Chapter 20

Our weekend sessions became a regular occurrence. Every Friday night, I would visit Monika’s flat in shorts, even as the weather turned cooler, and we had a meal followed by some debauched fun.

It was what I needed at the end of my working week: a reddened rump, a bout of sweet cunnilingus, a firm session of sordid sodomy, and then a nasty, febrile golden shower from the delectable beauty. Her cramped flat and tiny en-suite limited the variety of our piss play, but I still got a few mouthfuls of her nectar every visit. My lips hovered underneath her slit in her shower cubicle, as I received a torrent of warm, acrid pee that splashed against my face, scorched the back of my throat, and coated me in liquid degradation.

It was a far cry from the daily doses of Natasha’s waste, regular spankings and endless amounts of pegging I received when my beau was not on tour, but the teenage student and I had plenty of fun as she sated my perverted needs. I counted down the days to each Friday. I took Monika shopping to expand her toy and lingerie collection, and spent several hundred pounds on gifts for her. She looked deliciously sexy in her new underwear sets and the additional vibrators, dildos and harnesses brought pleasure to both of us.

On a few Saturdays, her “boi-friend” joined us for lunch at a local cafe, and we would return to Monika’s flat after our food. The boi was quiet and a little shy, but was smart and compassionate when coaxed from their shell. The ruby-haired student gave me incredible blowjobs, penetrated me multiple times, and I had fucked them twice. We both adored every submissive act Monika encouraged, guided and directed her two subs to do.

Jamie sodomising me felt different to their girlfriend buggering me with her fake cock, and with the frequent gay sex, my journey from Samantha’s conventional heterosexual monogamous boyfriend to Natasha’s kinky, piss-drinking, submissive, promiscuous, polyamorous, bisexual partner was complete.

My girlfriend adored my sexual experimentation and evolution, and we spoke almost every day. I missed her terribly, and my weekdays felt so lonely in my house. I realised I never wanted this relationship to end, and one evening, after a few too many whiskies, I messaged Faye to ask if Natasha had ever mentioned marriage. Her unexpected, and profanity-laden, response suggested that I pop the question to my lover, and my mind worked on overdrive at the prospect.

Faye asked me regularly over the coming week if I planned to propose, and I felt more emboldened by her encouragement. Part of me was uncertain if I could ever be enough for Natasha; my failures with Samantha dominated my fears, and I worried about rocking the amazing relationship I had with the flamboyant punk rocker, but Faye dismissed my insecurities with several messages.

On the penultimate Saturday in November, I booked tickets to see the band in concert. Bohdana took the Oxford-to-Cambridge bus that linked the two best Universities in the country. Monika brought her “boi” and the lovers travelled to my house on Friday evening. We drove down the M40 at dawn to a plush four-bedroom townhouse I had booked less than a mile from the venue.

The cold, dreary weather overshadowed the architecturally wonderful Oxfordshire city as we travelled through it to get to our rented abode. Natasha and Faye arrived in their minibus at the cul-de-sac from their previous stop, Portsmouth, with Nessie, shortly after we had unlocked the well-presented property. I warmly embraced my girlfriend, hugging her tightly. She cuddled and kissed Monika. “Thanks for keeping him in-line,” my partner said, as if the teenager had babysat me for seven weeks. “I’ve loved the videos. You’re fucking ace. I’m glad you got him to play with Jamie.”

“They love to mess around together,” the teenage dominatrix replied. I squeezed Natasha’s hand. I only had my lover for a couple of hours in the morning before the two musicians had to be at their gig venue for a matinee performance. My girlfriend realised, and she girlishly giggled as I gently tugged her into our double room.

“I will fuck you later,” she promised, dropping her suitcase onto the floor. Her eyes met mine; my stomach fluttered as her expression changed. Passion flashed through her gaze as my girlfriend removed her dirty black T-shirt while she stared directly at me.

I gulped as she stripped in our loft-space bedroom. The soft pastel shades of the neutral decor contrasted with the vibrancy of my beau. Her bright pink hair, colourful tattoos and effervescent personality sparkled against the bland furnishings. My hands touched her flanks as she fumbled with my belt and I kissed her as she pushed my trousers to my ankles.

Sheer electricity shot through me as our lips caressed and she gripped the hem of my Bitches Against T-shirt. She groaned as my fingers pressed against her shaved slit, writhing as I slowly massaged the slippery nub. “I’ve fucking missed that,” she whispered.

I pushed her backwards, and she squealed as the backs of her knees touched the mattress and she landed on the double bed. I pressed my face against her wet snatch, inhaling her intensely musky scent as my lips stroked and stimulated her button.

She groaned as my finger pressed against her opening. My lover grabbed hold of my hair as I massaged her nub and ground her sweaty cunt into my face. I had missed this; I ate Monika out every week, but my lover was more demanding when I provided cunnilingus. She wanted more, and her piquant aroma was deeper and stronger than the teenage student.

“I’ve not had a shower today,” Natasha boasted, as I luxuriated in the smell and taste of her zesty femininity. I always adored consuming her delicious arousal, and the strong aromatic perfume made me hornier. My fingers slid into her and pressed against her G-Spot, rubbing her hyper-sensitive wall as my lips licked and sucked her clit.

My girlfriend groaned; her fiery eyes met mine as she pulled my head further into her snatch. Her pussy walls quivered as her legs pulsed and her breasts heaved. Natasha’s body shook as the punk rocker cried and yelled through orgasmic lust and ecstasy.

I ate her again and again until she could take no more. I would have spent all day massaging the sweet-scented cunt, but after her final bone-shaking climax, that left the flushed woman grinning and exhausted, she stopped me and beckoned me to kiss her. Sliding up the bed, my erect cock poked her sopping pussy.

“Put a condom on,” she whispered and giggled at my expression. “You forgot to bring any, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Sorry. I ... I’m useless.” I gulped. “Surely you have some?”

“I used my last three yesterday fucking the support act. I need to pick up some more jonnies from the Band’s stock.” She giggled and pecked me on the lips. “Down tiger.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promised and edged my prick into her hole. She groaned and bit her lip as my bare cock slid into her.

“No. You can fucking wrap that thing up! Later,” she demanded, and pushed herself further up the bed so my dick slipped out from her enchanting pussy. I watched her rise from the duvet and tower over me.

“How did you use three condoms in one night?” I asked, causing her to smile, and her fingers danced over my erect prick.

“The support act was a local group of ex-marines. I said if any of them could down a pint quicker than me, I’d fuck ‘em. Chopper just opened his throat so after the show, Nessie and me went to their hotel. Billy’s cock was incredible. Good enough to die for, and he pounded me like a pneumatic drill. Then Blaine screwed me while Nessie deep-throated Mason.” She giggled at my wide eyes. “You’ve not been a fucking saint, have you? It was my first spit roast since Ipswich.”

Her hand stroked my cock, sliding over the shaft as she recounted her sordid tales. The group sex in Portsmouth, Suffolk and Bristol. The bisexual tryst in Stroud and the lesbian orgies in Brighton, Liverpool and Newcastle. Every filthy act, described, tumbled from her lips into my brain as she rubbed and fondled my glans.

“And then there is that Holly in Stockport. She is a fucking awesome lay. I could spend all week with her. If I didn’t love you, I’d move in with that slut. Imagine getting screwed like that every single day. My pussy tingles at the thought of kissing her lips, her tits and her cunt.” I squirmed, and she stared directly into my eyes as her hand left my dick. “Maybe later,” she teased, knowing how close I was to a climax.

“But...”

“And no wanking,” she demanded. “And do me a favour and put some washing on,” Natasha asked. “We’ve been in hotels and motels for two weeks and I need some clean keks.” Her smile radiated as she wandered naked out of my room towards the shower, leaving me in a puddle of unspent horniness.

I took her case and emptied a third of her dirty clothes into the washing machine; I noticed splashes of spilt semen on several items of her clothing and a few empty condom wrappers in the pockets. A year ago, if I had discovered that in Samantha’s luggage, the sight would have enraged and upset me. With Natasha, I didn’t care. She boasted about how much she played about, and it didn’t bother me. I was too entranced with the anarchic singer to worry about monogamy. Faye approached me in the kitchen and whispered. “Are you going to ... y’know?”

“What?”

“Propose, dumbass!”

“Yeah, later maybe. Why?”

“Have you got a ring?”

“No. I’m looking this afternoon.”

Faye sighed, and she pointed at Bohdana and Monika sat at the breakfast bar. “You two. You need to help this useless idiot find an engagement ring.” My teenage domme squealed in excitement.

“Do you really think she’ll say ‘yes’?” I asked Faye, doubting myself again.

“If she doesn’t, then Nats will never, ever get married.” She looked at the door as the hum from the shower stopped. “She’s never been like this with anyone and she loves you to bits. Yes, John. I am sure she will!” She hummed. “With Gary, if she spoke to him or mentioned his name once a week while on tour, it was a lot. She never cares about her boyfriends when she is not with them. Every day, multiple times, she speaks about you. That girl is infatuated. She’s worse than a teenager with her first love.”

“Really?” I muttered and Faye nodded.

“Hey, just think. If Natasha hadn’t had pissed on you in Bristol last year, none of this would have happened,” Bohdana added.

I sighed; the thought had crossed my mind too. My lover dressed, and I drove the two rockers and Nessie to their venue where the rest of their entourage had begun preparations for the show. I then took Bohdana and Monika into Oxford to look at the boutique jewellers I had found during a cursory search of Google Maps.

The two girls swiftly discounted all three of the rings that I liked. One was garish, another was too plain, and the third lacked pizzazz; these objections were subjective. I had set a budget of around £7,000, as although I could afford more, I didn’t want to have something so embarrassingly extravagant.

In the last shop, I found the perfect piece; pink sapphires set in white gold on either side of a big, 1.5 carat near-flawless diamond. It sparkled under the bright lights of the jeweller as I looked at my two shopping companions for approval. “It’s nice. A little understated,” Monika reasoned. “But pretty.”

“Natasha’ll love it. The pink gems are just ... her.” Bohdana nodded, and I glanced at the price tag. “This is six-six. You three can spend the remaining four hundred on those necklaces you were cooing over. But no more.”

Bohdana shrieked, and her excitement overrode any objection or unease that Monika felt at my generosity. She had no need to worry, but I knew that she didn’t want to take advantage of me. I believed I got much more from our friendship and arrangement than she did.

I bought the four of us a late lunch and purchased a pack of ten condoms with some lube from a pharmacy as we walked to the theatre hosting the band. The grandiose Edwardian architecture had an imposing aura that radiated tradition and order, and the sight of the black Bitches Against banner hoisted over the regal structure looked out of place.