Rage Against the Latrine Ch. 11

The punk rockers stayed most weekends and often managed a few days midweek. Their management regularly posted photographs from their sessions on their social media page, and their candid images grew the band's following considerably. Vixen, the band's legendary manager, was exceedingly keen to add to their stock library of the band, and she had booked photographers for two of their forthcoming concerts on their tour. Natasha moaned vociferously when she heard their management also planned to release a calendar at Christmas, but I knew she would not complain about the extra money this would bring in.

I saw the band members half-naked when they practised and got an excellent view of their splayed cunts when they urinated over me. The annexe had become their space and Nessie accompanied them whenever she was free to be their maid, their bitch, their plaything and their lover.

Watersports had turned into a key part of my sex life. I had adored Natasha for years, but my girlfriend never missed an opportunity to dominate me. My long-held admiration for the beautiful punk rocker had grown intertwined with my newfound lust for sexual humiliation, and I now craved the submissive feeling of being spanked or lying underneath a pissing woman. My dominant lover had hard-wired my sexuality to be her piss boy and her oral slave.

Natasha's vehicle even made it into the gossip newsletter when they profiled "The Cars of the Stars" with a salacious story.

"Which female punk rocker was bought a second-hand car by her new boyfriend and broke it in by going to nearby woodland track with her co-star to engage in two hours of hardcore lesbian sex? They surprised a dog walker who witnessed the red-headed musician bury her face into her lead singer's hairless snatch on the back seat. Next time, get a room, ladies."

My girlfriend giggled as I read it out. "It was not two fucking hours," Natasha spat. "And anyway, screwing Faye is allowed. Lesbians are OK, even when I'm not on tour." Her eyes rose. "Or on Stag Parties in the Med."

"Yeah, it's fine," I muttered as I passed her a coffee. "Of course I don't mind."

"Good. Because Faye is sometimes my bitch."

"Honey, everyone is your bitch!" I joked, and she nodded.

"And don't you fucking forget it!" Her phone pinged and her eyes sparkled. "Oh, and I've given your ex seven days to pick up her shit from the house."

"Why?" I asked, slightly annoyed. "That's..."

"You said I could," she reminded me. "Easter, remember? That was ages ago."

I grumbled a little, but my girlfriend had not been unreasonable. Samantha and I had split up in November, six months previously, and my former beau had continued to use my house - and my smallest spare bedroom - as her storage unit. My new girlfriend, contacting my ex-girlfriend, had potential for explosiveness, especially as one side of that equation was the combustible musician.

My worries were well founded.

Samantha initially ignored the stream of texts from Natasha. On Wednesday, Sam contacted me and the punk rocker took my phone and replied to the obstinate woman on my behalf by detailing - in no uncertain terms - that my ex was to collect her items from my house before three in the afternoon on Sunday, or they would be removed.

Samantha then complained that it was too short notice and claimed that she would "sue me if her stuff was broken." She stated that she would "collect it when it was convenient for her." Alas, for my ex, Natasha spoke to her record company's solicitor, who texted my partner an appropriate legal reply to pass on to my former lover.

The band's arrival on Friday night meant my girlfriend stayed in the annexe with her friends, and they practised their album and tour set on Saturday. Nessie - stripped nude - waited on them, and she came across to help me tidy and clean the house. I know I adored Natasha, but the long-haired, nubile gorgeousness of the submissive merchandise saleswoman, pushing a hoover while naked was a gloriously arousing sight, and the postman had lingering eyes when she walked into the garden to collect a small parcel from him. Nudity was her normal, and she didn't care who saw her.

In the evening, I cooked a giant pot of risotto and we shared a couple of bottles of wine. The band drank more booze with their meal, and before we had consumed the last piece of gateau, Natasha had stripped me naked on the grass outside, and perched her derriere over my face.

"Open, piss slut," she demanded.

My lips were wide, eager to receive my girlfriend's golden discharge once more. A sharp, bitter taste of acrid pungency as she filled my mouth, her pee splashed across my face and cascaded over my cheek. She exhaled as her liquid, spraying from her slit, covered me in her nastiness.

She knew I loved her degradation; my erect cock was proof of this. She understood how much I needed to feel her piss soak into my skin and fill my nostrils with her overwhelming, acrid smell. I drifted into my submission, taking solace and relief from her actions.

"Nessie," my lover barked. The innocent submissive hurried to my girlfriend's side. "Piss on John." She squatted over my face. Natasha knelt beside me and lifted my head into Nessie's leaking cunt. "Fucking lick it," she demanded as the pale yellow jet fired from the young woman and filled my mouth.

I spluttered. The deluge of pee covered my nose and my lips. I could not breathe. Drowning, as Natasha waterboarded me with me with her employee's waste. My dominant girlfriend released her grip on my head, and pushed her hand into Nessie's stream, rubbing her wet hands over my face. She squeezed my nostrils, forcing me to inhale and ingest more of the torrent as I breathed through my mouth.

When Nessie finished, it was Faye's turn, and then Paula and then Yasmin. Each time, my girlfriend forced my face into the flood and smothered the gushing piss into my skin. She taunted me, humiliated me and left me so horny. As the last woman stood up, Natasha wiped her hands on my T-shirt and threw the garment into my chest. "You're fucking disgusting," she spat and, looking at me no further, walked away, abandoning me in a pool of muddy pee.

The five women left me alone in my garden. I needed to climax, with lust overpowering all of my senses. It only took a few strokes of my erect prick, as I continued to inhale the bitter, urea-laden scent of their urine, until I covered my pee soaked skin with cum. I scuttled inside to shower and Natasha sent me a message containing a smiley emoji underneath a photograph, taken from the top floor of the annexe, of me masturbating.

She knew I'd play with myself. My girlfriend could read me like an open book.

I had reports to review on Sunday, and I woke early; I fried up a dozen eggs, two dozen rashers of bacon with mushrooms, toast, tomatoes and a giant pot of tea. Groggy heads in the annexe thanked me for my efforts and I settled in my study to read the material from work. By lunchtime, Nessie had washed up and cleaned the kitchen, and the naked girl was waiting on the band and serving me in my office. She dutifully supplied me with coffee as I heard the aggressive music coming from the outbuilding interspersed with occasional quarrels and fights.

Nessie cooked pizzas for lunch, which stopped the arguments for twenty minutes, and then when the singing resumed, the sporadic fighting restarted.

At two-thirty, a car I did not recognise drew alongside my study window and I saw the familiar face of my ex-girlfriend emerge from the passenger seat. She scowled at the annexe and looked around the driveway, full of strange cars. I slipped out of my office to meet her.

Samantha had gained weight; her lithe body was now slightly podgy, and there was a roundness to her cheeks. She had dyed her hair too; the natural brunette was a golden brown, and there was a downtrodden look to her appearance. Her clothes were tattier, and she had put no make-up on. I'd never seen her like that.

"Sam," I called from the front garden as she approached the annexe door. She turned towards the house, noticing me for the first time. "How are you?"

"Oh dandy!" She snapped. "Don't know why you can't keep my stuff in your spare room for me. This was my home, too."

"And now it isn't," I replied coolly. "We have brought it all down for you. It's in the Conservatory." Samantha grumbled as she marched across my driveway and I saw the sight of Nessie, still naked, at the front door of the annexe. I was grateful my former girlfriend had not seen the nubile beauty, and I subtly waved the bare-assed merchandise saleswoman away.

I helped my ex-girlfriend carry her stuff to the car. Her friend, the driver, loaded the boxes into her hatchback. No words were said or uttered, and I created a small mountain of items beside their motor on the gravel of my driveway. The two women needed to do a lot of reorganisation to fit the cardboard crates, stacking beside their vehicle, into the boot. "Put the seats down," I suggested, and Samantha glared at me for suggesting the obvious solution to their problem. "I'll go get the last of it," I added and returned with a large suitcase to a shrieking sound.

"You fucking pervert," Samantha cried as she saw sight of the nude Nessie run across my driveway carrying a bag of empty beer bottles. "Is this your new girlfriend?"

"No," I replied. "This is..."

Samantha's face darkened as she watched the beautiful twenty-one-year-old scamper across the gravel and she interrupted. "You dare to flaunt her to me? Is this your idea of a sick joke? You're a fucking pervert, John." The music stopped as Samantha stood directly in front of me, gesturing wildly. "Is she the bitch that made me empty the spare room of my stuff?"

"No!" Natasha yelled firmly from the doorway of the annexe. "I'm the fucking bitch that did that." Dressed in a black T-shirt and an exceedingly short tartan microskirt, she walked calmly towards my ex-girlfriend while the rest of the band filed outside to watch the ensuing scene.

Natasha took a swig from her beer bottle and stood inches away from my ex. "Now get your fucking stuff and piss off out of our fucking lives. And don't let me fucking see you again."

Samantha's eyes sized Natasha, and she looked her up and down. Her eyes lingered on the scandalously short skirt that barely covered her buttocks, and her scowling, aggressive expression. "You don't get to tell me what to do." My girlfriend hesitated for a moment in thought, leaned forward and burped loudly in my ex-girlfriend's face. Her bandmates burst into laughter as Samantha recoiled. "You filthy bitch," my ex-lover snapped and pushed the punk rocker away.

In an instant, Natasha's fist connected with Samantha's chest and the plump woman tumbled backwards, landing on the dusty driveway. "Natasha," I shouted, stepping between the two women. "Leave it."

My girlfriend inhaled sharply and kicked the large blue suitcase. "Get your shit out of this place. Don't let me fucking see you again."

Samantha and her friend silently loaded their vehicle under the watchful gaze of the five band members, myself and the naked Nessie. Natasha walked to her trendy runaround and brought out three boxes of beer from the boot, which she passed to their bare-assed servant to load in their fridge.

Samantha's car, stuffed to the brim, groaned under the weight of her goods. My ex glared at me as her friend closed the hatch. "I can't believe you have shacked up with this psycho. If that whore's done any damage to my stuff, you'll hear from my lawyer."

"Samantha, just go," I told her. "You're causing trouble."

She snarled at me and gave me the finger as she strode towards the passenger door. She had something in her hand, and, staring directly at Natasha, my ex-lover threw a small pebble at Natasha's new car with her left arm. In her mind, I bet she thought she could smash through the windscreen and then leap into her vehicle to make a getaway.

Alas, for her, the stone bounced off the bumper and Natasha reached my ex-girlfriend before she got close to opening the car door.

Three punches left Samantha on the ground; I tugged at Natasha's shoulder, but my girlfriend pushed me away and knelt on my ex's stomach, before pinning her struggling hands beside her head and peppering her with insults. My onetime beau screamed for help. Natasha sighed, and while staring at Samantha, released a powerful jet of piss over Samantha's waist. "The dirty slag is peeing on me! Get her off me."

"Oh, that's dark," Paula laughed. "Nice one, Nats! Soak that fucking slut!"

I didn't hide my smile as my girlfriend sought retribution against my errant ex. It was a nasty, disgusting punishment, and as Samantha's arms squirmed against Natasha's grip, she screamed for help. Her friend stood rooted in fear, watching the scene unfold with shock and horror etched on her face. Natasha held onto the humiliated woman's wrists as she shouted at her. "If I ever see you here again, it won't just be fucking piss you'll be worried about."

My girlfriend's bladder had been full. She had soaked the top half of her nemesis's shorts and the bottom third of her white T-shirt, while my former lover had struggled against Natasha's superior strength. My lover spat into Samantha's face, sneered, and stood up, backing away from my sodden ex-girlfriend. The humiliated woman gestured at the wet patch over her clothes. "You're disgusting. And you're with this crazed bitch?" Samantha cried as she edged towards the vehicle. "You haven't heard the last of this. I'll have you. All of you."

The band watched silently, with crossed arms, as the car drove away as if they were mafiosi henchmen and Natasha glared at me. "How long were you with her?"

"Too long," I muttered, and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek.

"It will take more than a fucking kiss for me to forgive you for that," she snapped, and unhooked her microskirt so it fell to her ankles. "That needs washing. It's been splashed with piss." She shook her bare arse at me as she strode back towards the annexe. The sight of my ex-girlfriend had irritated Natasha, and while Samantha's actions were nothing to do with me, my former partner's behaviour left my current partner in a funny mood. When her bandmates departed, she strutted into the kitchen. "I wanna do something kinky tonight," she barked as she eat at the meal I cooked. "I want to try some kinkiness with you. Gary used to love it."

"Sure," I muttered, and she barely registered a smile. I didn't know what she wanted to do, but after dinner, she opened her BDSM wooden box, and hummed to herself she looked through her paraphernalia. I trusted my dominant girlfriend, so when she took me upstairs and told me to get undressed and in the en-suite, I offered no objection.

Natasha held an orange bulb in her hand with a long white plastic hollow stick, and she pointed to the shower. "Kneel." My bare knees rested on the cold tiles and she fiddled with the sink before sitting beside me. Her fingers rubbed some slippery lotion into my anus, and I winced as the colourless, rigid tube slowly slipped past my ring.

Warm liquid flooded my insides; I grunted in shock, and she patted my buttocks gently as she propelled the fluid into me. "Is that pee or water?" I asked.

"Water, silly. It's just a douching kit. Getting you ready for step two." She smiled as I looked at her; she withdrew the nozzle from my butt and rubbed my bum tenderly. "Wait for five minutes."

"It feels weird," I moaned, and she held my erect penis in her hand. I groaned as she stroked it. "That's nice."

"Someone fucking likes it," she replied. "Did your crazy ex every do any backside play with you?"

"No. She despised the idea of anal. She hated giving blowjobs. Didn't want to try BDSM or watersports or dressing up. I went down on her. We had sex in the missionary position, and that's it!"

"Fucking hell. How boring?"

"I know. I'm with a deviant now. Life's much better and far more interesting." Natasha laughed, and she got up from her seat. I watched her undress, and she smiled at me as I ogled her. "OK, empty your fucking arse on the bog."

I sat myself on the white porcelain toilet and released a slurry into the bowl that smelt disgusting. Natasha was unfazed, and she filled me again and again until the contents of my butt came out clear. After the fourth time, she showed me what she had done, and my girlfriend watched me douche myself.

She made me kneel on all-fours in front of her, and she rubbed the lubricant on my anus, before something cold pressed against it. "What's that?" I asked, alarmed.

"Just a plug," Natasha replied airily and pressed it against my bud. "Relax. You need to relax." I had never touched my butt before during sex, so relaxing the ring muscle did not come easy. I sighed, closed my eyes and allowed my attention to drift. Deep breaths helped, as did Natasha, stroking my buttocks to reassure and soothe. Her other hand slowly edged the black bulb into my opening.

A weird sensation; a fullness that I never experienced before, as it slipped past my sphincter. She beckoned me to a standing position and kissed me. My fingers touched the rubber plug, and she giggled, whispering in my ear. "It'll not go anywhere," she warned and her hands reached around me and pressed a button on the end of the black sex toy.

Instantly, low, rumbling vibrations came from the rubber bulb and penetrated deep inside me. The base of my balls and groin itched and tickled, stimulated by the guttural thunderous growls from within.

She guided me onto the bed; my forehead rested on the duvet, with my arse in the air, as I took in the pleasure from the vibrating plug. I sighed into the mattress, ignoring Natasha, who fiddled in her drawer. She softly soothed and sadistically paddled my buttocks as I enjoyed the beautiful feelings within. I groaned as she withdrew the toy, and the smooth feel of lubed latex-covered fingers replaced it. Two gloved fingers slipped into my backside, and she massaged the roof of my anal walls.

I squealed; my loins sizzled with desperation, and I felt on the edge of orgasm. She pressed against my prostate, and then she repeatedly pulled her fingers to my ring before slamming them against my special spot.

"Every man loves to have his arse fiddled with," Natasha said.

"It's amazing," I muttered, and she wiggled a third finger into my butt. I pushed against her intrusion, desperate for her to go deeper and quicker. My body fizzled with lust as pre-cum poured from my dick. I gripped the duvet as my girlfriend pressed against my prostate, and my cock bobbed.

"Let's go further," she muttered, and her fingers withdrew. I glanced behind me, and she smiled as her hands rubbed lubricant over a flesh-coloured dildo attached to her waist by a harness. I gulped, but her greasy palms held onto my hips and pressed her strap-on against my open hole.

It slid in.

No resistance, all pleasure.

I cried as she filled me; my body danced to the magical tune of her toy penetrating me, stimulating me and sating me. "You are quite the fucking slut," Natasha teased. "Just like Gary. He used to bust a nut every time I banged him up the shitter. You going to cum for me?"

I gasped. Natasha built a delightful rhythm, thrusting the dildo harder and harder against my P-Spot. My body felt desperate for release, but my cock was barely erect. I could not have been hornier, and yet my dick was untouched, flapping with every forceful thrust against me.

Her thighs slapped against mine as she hammered her dildo into me. "God, you sound like a fucking whore!" Natasha teased as her toy slid across my prostate and I squealed into the duvet. My body shivered and shook as an orgasm swelled from within, but my cock bobbed and leaked a little more pre-cum.

Less than a few minutes of Natasha fucking me, and I knew I had found a favourite sexual activity. I wanted to feel this inexplicable, intense horniness and lust again and again. I climaxed repeatedly, and yet only pre-cum dribbled from my dick, causing a wet spot as it swung underneath me.