Rage Against the Latrine Ch. 09

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In December, I wrote a short 3,000 word story about a female punk rock singer who urinated over a fan on stage, partially inspired by real-life events. I enjoyed the tale and played with the characters in my mind over the following days. I said I would write more chapters if there was positive feedback.

There was.

I had plenty of comments and the story fared well in the “scoring.” So, I wrote more.

Out of principle, I never release a chapter until I have written and edited the entire book. But, four extra chapters became six, and then eight, and there are now two dozen chapters on my hard drive. Over 70,000 words of golden showers, female domination and absolute filth with a plethora of additional characters. It’s about 80-90% finished. Mostly, it needs editing.

I hope to complete the entire story before Easter. But I didn’t want everyone who asked for a continuation to wait any longer. I promised I’d write something in the weeks after the first chapter, and it’s been nearly three months. So, here is the next instalment and I will release the remainder as they become ready.

If you have not read the previous chapters, then please do so, as the following story won’t make much sense.

* * *

Two months of dating a punk rock superstar and the reality had not really sunk in. Natasha was perfect, and my colleague’s comment that my infamous girlfriend had her own Wikipedia page amused me. We updated it to reflect her new relationship status, and I became an editor on the free encyclopaedia site to significantly enhance the profiles of every member of the band.

In the City, the Japanese North Osaka Banking Corporation offered me a year-long position at their London headquarters, which paid a generous weekly wage for the duration of my contract to design their stock market interface system from the ground-up. It meant little to Natasha until I explained the vast sums of money hitting my bank account. She thought it was obscene that one person could earn in a week what she scraped to make in several months from her music, and I didn’t disagree. I got lucky.

The differential in earning power did not interfere in our relationship. We were equals. Natasha may have had all the authority inside the bedroom – and the bathroom – but she had as much choice as myself when we bought our food for the week, or apportioned chores. We worked as a team.

We had plenty of vanilla sex; I loved devouring her slit as my fingers probed her G-Spot when she lounged on the sofa or on the bed, and I adored screwing her, spearing my covered prick into her until I breathlessly filled the condom. We experimented with sexual positions and kink, as much as we dated as a couple. Natasha enjoyed our trip to the bowling alley, appreciated the surprise tickets to the punk night at an Aylesbury nightclub, and we didn’t want to leave the Harry Potter Experience in Watford as we were having so much fun. Our union was not just built on filth and fucking.

Her car gave her freedom, and when I worked, she often left the house; I know she called on Faye or her friends, or explored some of the Chiltern Hills, when I holed up inside my study with my work. I never kept track or her, just as she never kept track of me. There was an implicit trust between us.

Of course, Natasha treated me to plenty of golden showers. Her combative attitude and personality ran through her sexuality and she adored dominating her partners. I regularly witnessed her dominance with Nessie, where my girlfriend sexually bullied and controlled the willing submissive. I experienced it mostly when she liberally coated me in her pee or forced me to guzzle it.

The act was a defilement: a nasty, disgusting, revolting activity that never ceased to arouse. She often did it after a few beers or when she had drunk plenty of fluids, and when her bladder had filled to burst. Then she squatted over me, usually my face, and sighed as the amber liquid tumbled from her waxed snatch. Warm, acidic, delicious and plentiful, as she verbally teased me. The debasement was sheer excitement, and the feeling of Natasha’s piss covering my nose, lips, hair, and body, and then sinking down my throat, left me horny.

Like a pig rolling in muck, I adored Natasha’s humiliation of me. Generally, she would let me clean her dripping cunt, and my tongue would swirl over her clit as I sucked the last of her droplets from her smooth slit. I relished every second of her sadistic urination as she understood what I wanted and gave me what I needed.

Outside the bedroom, I enjoyed working for the Japanese bank; my European colleagues in IT and the Finance sections were skilled people and my managers in London and Osaka were relaxed. I was expressly told that they didn’t care whether they saw me every day, as long as the team accomplished the project by the deadlines. A large bonus depended upon us hitting the agreed milestones, and so I spent two or three days in the UK headquarters each week.

On my third Friday in my new job, I sat in my private office, on the fifteenth floor of a skyscraper batıkent escort near Liverpool Street, when Natasha called. “Are you still in London?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“My cousin was in Cambridge for a funding interview, but they shut the West Coast Main Line. Some fucking train derailed so she can’t get back to Windermere. She’s stuck.”

“Where is she?”

“London. Kings Cross, I think. Can you help her?”

I got Natasha to text me her phone number and sent Bohdana my office address. An hour later, a receptionist escorted a nervous, smartly dressed eighteen-year-old with golden hair and deep blue eyes to my private room. I vaguely remembered her from the party at Ruslana’s house, and I smiled at her. “I just need to speak to Geoff and then we’ll see about your train. Help yourself to a drink.”

“Thanks. Natasha said it would be closed all day according to the news.” She smoothed her pantsuit, and sat down on the comfy armchair with a giant textbook, and started reading. My girlfriend was correct; the derailment had stopped all trains going between Lancaster and Carlisle. While no-one was hurt when the freight train had come off its tracks, it had done a significant amount of damage to the railway and services were not expected until Saturday night or Sunday morning.

I offered Bohdana one of my spare rooms until she was able to return to Windermere, and she gratefully accepted; the alternative was a “rail replacement bus service” after taking three separate trains for six hours, and I wouldn’t wish such torture on my worst enemy. Her arrival changed my weekend plan, so I made a discreet phone call before we left for the day.

I chatted to the protegee as we travelled to Rickmansworth on the Underground train. She was smart and had bagged a place at the World’s top University. She had applied for two companies to pay her tuition fees in return for a graduate employment contract when she completed her four-year degree.

“I don’t have any clean clothes,” the teenager complained when she arrived at my house, and Natasha shrugged. “Take those party frocks off. I’ll lend you some fucking scruffs. Wear them all weekend and travel back in your smart suit.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced that Bohdana liked this offer, but Natasha provided an AC/DC T-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms. I supplied the Wi-Fi password, a phone charger, and a spare room.

I wanted to read through the specification I had received from Geoff, so my girlfriend and Bohdana chatted in the lounge. One bottle of wine became two as the punk rocker dominated the conversation. She clearly led the top student astray, and I came into the living room, an hour after dinner, to raunchy chatter.

My lover possessed a ferocious sex drive, but I didn’t get the impression, while speaking to her on the train and in my car, that Bohdana harboured the same itch. “OK, so no threesomes. Have you ever given a golden shower?” Natasha asked and glanced at me with a smirk. Her cousin blushed and shook her head. “Because John takes them. And Olga pissed all over him. And mum too. At Christmas.”

The teenager’s eyes widened. “Really? Why?”

“Because he is a fucking pervert,” Natasha replied. “Faye is coming over tomorrow with Nessie. I’ll show you how to fucking dominate subs. You’ll fucking love it. It’s such a rush.”

Bohdana’s cheeks flushed redder, and she shook her head; her eyes glinted from the alcohol consumption. I guessed she didn’t drink that much booze normally and staggered to bed a few moments later. Natasha smiled as she got up from her chair, and we heard the toilet flush. “Such a fucking waste, eh?”

“I guess so.”

“Pretty little thing like that. She’s only eighteen. Do you think she waxes or shaves her cunt?”

“I don’t know. And we won’t find out. She didn’t sound interested in playing your games.”

“Your fucking games too! I bet someone her age will have nectar is as sweet as honey. You’d fight bears to fucking guzzle it.” I wasn’t sure if the unpredictable rock star was teasing or exhibiting her vulnerable side.

“Yeah, but I fell in love with you doing it,” I replied. She hesitated for a moment and cocked her head as she giggled. She put her hand in mine.

“I fucking need to whizz. I’m about to burst.” I led her to our en-suite and pressed her against the wall as I kissed her, but she pushed me away. “No. No fingering. No kissing. I need to go. I’m desperate,” Natasha snapped. I stripped, discarding my loungewear, and lay on the cold tiles. The bottomless beauty squatted over me, opening her cunt for my delicious attention.

She sighed as her body readied itself and released her stream of pale yellow nectar; the warm liquid, mellow in taste and smell, landed on my lips and filled my mouth. Deliciously succulent to my brain, Natasha’s pee was a floral bouquet of wonder that I craved.

She groaned as her flow hissed; the torrent of her bitter liquid intensified as she expelled her exquisite waste with ferocity, splashing my face with her zesty rain. beşevler escort My cock strained as I gulped several mouthfuls of her piquancy. She farted as she fired piss onto me with the trumpeting sound of her butt inches from my nose, clear amongst the tinkering of the hissing water.

She giggled as she did; another degradation for me to endure and enjoy. She lowered her squat as her flood ebbed, and I wrapped my tongue around her trickle, poking at her slit as pee dribbled into my mouth.

Natasha mewled as my lips massaged her clit. My piss-soaked hands held her thighs as I worked my tongue over her glistening crevice, probing and caressing her delicate folds. She always appreciated my wet cunnilingus on her musky, slippery cunt and I adored worshipping her pussy. I drove my mouth against her disgustingly sexy and intoxicating snatch to bring her to as many orgasms as Natasha desired.

After her second climax, she leant back, pushing her cunt forwards and positioning her butt over my lips. We’d never done rimming; she had never mentioned it and I had never asked for it, but my state of arousal meant there was only one option.

My lips swirled over her spiralled ridges of her anus, flicking her butthole with the tip. I licked around the outside and edge of her opening and then pressed my tongue against her tight whorl.

She groaned as her fingers swept over her clit and my mouth danced over her butt. The texture of her tight skin was a delight, and the taboo nature of the act was arousing, but she didn’t taste of anything. I paid close attention to her sphincter, worshipping her arsehole. My hands gripped her buttocks, and I pulled them further apart before pushing my face closer to her opening.

My tongue probed the punk rocker’s splayed starfish. She shrieked under my touch, and she rubbed her clit as my lips massaged her rosebud. A third orgasm rocked her body, and she slumped forwards before clambering off of me.

I smiled at her exhausted gaze, and I scrambled to my feet. “That was fun,” she muttered, and we kissed as I turned on the shower, covering us in tepid water. My hands swept over her T-shirt, soaked and stretched over her bosom as we passionately snogged in the warm rain.

She giggled as I took her tight top off her and covered her with soap, bringing my fingers over her smooth flesh. I loved it when she did the same to me, as we washed the dirtiness of our kinks down the drain.

And while she was drying herself, I wrapped a dressing gown around me and made two cups of hot chocolate that we drank while watching television. I really was the luckiest guy in the world.

The following day, Faye and Nessie arrived shortly after 10am; the ginger sub emerged from Faye’s car in the cold February Saturday naked and retrieved two bags from the boot. “Faye made me strip on the motorway,” she moaned. Tall, with long red hair that broke over her “B” or “C” cup breasts and covered in flawless skin on her lithe body; she cut a sexy, striking figure as she walked barefoot through my house to the spare bedroom. Bohdana gasped at the surprising sight of the strange nude woman and I introduced them.

Natasha and Faye had often muttered about country pursuits, so the week before, I had booked them into a neighbouring stable for some horse-riding lessons. This was a surprise for them, and I subtly added Bohdana to the booking while in my office the day before.

Therefore, at midday, I drove the one mile to the back of Belmont Hall, so that three adults could have their first experience on a horse, and Nessie could sit atop a nag for the first time in a decade. I sat in the warm springtime and reviewed Geoff’s specification with my red pen as I heard the excited cries from my girlfriend and her companions. The riding lesson also provided ample opportunity for me to photograph the band members for their social media presence.

We stopped for lunch at a pub in a suburb of Watford and the two dominant women had fun with Nessie; they had allowed their young merchandise saleswoman to wear her leggings and a T-shirt during the riding lesson, but made her change into “that dress from Lincoln”, which Faye had brought with them. The figure-hugging pale pink short-cut garment was almost translucent, and it was apparent that the youthful lady was without any underwear. Her generous bosom caused the stretchy material to bulge.

The dominant punks set Nessie a task; in the time it took for us to eat our lunch and for Natasha and I to do our weekly shop at the supermarket next door, their submissive had to have five new phone numbers of single men that she was interested in. After we ate our food, Nessie, with her attention-seeking dress, sat with the locals watching the football match and when we returned with a boot full of shopping, the young redhead had a bulging address book.

Her smartphone pinged constantly on the way back to our house, and I could see Bohdana’s shocked expression as the dominant women confiscated her device. “Who are you most interested in?”

“Scott. beypazarı escort He was nice,” Nessie replied. Faye took and sent an explicit upskirt picture of Nessie while she sat in the back of my car to the young man in question.

When Scott responded, Faye giggled as she tapped out a reply. Nessie’s eyes widened when her sexual bully read the message aloud. “Hiya Sexy. Really enjoyed meeting you and I am always up for a little fun. I live in London so am not local. Until we next meet, I will give you some wishes. You can ask for five pictures, for your pleasure only. Yours, sluttily, Nessie.”

“Fucking nice one,” Natasha cried and when we reached the house, Bohdana and I watched the two punk rockers strip Nessie and film her debasing herself for her football fan. The young woman toyed with her clit, spread her buttcheeks and deep-throated a dildo. The sight transfixed Natasha’s cousin, who viewed the sordid sexual dominance with intrigue.

“What’s the last pic?” Nessie asked when her phone pinged; Faye smiled as she held Nessie’s device and tapped back.

“I want one of you sat on my dick,” she muttered as she read the message. “So predictable. You have such low fucking standards with men. No class, eh?” She looked at the exposed woman, holding a saliva-covered dong, as she typed a reply. “I’ve set you up on a date for tomorrow, as you are working next weekend. Nats, do you fancy double-dating? If he’s a good boy, then they can both get what they crave. He’s clearly desperate for cunt, and you want his cock. He needs to send a few naked pics of himself, though. And not just of his dick. That’s classless.”

“Oh,” Nessie hummed. “Can I get dressed now?”

“Fuck off!” Natasha squealed. “Go get me a beer. And a large glass of white wine for Boh.”

“I’ll have some of the red,” Faye added, and I got up to help her.

It didn’t take long for Nessie’s phone to ping in response as Scott, the personal trainer, responded to the pornographic images with some of his own. Bohdana’s eyes bulged as she viewed the pictures, and she listened spellbound to the filthy chatter as Natasha plied her with more and more wine.

An hour later, the punk rockers demanded that we go to the annexe, and I saw that look in Natasha’s eyes. I stripped as I entered the room, and before my girlfriend uttered a word. She downed the last of her beer from the bottle. “I need a fucking piss,” she said as I climbed into the inflatable pool.

Faye pushed Nessie towards the pool and I saw a feint smile break across the young woman’s face. This was her scene. Nessie was a rampant submissive, and the punk rockers positioned their merchandise saleswoman lay beside me with her feet next to my head and vice versa.

Any normal, non-kinky person would scream as Natasha placed her bare cunt over my face, readying to empty her bladder. To most, Natasha’s urine was not a delicious nectar or a wondrous champagne, but a repugnant, choking, disgusting acrid liquid that they would want nowhere near their tastebuds. It was supposed to be repulsive and a challenge to endure, but I had long become addicted to the thrilling nature of golden showers.

The warm fluid breaking and cascading over my face comforted me; I adored the smell and taste, which was a bitter reminder of the acidic humiliation. The sound of a tinkling, falling waterfall coming from Natasha’s cunt was a trigger to feel subservient. The golden shower stirred my arousal, took me to a happy place, and I loved every moment of my submission to the dominant woman squatting over me.

I stared at her beautiful slit, parted open and divinely moist. She chatted to Faye, ignoring me, as her muscles relaxed and her mellow pee fell from her. Delectable, scrumptious, and caustic. I swallowed mouthfuls of her waste as it rained down on my face, splashing over me.

My body sank into the world of subspace; the warm expanding feeling of submission enveloped and cuddled me as I eagerly drank Natasha’s pee, basking in the wanton degradation of my loving girlfriend.

As her flow slowed, I glanced at Faye emptying her bladder over Nessie and covering her long ginger hair, youthful face and radiant skin with golden urine. Natasha eyed her cousin, squirming as she watched the degradation of the two submissives. “I’ll just use the toilet,” Bohdana muttered; her eyes bulged at us, and we all looked at her. “It’s not… I’ve never done… that, Nats. It’s…” she stuttered, and Faye held her hand.

“You do what makes you comfortable,” the punk rocker soothed as she ran her fingers over her slit to shake the last few drops onto Nessie. “But this is not an ordeal for them. They like it. Try it in a safe environment.”

“Tell ’em,” Natasha demanded, and gently slapped my shoulder.

“Yes, please, piss on us,” Nessie replied.

“We both want to taste your pee,” I added, blushing as I begged an eighteen-year-old to debase me in front of my partner.

“Bohdana Yulia Kaplan. Take a fucking slash on these perverts,” Natasha barked. The young lady hesitated, and my girlfriend pulled Boh’s tracksuit bottoms to her ankles, exposing her smooth mons. The teenager shuddered as my lover guided the elegant beauty to squat, resting the back of her thighs on the side of the paddling pool. Nessie, soaked from Faye’s urine, lay next to me and we looked up at the wondrous sight.

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