Chapter 6

Light filtered through the window lace the following morning.

I awoke to find that I was curled in Bill's arms. I had been sleeping in his grasp like a snug little kitten.

Looking around, I saw that he had removed his clothes. His overalls were on the floor beside the bed, along with his work boots, sweat socks, and underpants.

My things were also on the floor, but while his were left in a pile, mine were strewn all over the room. Somehow, my memory of the night before was hazy, but he must have stripped me, and my clothes must have landed in every corner of the room as the result of a tussle.

Bill was breathing heavily, fast asleep. I had a chance to look at the sleeping man. He was quite handsome, really. I hadn't noticed how handsome he actually was on our previous date. Maybe the fact that I knew of his dominance was part of the reason for his new appeal for me.

I was watching his face when his eyes opened. It didn't take him long to adjust to the situation, and to realize that he was in my apartment lying naked beside me.

My cunt was still aching this morning after, and I knew that my adventures with Marty weren't totally responsible for that. After learning of my desire to be treated roughly and taken by force, Bill had given me a much harder fuck this time than last.

He devoured me with his eyes now, and turned over on top of me. I could feel his hairy chest pressing into my breasts.

"Give me your cock again," I moaned. "Let me have your fucking thing inside of me again."

He started to fuck me all over again. He used a large variety of strokes. It was heavenly.

He was on top. I was able to look into his face as he did it to me.

"Mmmmmm, you're good," he groaned as he pumped me. "You're beautiful and you have a magnificent cunt. I could fuck it like this for hours."

"Fuck it for hours," I begged him.

This was quite a change from my relationship with Marty. When Marty screwed me, he told me what a piece of shit I was. He cursed me in several languages. He spit on me and made sure I knew that sex with him would only come after punishment. That was just the way it was.

It was quite a different story to be told how good I was, instead of how bad. I was beautiful, I knew that for sure, but many men refused to tell me that. At least, they refused to say it during the sex act.

Prior to the sex act, they would say virtually anything. But I knew that they were saying their compliments with a specific reason in mind, a motive, if you will. They wanted to get me in bed. To reach that goal, they would say anything.

But Bill's praises came after he had me. It was a switch, and one which I liked.

As much as I liked it, I kept comparing Bill with Marty. I couldn't make up my mind. The conflict was very definite.

I liked the way Bill treated me, now that we understood one another better. He was considerate of my limits, but not without making sure that I didn't get away with anything.

Now that he had asserted his masculine authority, I was able to relate to his fucking. I was able to feel the swelling of my clit as he pressed his body on top of mine and pressed his tongue between my lips, into my mouth, and down my throat.

I kissed him back with all my might.

I wrapped my legs around his waist so that his cock (which was bigger and harder than it had seemed the first time) could reach more deeply into my vagina.

There was also Marty to think about. He had been correct. Nothing, not even Bill, could keep Marty off my mind.

I had become aware of the strange desire which pervaded my heart, my soul, my head, and my body. The warmth which burned like fire in my pussy, and spread to my loins, was the warmth of lust; lust for painful domination, even filthy water domination.

I had a handsome man in my bed, in my cunt, and yet I flashed back to the image of the girl who'd been punished with liquid steer manure.

As wonderful as Bill was, he would never be able to put me through the bizarre punishments that Marty could.

Only someone as perverse and as intense as Marty could punish me like that.

While I needed this morning fucking, I needed something else more. Bill could never satisfy the unnatural urge which gripped me like a vise.

As Bill fucked me, I fantasized about other things. It was horrible, because I had a wonderful man in bed with me, and yet, I couldn't fully get off on him.

I didn't want him to know what was going on in my mind because I knew that he would never understand, and he would think that I was insane. Maybe I was. But I couldn't help it.

I could have thought about Marty, Madame Lisa, and the others back at Marty's townhouse. That would have gotten me off. But I wanted to save those thoughts for another time when I would be horny and alone.

Then I would frig myself, using my fingers to prod my cunt meat, as I fantasized about what had happened. Marty and Madame Lisa had done a lot to me. Not only could I frig myself over that, I could think about the future discipline they would give me, too. That would help me reach quick and multiple orgasm.

For now, as I was treated to the wonderful pumping of Bill's firm shaft inside of me, I imagined myself out in the woods on some kind of overnight trip. In my mind's image, I found myself all alone.

For physical relief, I had one of those portable toilets with me, the kind sometimes used on camping trips. Funny, Marty had called me his portable toilet. Maybe that was where that image came from. He had told me that he would take me with him wherever he went so that he would always have a toilet bowl ready to take his wastes.

Sure enough, that must have been the origin of the image. Marty appeared in the fantasy.

As Bill continued to fuck in and out of me, the way he could do for hours at a time, I saw Marty in my mind's eye. He had tied me to a stake in the ground. It was early evening. The first stars began to appear in the sky, and Marty had built a fire to keep us warm.

There was a collar around my neck. Maybe it was the spiked collar that Madame Lisa had used on me. Attached to the collar was a long leash which was then tied to the stake.

Consequently, I was able to move about only in a circle with a radius of three feet.

"That's so you don't stray away too far from me," Marty told me. "My bitch dog has to stay down on all fours and crawl around. When I want my bitch dog to do something, she does it. When I want to fuck her, I do. Come on," he added. "Let's see you open your mouth for me. Make a circle with your lips. Show me what a good dog you are."

I formed an 'o' with my mouth.

When Marty was satisfied that I had followed his directive, he turned around, squatted slightly, and offered me his asshole.

"I should fart in your face," he told me. "That's what a dog is for. A bitch dog like you must stay on a rope, tied to stake, crawling around on all fours and sniffing my asshole."

He took the portable toilet seat and placed it over my head. The seat part was resting on my head and shoulders.

He pulled down his jeans and seated himself on top of me. I thought about the steer manure again. I wondered what Marty had lined up for me this time.

Before anything could happen, there was rustling noise from beyond the clearing. Marty jumped off the 'pot' and leaned through the foliage to see who was out there.

When he returned to me, there was a broad grin on his face.

I had been taught not to ask questions.

Luckily, this time Marty told me what was going on beyond the bushes without my having to ask.

"It's a troop of young boy scouts," he laughed. "They're on a camping trip, too. They're out there digging a ditch."

I wondered what they were doing that for. I would soon find out.

Later, after the boys had returned to their tents which were pitched not far away, Marty unhooked my leash from the stake. He led me beyond the clearing like a cur bitch. He pulled me and it was difficult for me to keep pace with him. My knees were soiled from the mud. They were hurting, as were the palms of my hands.

He dragged me out to where the boy scouts had been digging. I wouldn't have known what it was that they had been working on if it hadn't been for Marty. "A latrine!" he announced. "They've made a latrine."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what a latrine was. All I saw was a rectangular hole in the ground. There were several planks of wood over the opening.

"You're gonna do some latrine service," Marty told me.

"W-what?" I stammered.

"You heard me!"

He removed several of the planks.

"Get in there."

I didn't understand what he wanted of me.

"I said, get in there!" he shouted, and with that, he pushed me into the hole.

Then he replaced the planks had they had been before.

"Just stay down there," he warned me.

It was cold down there in the ground. I wanted to get out. The collar was around my neck. I didn't know what to expect. All I knew was that I had to obey Marty.

Before too long, I heard voices in the near distance. The voices grew louder. Boys voices. The voices of young men, not yet fully matured. They were coming closer.

They hung a kerosene lamp on the limb of a tree.

"This way nobody will fall into the latrine," one of the boys told the other.

I remained silent. I looked up. Above me, I saw the uniformed legs of the two scouts. I watched as they unzipped their flies. They pulled out their pricks. They aimed the pricks down into the darkness of the hole in the ground.

First a few drops from each of them, and then they both let loose. They were pissing. Now I knew what a latrine was! I understood what Marty meant when he'd insisted that I was going to do latrine service.

Because of the darkness down in the hole, the boy scouts were unaware that I was down there. I wanted to call up to them, to let them know, but I didn't.

At first I just bore the humiliation of being pissed upon.

Then, realizing that I was being given the precious golden juices of youth, I did my best to open my mouth and drink it all in. What missed my mouth was appreciated by my body. I was naked, of course, and I arched my breasts so that the flood would hit my nipples.

The golden boy piss covered my nipples and dripped down my breasts. Some of the drips even fell into my naval. I rubbed the liquids all over my nakedness. I enjoyed the sensation of fresh, warm piss, especially in my cunt area. I rubbed it into the cuntal flesh.

My pussy was shaved, of course, since Marty liked his slaves that way. He said that the whip welts showed up better on a smooth body. He had shaved one side of my cunt, but not the other. Then he whipped each side, the hairy side as well as the hairless.

When I rubbed piss into the pubic hairs, the hairs became covered with a foam, like the foam at the top of a beer. Later, Marty cut the hairs and forced me smell them. The scent of piss remained on each strand. He constructed one of this devious little devices so that the collection of piss-soaked hairs would stay by my nostrils all night.

Anyway, as the boy scouts pissed on me, I learned what it meant to be a latrine. All through the night, the young men in uniform stood over the latrine. Although they never knew it, they were spraying their piss on a beautiful, naked young girl.

When my belly was full and my body drenched, I opened my cunt wide so that the boys would piss in it.

Some of the young guys enjoyed playing with their cocks as they pissed on me. They spelled out words with their pissing cocks by moving the flowing stream as they traced letters with their pricks.

It was all an exciting fantasy for me. Strange that I should have to think of such things as Bill fucked me.

Bill was everything most girls wanted. He was young, handsome, and very nice. I had to concentrate on the new authority he had demonstrated, and on the authority of his position as super in charge of the building.

I liked the way he worked with his hands. I wished that his hands would do their handiwork on my body the way that Marty's did.

However, what I knew all too well was the fact that while Bill's hands were as skilled as

Marty's, only Marty's twisted mind could come up with the bizarre techniques that it did; techniques with which to punish unruly girls like me.

As Bill's cock continued to pound my openly-splayed pussy, I thought about Marty. It was then that my cunt was overtaken by inner rumbles. I felt the contractions. There was one heavy blast of cunt cream, followed by a series of ripples and a flow which wouldn't stop.

Later, after each of us has reached climax, we stayed in bed talking. Again, Bill spoke of his desire to be with one woman, and one woman only.

I told him that I would find such an arrangement inhibiting. I needed freedom to roam.

"Even if you had one strong man who satisfied you in every department?" Bill asked.

I had to think about it. I answered honestly.

"Well, if I ever found such a man, that might make things different. But I haven't found him and I'm not so sure such perfection exists."

I didn't tell Bill that I was sure he wasn't the man in question.

If I had been certain that Marty fit that bill, I might have returned to him to beg him to

I, keep me for good. On my return to New York, I had been unable to find work. Being eighteen and pretty much unskilled, except in things sexual, my opportunities for legitimate employment were limited.

"It would be nice to settle down and be taken care of by somebody else," I admitted to Bill.

"Somebody who keep you and pa your rent and everything?" Bill asked.

"Yes, that's right," I replied wistfully. I was thinking of Marty and the arrangement he had with his slave girls. They spent their days and nights at his service; at his whim. Surely they didn't pay rent to live under those conditions in his townhouse. Surely they paid with their bodies.

"It might be possible for me to work out some kind of a deal about this apartment with the landlord," Bill said, breaking my chain of thought. "We're on friendly terms, he and I."

Realizing that he was still trying to make a play for me, I had to put him off. Yes, he had been much, much better sexually this time. He had proven that he could dominate me without being heartless.

But Marty would lead me to my breaking point, and then take me just a little bit farther. It was that kind of challenge that I craved.

Just thinking about it made me quiver, especially in my pussy.

"Bill, you're a really nice guy, and that spanking you gave me was hard enough to make me admit that I had been a real bitch with you. I apologize again for that. I want to thank you for a very nice time. But I don't think that this relationship thing that you want would work out. I just don't."

"Why not? Have you got another guy? I noticed some bruises on your ass last night, and I could tell from your cunt that you'd been fucked recently. Don't get me wrong," he quickly added. "I don't mind that. In fact, I love fucking a sloppy cunt. I was pretty sure that I felt the slippery gism of another guy on my cock when I fucked you. That was when I really went wild and really started fucking. The idea of screwing you with somebody else's cum up there really made my dick hard."

I felt my nipples stiffen when Bill told me that. I had him pegged as a square. But he had the ability to keep surprising me. This launchiness on his part was a new surprise. I liked it. We spoke the same language and I hadn't even known it.

While I didn't want to lose Bill completely, I didn't want him to think that he had a chance for this one-to-one relationship he spoke about. Not with me, anyway.

"Actually, Bill, you're right. There is another man."

"Who is he?" Bill asked, in an almost demanding tone.

Being old fashioned to the point of wanting fidelity in a relationship, Bill also expressed the old fashioned notion of possession. He wanted to possess me, and even though he had no right to do so, he demanded to know who his challenger was.

Most girls would have told him to go stick his head in the mud. They would have been offended at his attitude. But without thinking I responded to him. On some level, I guess, I liked the fact that he was that bossy and domineering.

"I went to a club and I met a man there. Ill bet that you've never heard of the club. It's sort of off the beaten path. There isn't even much of a marking on the door. It's a real private place and people don't happen to stumble upon it. They get there by knowing about it in advance."

"And how did you get to know so much about it?" Bill asked.

Since he asked me these questions with such insistence, I decided to tell him all the details; the full story. If he wasn't up to handling it, then that would be his hard luck.

Heaving a sigh, I explained that I had gone to the porno shop, found the sex newspaper, and decided that The Underground was the place for me because I felt that I was ready for real sadomasochistic sex.

I explained that I met a man named Marty and that he'd taken me to his townhouse. Bill's expression remained the same throughout my telling of the story. Even when I described the basement playroom with its torture devices, Bill remained completely blank and expressionless. I thought that perhaps I'd shocked him into silence.

Suddenly, when I got to the part where I explained that I'd been kicked out after my first training session, I realized that I had left the townhouse and hailed a cab without checking the address.

I'd gone home with the intention of returning again for more discipline after my body had recuperated somewhat from the initial strain. But now I realized that the entire punishment scene at Marty's place had shaken me up so, I'd forgotten to take down the most essential information.

I didn't know Marty's address. I had no idea where I'd been, and so I couldn't wander back there. I didn't even know Marty's last name, so there was no way for me to look him up in the telephone book.

"What a fool I am," I sobbed. "I deserve all the punishment I get.

Bill could no restrain himself any longer. He broke out in hearty laughter.

"You're almost as sadistic as Marty," I sobbed. "Laughing at my suffering. Oh, if only you knew what I'm going through now." It was really going to be a difficult withdrawal if I'd be forced to do without Marty due to my own stupidity at not noting where to reach him."

"All things are meant to be," Bill told me. "If you weren't supposed to return to Marty's place, then circumstance will dictate that you don't return."

"But I just know that I have to find him again. I need that kind of treatment. I need all the advanced punishment equipment that he has created." Just to make certain that Bill wouldn't suggest that he could take Marty's place, I emphasized the strange machinery which Marty had created for the training of his slave girls.

"This guy Marty who you speak of," Bill said, "wouldn't happen to have a tank of liquid steer manure on his premises, would he?"

My jaw dropped. I hadn't mentioned that to Bill.

"How did you....?"

Bill started laughing again.

"New York isn't as giant a town as people tend to think it is," he told me. "I suppose it's one of the best cities in the world for getting lost in a crowd. But on the other hand, it is comprised of a lot of little subcultures, and sooner or later, everybody seems to meet up with everybody else in each particular subculture."

Bill was pretty bright for a superintendent.

"Are you saying that you know Marty?" I asked, still not fully believing the coincidence.

"I've been to several of his, shall we say, parties? I've been to The Underground several times."

I must have been beaming. The fact that Bill had been to Marty's place and to the S & M club, indicated that he was not the novice I'd imagined him to be when it came to discipline and bizarre bondage training.

"Don't get the wrong idea," he said, aware of what I was thinking, no doubt. "I thought The Underground was a raunchy hell hole. It's not for me, not at all. But I do have Marty's address downstairs in my address book. If that's your bag, your enema bag, so to speak, then enjoy yourself. But you can count me out. It's not that I rejected the scene without exposing myself to it first," Bill added. "I tried it. I didn't like it."

"But you have Marty's address?" I asked. I must have been panting.

"Yeah, I've got his address. In fact, if you want to get into his abuse, I'll escort you right to his door. I just hope you can handle the severity of his treatment. He's rather extreme."

"That's what I crave," I said honestly. "When can we go?"

It was several days later that I was to make my return to Marty's townhouse. Bill looked up the address for me. As it happened, he also had Marty's telephone number, and we called first, so as not to be impolite and take Marty by surprise. To arrive uninvited would be to invite discipline.

But the number that Bill had for Marty had been changed. A voice clicked on the wire after the ringing of the phone was mechanically intercepted. "I'm sorry, but the number you have reached is not in service at this time. The number you have reached is not temporarily disconnected, and is not in service at this time."

It was a recording, and I assumed it meant that Marty had changed his number to an unlisted one. Bill said that the last time he had spoken to Marty had been over a year ago.

Knowing the address was enough, though. That was the important thing. So what if I was inviting punishment on myself by coming without calling first!

Bill told me that it would be just as easy to get to Marty's place by bus as it would to get there any other way. There was a bus which practically went from our door to his.

I was wet in anticipation of my second set of lessons from Marty. I held my legs tightly together, feeling the stickiness between them. I was excited. I was aroused. My sex lips were very pink and inflamed with desire.

Bill sat next to me in the rear of the bus. It was an off hour, and there were one or two other people at the front of the bus, and a woman with her children still behind us on the back seat.

The family behind us was rather noisy. I think that they were Spanish. They were all talking at once.

Even though my concentration was on what was to happen when I arrived at Marty's place, I did pick up bits and pieces of the dialogue going on behind me. True, much of it seemed to be in Spanish, but some of it was in English.

One of the younger boys was babbling on about something. Since he did speak only in Spanish, I was lost as to what he was saying.

His mother answered him by saying something about the fact that he "should have thought about that back at the house" and that "now it was too late because they were on the bus for a long ride."

He continued to whine and finally she responded angrily, also in Spanish.

That might have been the end of the conversation. However, something caused me to look down at the floor. Perhaps my newfound sexual interests were deeper than I imagined, and some sixth sense had caused me to glance downward at that moment.

The young boy, obviously unable to hold it in, had pissed on the floor at the rear of the bus! I looked around. His mother's face showed an angry expression. I guess, however, that she had told him to pee on the floor rather than have them all get off the bus after having paid their fares.

With the forward motion of the bus, the urine started to flow down the aisle of the bus. I saw it coming close to me.

I had everything I could do to keep myself from pouncing down on it. Can you imagine how much I wanted that stuff? After my training session with. Master Marty and Madame Lisa, I had been made to respond to such a thing, and I do mean respond with fury.

Oh, how I wanted that stuff. Of course, I knew that if I did what I wanted to do, the family behind would be quickly ushered off the bus by the mother. Even though she would hate to pay new fares, and even though she had advised her boy to piss on the floor to avoid doing that, I know that she would have gotten them all the hell out of there if she had seen me acting like a woman crazy for piss.

But that was exactly what I was, and although all of this went by unnoticed as far as Bill was concerned, I knew that if I had been on the bus with Marty, I would have already been forced to my hands and knees to lick up that piss until the surface of my tongue was raw and every drop had been swallowed!

We were close to Marty's place. I could feel it. Not only did the neighborhood become closer to the way I recalled Marty's neighborhood, but there was a crackling in the air which set my teeth on edge.

"This is the stop," Bill told me. He helped me off the bus.

"Aren't you going to go in with me?" I asked him.

"No way. I told you, this scene is too damn much for me. When you need a good spanking and a good fucking, let me know. For now, you're on your own."

So I was left on my own and I used my nose to direct me to the house. It was almost as if I could smell it out.

I felt like a little girl being left by her Daddy the first day of school.

Who knows what Marty had in store for me this time? I felt that he had been waiting for me, plotting what he would do on the day I returned for more abuse.

I entered the house. It was unlocked. These people didn't have fears. They were not breaking any laws or harming anyone who didn't want to be harmed.

True, Marty would do things against the will of his slaves. But he would also make sure that he had slaves who were committed to their training.

When I entered the foyer, there was a tall woman waiting for me, or it seemed to me, at least, that she was positioned there in anticipation of me. She was strikingly beautiful, but in a cruel way. Her eyes were shockingly violet, and I knew that they could register purple violence and anger.

"We've been expecting you," she said.

"Have we met before?" I asked.

"I was one of the party guests the other night. I watched you go through your paces. It was inspiration for me. I, too, require such training. I only hope and pray that I can do as well as you in taking it. You're really good at it."

"I've been suffering already. Master Marty told me that I wouldn't be permitted to begin my training until you returned. There was fear on my part that you wouldn't come back. And then, I know that Master Marty would have made me wait forever."

"But he must have known with certainty that I would be back for more of the same. He is a cruel Master."

"Yes, he is."

It was then that he appeared. Speak of the devil!

"Strip," he said, snapping his fingers.

He didn't give us much time. He looked at the grandfather clock on the wall. The pendulum was swinging back and forth, back and forth, hypnotizing so. Once he had us both stripped nude, we would swing like that, too.

"Get into the sixty-nine position," he said to us.

We did as we were told, lying on the floor with my mouth on the other girl's pussy and her mouth on mine. I am not a lesbian. I do not relish the idea of being so close to another girl's privates, no matter how beautiful she and her pussy might be.

But this, too, was part of my training. Forced lesbianism.

The brute!

He had it all worked out. When we were on the floor in that position, he fastened ropes around us to keep us like that. He inserted a tube into my mouth and the connection, as you might guess, was inserted in the other girl's private place. .

"I call this the piss connection," he laughed sadistically.

The girl was looking at him with fear and excitement in her eyes.

The girl, whose name was Alice, hadn't told me that Master Marty had forbidden her to urinate since her arrival at his townhouse many hours earlier.

Of course, throughout her stay, he had given her tall glasses filled with various liquors.

He had also given her another of his devilish treats. The ice cubes! There was no way of telling it at first, because the cubes were submerged in her drinks. But when she finished her drinks, she noticed that the ice cubes were yellow in color.

"Suck on them," Marty insisted. "They're flavored."

I can only imagine the expression on Alice's face when she tasted them melting in her mouth.

But obviously, it hadn't turned her completely off. Perhaps, in fact, the piss cubes, as Master Marty called them, had awakened those inner desires. She wanted to be a slave girl now.

When we were both in the uncompromising position, Master Marty attached our naked bodies to a harness which he then hoisted up to some contraption on the ceiling. We were then forced to swing back and forth according to Master Marty's whim.

He had control of the motions we went through. It was humiliating.

Some of the people who I had seen days before were still at the house; still in the evil party spirit. Of course, the slave girls who had taken residence with Master Marty for training, were still there.

Fortunately, some of the guests didn't pay any attention to us as all. I guess that they were too busy engaging in their own bizarre adventures.

I could hear Alice and her muffled crying. I could feel her tears on my pussy patch. It was, perhaps, more difficult for her to endure this torture, because Marty had seen to it that when we swung back and forth like a pendulum from the harness, it was Alice who was positioned upside down!

All the blood was rushing to her head. I knew how uncomfortable it must have been for her.

Not that I had an easy time of it. Not at all. I was forced to drink her piss. She had consumed a lot and now it was I who had to consume it all again, this time, recycled, if you know what I mean.

Even as I swung naked back and forth from the ceiling, bound to the pussy of another slave girl, I wondered what further humiliations Master Marty had up his sleeve.

He joked about it, saying that he was into conservation. He said that he believed in recycling natural wastes. He said that the recycled liquids I was drinking now would later be given to still another girl.

He was insane!

But he was in control and I had willingly returned to him, holding my naked wrists out to him for cuffing. I had returned, licking my luscious lips in a plea for degradation, pain, and piss!