Chapter 1

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.