Rage Against the Latrine Ch. 23

"Let's have a shower and go to bed," Portia suggested to her husband as the room emptied; they had watched my degradation. I stripped, showered and removed the butt plug with just a couple of drunken revellers watching. I had no privacy, and no dignity.

When I felt clean, I found my fiancée in the kitchen, playing Spin The Bottle. She offered me a place at the table, but I kissed and bade goodnight to my lover and went to bed. I would not have been able to keep up with Natasha's raucous party games.

I woke without my partner by my side; the flat was eerily quiet as I padded the threadbare carpets and found my fiancée hunched over a toilet bowl. "Shit! You must have had too much to drink if you've started throwing up."

My partner glared at me. "I... have... fucking... eaten... something!" She cried between heaves. Natasha's stomach was bulletproof, and I said nothing as I used the other toilet.

"Breakfast? There's a cafe down the road, so I'm going to get a load of brekkie rolls." The green-faced woman nodded, and I got dressed and meandered into the street with a canvas bag. I bought a pack of tea bags and milk from the mini market and then ordered thirty sausage and bacon rolls from the eatery. The waitress's eyes bulged when I placed the order, but several minutes later, I arranged the food on the kitchen table and filled the kettle from the tap. The attendees I knew staggered from their beds, equally hungover and ill as my fiancée. They gratefully took a greasy sandwich from the pile on the table along with a tea in a plastic cup.

The amount of empty bottles and cans filled four black bin bags. "Some of the girls and guys from the bottom two floors joined us," Faye explained as I tried to calculate how much alcohol my beloved had likely drunk. "When we set up yesterday, we ran into them and they said they'd join in. That way they couldn't complain about the music as they were at the fucking party! And they were well up for our party games."

"I remember," I muttered. We spent twenty minutes tidying the flat. Fox packed the commode chairs and took the band's luggage to the minibus, and I carried the waste bags to the car park.

I approached Natasha, sat in the kitchen and talking to her bandmates. "You ready to go home now? We've tidied up." She giggled and looked at Faye.

"Look out of the fucking window." I glanced at the street below as a large limousine pulled alongside the minibus. "See it?"

"The limo? But why?"

"Every tour we end on a night out with the girls. You know that!"

"But... what about last night?"

"That was just the warm-up act," Faye explained.

"We're off to a posh hotel in central London and we're going to have a fucking good time." Natasha giggled at my expression. "I'll be back tomorrow evening, after we've done the filming for the BBC." I gulped as she leapt from her chair. My fiancée kissed me on the cheek, patted me on the bum and left the room with a swagger.

Svetlana was incredibly hungover. The blonde beauty chugged a couple of pints of water as her short, brown-skinned companion scoffed a breakfast roll. "Worse for wear?"

"I've never drunk that much before," Natasha's sister complained. She glanced at her friend, who sniggered. "Apart from when I first met Mary."

"Honey, I saw you every day," her companion replied, still chewing mouthfuls of sausage and bacon.

The innocent beauty blushed. "Mary ran the University cafe outside my lecture theatre."

"Until the Uni tried to privatise us."

"So, I started a campaign, and we saved it," Svetlana added. "They backed down."

"And we had a party to celebrate. Nothing like this, but Svez got so drunk." The young woman rubbed the back of Svetlana's hand affectionately, and the blonde smiled and then glanced at me.

Her grin disappeared. "Don't tell my Dad. Please do not let him know. He'll freak. It's just..."

"Of course I won't!"

"Mum guessed. Nats knows. But I can't deal with his disapproval. You saw what he does to Adam."

"Natasha isn't what you call heterosexual. Or monogamous, but you know that." Svetlana sighed as I spoke. "You said last Christmas, when we first met, that 'boys were disgusting.'" She blushed as I teased her. "I understand what you meant now!"

"Yeah, you are. And you enjoy being pissed on? That's pretty weird."

I nodded. "I like that, but there are lesbians into watersports too," I muttered. "Are they disgusting?"

She sniggered. After my chat with Svetlana, I drove Tubby and Portia into Central London, and parked my vehicle in the underground car park of my employer. We walked down the busy Christmas shopping street as the newlyweds held hands and then had lunch at an eatery opposite the mainline station.

Portia and Tubby had spoken little to each other about the night before, and when my friend went to the toilet, I broached the subject. "He's overwhelmed. He ticked off all his fantasies in one evening, and he didn't expect to do that much. Especially the blowjobs and the hotwifing. We're going to discuss it after Christmas. He wants to do it all again, and I really enjoyed the sex and the dominance, but we need to set some ground rules and talk it through." I nodded; I understood completely. "They are filthy, but Natasha gave us the outfits for our dressing-up box and he's desperate to wear them. I couldn't believe what she arranged for us both. I told her what kinks Tubby said he wanted to try, and she just did everything. Your fiancée is incredible."

"Yes, she is. And as long as you're OK. It was quite a lot."

"Yeah, we're fine. It was an experience. An amazing experience. An incredible experience. But I have so many mixed emotions. As does Tubby. We just need to talk through them all." I understood, and when Tubby returned to the table, we crossed the road and I saw my two friends on the train.

I had plenty of work to do in Sarratt Green, and I was a little disappointed that Natasha was not home with me, but I knew the life of a music star was irregular. She messaged me some pictures from inside a spa in the afternoon, a restaurant in the evening, and then a nightclub before midnight.

I listened to a pre-recorded interview with the band on the radio on Sunday as I cleaned the house and my fiancée arrived home late-afternoon. I wanted to take her to the pub in the centre of the village as she unpacked her bags from the minibus, driven by Fox, but she asked to have a quiet night in.

"I was ill this morning. I just want to relax."

"Something you ate again?"

"Too much vodka," she airily dismissed, and we curled on the sofa together to watch television.

When Natasha threw up the following morning, I raided my medicine cabinet and approached my fiancée with a pregnancy test. "Samantha had a scare, and we bought a couple. I knew there was one we didn't use."

"I'm not knocked up." She snapped. "I know."

"So you came on last week?" I asked, thinking back to her words in Oxford when we had unprotected sex. "Your cycle started a few days ago."

"No. I haven't. But it's a fucking male myth that every woman bleeds every 28 days. We are not the moon. I've been stressed. It's not that weird for me to be out by a few days. Most women are not that regular."

She argued with me and only relented when I asked to be underneath her morning stream with the test. I laid beneath my fiancée with the white plastic stick as she released her pee in the shower cubicle, soaking my body and my hands with her deep yellow nectar. It reeked and the harsh acidic flow scorched my nostrils as the jet of intense honey sprinkled over me.

I scrambled to put the test on the sink before she turned on the hot water tap. We showered together, kissing and soaping, before she wrapped herself in a towel and left the en-suite.

I glanced at the medical strip and padded into the room behind her. "Natasha," I called to get her attention. "I'm going to be a dad!"

"Fuck off!" She cried, and I held the white plastic aloft, illustrating the bright pink marker on the strip to my disbelieving fiancée. "Oh, fucking buggering hell!"