the moisture from it was soaking up the front of the panties.
I knew that Master Marty had given one very specific instruction, and that was to keep my hands away from my cunt. He had warned me about frigging myself.
"You are here for my pleasure," he had told me. "You are under my domination. That means that you cum when I tell you to cum."
But now, seeing myself in the mirror, I wondered if I might get away with it. I was turned on to myself, and it was kind of a new experience.
I had always realized that my voluptuous beauty was a turn-on to men. I guess that I admired myself pretty much, and when I paused to compare my body to the bodies of other women I observed, I had to admit that I stacked up quite well.
But never before had I experienced a sexual desire for myself. The reason for this difference seemed to have several origins.
I had been exposed to lesbianism in a most extreme manner. I had met Alice and spoken to her for several minutes, and then, without warning, we were bound together with my mouth on her pussy, drinking her piss.
We stayed with our naked bodies clinging together for what seemed like an hour as we swung back and forth from a harness for everybody to see.
This experience had a liberating effect on me, in a way. It opened me up to new possibilities within myself.
But more important than that, it was my' humble position as a slave to Marty's dick which made me experience arousal at my own beauty. Never before had I recognized how beautiful I was. I had blocked off that feeling from myself.
Even though Master Marty called me vile names and humiliated me verbally and physically, it seemed to make me blossom.
It was my new position as a slave girl that turned me on to my own beauty. Strange as it seems, it's true. I know that it is. It made me like myself.
So I couldn't resist letting my fingers fall to the waistband of my panties. I couldn't resist watching myself as I played, in the soft folds of my pussy.
Since Marty had shaved my pussy hairs the last time we were together, I ran the tips of my fingers over the area. It was still very soft; baby soft. I put powder on it to keep it that way.
Soon there would be stubble where the shaving had been done. I knew that Marty would have some uses for that, too. Probably he would make some poor slave girl suck on my pussy when the area was full of razor stubble.
I was beginning to think in the same perverted way that Master Marty did. The only difference was that he thought about these things from the Master's position. I thought about them as a slave.
The thoughts of these things made me realize that I had been correct about something. I was born to serve; born to be a slave girl. I needed a man like Marty who knew how to beat the sass out of me.
My mind did drift back to Bill, the super, but not now. Now I was thinking of pure masochistic sex, and that was why I was thinking only of Marty.
Throughout the townhouse, the sounds of whippings could be heard. It reminded me of some old Southern mansion in which the slaves were being whipped regularly. So it was here, and the sounds had become familiar to me by now.
I was able to tell the difference between the crack of leather against an upturned rump, as compared to the sound of a rubber hose against one. '
There was quite a bit of hose beating going on, if my ears were any judge. Master Marty was fond of whipping his slave girls with the hose of the very enema bag they would soon experience. It was a double form of humiliation to take a whipping with a hose that would soon be up your ass.
The sounds were erotic to me. I could hear them going on throughout the house. I had my own experiences behind me, so I could just fully imagine what every one of the other slave girls were going through. I knew that mine would be coming soon. Marty was making his nightly rounds of discipline.
I felt the softness and moistness of the inner cuntal flesh. Oh, it was warm inside my vagina, and it felt so good to feel the insides of my flesh against my fingers. I played with myself, watching myself in the mirror as I did so.
I placed both my facial lips and my cuntal lips up against the mirror. By now my panties were down around my knees.
I kissed my own reflection in the glass. I pressed my cunt lips against the mirror and rotated my hips in a sensual dance. I could see the moistness of my pussy making itself clear against the glass.
The mirror was wet with my cunt cream.
I was lost in my own thoughts as I moved back and forth to the beat of the whips outside this piss room.
From time to time I would glance at the enema bag hanging from a rack in the tub. That made me even more excited. I had all I could do to keep from reaching climax.
The sensations coursing through my body were intense.
Yes, I believed in romance and gentleness and in all those soft things. But to achieve the greatest orgasm, I knew what I had to do and who I had to be. I had to submit. I had to be a slave.
I thought of that, and only of that, as I rubbed my body against the glass. What I didn't realize was that I had misbehaved again.
Oh, I guess on some level I did realize it. After all, Master Marty had given me the clear and very firm directive to keep my hands away from my pussy hole. Here I was frigging myself madly.
By now I was jabbing my fingers in. I tensed my cuntal muscles so that I wouldn't cum uncontrollably. But I had to feel the full impact of my fingers the way it would feel if the cock of Master were in me.
The door to the bathroom flew open. In fact, it flew open with such force, it hit against the other wall, startling the shit out of me.
"You stupid cunt!" he declared.
It was Marty. He had caught me in the act.
I was shamed. I had been caught frigging myself. It was the very thing that I had been told not to do.
"I give you one order and you disobey it," Master Marty snapped. "You really are a bad bitch. You're the kind that really deserves my deluxe training!"
He was angry, but the gleam in his eye and the bulge in his pants told me that my misbehavior did have secondary rewards as far as he was concerned.
I just felt like I was crazy. I couldn't understand why I would deliberately taunt Marty with the very act he forbade me to engage in.
I knew that I was begging for punishment. I was aching for a breaking, cruising for a bruising, asking him to catch me and punish me.
It was going to be enema punishment this time.
"I'm going to give you a double enema," Master Marty told me. "This time, for being caught frigging your cunt, you're going to get an enema up your ass at the same time you take one up your cunt."
I was shaking with such fear, I thought I would pass out. I knew that he meant business.
Often, he punished slave girls merely on general principle. He believed that girls were like rugs. Every so often, they needed to be beaten. Marty kept a very clean house, if you know what I mean!
So I knew that when he had a reason for punishing a girl, it would really be a hard session to endure.
"You won't disobey me after this punishment," Marty told me.
"Please, Master, I'm so sorry."
"You'll be a lot more sorry after I'm finished with you."
"Have mercy," I begged him. "The mercy I'll have on you is that I won't kill you."
He really took his work as a sadist seriously.
He was rough with me from the start. He grabbed me and brought me over the the bathtub, or the piss tub, as he called it.
He yelled out and one of his other slave girls came forward, bringing him a second enema bag. It was also colored a bright orange.
I was given no lubrication up my holes this time. He just inserted the tubes up my cunt and up and up my ass without warning or lube.
I moaned as he did this. Luckily, I had some natural lubrication up both of my holes. I had been dripping rather profusely from my pussy as part of my frigging session. Also, Alice had her mouth on my cunt and asshole. That helped a bit now. , But still, it wasn't easy.
The bags were already full. Imagine how it felt to suddenly be filled with burning hot liquid up the cunt and ice cold liquid up the rear!
It's true. I had the double enema from both sides and it shocked my system with such force, I wasn't sure that Marty wasn't out to kill me.
My abused cunt was feeling as if it were on fire. The heat of the water just burned and burned.
The liquid which rushed into my ass channel was ice cold. It felt as if there were ice cubes in it. If so, I knew that Marty had been pissing in the ice trays and freezing it over again.
I cried and cried. My body was shuddering.
"Take it, bitch," Master Marty snarled.
"Ow, it's killing me."
"Take it," he repeated. "You saw to fit to go against my word and frig yourself. Now you'll take punishment so you'll never, never try that again."
To my amazement, it all came back to me once again.
It was something that I had forgotten from long ago.
Back when I was a little girl, living at home, I .... it was almost too heavy to think about. I felt dizzy. The boiling water was expanding my young pussy. It hurt more than any cock.
The ice cold enema was freezing my asshole.
Marty held me in place, forcing me to take the double abuse.
"Alright," he said, when it was obvious that I could stand no more pressure. "You can let it out now."
I stood there, now in the bathroom. He allowed me to release the liquids.
They streamed out of me, front and back.
The hot water mixed with the cold at my feet. He had ripped my bra from my breasts, and I vaguely recalling watching my heaving breasts as I withstood this part of the punishment.
The filling up was horrible, but this was horrible, too. I felt as if my cunt and asshole were being pulled inside out.
When I was finally able to breathe in an approximation of normality, Marty left me alone. I reached for the rack above the tub and held on for dear life. I needed that support.
Again I thought about the incident that had taken place some years ago. Why, I couldn't have been any more than five or six years old at the time. It was one of the days that my parents went out, leaving me all alone in the house.
I don't think that being alone frightened me. I was used to it. In fact, I think I rather looked forward to those times. They were times that I could be all alone, left to my own devices. I remember it being very quiet in the house when my mother and father were not there.
I liked it because I didn't have to hear their fighting. Sometimes, I knew that they were fighting about me. Sometimes, I thought that they really didn't want me.
I remember this one day, when they were gone, and I stood in front of the mirror in my parent's bathroom. The mirror was on the wall over the sink.
I recall climbing up on the sink. In order to see the full length of my body, I had to do that. I was crouched up there watching my reflection. I think I was wearing only a pair of under panties.
And then .... and then.....
But Master Marty returned. I was brought back to the present with a jolting squirt of heat in my asshole. He had abruptly stuck the hose of the enema bag up my stretched asshole. The bag had been filled again. Whatever the liquid, it was steaming hot, giving my ass the opposite sensation from what it had been forced to experience before, only moments ago.
At the same time, he took the second enema bag, hung it on the rack above the bathtub, turned on the valve, and ejected streams of fast-rushing water into my cunt. The heat that had burned my pussy before was now up my ass. My cunt was treated to an ice cold douche this time!
"Take that, bitch, and learn to obey."
I recalled that day when I was only a little girl. For a while, as I thought about it, I didn't even feel the strange sensations that were going on in my cunt and ass.
I had been innocently exploring myself. I had been innocently looking at my young nakedness. My pussy was pink, and, of course, perfectly hairless.
I had placed it close up to the silvered glass so that I could see it as others would see it, if I had ever dared to expose it to them.
Yes, it was pretty.
I don't know if I was feeling sexual urges or not. All I recall was that I played with the soft lips and exposed them to the mirror, and to my eyes.
I opened my little pussy up and put my fingers inside.
That was when the door to the bathroom flew open. It flew open and hit the other wall, just as it had done when Marty expressed similar rage.
Daddy was on the other side. He caught me.
"You little slut!" he yelled out. "You dirty little slut."
He cursed me and slapped me. I tried to shield myself from his angry blows, but I had all I could do to keep from slipping off the sink and crashing head first into the tile floor.
I remember thinking that I had been right. Daddy didn't love me. And yet, why would he be so angry over me? Maybe he wanted me to be a good girl because he loved me. But what had I done wrong? I was confused.
"You'll pay for this," he told me.
I was frightened, and yet, I loved my Daddy. I didn't think that he would do anything to me that was really wrong.
I remembered asking for Mommy. "Where's Mommy?" I said.
"She won't be home for an hour. And if you're good, and behave yourself, maybe I'll keep your bad behavior from her. I'll keep it a secret."
"Please keep it a secret," I begged my Daddy. I remember thinking that if he told Mommy, she too might get angry and punish me also.
Daddy stripped my under panties from me.
"Sit on that toilet," he said.
For my punishment, Daddy took out his penis. I had never seen it before. It looked very big and unlike anything I could ever imagine.
He aimed it at me and he started, he started, oh, yes, he started to pee! He pissed all over his little girl. He pissed all over me, and I remember feeling heat wherever he directed it. It was like a hundred little needles sticking into me, and then it would all go away, with only a wetness left in its place.
"Daddy, Daddy," I said, crying.
"Just a little more punishment," he told me. "Then you'll be good."
He told me to spread the lips of my little cunny. Then he pissed into my pussy and the frothy liquid filled my insides. I kept it there when he kissed me and told me that he loved me. He kept repeating it, and I could feel his warm piss inside me. It felt so good that I wanted it to stay there forever.
CHAPTER EIGHT
To stop my whimpering, Master Marty unleashed his big dick and stuffed it into my mouth. He gagged me with his huge tool as the hot and cold water continued to fill me from front and behind.
I held the hot and cold water inside of me, thinking that they would mix somewhere in my middle. But they didn't. My pussy continued to freeze and my asshole continued to burn.
I opened my eyes and looked at Marty giving me my abuse. I watched his disciplining face as he stood on the rim of the high bathtub so that his cock could stay stuffed down my throat.
But something had changed. This time I wanted to bite his cock off!
That bastard!
I knew that I had volunteered to be his slave. I had turned myself over to him for training.
But for some reason, I no longer wanted it. I didn't need him to control me. I could control myself.
I didn't need to make myself feel beautiful by taking his abuse. I was beautiful without it.
Perhaps my unexpected recollections played a part in the switch. Now I could understand the roots of my bizarre fascination with piss and punishment.
But Marty was not my Daddy. I didn't need to act out a scene that had taken place so long ago. There was nothing wrong in my doing so, if that was how I received my pleasure and discipline. Obviously, the method worked well for Master Marty and his harem of slave girls.
But things were going to be different for me from now on.
Telling Marty this would have only earned me additional punishment. So I kept it to myself and endured the worst.
But when I was left alone, I climbed out of the tub and found my clothes and dressed. I was still weak from the treatment which had, by the way, left me with a huge load of Marty's semen in my mouth.
The other time that Marty gifted me with his scum, I took it gladly, eagerly, savoring it.
This time I had all I could do to swallow it without getting sick. But when I did swallow it, I told myself that this was the last time, at last.
Goodbye to all that, I said to myself, as I slipped out the door. Nobody saw me leave. Although I knew that Marty might be angry to find me gone without explanation, I felt it was the best thing for me to do. There was no reason to explain to him. All that was important was that I get out of there.
I didn't even look back. I knew of the things that were going on in that house. I could hear the gurgling sounds of a female voice. I knew that she was being forced to take some liquid in her mouth against her will. Perhaps it was her own. I had seen the self-contained unit that Marty had devised so that a girl would be forced to drink her own wastes through a tunnel-like instrument connecting her piss hole with her mouth.
All I was thinking of now was going home. Arriving at the apartment building on sixteenth street, I went directly to the apartment of Bill the super. I knocked on his door, hoping and praying that he would be home. I needed to feel the loving arms of a man like Bill, someone who cared for me.
To my delight, he came to the door.
"You caught me right in the middle of a piss," he said. Then he realized what some of my fetishes were, or had been.
"As a matter of fact," he continued, some of the drops are soaking into the cotton of my underpants."
Before I could explain what had happened to me, Bill took me by the hand and led me to the bathroom. I had once thought that he was shy, but now I saw other sides of his personality.
He seated me on the bathtub beside the toilet as he took out his cock and finished his piss. I watched, admiring him.
There were a few drops still clinging to the fleshy rod when I placed my hot mouth on it. I sucked on the head, and then I swallowed it, moving further down on him.
I bobbed my head back and forth on the fine length of man-meat.
"Let's go into the bedroom," I suggested, taking my mouth from his penis just long enough to make the suggestion.
"But I thought that you...."
"Never mind what you thought," I told him.
'Ill explain it all to you later. Now, I just want us to go to bed where we can get lost in each other's love."
Bill smiled broadly.
"Come on, baby," he said sweetly. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and I'm going to give you the sweet fucking you deserve."
It was such a new experience for me. I just could hardly believe that it was happening, but it was, and even though I wasn't used to it, I had to welcome it.
It was funny, but things happened in cycles. At first, I was not satisfied with ordinary sex. It bored me. I. needed something more. Something much more. After finding the ultimate of "more" in Master Marty, I was now ready to find another kind of ultimate. The ultimate of love.
"You have beautiful hair," Bill told me. He was playing with it, running his fingers through it, and when we were naked on the bed, he wrapped the long strands around his swelling prick.
"I used to think of my hair as piss yellow," I giggled, thinking of the color of it, and of my recent experiences. "But I think it's closer to champagne in color, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," Bill smiled. "I do."
He had been gentle with me from the beginning. He had taken his fingers and unbuttoned my blouse, undressing me. It was exciting. I felt tingles and they were new kinds of tingles. Still, they coursed .up from my pussy and filled my entire body. It was as exciting as the sex I shared with Marty. But it was different, and I felt more free with Bill.. Bill pressed his body on top of mine. He pressed his strong chest into mine, so that I felt his hairy chest against my full breasts.
We kissed long and deep. He ran his tongue inside my mouth. I sucked on it.
This was rapture. I guess the most exciting part of it was when he started to whisper those "sweet nothings" in my ear. His lips kissed the lobe. His tongue explored inside. And then his warm breath cooing all those sweet things started.
It was so different from the treatment that Master Marty used to give. When Marty spoke into my ear, it was with curses. He would tell me what a cunt I was. He would tell mt that I deserved punishment and that if I dared to go against his wishes, his whims, the punishment would be longer and harder.
Another difference was that while Bill kissed and licked my ear, Marty used his teeth. My ear lobe was still sore from the grinding that Marty had given it. But the soft kisses and mouth caresses of Bill sort of made it all feel better.
"I know that you like it rough," Bill said, when his cock was deep inside of my juicing pussy. "I used to like it rough," I answered. "I'm not so sure about that now."
But Bill was very smart. He was smarter than I had ever given him credit for being. He knew that even though I wanted to get into love instead of painful sex, there had to be a transition. He told me that it shouldn't be such a sudden change from degradation to love. He was going to take me from one point to the other, but slowly so that I wouldn't start longing for what I'd become used to with Marty and his dominating ways.
That was when Bill started to really fuck me, and fuck me deep. His cock wasn't as huge as Marty's, but then, to be perfectly honest, Marty's cock was enormously large. It was tremendous.
But Bill sure knew how to use what he had and once he started pumping, there was no stopping him. He fucked me royally. It was deliriously wonderful:
I felt all of the tensions releasing from my body with each thrust of his prick. He kept it up and went faster and faster. I could hear the bed straining with every thrust. My cunt arched up and up, wanting more and more. He gave it.
He went even faster as he approached climax, but just when I thought that he was going to cum, he stopped. He wanted to make this last for hours.
I was all for it. Marty made his sex last a long time also, mainly to make me ache. He used dildos and other tools to keep my cunt filled at all times, even making me sleep with large objects inserted up my ass. He got a kick out of telling his guests that he strapped large objects up the cunts and asses of all of his slave girls so that they would be reminded of their subservient position at all times during the day and night.
I couldn't take the pain of Marty's fucking. This was more pleasure than pain, and Bill wanted it that way. After an hour, he was ready to bring me to orgasm.
He proved that he was skilled at that, also, because whenever he brought to near orgasm, he had stopped, to prolong it for me. But when he was ready for me to cum, he told me so.
"I'm getting ready to squirt a big load, a big love-load," he told me, hotly, still fucking. "Are you ready for me to take you over the edge?"
"Yes, yes, Bill," I moaned. "You've kept up the fucking so long. I'm ready to burst into my own multiple climaxes. I want it to last and last. Make your lover doll cum."
There was a new look on his face. I guess it was determination. Maybe it was concentration. Whichever, it was a sexual look, and it turned me on even more.
He was sensitive to my needs as a woman, and that was now important to me. Marty had been aware of my need for pain, but he had taken me beyond my limits several times in painful sex play. It was play for him, but torture for me. That had been Marty's intent.
"Oh, shit, oh, I'm getting ready to blast," I cried.
I guess that Bill could feel it in my body. I know that I could feel the thickness and strength of his cock getting more and more as he approached his point of no return.
"Yeah, baby," he groaned as his face became twisted in the throes of man-climax. "Cum!"
And I can only imagine what my face looked like as my body contorted uncontrollably in a climax which seemed to last for an hour.
Waves of sex poured over me. This was release like I had never experienced, not even with Marty after the degradations and extreme pain.
I was breathing heavily and so was Bill. He remained deep inside of me. The sweat from our bodies acted as a sort of glue. I knew that when our bodies separated, we would hear a squeaking noise as we pulled apart. But we weren't about to separate so soon. We were breathing together as one unit, one organism. Sexually, we had just been through a lot together.
He caressed me gently after a while, and I did the same to him. I reached down to the connection of his cock inside my well-screwed cunt. I felt the thick shaft of the base of his cock, the only part of prick that wasn't still buried inside of me. I played with the large balls which rested in his hairy, thick-skinned sac.
Then Bill opened my eyes with his fingers so that I looked right at him. I was admiring the depth and manly beauty of his eyes as they squinted slightly. And then he started to do it.
I felt it first as a stream of heat inside my pussy. I couldn't believe it. I didn't even want to believe that it was happening all over again.
But the cunt had been ravaged by the fucking, and the torn membranes were very sensitive. They could feel, without mistake, that it was steaming piss that was being poured into me from Bill's penis!
My jaw dropped and my mouth opened in disbelief. Bill pressed his body into mine as if to let me know without doubt that he wasn't going to pull his prick out of me for anything in the world, my begging or anything.
I could feel it bubbling up inside of me.
"I piss a lot," Bill told me. "I always have, since I was a little kid. In fact, I used to piss into balloons and throw them out the window. You know, instead of water balloons, I'd make piss balloons and drop them on people. They'd splatter all over and the people would stink."
I was stunned. I just didn't know what to do or say.
After all the ordeals I had been through, and after making a resolution to change for the better, it seemed as if I had met up with still another piss master!
How could it be? Did I bring out that quality in men? Did I attract them?
"There are no mistakes and no accidents in life," Bill told me as he pulled his prick out of my pussy. Some of the golden shower dripped out down my leg.
"Into the jphn," he told me as he pulled my naked body with him into the bathroom. He told me to lie down in the bathtub.
"On your back."
My still-sweaty body was clammy on the cold bottom of the tub. Bill straddled the tub, with his feet on either side of it. The entire scene unavoidably reminded me of Marty and his tactics.
Bill squeezed the head of his dick. A few drops of piss were coaxed from it. I figured that he was going to shake the final drops of piss from his prick. After all, he had already fucked a load of scum up my cunt and followed it with a full load of piss.
But I was wrong. As Bill said, he did a lot of pissing. He stood there and I watched his muscles strain. Suddenly, a new gush started. He soaked me with a stream of piss which he directed at my face, hitting me on my head, in my mouth, and when I had to spit out the mouthfuls I couldn't swallow, they landed all over me.
Bill directed his flow down my breasts, making certain to hit each nipple with his piss. Then downward until my navel was filled with piss, and downward still again, hitting me from head to toe.
"Now just stay there," Bill said, when he finally had finished; finally shaking those last drops from the piss slit. "Just stay there and stew in it."
He turned out the bathroom light. He slammed the door, leaving me alone in the tub of his piss. I looked up into the blackness and wondered what would become of me. My chance for love and freedom had gone down the toilet, and I mean that literally.
I had thought that at last I had found somebody who would love me without abuse. Bill had said that he would slowly bring me back from degradation to love.
But his new treatment of me rivaled even the sadism of Master Marty.
When he finally allowed me to leave the tub, it was the next morning!
He had forced me to sleep in the wet tub. I caught a chill.
In the morning, I heard sounds coming from the other room. I hated to think what they were, but when Bill called into the bathroom and told me that I could come out, I knew for sure that my worst fears had been realized.
To further torment me, Bill had a naked girl in the apartment. Not only that, she was in his bed! The very bed that we had shared.
"Watch me fuck her," Bill told me. "Watch the way my dick goes in and out of her, just the way it did in and out of you."
The sadist!
The girl didn't seem to mind. Either she was a slut, or a nympho, or just didn't care. After all, she was the one getting the great fuck. I was the one who was being humiliated.
"No way!" I shouted. "No, you're not going to do this to me! I trusted you. I even told you about all I had been through. But you are using it all against me."
I was speaking from my heart. The words flowed out of me. There was anger to be released. Again, I had been used. But only because I trusted someone who was out for my pussy. He told me he loved me, but words aren't enough. He just wanted my pussy.
I gathered my things and left in a huff. Bill demonstrated his true feelings about me by continuing to fuck the girl without even trying to stop me.
But I can tell you, I walked out of that apartment a proud and free woman.
