Rage Against the Latrine Ch. 25

This is the penultimate chapter of my story. I'd like to thank all of my readers for their generous feedback and patience. This is the longest episode by a sizeable margin: over 12,000 words, or four times longer than the smallest part so far, and therefore it has required - as Natasha would say - "a fuck load of fucking editing."

So, please enjoy Natasha's second Christmas with John.

*****

The following day, as we cuddled in bed, I asked Natasha about her cryptic comment regarding Samantha. "If the baby is healthy, then I want to have it," she confessed. "It scares the fuckin' shit out of me, but everyone reckons we'll be wonderful parents. I wanna get married after I've dropped it, though. I'm not getting hitched when I am the size of a fucking whale."

I felt relief that the uncertainty had gone, and while it was early in her pregnancy, the prospect of being a father excited me. Natasha set a couple of conditions, and one of these was that sex would not stop when she "got fat." There was no chance I would avoid intimacy with my gravid fiancée, and we consummated my promise with a few orgasms by cunnilingus, before we indulged in some rough pegging that left me drained.

Natasha was especially keen to exert her sexuality since her decision. Each day that followed, she expressed her dominance forcefully. For three days, in between Christmas shopping and media interviews, she was insatiable: barely a drop of her pee didn't end up on my skin, and she forced my lips between her legs whenever possible. My fiancée spanked, plugged, and plundered my backside every evening as she imposed her sex drive on me. I enjoyed her dominant hedonism.

During the summer, I found a charming Grade II listed cottage for holiday let in a village three miles north of Windermere and paid a four-figure sum to rent the sixteenth century property for ten days over Christmas and New Year. The old post office on the narrow cul-de-sac possessed traditional charm with exposed wood beams.

As we packed, my bisexual lover stipulated she expected our trip to be a filthy, debauched adventure, and she wanted to push my limits. With parenthood on the horizon, the opportunities for these sorts of adventures would become more limited, and Natasha was determined to enjoy the festive break. I had booked a property with four bedrooms, as I suspected that my fiancée and I would have some additional visitors. Faye and Nessie, who had got exceedingly close in the days before and after the chart show, and were now "in a relationship", asked about joining us in The Lake District. Bohdana, Natasha's cousin, had pleaded to stay, as had Monika.

Jamie travelled to use the last bedroom with his partner. The non-binary student had argued with their parents over their lifestyle and, on the umpteenth day of arguments, the "boi" messaged if they could come to Windermere over the festive period. We collected Monika's red-haired cheeky submissive from a service station near Oxford, and the provocative nymph wore tight leather trousers with a bright-pink profanity-laden T-shirt criticising their family's political party.

Five of us had travelled in my saloon four days after the BBC confirmed Bitches Against as the Christmas Number One and the radio edit of their song played through my speakers while my car smoothly ate up the miles on the motorway. I visited my parents for a couple of hours in Preston and my folks delighted at meeting my fiancée again, as well as congratulating the two punk rockers on their musical success.

We reached the cottage in the dark and walked to the village pub for tea. Everyone was tired after the hectic week and long journey, and by ten in the evening, the house was serene as we dozed. The rented abode had two bedrooms downstairs, with a spacious bathroom and kitchen; a pair of smaller double chambers existed upstairs with a shared toilet and shower. Myself and Natasha picked the largest room on the ground floor. Faye and her new girlfriend opted for the adjacent bedroom, also with a king-sized bed.

The following day, I collected Monika, Stephen, and Bohdana from Windermere at lunchtime. Natasha's cousin and her boyfriend, who went to different universities, beamed as they sat on the double bed in their upstairs bedroom. Stephen's religious mother had given her son little privacy as a college student, and while the couple needed to spend Christmas Day with their families, they planned to stay with us over the festive break. We agreed to do our celebration on Boxing Day, so I frequented the supermarket to buy a large quantity of food and a larger amount of alcohol for our holiday.

Several friends of Monika, Stephen, Bohdana and Natasha visited in the two days before the festive period. Many wanted to meet the superstars, who dominated the music headlines, but also to spend time with their mates. My fiancée adored the attention and acted as the "lady of the house" with her generous hosting and domineering behaviour. One of her first instructions was that she believed Nessie, myself and Jamie - the submissives - should be naked while in the cottage, regardless who else was present.

We obliged, and the dominant exhibitionism raised the erotic tension a little, but we mostly kept sex to our bedrooms. After two weeks of debauchery, Faye and Natasha ensured the public displays of group hedonistic depravity were minimal, and apart from the odd spank or fondle, the shared areas of the house were free of sexual activity. There was also no partner swapping-- the only sex I had in those days was with Natasha.

When we left the holiday home, Jamie's brave wardrobe grabbed attention. The student had brought an eclectic blend of male and female clothing and mixed them. From scandalous booty shorts, pink kilts, fishnet stockings and elegant dresses, the "boi" adored their feminine attire, and with their long scarlet hair and graceful poise, they did not appear masculine at all, especially as a first impression.

The Christmas Eve Popbitch newsletter, entitled "Popbitches Again!" had an abundance of Bitches Against content; their chart success had propelled the unknown punk rockers into the limelight, and the band had spent seven years enjoying themselves. The gossipmongers had several tours worth of rumours and tales to publish, and the stories in the sensational e-mail about my fiancée and her friends were scandalous. Natasha made me read them aloud.

"The receptionist at a Midlands hotel observed which member of Bitches Against streak after a drunken card game through the lobby and into the car park, before kissing every lucky attendee of a stag party as she returned via the bar. When she lost again, her forfeit was to find the groom, and then the machine in the gents."

"There are many musicians who can drink legendary amounts, but a member of Bitches Against may even have had Keith Richards, Ozzy Osbourne, or Keith Moon under the table. On a recent trip to Manchester, they had a liquid lunch, then joined a Hen Do in the afternoon, a Stag Party in the evening, went clubbing until the small hours and then did shots with the bar staff at the rock cafe until dawn. At around 60 units of alcohol, they must have been one beer away from driving a motor into the Stockport Swimming Pool?"

I read almost a dozen stories to Natasha and Faye, who chuckled as the tales flowed from my mobile phone. "Half of them are completely true, three more are mostly accurate and one is nonsense," the red-haired lesbian replied. "But I'm not telling you which is which!"

"I reckon Yasmin or Maddison did the drinking," I told her. "And Nats with the drunken streak and shagging the groom for a bet."

My fiancée gasped in horror. "Fuck you, bitch! I do not lose at cards. That was Paula. She's dog-shit at Poker. That's why we played it. And she didn't just have the stag, she had the entire party. Or all those who wanted to play."

On Christmas Day, we took the creatively dressed Jamie to Monika's house after her family invited the student to join them for their familial celebrations, and Natasha and I visited her parents. Ruslana fussed when she saw her pregnant daughter and cooed over the ring. "What's this?" Her father thundered, entering the kitchen where we congregated. "You getting in the family way? Before you tie the knot. Disgusting that a child of mine needs a shotgun wedding." My fiancée and her mother traded glances.

"Or... we could just be normal for today's society, Dad. And thank you for your warm congratulations on my stunning musical success, my engagement and my pregnancy." Natasha's response was calm and lacked her usual profanity.

"That's not the decent thing to do, and you know it." He tapped me roughly on the shoulder. "And you should have known better, impregnating my daughter."

"Well, he's not allowed to impregnate anyone else now we are engaged," Natasha responded. "It would fuck me right off if he did. And to be fair, it was only ten minutes after he proposed that he knocked me up! We were in the mood."

Her father's face glowered, and Ruslana interrupted before he could speak. "Matthew, love. Another time. Not today." She glared at him and the overweight lay preacher scowled as he left the room. "I told him he's not allowed to start. And that goes for you, too. No winding him up like you always do. And no alcohol. You're pregnant. No booze, OK?" Natasha spluttered into her coffee, but her parent did not relent.

We caught up on the latest news inside Natasha's family; Olga had a baby girl, and Ruslana had plenty of pictures of the newborn. The Police had cautioned Ruslana's mother, an octogenarian, for assaulting a would-be teenage thief trying to break into Bowness Village Hall. The great-grandmother also had a "new boyfriend" who was a sprightly 76 years old.

Ruslana passed a packet of photographs from the kitchen drawer to her daughter with a wicked grin; Natasha's eyes bulged when she saw her leather-clad parent wearing a mask, holding a cane over a hooded, exposed man, face down on the ground. The pictures were all highly pornographic. "There's this group I've joined, and we have set up an Onlyfans account. It came out of the swingers' club and we have been having so much fun. We have hundreds of subscribers already." Natasha paused over a photograph of her mother naked, gagged and spreadeagled on a double bed, surrounded by four erect pricks. "That was a great evening. I was so sore the next day. But in a good way." The image of my fiancée's mum urinating over a young woman as the helpless, nude submissive ate from a dog bowl was particularly arousing.

"Jesus. It looks amazing. I'd love to see it! That pic is fucking fabulous."

Ruslana chuckled. "Yeah, that was a great session. We only do BDSM once-in-a-while but it's amazing. Alfredo is a lecturer in photography and he has lots of people who want to build up their erotic portfolios. Jane and her hubby wife-swap and swing and they own Mount Pleasant Farm on the road to Ambleside. They converted a barn into the swingers' club and we film there every week. Incredible fun. I'm in twenty-five videos, and Alfredo's students come sometimes and take the stills. They're awesome."

"Does Dad know? Has he seen them?"

"A bit. He's... he wouldn't understand! Your father doesn't like Alfredo much. Or Conan, or any of the others. He thinks they have casual morals."

"Do they?" I asked.

Ruslana smiled. "Of course they do. That's why it's fun! I've told him I'm fucking other people, and he has to live with that or we divorce. He wasn't happy with the situation, but I promised I won't be too obvious and as a compromise I have to be celibate on Sundays and go to his church services as a dutiful wife. Sinner for six days, saint for one. Not the worse trade. But this is doing him good as your dad screwed me last week in a position other than missionary." Natasha spluttered into her drink as her mother giggled. "He still can't make me orgasm, though. Your father seriously needs to read less Bible and more Kama Sutra. He does not know where the clitoris is, or anything south of my navel. It's a bloody wonder we had four kids."

Natasha blushed, and I think she was grateful the conversation moved onto other topics. We chatted to Svetlana and had a nice, relaxing dinner without the drama of the previous year. The younger sister teased my fiancée over dessert. "But it said Natasha will give you spanks," she recounted, reading from the Christmas Hit's lyrics. "And it says she's turned the air quite blue."

"Fuck off!" my lover joked. "And I remember you being a little brat and you got a few swats. I was always babysitting you and Adam, and you were a fucking bitch." Svetlana gasped in mock outrage, and after the banquet, we played board games, ate some supper before we drove to Monika's home.

The soubrette invited us in to the lounge to meet her parents. "This is Natasha. That's Bohdana's cousin, the punk rocker and music legend. And this is her fiancé." Her father's eyes narrowed a little; he sized me up as he wondered who this person, who had spent so much time with his eldest daughter, was and what my intentions were. "John has this lovely house near London. It's in the countryside but close enough to the station and he works around the corner from where I live. We see each other every Friday after work."

The older gentleman was overweight but not obese; his festive jumper stretched over his belly and the green paper hat did not hide his greying and balding hair. I held my hand out to him. "Merry Christmas."

He hummed; it was clear Monika got most of her beauty and elegance from her mother - the same blonde mane, facial features and slate-grey eyes. "He looks after me and we went to Oxford together to see Bitches Against." Her father's scowl deepened. Especially when the dominant teenager, tipsy from alcohol, put her hand on my waist.

Her mother's grimace expanded. "Didn't he buy you that outfit..."

"Oh yeah, and he took me to Agent Provocateur in the summer. I love their underwear and I chose that one which he bought for me. But Mum, look at this ring."

Natasha showed Monika's family her jewelled finger as her parents exchanged glances and studied me further. "What d'ya do?" Her father asked. "Where do you work?" The questions continued in a weird accent: a mix of French and Lancashire. I could tell he desperately wanted to sit me down and ask on how many occasions I had screwed his daughter.

The truth was none. I had inserted none of my body parts into his eldest child. I had been submissive at all times and done everything his angelic sadist had demanded. "Shall we get back to the cottage?" Monika asked as she stood up and swayed.

"See how Faye and Nessie are," I airily said. "They have had the house to themselves all day."

"They've just got together. They'll be screwing!" Monika tactlessly uttered. "You know that! Wall-to-wall shagging!"

Her father cleared his throat. "Does that happen with all new relationships?" He asked, looking at the pansexual, non-binary polygamist his eldest daughter was standing next to. Jamie wore a shirt, tie and jacket with a short black skirt, fishnet stockings and colourful Doc Martens boots, and they blushed at the question.

The tipsy student giggled. "Oh, of course." She gave her younger sister a wink as she patted Jamie on the bum. "You always screw like rabbits at the beginning, Dad. You did when you were a teenager. Grandma still teases you about you being caught kissing mum in the hay bales. I'm not a nun."

Natasha, unusually the most sober person in the room, recognised the intensifying scowls on Monika's parents and interrupted the blundering dominatrix to steer the conversation away from the perverted sex life of the University student.

"And make sure you leave John's number with us when you go back. So we have someone to contact if you have any trouble," her mother added, and Monika giggled when she reached the car.

"Honestly, my dad is awful. He seriously tried to work out if we'd had sex or not. Of course, I get laid."

"You're his little girl," I told her as my car pulled away, but she didn't understand. There were some things a child should not divulge to their parents.

"It'd turn his hair grey if he knew what I did at Uni!" she confessed, chuckling as my lover drove through the town centre.

"Quite," I replied. "He didn't need to know. And you almost told him!"

On Christmas Day evening, Natasha and I hung full stockings on the bedroom doors before going to bed. We had arranged with our guests that we would pay for the accommodation and food, and that would be our main present to our friends, but in mid-December, I received an unexpectedly large bonus from work, and in the small number of days after the chart show and our holiday, we did a sizeable amount of gift shopping. We both wanted to treat those who had enriched our lives so much over the previous year.

Each stocking contained a bottle of alcohol, some chocolates, a sex toy, something kinky, a book, and some clothing. No-one expected to receive them, and on Boxing Day morning we heard an array of excited shrieks from the house and shouts of appreciation.

Monika entered our bedroom, dressed in her new nightdress, holding the ornate whip to thank us; her partner wore their festive Christmas lingerie and chastity cage to do likewise. Faye came into the kitchen wearing her new Sex Pistols T-shirt, and Nessie had a vibrating butt plug from her stocking buzzing between her buttcheeks.

After breakfast, we opened the presents from under the tree. I had bought the main Christmas gifts with Natasha, and Monika unwrapped a black Latex catsuit and a scandalous lingerie set from Agent Provocateur. Jamie unpacked a new graphics card for his computer and he squealed in excitement, kissing both of us.

Bohdana and Stephen received a cocktail-making weekend class for two in mid-January and the equipment they needed. I'd also put in £100 each in supermarket vouchers so they could purchase their spirits. Natasha believed that this would bring them closer together as they did not attend the same university and they had a long-distance relationship outside of the holiday seasons. Faye and Nessie each had a voucher for ten hours of horse-riding lessons and a new camera, and I bought my pregnant lover jewellery.

In October, Faye had arranged for a photographer on the balcony to capture the moment I proposed to my fiancée, and we unwrapped a large print of the occasion. I stared at the picture, reliving the few seconds as I waited for Natasha's answer in front of thousands of people. Nessie had found a photo on the Internet when I had met Natasha in Bristol, and my fiancée had urinated over me on stage; she framed that photograph of the golden shower which I knew would be ideal for my office. My exposure to pee play and the first time I had ever spoken to the wonderful punk rocker.

Stephen and I cooked a delicious four course meal, and we drank an unhealthy amount of booze for our festive celebrations. There was an undercurrent of sex and licentiousness without being overly sordid. The three submissives sat naked with the clothed quintet as we chatted and played cards.

That changed the following day after breakfast. Faye and Nessie went for a long walk to Helvellyn to try their new camera, and Stephen's parents expected Stephen and Bohdana at their house to meet his extended family at their local church. The four of us drank tea in the lounge and when the doorbell rang, Monika sent her partner, wearing just his chastity cage, to answer it.

I worried it was a neighbour and that Jamie would expose themselves, but the grin on Natasha's face was one of calm malevolence. She knew who the visitor was.

Adam, my future brother-in-law, and Joseph, his boyfriend, strode into the room in front of the bare-bottomed Jamie. My fiancée hugged them, welcoming the pair. "I thought you were away," I told them, recounting the regret Ruslana had showed that one of her children had not visited for Christmas.