Rage Against the Latrine Ch. 28

I caught sight of Natasha donning a strapon when I could open my eyes and she smirked at me. I watched her position herself behind Simon with a bottle of lubricant, and his expression changed as she greased his rosebud. 

A dominatrix readied my butt with a generous squirt of algid goo. My body was already relaxed and my bum eagerly accepted the intrusion into my hole. 

When Janine stood behind Natasha, I realised that the delightful Kelly was powering her dildo into me. And whereas the impact play had been sensual and soothing, the plundering of my backside was rough and rousing.

Deep, thunderous strokes hammered into me; her thighs smashed into mine, as her belly rubbed against my lower back. She gripped my waist with her hand as her prick pulverised my inner sanctum.

No mercy. No respite. Just an explosive, raucous display of superiority. Kelly rogered me like I was the village slut, ravishing my holes for her wanton pleasure. 

And it was incredible. To be taken so viciously was a delicious, lustful experience. I wallowed in my vulnerability, crying as Kelly defiled me and exerted her power. I neared a release. The pre-cum had not stopped oozing from my dick, and I knew my orgasm was nearing.

My body shook, but Simon's wife withdrew her cock from my butt, leaving my ring twitching expectantly. I was on the edge, so close to my peak and I wanted to feel her savage me once more. But the three women strode away from us and the camera, abandoning their two degraded subs, weeping with unspent lust. 

They deliberately gave their submissive co-stars a couple of minutes to cool; the girls took some pictures from a phone before they untied our hands, and we had some lunch in the swingers' club. We had barely seen Ruslana, as she had shut herself in the small office at the back of the venue, and she was a little preoccupied over our spartan meal.

I was glad to remove the sweaty rubber mask, and I kissed Natasha over our food. The three women subconsciously acted dominant at the bar. Without realising their barked wishes to "get a drink while you're up" or to bring them something, were orders, not requests.

We had refreshment with our meal and settled at an outdoor table, with wonderful views of the lake. The hills and mountains reflected in the water and the swingers' club had a breathtaking backdrop of the National Park from their makeshift garden.

Cool wind swirled around my naked flesh as we drank on the hillside, but the debauchees sited their hedonistic lodge on a working farm. The rural site was in an enviable position and I could have spent hours at the picnic table admiring the vista.

Simon was keen to talk about the morning's filming, and he opened up a little more after a beer. He was not as reticent about Kelly's cunnilingus as I thought, but the savage pegging my fiancée had given him was not something he was used to. He was inexperienced in receiving anal play and was grateful my partner chose a "reasonably small" dong.

Alfredo joined us in the garden with the camera and our hoods. "I need to film outside," he said, with a look towards the three women. "But we'll start when you go around the corner, as I don't want to give away the location of the club with the background."

After my hood was on, Natasha handcuffed my wrists together, and Kelly did the same to Simon. The dominatrices led us, barefooted, across the soft earth, through a muddy gate and into a small piece of unused pasture land. Alfredo stood at the bottom of the incline with the camera, focusing the field of vision away from the incredible view. 

The ground was waterlogged, swampy and uneven; brown puddles in the soft earth littered the hilly expanse, and my feet sunk to my ankles as my fiancée led me to the centre of the parcel of land. Hanging from a post were four chains, and Natasha clipped one of them to my handcuffs.

Restrained in the middle of the field, naked apart from my black rubber hood, and helpless as my fiancée backed away, watching Kelly fasten her husband in the same way. We were more exposed on the hillside. The breeze was stronger, and it felt colder. I shivered as the woman padded, in their Wellington boots, to the other side of the paddock. 

Janine joined our partners with a bag, and Natasha struggled with a wheelbarrow across the uneven ground as they came back into the shot of the camera. Piled high with brown clumps, they had prepared the barrow with earth or manure, or both. As it neared me, it smelt a little rancid and for the first time, I worried what my fiancée had planned. 

I watched them abuse Simon; they emptied the mass of mud beside him, and then his wife kicked him to his knees and forced him onto his front. His partner pressed his Latex-clad face into the slurry. Unable to move far, because of the chain, he was helpless as they defiled him with the rotten smelling earth. 

From the bag, Kelly slipped a strapon dildo over her boots, lubricated Simon's anus and penetrated his striped buttocks once more, driving her faux cock into his hole and forcing him into the rancid mud.

There was no respite. His wife anally fucked him while he languished in the farm slurry. There were few greater defilements or humiliations.

As Kelly finished with him, Natasha grabbed my shoulder and forced me into the soft mud. Splashes of the earth from the barrow had landed on me, but I fell into the hillside sludge. 

Natasha's black Wellington boots, smeared with muck, kicked me until I was lying on my back, and the chunky souls of the rubber footwear thumped either side of me. Her fingers played with her crotch zipper and she squatted slightly, looking at the camera, before a stream of her golden honey landed on my chin.

Her flow warmed as it splashed, covering me in the harsh scent of my fiancée's pee. My erection became obvious as my lover defiled me in public and on camera.

Her piss flowed over my masked face and soaked into the cold, wet earth I was lying on. Janine went next, and she lowered herself so her cunt was inches from my nose. I wanted her to go further, but she needed both of the dominatrices to help her with her balance.

She squeezed her bladder, firing a jet of hot urine into my face from her crotchless lingerie. I revelled in the nastiness, squirming in the mud as another woman covered me in her juices.

The delectable blonde wife of Simon went next, smothering me in her sweet nectar, as my body sunk into the urine-saturated earth. They cackled and laughed as they defiled me, soaking me in their piss, before they walked away and left us to wallow in the filth they had created.

The three women chatted to Alfredo for five minutes and then returned. My skin felt icy as the stiff wind had whipped around my wet flesh. Janine and Kelly trampled over Simon before pressing his face into their dirty boots. The size of his straining erection was proof of his foot fetish, and I watched as they shot a quarter of an hour of debauchery, tormenting the married man with their mucky Wellingtons. 

I was relieved when we finished filming for the day; Simon and I were coated in dirty mud, and we were filthy as we streaked back to the club. We spent ten minutes in the warm shower before dressing and sitting in the social area of the clubhouse. Ruslana joined us, and my future mother-in-law emptied a half-full bottle of wine into her glass and took a large sip. "You OK?" I asked, and she nodded.

She turned to her daughter. "Yeah, but there's something you should know. I had a row with Matthew on Monday night. I told him... everything." She stared at the grain on the wooden table and gulped more wine. "Almost everything. I showed him some photographs, as he needed to know what I do. And he freaked." Natasha bit her lip and put her hands on her mother's palm. 

"What happened?"

The fun-loving nymphomaniac sniffed; her eyes watered and her voice trembled. "He lost it. I have not seen him like that, ever. He blamed me for you, for Adam, for Svetlana. And he punched me and he took off."

"He hit you?" Natasha cried. "He fucking struck you?" Ruslana gulped and nodded. "I'll fucking kill him. Nobody does that to you. Where the fuck is he?"

"It's. It's my fault. Not his. It's..."

"It's not your fucking fault. Where is he?" Natasha's voice rose. "Where the fuck is he? That cunt is a dead fucking man. I'm going to break his fucking bones."

"Scotland. He's run off to Glasgow." She gulped. "Alfredo said I can stay with him if I need to, but I want..."

"Mum, he hit you. He used violence against you. Get out of that relationship. Let's change the locks on your house and you kick that arsehole into touch. Or you move out. He goes."

Ruslana looked at me. "It's a bit of an overreaction. I provoked him. I..."

"Bollocks!" My fiancée interrupted, and she glared at me. "Tell her, John."

"I think that should be a red line," I told my fiancée's mother. "I'd never hit Natasha. Outside the bedroom, she doesn't do that to me."

"Of course it is a fucking red line," my partner snapped. "Where's Alfredo?" My lover asked and slipped off her bar stool; she strode into a room at the back of the swingers' club and returned with the middle-aged, muscular director. Shirtless, and with thick black curls over his well-sculpted torso, he towered over my fiancée. "You know what my arsehole of a father's been doing?"

"Yes," he replied, glancing at Ruslana. "She told me last night. And..."

"Alfredo, don't," Natasha's mother muttered. "Please..."

"And I asked her to come live with me. I have a big house in Kendal that I share with two of my sons, and..."

"I can't," Ruslana cried. "He's my husband. I made a promise in front of God."

"Mum," Natasha snapped. "He physically abused you. Do you understand that? He hit you. That's Domestic Violence. You need to get out. God would understand." 

The emotional conversation continued; it took my fiancée two hours to persuade her mother to see sense and agree to leave her abusive partner, for a "trial separation." I also heard Natasha's expletive-laden, threatening phone call with her father and she did not hide her contempt for his cowardice. 

That evening, we helped Ruslana move into Alfredo's house. His five-bedroom complex, on the edge of the town, was luxurious, and the nymphomaniac beamed as he offered her use of the spare room. 

She stripped naked in her bedroom, relaxed and carefree. The decision had lifted the tension as she sunk into the soft double bed, free from the abuse of her partner.