Rage Against the Latrine Ch. 28

I missed my fiancée while she was away and welcomed her home with a three-course meal; I toyed with an enormous bouquet, but ordered a Metallica T-shirt and bought her an expensive lingerie set instead, which I knew she would appreciate more. We kissed when she returned, ate our food over candlelight, and then snuggled together to play a board game.

Although we stuffed our lifestyle full of kinky bisexual promiscuity, there were plenty of wholesome, ordinary evenings where we could have been any romantic couple in the country. Our love for each other extended beyond the BDSM adventures we had. 

The following day, I had a frank discussion with my fiancée. Natasha was very fond of her car, but I argued about replacing it with a new, practical vehicle. It was the biggest thing anyone had ever given her as a gift, and the small Fiat 500 had an emotional value attached to it, as much as a practical benefit, but leaning into the back to put a baby into a car seat was easier on a five-door hatchback than a three-door supermini. 

Despite my logical arguments, the punk rocker tearfully begged me not to replace it, and we compromised when we purchased her a brand-new family car without part-exchanging her existing vehicle. The pristine condition of her replacement wheels more than compensated for the mothballing of the Fiat 500, that she simply did not want to part with.

Less than a fortnight after the trip to the gay bar with Adam, Robin Heaton's secretary contacted my company and asked if we could return for a meeting about our platform. Reluctantly, I travelled across the city to the large banking headquarters, where my colleague and I restated our pitch from the previous month and answered technical questions from the assembled audience. "I've got to put it to the board, but I will recommend that we adopt your service on a three-year trial basis. I'm particularly impressed by your commitment to privacy and discretion." 

I understood what he meant, and his fear of being outed had cost his employer a seven-figure sum. I had no intention of disclosing his sexuality, but his insecurity gave dynamo their first big customer, and I was the toast of our small office when I returned with a signed provisional agreement. 

At Easter, we travelled to Natasha's family home for a seven-day break, starting on the day before Good Friday. My fiancée found and rented a two-bedroom flat in Windermere for the week; her belly had grown and to me, my gravid partner looked more appealing than ever. She said she felt "fat" and her engorged torso distorted her tattoos as the skin stretched, but she was still incredibly sexy and our voracious sex drives were out of control.

Svetlana and Mary, the button-nosed bi-racial lover of the innocent medical student, travelled to the Lake District by train and stayed in the second bedroom of our rented holiday let. Natasha believed her homophobic father would not react well to the news that his youngest daughter had a two-year-old serious lesbian relationship and she was keen to keep her little sister safe. After my discussions with Adam, I agreed with her.

I liked Svetlana. The naïve blonde had a kind and impish personality, which was the complete opposite of the sceptical and outspoken natures of my fiancée and her mother. The youngest child was also the most studious and was top of her class at medical school.

The two lesbians were cheery, and didn't mind that Natasha demanded my nudity in the holiday let. The three clothed women teased and tormented me, and on our second day in the flat, my dominant lover handcuffed me in the bath, and the ladies drank wine and urinated into my mouth until my stomach screamed in bloated agony. I had never drunk so much pee and found the humiliating torment strangely enjoyable.

Mary had a more cosmopolitan history than she originally told me in London, and her life story, that stretched from smuggling on the Spanish coast to a nude modelling studio in Copenhagen, was an enchanting, gripping tale worthy of Netflix. The streetwise barista adored the gentile student, four years younger than her, and the passionate kissing and loud sex from the adjacent bedroom advertised their sexual chemistry and overactive libidos.

We attended the familial church on Easter Sunday for their celebration. Natasha and I sat at the back of the religious service with our holiday companions and my fiancée spent most of the two-hour sermon on her phone, while I zoned out and fantasised. 

Ruslana made dinner for sixteen guests. Svetlana, her father and my partner had a quiet discussion in the garden. I know the youngest child revealed her sexuality to her parent and the rotund preacher scowled and puffed, wagging his finger at his daughters. However, when my fiancée's body language shifted, he quickly lost his aggressive posture and strode inside to escape from the punk rocker's wrath. There was no doubt Natasha could look after herself. 

He was quiet over dinner as he watched Mary and Svetlana at the other end of the long dining table. The two lovers held hands, and Natasha ensured she dominated the conversation about her recent awards triumph. It stopped her father's bigoted thoughts from surfacing.

After the meal, Ruslana and my partner chatted as they cleared the dirty dishes. The matriarch sent all of her guests upstairs and when the room emptied, the pair of conspirators spoke about more sexual matters.

"I need the details for Jamie and Nessie," Ruslana said. "With our video subscription, two-thirds of the money goes into the swingers' club, but we give a third of our royalties to the participants in our videos. It's not lots of cash, but we owe it to them." 

Natasha messaged our friends as she looked at me. "You can pass mine and John's portions to Svetlana and Adam. They need it more than we do."

Ruslana hugged her and checked the kitchen door before retrieving four packets of photographs from the back of her drawer. "We are filming all day on Wednesday if you want to come down. Alfredo wants to do some young male sub, pregnant femdom scenes. We have another girl who's knocked up. Occupational hazard of attending swinging parties!" She chuckled to herself, as she waited for a reply.

I knew my partner would love to return to the swingers club. It sounded very taboo to film pornographic content in front of your family, but Natasha admitted to me that she adored the opportunity to anonymously and yet publicly express her sexuality. She loved the idea that hundreds or thousands of people would get sexual gratification from the videos of our sordid activities, taken at the club. "We'd love to," I replied for us both. "Yes?"

"Yes," Natasha added as Ruslana passed her the sordid photos. My fiancée is broad-minded; there is little that shocks her, but the hardcore extreme sex her mother had performed in front of the cameras caused her to gasp and squeal. Restrained by rope and cuffs to a table as young men used all three of her holes was not an image which Natasha expected. Neither was the milk enema, or the candid shots of her bottomless parent in Carlisle town centre, subtly flashing the photographer with a butt plug twinkling between her buttocks.

"Alfredo's son took that last four. He's nineteen, and he had a party at his dad's house. The challenge was from sunset to sunrise for him and his mates to go through a box of 72 condoms with just me, Maria, and Kat. I've not been so sore. Those boys can fuck and fuck and fuck. Amazing time." Natasha squirmed as she saw the expressions on her mother's face and the rows of used contraceptives hanging behind them. "One of their friends is an art student, and she wanted the full johnnies for their final year project. I do like to encourage young creativity."

Natasha put the photos back in the envelope and passed them to her mother. "Yeah, Wednesday should be fine." She looked at me for approval, and I nodded. "What about Dad?" she asked, tapping the pictures.

"Oh, don't give me that. He's clammed up again. And now he'll accuse me of corrupting Svetlana. He already thinks I'm a harlot."

"I think you're a fucking harlot," Natasha replied.

"Yeah, me too. I am. But I've had over thirty-five years of being in a lifeless bedroom. I can't do it anymore. He thinks I model with the odd fling. He does not know the amount of sex I get, and I cannot tell him. Your father just won't understand. I never cheated on him for thirty-four years, but 'enough is enough' and he either has to accept that or pack his bags."

"Mum, you're living a fucking lie."

"Honey, I've been living a lie for three decades. You think monogamy is what I want?" The mousy-haired woman turned to face her daughter. "Have you told John everything about your past?" Her eyes sparkled as she glared at her mother.

"Like what?"

"You know what I mean. You have secrets."

I squeezed my fiancée's hand. "I don't think there is anything that would change how I feel about her." 

Natasha sighed as she stared at her parent. "OK. I've been engaged twice before. Once was to a lad I went to school with, and the other was a girl in London. When I was sixteen, I shagged my music teacher. The fuzz have arrested me six times. I once shat myself on stage. What else, Mum?" Ruslana's scowl deepened as my fiancée gestured wildly. "Oh yeah. I split up with Graeme, my first engagement, when he caught me in bed with his two elder sisters and he kicked me out naked into the street where the Police picked me up." She turned to her mom. "John knows about me. He understands I like to mess around, and he realises I am this massive fuck-up who can sing. I don't hold back, because if we were going to make it as a couple, I want him to love me for who I fucking am and not who he thinks I am."

"Oh, nice sentiment," Ruslana condescendingly interrupted.

"No," Natasha barked. "You know I hate my dad. He is an absolute bellend of the highest order. A religious zealot who puts the imaginary cunt in the sky over his own family and is so homophobic, I'm sure he has lustful dreams over the Chippendales and probably a Dreamboys pin-up calendar in his vestry. He's an arsehole. But you, Mum? I love you to bits, but you are living a lie by deceiving him and he needs to adore you unconditionally for who you are, or he doesn't love you at all. And you're scared about the truth. You need to be honest with him or one day, it will blow up in your face. He'll find out and it'll hurt him." She gulped and grabbed the open bottle of white wine from the sideboard and poured herself a glass before her mother could object. "And you don't want that, do you?"

Ruslana sighed and shook her head as she stacked the plates in the dishwasher. "I wish it was that easy," she muttered and my fiancée hugged her parent. 

"I know. It's a tough conversation, but you can do it." She sighed. "And just say that I fucking corrupted you. He already thinks that I'm in league with Satan!" 

I left the two women to continue their private, emotional chat, and played cards with Mary and Holly, Natasha's bland sister-in-law, in the familial garden. The soft bubbling brook that marked the limits of their yard soothed as we chatted over poker. My fiancée and I stayed until the evening; Natasha and Ruslana continued their hushed conversation as I spent time with their wider family.

The following day, Bank Holiday Monday, my partner received a phone call from Adam. One of Joseph's friends had invited the couple to a gay naked barbecue from midday and as I was in the area, the invitation extended to me. 

Natasha smirked as she relayed the message; she was fully aware of the antics from London and the invite came because of my enjoyment of same-sex coitus. I had not come to the Lake District to abandon my pregnant partner, but as the two sisters and Ruslana had arranged to meet up and have a "girls chat" that afternoon, I accepted Adam's kind offer.

I drove to Joseph's flat, and then into a tiny village outside Kendal. At the top of a narrow cul-de-sac, rising from the small settlement, was the Saint Sebastian's Cottage. It was a beautiful building, made of the local mid-grey stone and with blue slate roofs and brilliant white windows. At the end of the road, the attendees had parked a dozen cars on a modest patch of land and Joseph directed me to leave my vehicle alongside an array of motors.

Music blared from the other side of a six-foot fence, and I followed the gay couple as they entered the premises and closed the gate behind me. We rounded the cottage and stepped into a courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the period property and the tall fence on the other. Over three dozen naked men, ranging from their early twenties to the late-sixties were on the red flags of the patio, or the two long tables.

I had a sharp intake of breath. It felt like I was at the cruising bar with Adam once more, and Natasha's kin pulled me forward towards an overweight man next to a six-burner gas barbecue. The mature gentleman, with a blue apron around his massive frame, had a congenial smile as he recognised the gay couple. "Fresh meat," he replied, patting the burgers on his grill with the spatula. "I'm Derek," he introduced himself to me, shaking my hand and gesturing at his house. "Leave your stuff in the downstairs bedroom, as usual. The fridge is full. Bring me a beer or two when you come back." His eyes wandered over Adam's butt as my future brother-in-law walked to the cottage. 

I felt a little subconscious stepping out on the deck wearing just my shoes, but I blended in with Adam. Joseph got a burger from the overweight host and sat with a small group of slightly older men on the far side of the patio. "They work with Joe," he explained. "It's how we met Derek." 

The chef was keen to explain his life story to me as we drank beer and ate unhealthy food. He made a small fortune in the City in the eighties and then invested some of it in a gay porn studio in the nineties and noughties, before retiring ten years ago, aged 52. "I love it out here, wonderful scenery but not enough sex," he complained. "So I host these little get-togethers every few weeks. It's nice when the weather is good enough to be outside, but I have a playroom at the top of the house when it's not."

"Derek's the only gay in the village," Adam teased.

"Yes, and I don't find it funny!" Derek complained, offering me my fifth sausage of the afternoon. "Where can I get dick if the whole place is straight?" He asked. "I don't know what people do with pussy. It's all folds and hidden. Give me a big, thick cock any day of the week!"

The overweight man was a brilliant host. Trays and trays of food for his large assortment of guests, with bottles of wine, beer, and cider. He had patio heaters to fight the strong breeze from the hills and he oozed congeniality. I chatted to a couple of Joseph's work colleagues, who worked on the railway, a primary school teacher, a retired librarian, two rangers from the national park, and a fitness instructor. All of them were welcoming, good-natured and sociable. I enjoyed myself, and I forgot I was naked. 

As the afternoon ticked by, and the barbecue finished, the eroticism ramped up. The odd couple slipped inside for five minutes at a time. Derek replaced the empty bowls of crisps and salad on the table with pots of condoms, and he swapped the bottles of ketchup with personal lubricant. One of Joseph's colleagues put his face into the train driver's lap and gently sucked him to an erection.

The fraternal chatter faded as the primary school tutor, the most gracious and warmest man at our table, walked to the large BBQ chef and roughly twisted his nipples. Silence swept over the party as the overweight host yelped and fell to his knees on the rough patio. The genial personality evaporated as the teacher pushed his semi-erect prick, poking out of a thick jungle of black pubic hair, into the face of Derek. 

"Suck it, you fucking poof!" The show was entrancing. The generous host, who had provided a banquet for his friends, was having his skull fucked by one of his guests. I watched, mesmerised, by the display of dominant homosexuality. Two hands gripped Derek's head beside his ears as the thick prick jackhammered between his lips. Drool spilled out of our host's mouth as he gagged and choked on the cock ramming into his face. 

It looked inhumane. A vicious torture, and yet my dick stiffened as I watched the abuse. Adam rubbed my leg. "You like that?"

"It's too rough for me," I replied. 

"Yeah, but Derek likes it raw and violent. You should see his fucking machine upstairs." I gulped at the thought as the primary school teacher unloaded into Derek's mouth and he left him panting on the patio as he walked away, cum dripping from the end of his wet cock. 

When I looked back at Adam, he had a wide smirk on his face. All around us, men were pairing or grouping up. Inside ten minutes, the atmosphere had gone from relaxed and joking to wildly sexual. Blowjobs and rimming dotted the patio. Two older gentlemen spanked a middle-aged sub. Joseph was being led into the cottage by a bald-headed, bearded giant of a man.

Adam beckoned someone he recognised previously. "Hey Connor!"

The young, thin guy, with shaved-black hair and a treasure trail of fuzz leading from his naked torso to his trimmed bush of dark brown pubes, smiled. I glanced at his short, stubby, circumcised dick, and took in his array of machinery tattoos across his chest and arms. "Ads, didn't see ya! How are y'keeping?"

He spoke with a common accent and stood over us with a gleeful smirk. His cock was in front of me as I turned in my seat to face him. And I felt it pull me. Like a magnet, the sexual activity of the venue attracted my lips to his prick. The sucking, slurping, groaning, crying and snatched voices demanding pleasure were arousing. They titillated the senses, and I wanted to join in.

I was not just a voyeur. Connor chuckled as I bent my neck to take his prick between my lips and suckled it gently. "Where d'ya find him?"

"He's engaged to my sister," he replied. "But he's more gay than straight, I know it!" Adam rose from his seat and kissed the young man; their mouths intertwined as I sucked the stubby cock of the stranger. The familiar taste of piss on the end of the cockhead mixed with the musky aroma of his arousal.

It was impossible for the wild hedonism not to arouse or excite. Groups of men fellating, rimming, fondling, fornicating and osculating surrounded us. Hands groped and stroked, tongues caressed and kissed, bodies writhed and ground, and cocks roughly penetrated the available holes. 

The patio had turned into a decadent utopia of gay sin, and in the middle of it was Derek; another man rammed his thick, meaty cock into the host's open lips and face-fucked the elder gentleman. No quarter asked or given. Men mercilessly abused and used the genial homeowner, spit roasting the rotund retiree.  

Connor's short, stout prick eagerly filled my mouth as his unkempt bush tickled my nose. His masculine smell, infused into his pubes and his crotch, was an uplifting, arousing scent and I enthusiastically bobbed on his dick, swirling my tongue over his sensitive glans. 

Groans and grunts as I fellated him, and Adam passionately kissed him. His lust rose as he panted and his hips bucked. His body shook as we coaxed his orgasm from him, and several squirts of cum oozed limply from his dick onto my tongue. 

I suckled his prick clean as he exhaled sharply. 

Connor blew Adam, and I watched as the engineering apprentice sunk to his knees and took the length of Adam's slender cock between his lips, slamming his mouth against the pubis of Natasha's brother.

The young hedonist groaned, and I felt a hand grip my buttocks. I froze as a finger pressed against my whorl and slid down my skin to rub the back of my balls. At least fifteen to twenty years older than me, and several pounds overweight, the beefy, hairy gentleman stood next to me, groping my naked body with his uninvited palm.