Chapter 5
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."