Rage Against The Latrine: Chapter 23
The supermarket was only a three-minute walk away, but my heart pounded as we navigated the Brixton side street. A couple of taxis drove past us, but there was a row of parked cars between the pavement and the speeding minicabs, and so the drivers did not spot me and my friend, a pair of submissive men in humiliating attire.
The cold, drizzly December rain swirled around the nighttime air. When we reached the main road, there was a lot more traffic and activity, with people spilling out of takeaways and pubs. Tubby whimpered as we scanned the highway from the shadows of the side street, and I grabbed his hand when there was a gap in the vehicles travelling on the major thoroughfare. We had to run across the carriageway in full glare of incoming headlights, and I looked away from the minibus heading towards us, clearly illuminating our attire.
The horn and blast of drunken jeers, delivered through an open window, drew attention to the pair of men in female clothing as we walked swiftly up the pavement and entered the mini-mart. Two guys were in the shop, and I pushed Tubby into the supermarket. “Confidence,” I whispered to him as we grabbed several share bags of crisps.
“What the bleedin’…” the gruff voice of the other shopper called as he looked down the aisle.
“It’s a dare,” I lied; his beady eyes traced my stockings and short dress, and then took in Tubby, the schoolgirl. “My fiancée is fucking warped,” I added, telling the truth.
“You look like a couple of gingers, mate.” He barked in his cockney accent. I said nothing to his slur as he paid for his cigarettes and when he left, we nervously approached the cashier. I put the two fifty-pound notes on the counter and mentally calculated the amount of booze we could buy after paying for the eight bags of snacks. She avoided eye contact, embarrassed by our predicament, and we hurriedly left the shop after paying for our goods before she received any more patrons.
Walking back down the side streets, with six 70cl bottles of vodka and an armful of snacks, shredded my nerves. I felt certain that we would be exposed, and the cold British weather chilled my skin in the flimsy spandex uniform. The group cheered when we dumped the purchases onto the kitchen table, gasping from our climb of the stairs. All eyes turned to us; the punk rocker music blared in the background as the partygoers focused on the submissives and the bawdy musicians.
My fiancée picked a bottle of vodka and passed it to Faye, who took out two dozen translucent plastic shot glasses. She filled them up and the people I knew received one – Natasha and the band, Portia, Svetlana, Nessie, the band’s management and helpers, and the fan club. They all necked the fiery hit of clear liquid. “We’ve each got a little game for you to do, and for every task you complete, we all have to do an extra shot.” She stared at Tubby. “And for each of the games you don’t, all the guys get twenty minutes with your wife.”
My friend gulped; the front of his school skirt twitched. “Oh…”
“To use as they want. So, the dirtier you are, the cleaner your woman stays. And one of you is losing your anal virginity tonight.” Tubby fidgeted at those words as Natasha walked up to the overweight man. “Maybe both of you.” She pressed two red dice into his right hand, and he watched my fiancée, the ringmaster, in his sordid adventure, back away. She gestured at the table. “Roll ‘em!”
His hands trembled as he flicked his wrist and the perspex die tumbled on the worktop, pinging against the vodka. “A six and a four,” Svetlana called, and she scooped up the cubes and passed them to me. I rolled a two and a one.
Faye laughed and held out a leather paddle, waving it in the air. “Your bird’ll be getting railed up the shitter,” she joked as she rose from her seated position.
Natasha’s best friend grinned as she stepped between the voyeurs, who laughed and hollered as they drank. The red-haired lesbian prodded the leather paddle into my schoolmate’s chest. “Turn around,” she ordered. “Hands on the worktop.”
Tubby gulped; anxious fear, intertwined with nervous excitement, etched across his face as the humiliated submissive slowly fulfilled my lover’s demands. The jeering of the group as Faye flipped his pinafore onto his back to reveal the silky baby blue briefs was cruel. His tiny erection as the keyboardist lowered his female underwear to his knees was proof of his arousal.
“Six times four?” Natasha asked him.
“Twenty-four,” the man with a mathematics A-Level replied, and Faye held the black leather paddle in her right hand.
“Fucking count ‘em,” she ordered.
“And if you want her to stop, just yell ‘fuck my bird’s fudge box!’” Yasmin yelled, to a roar of laughter. “And we’ll do that.”
That was the stake for Tubby and Portia. If the overweight man failed in his tasks, then the guys would take his wife into a bedroom to use her. The reality excited and frightened him. My lover would hit me far harder than Faye did with Tubby’s peachy, untouched buttocks; her graceful motion, like a tennis player idly hitting forehands across the court, was a well-practised skill. Each strike slapped against my friend’s cheeks with a guttural smack that was followed by a squeal and him calling a number.
I watched Portia; the initial unease dissipated as Maddison’s eldest brother wrapped his arm around her bare torso and casually ran his fingers through her snatch. Her gaze fixed on her husband’s humiliation, staring intensely at Faye’s effortless reddening of her partner’s flesh, before her companion became re-pantied.
I made a little noise when it was my turn; paddled in front of the attendees as I assumed the same position, Faye slammed the weapon hard against my exposed skin. I was used to female dominance; I revelled in the band’s sadism and loved the powerful displays of pain and kink from the punk rockers. The two spanks were not enough, and I envied Tubby with his fiery buttocks.
Once again, the girls opened a bottle of the cheap vodka and gave each of our entourage a shot. Portia smiled as the fiery liquid slipped down her gullet, while the colourful arms of Bradley pulled her frame closer to him.
Yasmin coughed as the alcohol swept over her tongue and the topless tattooed drummer, with bright magenta hair and several pieces of body jewellery, stumbled to her feet, holding a plastic bag. “You boys always want blowjobs, so find out what it’s like.” She slapped a pale pink rubber dildo with a suction cup onto the tiled wall at waist height, which made a guttural kiss as it affixed itself.
The oglers roared with cruel, drunken laughter as she fastened another, a black specimen with a similar length and girth to the flesh-coloured dong, onto the wall behind me. “Roll the dice,” Svetlana squealed. The calm woman had transformed into a wild, hedonistic crazy. Her eyes sparkled as she swayed, staring at us through the attendees of Natasha’s warped gathering.
Everyone watched the front of the room, giggling and transfixed at the sight; not a single person didn’t have a drink in their hand, and empty beer cans and wine bottles littered the kitchen. Yasmin picked up the red dice and passed it to Tubby; his hands shook as he took them and trembled as the plastic cubes tumbled along the desk.
“Five. Six.”
He blushed. “Thirty,” he muttered. He said nothing as I threw a pair of threes, staring at me and then the fleshy prick behind him. The dildoes were smaller than Jamie’s massive member, but longer than mine, and about twenty times bigger than my friend’s undersized dick.
Yasmin pressed on Tubby’s shoulder, and the streetwise alleycat forced the sissified husband to his knees, before she needlessly explained to us what we had to do.
The rubber prick brushed his nose as he stared along the top of the faux cock. His lips parted gently as he became hypnotised by the member. I saw it too; the ridges criss-crossing the flesh, the anatomically correct frenulum and glans in a slightly darker shade of skin pink and the slight hang at the end as gravity pulled the weighty sheath at the tip.
He gulped as his lips touched the rounded head of the rubber member and he leant forward, as if to plant a kiss on the soft spongy summit mushroom, crowning the point of the stout sex toy.
This moment captivated him. His mind whirred as it processed the bewitching sight. Spellbound and enchanted. Tubby focused on that dick with his sexual imagination running riot. Was this his fantasy? Dressed as a slutty schoolgirl, on his knees in front of a thick, firm 7 inch long phallus, surrounded by a drunken audience. Did his imagination make that cock real and was my friend bisexual? Or just a rampant submissive?
Yasmin pressed the crown of Tubby’s head, forcing the cock between his lips. “Get bobbing!” She ordered, causing my friend to gag. He had no experience, and he spluttered as the dick tickled the back of his throat.
And yet, he wanted it. His school skirt rippled as he bobbed eagerly on the prick, taking it a little further with each thrust. By the time he had reached thirty, he looked drained.
But not scared. And he glanced with longing at the spit-covered sex toy inches from his nose as he took giant lungfuls of air.
Yasmin said nothing as I slowly impaled myself on the dry dildo, taking it further into my mouth each time the textured rubber parted my lips. It tasted of chemical, and I almost wished I had the real thing as I easily mastered nine humiliating thrusts. Natasha sniggered as I finished. “You’re such a fucking slut,” she snapped, opening the bottle of vodka. Svetlana’s eyes bulged as her sister passed her a third shot of alcohol inside fifteen minutes and told her to down it.
My fiancée tossed Paula another plastic bag and the green-haired lesbian reached over to us. “Put them in,” she ordered. “You know how.”
The bawdiness in the room doubled when I pulled two metal butt plugs with bright pink jewels encrusted in their base. Weighty and cool to the touch. Tubby’s fingers trembled as he took an anal toy from me.
The shocked grunts and gasps from the room as Tubby turned the three-inch long and over an inch wide steel toy in his hands and he picked up a packet of lube from my outstretched palm. He looked scared and excited. Eager and impatient, but reticent. Natasha’s eyes met mine, and she smirked as I pushed my panties to my knees and squatted, facing the revellers.
A squirt of lubricant on the metal head and I reached around to press the teardrop against my rosebud. Tubby watched me and copied my actions as I slowly guided the plug into me. My butt accepted the intrusion gleefully. It loved any toy Natasha plunged into me, and I enjoyed every single piece of sodomy.
I mewed as the metal intrusion slipped into me and I wiped my slippery fingers on my polyester outfit. “Smile,” a female partygoer ordered as I stood up. “And knickers up!” I blushed as I did as they commanded, and when I bent over to pull the flimsy underwear from my shin, I gave the room an excellent view of my jewelled arse before the feminine undergarments covered my buttcheeks.
I watched Tubby stuff the plug into his butt and then turn to face the hollering crowd. He revelled in his humiliation, smiling as he faced the wall and twerked, exhibiting his sparkling anus to the cackling vultures.
Both Svetlana and Portia groaned when Natasha filled their flimsy shot glasses with more of the cheap vodka, and our group each downed another 25ml of fiery alcohol. The heavily decorated Maddison set the final task, and she left the kitchen, returning with a full ten litre camping water carrier. She removed a funnel from the top and heaved the white plastic container on the wooden table that creaked with the weight.
I sighed as she used the tap to fill two pint glasses of pale yellow liquid. “Since the chairs have been empty, there are no sissies for the toilets.”
“But we knew you wouldn’t want to miss out on all that pee,” Paula teased.
“So drink up, boys. Down it in one. There’s about thirty of us who helped fill it up for you. It’s our special blend.”
Stillness engulfed the room as every pair of eyes watched the two men holding the glasses of amber nastiness. Everyone had seen Tubby and myself underneath the commode chairs and soaked us in their waste; I had consumed mouthfuls of pee as the revellers sprayed their acerbic fluids over me, but this was different.
We were exposed; publicly and openly set to quaff half-a-litre of harsh, fiery piss from a lukewarm pint glass. “Down it!” A voice yelled and a few drunken cries chanted that order once more. The last remnants of my dignity vanished as the witnesses to our impending humiliation demanded that we debase ourselves in a lecherous sing-song fashion.
Commanded that we swallow the vile mixture.
My eyes burnt as I raised the glass to my lips; I breathed through my mouth and the first drops of the honey-coloured degradation passed over my tongue. Cool yet fiery, my throat gagged on the tepid pee slipping down my gullet. The acidic harshness scorched. My stomach bubbled as I flooded my insides with the repugnant fluid.
With half of the drink drunk, my body flagged; I was not used to drinking cool pee like this, and having enjoyed dozens of mouthfuls of warm, watery piss, I craved something other than more liquid waste. My belly churned as I tried to finish the glass as quickly as possible.
Bloated from the ordeal, I fought to repel my natural instinct to expel the influx of repugnance. My mouth, scorched by the revolting fluid, ached for the flow to stop. My nostrils, screaming from the intensity of the urea, burnt and my eyes watered. But my cock and my depraved mind savoured every drop of my humiliation at my fiancée’s hands.
I was a mess, and I placed the large glass on the table, panting heavily. Desperate to fill my lungs with fresh air. Tubby’s eyes streamed as he swallowed the pint of piss. Liquid poured from his chin as he drank the amber nectar, with the golden humiliation tumbling onto his clothing. The submissive dripped pee down the front of his cheap polyester outfit as it tumbled from his open mouth. His misty expression glanced towards me as he, too, panted.
We both heard the degrading words, with the shocked looks and disgusted expressions. Both of us felt shamed and embarrassed, and yet aroused. Tubby’s satin panties bulged with his erection. “You’re fucking filthy,” Natasha snorted and poured the vodka once more. Portia giggled as her companion toyed with her naked flesh, and my friend’s gaze focused on his wife in the arms of another.
“We’ve done all your tasks?” I asked, eyeing the litres of piss in the camping container.
“Fuck no! Let’s finish in the bathroom,” Natasha roared, and she staggered into the corridor, holding the remnants of the vodka in her left hand and the water carrier her other. A couple slapped my butt, sending shock waves through the plug as I walked behind my partner, following her into the room. She pointed to the tiled floor in the middle of the wet room. “Tubby, kneel.”
The rough texture of the ceramic etched against his knees. She grinned wildly as over forty people crammed into the shower room, eagerly watching the show of humiliation. Many more ogled from the doorway as Natasha pulled Tubby’s naked wife by the wrist. “C’mon boys, who wants a handjob?”
“What?” Tubby squealed.
My fiancée crouched down beside him. “A lot of cum is going to land on this pretty little face of yours, and this girly dress. But a slutty sub like you will absolutely love that.”
The submissive gulped. Natasha stood, and her hand wrapped around the nearest prick. I’d not seen the lanky young man before, and I doubted my fiancée knew his name, but she slipped her fingers onto his shaft and firmly stroked the college-age guy’s dick while he drank from a can of beer.
Portia and Maddison played with two more, as the men queued up to have the women provide hand relief to the drunken revellers. The first spurt of cum landed on Tubby’s face; the second in his spiky hair. And they never stopped. Wave after wave splattered on his body. Natasha stuffed a thick prick into his mouth as it ejaculated and Portia kissed the gentleman she stroked before it covered her husband’s feminine outfit in semen.
There was a stream of tipsy, aroused men, eager to have the girls unload their balls once more. A constant humiliation for a sissified submissive who savoured the domination. No new experience was too much for him; he was in his subspace of blissful satisfaction.
He never blinked as my partner got her men to ejaculate into his mouth, or that she forced him to fellate many of them. The degrading words, mostly from the women, punctured the remnants of his dignity as he became a cum rag for the party.
Three dozen men splattered the contents of their testicles on my friend, glazing him with long streams of translucent goo. His hair plastered to his head, and his face, chin and clothes became covered in semen. He looked like a whore.
But Portia humiliated him further. She snogged Maddison’s well-endowed, lanky and heavily tattooed elder brother as she stroked him. His hands wandered, and she giggled as she knelt alongside her defiled husband. “Fuck me,” she demanded from her admirer.
There was a sudden intake of breath from the voyeurs.
His bride had been unfaithful that evening already. Tubby had seen the remnants of his cuckolding and heard her recount the threesome when she urinated over him, but she had not spread her legs for another so brazenly in front of her husband. He had not witnessed the well-endowed men screwing his partner. And as Natasha and Nessie stroked ejaculating pricks into her husband’s mouth, Portia positioned Bradley’s thick dick to take her doggy-style.
His partner taken, as Tubby’s nose nestled into pubic hair at the base of a cock even smaller than his. The crowd witnessed him providing fellatio to a stranger, while the bareback dick of another pleasured his young wife.
He was a cross-dresser, a cuckold, a cocksucker and a cumslut. Debauched and defiled, his tiny prick soaked his feminine panties as it oozed arousal. Because Tubby was in his element; his eyes wandered from the dick stuffed in his mouth to his groaning wife.
He barely noticed the additional splattering of semen in his hair and dress, or that the panting man was about to unload across his tongue. He listened to the orgasmic squeals and watched the frantic fucking as another guy ploughed into his life partner.
For the umpteenth time that evening, a prick spewed cum into Tubby’s face, and he swallowed the salty viscous liquid that oozed past his lips. For the umpteenth time, someone coated his skin and his feminine attire with the contents of their testicles, but his attention focused on Portia, squealing as Bradley emptied his balls into her cunt once more.
The taken wife stared at her disgraced husband and crawled across the dirty floor to him. She embraced him. The kiss was passionate and inflamed, and she smeared the goo over her face as the last man came over the kissing couple.
Natasha looked across the room at me, tapping the camping bowser of piss with a wicked expression. “I can’t drink all that!” I moaned.
She sniggered; my fiancée had no intention of making me do so. Instead, she forced me onto the floor in the shower and opened the tap on the container of piss, as she liberally coated my cheerleading outfit in several litres of their pee.
The amber liquid soaked my flesh, smothering me in the acerbic nastiness. My partner cackled as the waste sloshed over me, bouncing from my face, chest, and legs. She flooded my hair, covered my skin and when the bowser had run dry, she tossed the empty container to one side, shook her head and walked away from me, leaving me lying in a puddle of my humiliation.
“Let’s have a shower and go to bed,” Portia suggested to her husband as the room emptied; they had watched my degradation. I stripped, showered and removed the butt plug with just a couple of drunken revellers watching. I had no privacy, and no dignity.
When I felt clean, I found my fiancée in the kitchen, playing Spin The Bottle. She offered me a place at the table, but I kissed and bade goodnight to my lover and went to bed. I would not have been able to keep up with Natasha’s raucous party games.
I woke without my partner by my side; the flat was eerily quiet as I padded the threadbare carpets and found my fiancée hunched over a toilet bowl. “Shit! You must have had too much to drink if you’ve started throwing up.”
My partner glared at me. “I… have… fucking… eaten… something!” She cried between heaves. Natasha’s stomach was bulletproof, and I said nothing as I used the other toilet.
“Breakfast? There’s a cafe down the road, so I’m going to get a load of brekkie rolls.” The green-faced woman nodded, and I got dressed and meandered into the street with a canvas bag. I bought a pack of tea bags and milk from the mini market and then ordered thirty sausage and bacon rolls from the eatery. The waitress’s eyes bulged when I placed the order, but several minutes later, I arranged the food on the kitchen table and filled the kettle from the tap. The attendees I knew staggered from their beds, equally hungover and ill as my fiancée. They gratefully took a greasy sandwich from the pile on the table along with a tea in a plastic cup.
The amount of empty bottles and cans filled four black bin bags. “Some of the girls and guys from the bottom two floors joined us,” Faye explained as I tried to calculate how much alcohol my beloved had likely drunk. “When we set up yesterday, we ran into them and they said they’d join in. That way they couldn’t complain about the music as they were at the fucking party! And they were well up for our party games.”
“I remember,” I muttered. We spent twenty minutes tidying the flat. Fox packed the commode chairs and took the band’s luggage to the minibus, and I carried the waste bags to the car park.
I approached Natasha, sat in the kitchen and talking to her bandmates. “You ready to go home now? We’ve tidied up.” She giggled and looked at Faye.
“Look out of the fucking window.” I glanced at the street below as a large limousine pulled alongside the minibus. “See it?”
“The limo? But why?”
“Every tour we end on a night out with the girls. You know that!”
“But… what about last night?”
“That was just the warm-up act,” Faye explained.
“We’re off to a posh hotel in central London and we’re going to have a fucking good time.” Natasha giggled at my expression. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening, after we’ve done the filming for the BBC.” I gulped as she leapt from her chair. My fiancée kissed me on the cheek, patted me on the bum and left the room with a swagger.
Svetlana was incredibly hungover. The blonde beauty chugged a couple of pints of water as her short, brown-skinned companion scoffed a breakfast roll. “Worse for wear?”
“I’ve never drunk that much before,” Natasha’s sister complained. She glanced at her friend, who sniggered. “Apart from when I first met Mary.”
“Honey, I saw you every day,” her companion replied, still chewing mouthfuls of sausage and bacon.
The innocent beauty blushed. “Mary ran the University cafe outside my lecture theatre.”
“Until the Uni tried to privatise us.”
“So, I started a campaign, and we saved it,” Svetlana added. “They backed down.”
“And we had a party to celebrate. Nothing like this, but Svez got so drunk.” The young woman rubbed the back of Svetlana’s hand affectionately, and the blonde smiled and then glanced at me.
Her grin disappeared. “Don’t tell my Dad. Please do not let him know. He’ll freak. It’s just…”
“Of course I won’t!”
“Mum guessed. Nats knows. But I can’t deal with his disapproval. You saw what he does to Adam.”
“Natasha isn’t what you call heterosexual. Or monogamous, but you know that.” Svetlana sighed as I spoke. “You said last Christmas, when we first met, that ‘boys were disgusting.’” She blushed as I teased her. “I understand what you meant now!”
“Yeah, you are. And you enjoy being pissed on? That’s pretty weird.”
I nodded. “I like that, but there are lesbians into watersports too,” I muttered. “Are they disgusting?”
She sniggered. After my chat with Svetlana, I drove Tubby and Portia into Central London, and parked my vehicle in the underground car park of my employer. We walked down the busy Christmas shopping street as the newlyweds held hands and then had lunch at an eatery opposite the mainline station.
Portia and Tubby had spoken little to each other about the night before, and when my friend went to the toilet, I broached the subject. “He’s overwhelmed. He ticked off all his fantasies in one evening, and he didn’t expect to do that much. Especially the blowjobs and the hotwifing. We’re going to discuss it after Christmas. He wants to do it all again, and I really enjoyed the sex and the dominance, but we need to set some ground rules and talk it through.” I nodded; I understood completely. “They are filthy, but Natasha gave us the outfits for our dressing-up box and he’s desperate to wear them. I couldn’t believe what she arranged for us both. I told her what kinks Tubby said he wanted to try, and she just did everything. Your fiancée is incredible.”
“Yes, she is. And as long as you’re OK. It was quite a lot.”
“Yeah, we’re fine. It was an experience. An amazing experience. An incredible experience. But I have so many mixed emotions. As does Tubby. We just need to talk through them all.” I understood, and when Tubby returned to the table, we crossed the road and I saw my two friends on the train.
I had plenty of work to do in Sarratt Green, and I was a little disappointed that Natasha was not home with me, but I knew the life of a music star was irregular. She messaged me some pictures from inside a spa in the afternoon, a restaurant in the evening, and then a nightclub before midnight.
I listened to a pre-recorded interview with the band on the radio on Sunday as I cleaned the house and my fiancée arrived home late-afternoon. I wanted to take her to the pub in the centre of the village as she unpacked her bags from the minibus, driven by Fox, but she asked to have a quiet night in.
“I was ill this morning. I just want to relax.”
“Something you ate again?”
“Too much vodka,” she airily dismissed, and we curled on the sofa together to watch television.
When Natasha threw up the following morning, I raided my medicine cabinet and approached my fiancée with a pregnancy test. “Samantha had a scare, and we bought a couple. I knew there was one we didn’t use.”
“I’m not knocked up.” She snapped. “I know.”
“So you came on last week?” I asked, thinking back to her words in Oxford when we had unprotected sex. “Your cycle started a few days ago.”
“No. I haven’t. But it’s a fucking male myth that every woman bleeds every 28 days. We are not the moon. I’ve been stressed. It’s not that weird for me to be out by a few days. Most women are not that regular.”
She argued with me and only relented when I asked to be underneath her morning stream with the test. I laid beneath my fiancée with the white plastic stick as she released her pee in the shower cubicle, soaking my body and my hands with her deep yellow nectar. It reeked and the harsh acidic flow scorched my nostrils as the jet of intense honey sprinkled over me.
I scrambled to put the test on the sink before she turned on the hot water tap. We showered together, kissing and soaping, before she wrapped herself in a towel and left the en-suite.
I glanced at the medical strip and padded into the room behind her. “Natasha,” I called to get her attention. “I’m going to be a dad!”
“Fuck off!” She cried, and I held the white plastic aloft, illustrating the bright pink marker on the strip to my disbelieving fiancée. “Oh, fucking buggering hell!”
