Chapter 2

"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.

"You dumb, disrespectful cunt," Marty snarled. "I'll teach you."

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.