Rage Against The Latrine: Chapter 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.

I never stopped him. “You want that?” He asked in a Scottish accent. “I could fuck that arse. But what I really need is a man exploding in my mouth.”

“That warm, slippery goo. The taste. The smell. The submission,” I muttered. “The feeling of the orgasm on your tongue.”

“Aye, like that. You want a piece of me?” He chuckled.

And he wasn’t what I found sexy or attractive in a man. To me, homosexual sex was exciting, but the male body was less arousing than a female one. I enjoyed playing with Jamie and Adam, but Natasha and Monika were far sexier creatures. The sight of my dominatrices, especially wearing lingerie or donning strapons, turned me on a lot more than seeing a naked guy.

But I had kinks, and I knew that submitting to anyone satisfied my lust; I loved being taken, and the overweight, rotund Scot offered me that. He knelt over me on the cold, hard patio, as we did “sixty-nine” on the floor. I cricked my neck, sucking the tip of his prick as he sunk his lips down on my manhood.

My arousal bubbled and sizzled. I felt overwhelmed and overexcited as I suckled a dick while the Scot ran his mouth over my shaft. My hips bucked and rocked as he teased the full length of my cock.

I panted as my tongue swirled over his glans, eager to feel the eruption of his arousal on my lips. His body weight pinned me to the ground as my gaze stared directly at his hairy buttcheeks and puckering anus. There was nothing about him I would have considered “my type.”

My mouth suckled on his purple tip, and I tasted every drop of his musky pre-cum. As his tongue worshipped my erect dick, my lust rose. This sordid act, on the cold, hard patio, was filthy. And arousing. My fingers rubbed his nipples as his head bobbed on my prick.

I felt he was chasing my orgasm for me; his lips formed a tight ring that slid up and down my shaft as he fellated me; his tongue swirled and probed, eager to satisfy, and he was fantastic at doing so.

The pressure on my prick grew too much for me to resist. I groaned into him as my lust bubbled and my cock pulsed, filling his mouth with cum. He slowed, but the moment my seed hit his tongue, his anus puckered and his body shook.

I had triggered his release, and I sucked the tip as his dick spasmed, firing a jet of his warm white pleasure down my throat.

And another.

The naked Scotsman said nothing as he climbed from me, leaving me panting on the cold stone floor, and returned holding a pair of beers.

“I saw you drank one of t’ese earlier,” he stated, helping me to my feet, and passing me a drink. I thanked him, and we conversed; the nudity was irrelevant, as was the fact that this stranger had his dick in my mouth five minutes previously, and I was washing down his cum with ale.

Connor joined me after the Scot returned to his work colleagues. The young apprentice engineer explained to me that the orgy had a similar pattern each month; after the first bout of fellatio and sex, the attendees would enjoy a beer or two as their bodies recovered. Some would wander up to the playroom, and that was where we would find Derek. Eager to see this fabled room, my guide and I walked into the retiree’s house, stepped over a fornicating couple on the stairs, and entered the vast space at the top of the property.

We heard plenty of noise and shouting on the staircase, and the bawdy yells and excited cries did not disappoint. The BDSM whipping was on our left, and our host, tied to the bench, was crying in excitement as a massive dildo on the end of a motorised rotor pummelled in and out of his gaping anus.

I had seen them before; Natasha called them fucking machines and Nessie had referred to them as sex robots; the stout, toolbox sized machine, with its long arm, rammed aggressively into Derek’s willing hole.

“Is he ready?” The primary school teacher asked. He unfurled a shiny piece of black latex in his hands and pushed his wrist into the glove. I was as speechless as the dozen guys, watching the young man don the pair of elbow-length rubber sheaths and stop the fucking machine to remove the dildo.

He used a drinks bottle to pour the translucent white syrup over Derek’s rosebud; the dominant pushed two fingers of his left hand into the host’s hole and spread them before squirting more of the lubricant into his butt. It was spell-binding to watch as he calmly finger-fucked the prostate man, first with a couple, and then three and four digits.

The black latex fingers contrasted with the puddles of white goo across his hands and backside, before the young teacher folded his thumb into his palm and sunk his entire hand into Derek’s slippery hole.

The bottom squealed as the gay top rotated his wrist and withdrew his arm; I had never seen anyone fisted before and watching the primary school teacher reaching into the rectum, burying several inches of his forearm into the lubricated opening before fully withdrawing, left me spellbound.

As one hand withdrew, the other took its place; the teacher smoothly rotated his arm as he corkscrewed it into the host’s arse. Derek cried and yelped, pushing back on the intruding hands. The pace quickened, and the young top changed to just one fist, almost punching the gaping opening with increasing alacrity.

White lubricant splashed as the dominant rammed their hand into the submissive’s greedy hole up to his forearm. He smashed past the yawning ring to fill the elder man’s expansive cavity. It looked sensual; the trust and consent Derek showed to allow this guest to open him so wide was incredible. The show exposed the host, revealing his inner self as his body shuddered.

I felt honoured to watch it, and the young man replaced the hand with a giant black butt plug, as big as the fist that came before it, and Derek’s face sunk against the floor as the top filled the host’s hole. Two men grabbed an arm each, and they dragged him to the vacant St. Andrew’s Cross on the wall of his playroom.

“Can we use the fucking machine?” Connor asked.

“We’re done with it,” a voice replied, and my new friend used a towel to wipe up the mess from the previous play. The giant dildo attached to the apparatus came off, and he selected a thinner, smaller dong, before unfurling a condom down the shaft.

“You first,” he said to me, holding a bottle of lubricant that he squeezed over the dildo. “You’ll like it.” I knelt in front of the machine and tentatively pulled my butt cheeks apart as the young man squirted lube against my hole.

Connor loosened me with his fingers, but the thick bulbous head of the dildo stretched my ring when he put that in place. I slowly backed further onto it, adjusting my knees as more of the toy inched into me.

My erect cock leaked, and it had not been touched. My body sang as the full length of the prick buried inside me, and Connor chuckled when he turned the dial on the machine.

Slowly, the six-inch dick slipped out, gliding between my cheeks and sphincter.

And then came straight back at me, filling me as before. The young man increased the power again. And again. The motor grunted and whirred, smashing the dildo faster, harder, and angrier into me. Running at full speed, the toy bore into me.

But it felt incredible. I had never been fucked so wildly; not even Natasha, at her most frustrated, could compete with the rigorous, explosive nature of this machine. The exquisite feeling of submission swelled within as my cock leaked pre-cum onto the floor.

Orgasm after orgasm shook my body; each one stronger than the last. I writhed on the fake rubber, smashing into me, as I felt my climax well inside. My grunting self swam through the submissive lust and prostate stimulation. I knew I had a small audience, as the machine sodomised me. My cock bounced with every pound of my slutty hole. My glazed eyes could barely make out the sights in the room, and I had long since tuned out of the sounds.

It was just me, the dildo, and my butt. An avalanche of delicious touches within my intimate space as the machine brought me to my strongest orgasm, welling from deep inside my backside. Every stroke had carried me closer to this point, until I was ready to explode. Men surrounded me, watching the show, but I never cared as ecstasy swept through my flesh and cum leaked from my prick. Not once, but twice, I hit a wave of toe-curling sexual delirium as I reached my carnal peak in front of a gaggle of hedonists. I fell forward, drained.

Connor stopped the machine. “My turn,” he eagerly cried, and we wiped my mess with the towel and replaced the condom on the dildo. Watching him lubricate himself and the toy before he positioned his body on the dong was arousing, but seeing him groan as he impaled himself on the rubber cock was deeply provocative. He swam in pleasure as his butthole accommodated the intruding dick.

I watched the slow march of the machine, thrusting gently into him, which caused him to groan. He arched his back and adjusted himself so the sodomising robot stroked his special spot. I turned the dial higher and higher, smashing the cock faster and faster into his hole. It pounded him at a phenomenal rate, with the wheel of the motor spinning like an out-of-control steam train.

I couldn’t believe I had taken this treatment. But I knew how it felt, and Connor’s cries and squeals were not too dissimilar to mine. The pleasure escalated, building in intensity until the pressure discharged, smashing into every sinew of flesh.

He experienced the overwhelming surge, and he expelled his seed from his swinging limp prick as the machinery drained him of cum.

We watched two other men become depleted by the fucking machine and then drank some beer on the patio. Connor and I took it in turns to fellate a stranger in the kitchen and after they rewarded him with a mouthful, the young man kissed me, sharing the cream.

We met up with Adam and Joseph, as the two gay lovers dominated an older pair; the afternoon was non-stop sexual debauchery. The last act of the party was Derek once more. The host came into the patio and the primary school teacher knelt in front of the naked man and attached a black chastity cage to his prick. “Please,” the elder fellow begged. “Not again. I want…”

The key turned in the lock and the dominant fastened a blindfold to the overweight sub. They sat him in the corner of his patio. “Guys, before you go, take a slash over this pig. And who wants the key this month?”

I didn’t need to urinate, but several men did, and they covered the obese host in their piss, soaking the gregarious man in pale honey, before we dressed.

Joseph explained on the journey home. “Each party, they lock him in a chastity cage. They pick a regular attendee at random, and he takes the key. They keep it and unlock him minutes before the next orgy. He spends all his time locked, and he loves it.” Adam rubbed his boyfriend’s knee. “Maybe I should do that with you.” The young man gasped. “I’d need to if we ever went exclusive!”

I dropped the gay couple outside Joseph’s flat and then drove to our holiday let. Svetlana, Mary, Ruslana and Natasha had spent the afternoon in the pub, and when they returned to the accommodation, my partner had to help her sister and the lesbian barista stagger to the cottage; they were much the worse for wear. My fiancée was especially keen to listen to my antics at the party, and we had normal vanilla sex for the first time in weeks.

The following day, we persuaded our guests to join us on a walk with Adam and Joseph. Natasha’s pregnant state limited the difficulty of the hike we attempted, but we had a pleasant stroll along a gentle incline to a viewpoint which offered fabulous views across the lake before we had lunch in a wonderful hillside pub. My partner teased her brother that he was turning me gay and that I needed some proper heterosexual shagging.

He grinned, but the following morning, Natasha made me thoroughly douche before we drove to collect her mother. Ruslana was quiet in the car and said she didn’t feel too good. My fiancée sensed something was worrying her, but the mature nymphomaniac snapped and replied that she had business at the swingers’ retreat.

Alfredo, the club stalwart, welcomed us into the carpark and greeted Ruslana. “A word?” He asked when she got out of my vehicle.

“Sure,” she muttered and glanced at Natasha, listening to the conversation. “I’m Treasurer of the Club. Alfredo is Vice President. It’s nothing juicy,” she snapped, a little aggressively. “Go to the changing rooms and I’ll be along shortly.”

Ruslana’s business took over fifteen minutes, but she returned with a full-length black Latex catsuit that hugged my fiancée’s engorged body. I could not resist running my hands over her rubber-clad frame, especially when she applied the Shiner to it.

My fellow film stars were Janine, a swinger eight months pregnant, and a married couple – Kelly and Simon – who were making their filming debut at the swingers’ club. Natasha was at the same stage of her pregnancy as Kelly, although my fiancée had a bigger bump.

While the girls discussed the scenes with Alfredo, I chatted to the naked sub; he was the same age and build as me, but the retail manager’s sexual history was much more limited. Adopting a submissive role was a recent development in his sex life and he was keen to experience a handful of wilder adventures before the banality of parenthood prevented him.

The scene started with both myself and Simon naked and restrained; we both wore full face latex hoods with just openings for our eyes and mouth. They narrowed our field of vision, but I saw the three gorgeous pregnant women saunter across the room to start in front of us.

All the dommes wore masks; my fiancée was dressed in a full-length catsuit and the other two donned black erotic lingerie that showed their bumps and gravid figures.

Simon, fastened horizontally spread-eagled on the floor, was their first victim. His wife retrieved a large red bowl and tray from underneath the camera and ambled back to her partner.

The women liberally coated his chest, pubis and legs in shaving foam before dragging the razor over his dampened body to remove every follicle from his skin. When he squealed, Janine perched her buttocks on his face. They took twenty minutes to shave both sides of his frame, and the dommes paraded their glabrous sub in front of the camera.

They had fastened me to a bench and my first scene involved the three dominatrices taking turns sitting astride my face. They forced me to provide cunnilingus to the pregnant women.

Utter bliss; I had reached a nirvana as the gravid belles circled me. Janine, the heaviest of the beauties, sat on me first. Long, light brown hair, with welcoming green eyes and a cheeky, fun-loving smile that radiated happiness. At nearly nine months pregnant, the swinger was at her bulkiest, most radiant, and her body weight bore down on my skull as she positioned herself.

Her splayed slit smelt gloriously sweet and felt arousingly wet. I inhaled her gorgeous scent as my tongue slipped over her button. Helpless, I could not move. They fastened my wrists and ankles to the long bench. Her heft pinned my head to the wooden top, and the foam padding made little difference to the pressure on my cranium.

It may have been uncomfortable for some, but I was in heaven. The stimulating feel of the concupiscent jezebel’s juices as she became aroused was delightful. My tongue swirled against her smooth flesh and delicate ridges, drawing the young slattern towards her orgasm.

My soaked skin welcome Natasha next. The inside of the latex hood was hot and sweaty and Janine had smothered me in female arousal. My fiancée used the crotch zipper to free her cunt, and I adored the familiar smell and taste. I knew what my partner loved, and I eagerly probed her saturated pussy and slippery bean until she climaxed.

Kelly was the last guest on my lips. The golden blonde wife of my fellow submissive porn star discarded her flimsy underwear before she clambered onto me. Tentatively, and almost fearful, as she positioned her peachy derriere on my forehead.

I wanted my hands to guide her. The inexperienced domme needed encouragement to rest her frame on me. She seemed reluctant, hesitant, or scared to do what I longed for her to do. I could barely see it, but I craved to taste her pregnant cunt, and slide my tongue over the stranger’s slit.

Twenty minutes of providing oral servitude to two magnificent specimens of confident, dominant womanhood had my lust boiling, and Kelly was just as fantastic.

Large breasts, easily an “E” or “F” cup, sat atop a sizeable mound that suggested childbirth was imminent. But her fingers, delicately manicured with shimmering ruby nail varnish, that exuded femininity, elegance and confidence, and a wedding ring.

Kelly was married. Her cherished, aromatic, shaved cunt had been betrothed to another, and for a short while, it was all mine. My lips gently touched her clit, and she jerked. I ran my tongue over her moistened slit, feeling for her delicate folds. I lapped at her pussy and suckled her button. The pregnant dominatrix gasped and groaned as I worshipped her womanhood.

She ground her hips as my lips worked her exquisite cunt; our decadence may have looked sordid, but my mouth provided a sensual release for the delicious lady.

Kelly’s buttocks tightened as her body pulsed and the pregnant dominatrix enjoyed her climax, rocking on my skull as her orgasm tore through her bulky frame.

Only afterwards did I realise that Simon, her husband, had been restrained at the feet of his lover and had witnessed his wife’s sexual arousal reach a squealing, grunting crescendo. He had a front-row seat as his woman passionately rode the face of another man, who lavished love and care on her intimate slit.

She had sought carnal pleasure from another, and as the dominatrices left the room for the camera, I glanced at him, still constrained. Natasha untied me as Alfredo checked the footage, and we had a break. Simon was a little quiet, although all three women ran their hands over his smooth skin, admiring his hairless body.

The padded bench, around a metre from the ground, was the source of the next video. The girls fastened both of us onto the wooden furniture, with our knees resting on the floor and our chests on the stuffed top. When I looked along the bench, I made eye contact with Simon, who had the slightly shocked and overwhelmed expression.

I knew what was coming. Our exposed bottoms were an open invitation to the dominants. Shackled on all-fours was not something Natasha could ignore, and the sound of three sets of feet padding across the room in front of the camera made my heart rate quicken.

The slap of a paddle in a hand caused a shudder to tingle down my spine. I closed my eyes, regulated my breathing, and relaxed my muscles. I stopped thinking or concentrating and instead set my overactive mind to simmer.

The gentle smack of a wooden paddle sparkled. I grunted in acknowledgement and sighed as the dominant woman rhythmically spanked my buttocks. Slow and steady, she sent me floating through subspace. This was not a wicked, violent display of female savagery, but a measured, sexual performance of elegant control.

I was merciless in every sense of the word; I could not have stopped their dominance, even if they had not tied me to the bench. Their performance had left me paralysed; I could not move. They had ownership of my consciousness, as the domme lorded their supremacy over my psyche.

Each strike sent me further into helplessness. My mind fogged with contentment and submission as I drifted through an euphoria. Intoxicated with lustful bliss, I floated.

I never realised for how long the women pummelled my backside, and I never heard Simon’s treatment or his groans, despite them caning him. The world revolved around my mental fog of calming pain. I could not focus on anything until I came out of my delirium.

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.