Chapter 3

"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.