Chapter 24

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!”

“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.

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.