Rage Against the Latrine Ch. 29

Cum poured from my cock, leaking continually from my flaccid prick as the sexual euphoria and relief glided from my balls to my brain, exciting every fibre in my body.

My anus twitched as she removed her dick, leaving me gaping and desperate for more, and she returned to the bedroom ten minutes later to remove the restraints and blindfold.

"I'm not fucking telling you who did that to you," she giggled. "But I go away in a month's time on tour, so this is to keep you well fucked," she added, patting the expensive machine.

The following day, my fiancée threw a birthday party in the annexe for me, with our friends from the band. After a couple of hours, they blew up the paddling pool, retrieved the commode seat, and my fiancée handcuffed me - fully clothed - to it. 

She forced me to drink her rich, acerbic pee when she put a funnel in my mouth, but everyone else just showered me in piss. It smelt disgusting, but Natasha had trained my libido to respond to the taste of humiliation and the smell of urine. 

My friends debased me by covering me and my clothes in their pee. They drank the beer and wine, which I paid for, to replenish their bladders so they could urinate over me. In public view, they defiled me.

Despite it being my birthday, they put Nessie into the pool too and Scott gleefully debased her, soaking his fuckbuddy with golden pee. It felt like the old days, before Natasha and I were engaged, when we were in the exciting experimental phase. Each week, my girl found something newer and dirtier to try. A greater humiliation from a filthier mind. She challenged my limits every day as the wonderful punk rocker exposed me to bigger debaucheries. 

I knew how excited Natasha made me, and how energised I became. As my fiancée forced a bladder of burning piss into my churning stomach, I floated, drifting into a relaxed, heavenly submission. I adored the control she had over me, and every disgusting act she initiated. 

My birthday party, and I was swimming in filth, humiliated and degraded, as my fiancée and her friends fraternised and binged. The annexe became a bacchanalian orgy of drunkenness and lewdness as revellers stripped and fornicated while I was the latrine. 

The toilet.

The man lying in revolting clothes as the wassailers abused me. 

Finally, at the end of the evening, Natasha let me shower, and then in the privacy of our bedroom, she sunk her mouth over my prick, licking the tip. "This is a rare treat," she reminded me, drawing her lips over the full length of my shaft. 

It felt good; Natasha's blowjobs always did. I stroked her pink hair as the punk rock fellatrix drew gasps and groans from my lascivious self. I groaned and panted in arousal as my fiancée's tongue swirled over my frenulum.

My climax bubbled from within. I squealed at my lover as I neared the edge, and she continued to bob on my prick, drawing my orgasm from me, until she swallowed my seed with a wide smile on her face.

"That's your fucking blowjob for the year," she added as I lay panting in the bed, satisfaction churning through my body. 

"That was incredible," I told her, as my fiancée sidled towards the en-suite.

"I know. I'm very good at blowjobs. I just don't think men deserve them."

At the beginning of November, my fiancée wanted to do a weekend away from Sarratt Green. The tour was fast approaching, and she wanted to be certain that her nanny and her partner could cope with the baby and without her. Natasha and Faye went on a brief road trip, going to Northampton, Cambridge, and then Welwyn to see punk rock bands at intimate gigs. This was close enough for my fiancée to return home if she needed to, but Suna and I had no problems with Anna Ruslana, and my woman got a well-deserved break. 

The following weekend, she got a message from a group of guys that Bitches Against had played with previously. The boyband, The Rainbow Warriors, were stalwarts at the Pride festival the girls often performed at, and the rockers were excellent musicians. 

They didn't live locally, so when Natasha invited them to play at their Punk Rock Cafe, they also stayed in our annexe in Sarratt Green. It may have been a few degrees above freezing in my garden, but from the moment on Friday afternoon when the guys arrived in Hertfordshire, the five men wandered around bare, or with minimal clothing. 

They were in their early thirties, and were all over six feet tall, dwarfing my partner. They had plenty of muscle definition, and four of them had prominent tattoos on their chests. 

Natasha cooed over them, and over dinner, they paid her lots of attention too. Once Anna had gone to bed, my fiancée explained. "After we played together last year, we went out drinking and got so pissed. I said to Jack if he streaked down Richmond High Street, I'd blow him, and all the guys did. Jack's cum is sweet 'cause he eats lots of fruit, but Nessie and me spent the night playing games. And stuff."

I knew what "stuff" meant, and I watched my lover sit on Jack's lap and fondle him, putting her hand into his bulging shorts and giggling coquettishly. Nobody said a word as Natasha felt up their lead singer, kissing him and stroking his bare chest. "Shall we go to the annexe, boys?" The punk rocker asked, and she rose from her seated position, and glanced at me. "Don't wait up."

Her actions were humiliating. I had never considered myself a cuckold before, although I met most of the description. My fiancée and I had an open relationship, but she rarely excluded me so completely from her sexual games so openly. Natasha crossed the driveway to enter the annexe with the Rainbow Warriors, with the express intention of fucking them. I watched her wrap her arm around Jack as she sauntered between the cars and entered the long barn.

My fiancée, my woman. Screwing another. Other men would feel her lips across their pricks or taste her succulent slit. They would part her cunt with their erections and pound her pussy until they came.

She did not even invite me to share. My tummy bubbled with butterflies as I watched the door close to the annexe. Envy, jealousy, and apprehension consumed me. I had a burning itch to enter the room and join their fun, and poured myself a glass of whisky to satisfy my frustrated curiosities. 

Everything burnt. I ventured into the dark night and heard squeals of female arousal from an open window. My cock hardened as the sounds carried in the inky black of the nighttime sky and I desperately wanted to enter the room, but they had locked the annexe from the inside. 

I slept little, and in the morning, when I went down to the kitchen for breakfast, my fiancée stood beside the fridge in just her flimsy underwear. "Hiya," she seductively called.

I couldn't stop myself. I snatched the sausages from her hand and tossed them against the worktop. I forced my lips against hers, as we kissed, and then pushed my woman over the low breakfast bar. She shrieked as her arms hit the wooden top, and I yanked her underwear to her ankles, ripping the translucent mesh in twain. "You still horny?" I spat. 

"Very," she muttered, as my hands roughly parted her knees and spanked her derriere. I rubbed her slit, and my fingers glided over her slippery skin. "They woke early," she admitted, boasting about her further acts of unfaithfulness. "And they wanted stuff. But I..."

"You're a slut, aren't you?" I interrupted.

"Yes," she squealed as my fingers pressed against her slippery opening; she murmured as I fingered her and rubbed her clit.

"You'll fuck any man, won't you?"

"Yes," she groaned as I flicked her button. She whimpered as I frigged her, taking her closer to orgasm, before I lined my erect cock at her opening and speared her pussy with my prick.

I fucked her in full view of the kitchen window, as our guests milled about outside and upstairs. I smashed my dick aggressively into her, not seeking her enjoyment, as I reclaimed of my fiancée. Natasha was my slut, and I wanted her. 

The bottomless punk rocker groaned with every exhalation. She sighed and grunted with every thrust as I pounded the wanton nymphomaniac with rampant zeal. My dick pummelled mercilessly into her. I should have had this the night before, until my slut chose to entertain others. I rammed it harder and harder, screwing my woman. Until my orgasm smashed into me, and I filled her cunt with my seed, groaning as my cock pulsed. My hands rubbed her flanks as I sighed, coming down from my high.

"Fuckin' 'ell," she muttered. "Not seen you like that. Did I tease you too much?" She chuckled and as I stepped back, she kissed me.

"A bit," I replied, smiling at the wonderful musician. "I love you."

"I know you do. And I love you. But..." she coughed and whispered in my ear. "This is my most fertile time of the month, and you have just come inside me." She bit my lobe. "We've only skipped johnnies once before, and we have one child."

"Oh," I replied. 

"Yeah, you didn't think before you got fucking horny, did you?" She chuckled and reached down to her slit, showing me a big globule of cum that had leaked from her pussy. "I'm going to get cleaned up and then go to the pharmacy for the morning-after pill. And you can make breakfast for the five guys who spent all night shagging me and used a condom each time." My bottomless fiancée smiled as she closed the door behind her, and I took a frying pan from the drawer. 

Apart from screwing fellow musicians, Natasha was incredibly busy, and the band finished their new album; the girls spent a few days in London recording it, and I heard of many violent arguments as their creative spirits clashed. Faye sent me an advance copy of one song, as they mentioned me in the lyrics.

Gossip, about the fabled e-mail newsletter, featured me in the verse as they taunted the infamous publisher of scandals, rumours, and tittle-tattle. Their fearsome reputation of wild musicians had boosted their career and, clearly, they wanted to encourage further stories in the forthcoming Popbitch circulars of their excesses. 

Of which there was plenty. 

Natasha usually toured September to December, but Natasha's pregnancy had delayed this a little; the band arranged their new tour - The Worst Bitch - to start from late November and they had European and American legs for the first time. The Bitches had gone international. 

It was not something that my fiancée could have countenanced if it was not for Suna. The former nursery nurse was a childcare expert and helped us as parents adapt to our new roles in life. I adored having the punk rock exhibitionist with us, and we spent many evenings chatting and playing music. 

She admitted that for the first time in years; she felt appreciated, and for her birthday, we paid for her to spend the week in Iceland, visiting relatives. It was the least we could do. 

In mid-November, I stood at the Punk Rock Cafe for the start of the Bitches Against tour. This gig was an intimate, private set for friends and families of the band and record company. The stuffed venue came alive as the five punk rockers performed their old favourites, as well as several songs from their new album. 

At the end of the show, Natasha called me on stage, holding out a white T-shirt for me. "I came to see Bitches Against and all I got was this lousy T-shirt," she announced, reading the text across the front of the garment. Printed on the back was. "And pissed on. And a fiancée. And a baby."

"Wear it," my dominatrix demanded, and I discarded my shirt to do as she ordered. She addressed the crowd. "It's been a fucking crazy year for us. And most of it would not have happened if it wasn't for this superfan." She giggled as she glanced at the band. "So, tonight is the first stop of our biggest tour ever. And we're going to end our set with our song. A throwback to yesteryear. We will finish on Wake Up By Rage Against the Fucking Machine." 

She grabbed my top and pulled me onto the floor; I didn't expect it, and stumbled to the ground, turning to see Natasha standing over me, pulling her leather trousers to her mid-thigh.

I understood. In front of everyone, she squatted over me on stage as she yelled into the microphone, performing for 200 people in their club. 

My cock strained, my eyes watered. My heart pounded. Waiting for my fiancée to do the dirty. To defile me, humiliate me and cover me in her waste. To do once more what she did in Bristol. Where our adventure began. 

Exactly two years since we first met, she was doing it again. In public. Debasing, humiliating me. The dominant woman steadied herself. 

My Natasha. The punk rock superstar, unattainable goddess, incredible dominatrix and my fiancée, screamed into the microphone as she released a jet of urine into my face.

And it tasted divine. 

* * * * *

So that's it. Almost 150,000 words of the crazed Natasha and her wild band. The musical hedonists took the innocent ex of Samantha and turned him into a piss-loving, anal-adoring, bisexual, polyamorous nymphomaniac! I have thought about writing a short to do with the stag party, hen party and wedding as I have a skeleton story idea, but I also have other stories I want to explore first. 

If anyone wants to take my characters and write their own tales, then you have my permission to do so. I can't promise that I will incorporate your story arcs in any future pieces, but I have no objection to people expanding on my work. Please add the tag "bitches against" if you write in this universe and upload it to Literotica.

I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful feedback, positive comments, and for reading the output from my perverted imagination.