Chapter 13

During the Summer, the chatter on the Bitches Against forums ramped up; news of the tour had dropped at Easter and rumours about the album, fuelled by the official press releases and the band’s social media posts, caused the interest and activity to increase further.

We ran most of the fan club online; we used a mailing list to advise of tours and albums, and our Twitter account retweeted tweets from the band, as well as any photos from the live concerts that we took or found in the public domain. It wasn’t an onerous task, but we had a few idiots every year, and the admins and managers of the accounts had to act robustly and fairly.

With agreement, I added Nessie to the forums as a “Power User” and she regularly posted “behind the scenes” exclusive images, and a thirty-second video clip of the band practising one of Faye’s well-crafted songs. Her contributions were popular, sometimes risque, and the forum users always commented wildly on her content.

In previous years, the fan group managers gathered in a pub before the last concert in London. It was constructive to meet face-to-face and agree rules on how we moderated the forums, but we often spent more time drinking and discussing the band. My fellow admins were aware of my new relationship with Natasha, and they were especially eager to discuss the forthcoming album and tour. When I let slip that the lead singer lived with me, and our availability aligned on a Saturday in late June, I was asked to host a meeting. Of course, I agreed.

Olly and Frances Hamilton, a married couple who co-supervised the UK Fan Club, had an empty weekend and could travel from East London. Toby, the Scotsman who worked eleven months in every twelve in Japan and moderated the overseas forums, had flown in to Heathrow the day before. He had a few hours before he drove up to Leeds. Finally, Suna Tryggvason - a 24-year-old punk rocker who lived with her dad near Brighton and was employed as a nursery nurse - had travelled to see us. She managed the Bitches Against Youth and was the administrator on those boards and social media accounts.

I met Suna at the local Underground station early in the morning. Like me, she loved the lead singer and the short, chubby fan had dyed her pixie hair bright pink to match that of my girlfriend. I got on well with the surly woman, and had once given her a lift from Manchester to London after a Bitches Against concert with my ex. Once all the attendees arrived, we sat in my garden as the band practised in their space.

Deliberately, I had not told them that the five rockers were staying in the annexe for the weekend. They knew Natasha would be present, and the excitement at all of our idols being a few metres away was noticeable. I had won ten pairs of tickets for the final London gig from my girlfriend and Faye after a game of Strip Poker. The two women took their loss poorly and handcuffed me to the fence before spanking me, plugging me and then urinating over me. I’d never savoured a card victory so much.

The Fan Club argued over whether we should run competitions or giveaways to distribute the tickets. Nessie attended to us, like she waited on the band. Initially, she was dressed, but by 11am one of the punk rockers had removed her T-shirt and she served drinks topless. Eyes wandered as she carried refreshments into the garden in just a short skirt.

By midday, when she brought the sandwiches and crisps, the submissive was stark naked. Toby, a mature, single gentleman, ogled her nubile flesh. “I was late with Faye’s drink,” Nessie explained when the middle-aged Frances asked. The deferential slut sat down at the table with us. “The band wants to do some photos with you. Some of you watching the practice session and then some in the garden, but they want those outside to be...” The shy nymph cleared her throat and stared at the food. “ ... with everyone nude. It’s for the calendar. The June picture. They need a selection so they can choose the best.”

Olly’s wife refused immediately, and no amount of coaxing from her enthusiastic husband could change her mind, but the moment Nessie revealed the punk rockers would also be without clothes, Suna and Toby agreed. The naked merchandise saleswoman passed Frances the camera, and we entered the ground floor of the annexe to the tune of White Wedding. Faye greeted their supporters warmly. The bare-assed submissive arranged us and the photographer to take dozens of photographs in the minimalist space, with the clothed fan club managers in the foreground, but with the band in focus.

For the outside shots, we had to help Yasmin move her drums, but then there was an awkward moment as we looked at each other. The female rockers stripped, discarding their clothes on the garden furniture; the thin, androgynous Paula was the first to disrobe, depositing her T-shirt and shorts on the table. Maddison, the heavily tattooed bass guitarist, went next, and within a couple of minutes, only Frances remained dressed.

“My ex wanted me to try watersports after that went viral,” Suna replied as she waved the litre bottle of sparkling wine at me before swigging from it. “But I couldn’t pee on her.”

“Why?” Natasha asked, taking the alcohol from her and consuming a large gulp. Suna shrugged. “This disgusting pervert loves it. I didn’t know that when I did it to him on stage, but I love making him squirm!” Suna’s eyes sparkled as my girlfriend tipsily explained that I received golden showers regularly, as well as the rest of our kinky play. “Fucking wait there!”

Natasha smirked as she got up from the seated position and the naked punk rocker ran across my garden, down the driveway, and went into the annexe. Thirty seconds later, she returned holding the modified portable commode chair and two pairs of handcuffs.

“Nice one, Nats! Nessie or John?” Faye asked as Natasha unfolded the seat in a shaded corner of the garden.

“That fucking pervert,” my girlfriend replied, and pointed at me. She grinned and clicked her fingers. I gave Suma an apologetic glance, but she didn’t seem bothered by my dominant living out our kinks in public.

Natasha smacked my bare butt with her palm as I approached her, and she positioned the chair over my face. She handcuffed my hands to either side of the portable toilet, and when I expected her to use it, she wandered back across the garden to the rest of the band.

I couldn’t see anything other than the rim of the seat and the sky. I heard laughter and voices and clinking of glass as the girls partied, while Nessie dutifully served them more and more booze. The wait was part of Natasha’s authority and her torture. I had no control and had to allow my mind to fester and drift. Every movement raised my anticipation; a bird flying overhead made my heart flutter the moment I saw activity in my peripheral vision.

Paula was the first to visit me; the quiet, epicene pint-sized woman with forest green hair and two armfuls of tattoos wordlessly sat on the toilet seat, with her feet either side of my chest. My eyes adjusted to the influx of shadow, and I saw the feint fuzz of dark fur around her cunt as she released her strong, bitter golden flow.

Paula showered my nose, cheeks, forehead, and lips with her acidic, nasty piss. The slightest taste was rancid, with intense bitterness and the vile flavour and aroma hardened my cock. She said nothing when she finished and rose from the toilet seat, walking wordlessly away from the group.

Maddison was next; the heavily tattooed blonde bass guitarist drank from a bottle of beer as she rested her feet on my stomach. “You OK there, piss boy?” I sighed as the inked bombshell covered me in pale watery pee, washing the acrid bitterness of Paula away. I gulped a mouthful of her bladder juice, coating my lips and throat with the filthy taste and noxious scent of the band’s urine.

My cock pulsed. Maddison giggled as she finished and gave my prick a stroke as she left; I was on tenterhooks, desperate for release. Restrained, humiliated and coated in piss, my disgusting fantasies and sexuality revelled in the repulsive acts they had subjected me to.

I watched Nessie and Yasmin position themselves in turn on the toilet seat, part their legs slightly and their slits open to reveal their wondrous contents. And then a tumbling, cascading waterfall of indecent vulgarity as they urinated on me, soaking me in their malodorous juices. Warm liquid spilt onto my face and flooded my skin. My hair became drenched from the jets of fluids running across me. And when they left, I had the foul scent of drying urine surrounding me with the deliciously icky taste filling my mouth.

And they teased; the girls giggled as they urinated and then they stroked my cock. My dick danced in desperate anticipation. The gentlest of touches after they had defiled me and humiliated me, left me aching for release. They knew it as they walked away.

Natasha and Suna laughed as the two women with bubblegum hair peered at me through the white oval ring. “Go on,” my girlfriend encouraged and helped my fellow fan club manager to the toilet chair.

A hairless, puffy cunt that splayed open tantalisingly as she adjusted herself on the seat. She gulped from the Prosecco as she took a deep breath and a squirt of her sunshine piss landed on my lips. I opened my mouth, eager to taste a different woman, as if presented with a new wine or a fresh vintage. Natasha and Suna whispered conspiratorially and, like an uncorked champagne bottle, Suna’s liquid forcibly flowed from her.

Fired into my face, expelled angrily, as she desperately emptied her bladder. Her pee smashing against me, filling my mouth and splashing into my hair and onto my body overwhelmed my senses.

I could not taste anything but her sweet, watery piss. I could only smell the piquant loveliness of her misty urine. I could only hear the sounds of her jet of waste hitting and sploshing over me.

It slowed, and Suna’s drunken laughter permeated the noise of her dribbling pee. “Yeah, and that’s for removing my post about Maddison’s tats last year,” Suna giggled as she wiggled her butt and used her hands to shake her slit.

Natasha gazed through the seat when the plump nursery nurse stood up. “You’re fucking disgusting,” she told me and when she sat on the chair, she rested her bare feet over my erect prick, slowly massaging it. I whimpered as her familiar sharp, pungent pee landed on me and filled my mouth. I swallowed much of Natasha’s gorgeous wine and watched ruefully when she left, taking Suna with her.

For two hours, the girls continued to defile me. The piss dried on my face in the hot, late afternoon sun and I smelt disgusting. I felt unbelievably horny, and the band loved to tease after they coated me liberally in their pee.

I felt deep shame when I had to urinate, covering my torso, as I wet myself; my piss fired out of my erect prick and landed on my chest as I recycled the cups of coffee, glasses of water and bottles of beer that I had drunk, not to mention the mouthfuls of golden nectar that had slipped down my throat.

Suna used their garden urinal without Natasha. “You guys are really kinky,” she slurred as she covered me in her scent for the second time. “I lo-oo-ove it!”

As our guest rose from the band’s toilet, my girlfriend peered through the seat, holding two empty bottles of wine. “I’ve just ordered a takeaway for us all on your credit card and we’re going to have a fucking girls’ night in the annexe and finish the booze.” I remembered the alcohol that we had purchased the day before and the shopping from the local supermarket had filled the boot of my saloon car. It was a considerable amount of drink. “We’ll send Nessie out to free you when we’re ready. You go inside, shower, and make yourself some tea. And you stay out of the annexe, you hear?”