Chapter 30

We woke when Adam’s phone loudly vibrated. “Hello?” He sleepily muttered. “It’s eight thirty.”

“Hiya, bro!” Natasha’s voice woke me from my slumber.

“What is it? You OK?” I asked, panicking that my pregnant fiancée had called.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Fucking awesome. Faye got up, so I wanted to check in with my favourite brother and his weekend bitch.” I blushed as she spoke, and Adam switched the messaging call to video chat. He balanced his phone on the duvet as I sat up in bed and he waved at his punk rock sister.

“We’re good. Aren’t we?” He put his arm around me, squeezing me into him. “That cruising bar on Warren Street is just amazing. It’s the best place in the world, isn’t it?”

I blushed and nodded. “Did you have fun? Cut loose?” she asked.

Adam answered for me. “Of course. How many guys did you suck off? It was a few, wasn’t it? That black guy, and the skinhead and...”

“A few,” I interrupted as my fiancée smirked at us.

“Fucking nice one. Good to be free. But Bro, don’t you go turning another of my boys? Gary only started dreaming of a gay master after you kept coming down and taking him to all those male sex clubs!”

Adam chuckled. “I can’t help it if your boyfriends think I’m fabulous. Although, he is pretty tidy himself. If I didn’t have Joseph, I’d wrestle you in a pit of crocodiles for him! He’s too innocent for you, anyway. I need a few weekends to corrupt him.”

Natasha scoffed, and I saw the naked body of Faye enter the room behind my partner. “You better go,” I said. Faye grabbed my fiancée’s legs, roughly parting them, and the call abruptly ended.

“My sister is such a nympho,” he added with a chuckle. “Always has been.”

“She says that about you.”

He smiled. I made us both a drink from the kettle, and we talked. I didn’t realise how homophobic his dad was, and the religious aggression he faced as he discovered his sexuality. He recounted a handful of tales from his youth.

“He reckoned that if I rejoined this outdoor adventure group run by the church, I wouldn’t have time for boyfriends, so I was eighteen and we went camping in Coniston. In my tent, there were five other guys. I had blown them all by the end of the first night. Male hormones in overdrive meant they just wanted to empty their balls. They all called me a ‘fag’ until they needed to bust a nut, and then I was their best friend. That was a long weekend, and I’d never had so much sex.” He chuckled as he remembered the trip. “I came home, and Dad was all smug and said that good wholesome pursuits take my mind off lust and sin. He had no idea how busy I’d been!”

“Bloody hell!”

He recited many similar stories, and there was a nasty undercurrent to his accounts. I knew my parents would not have cared if I had come out as bisexual or gay to them, but Adam’s father objected and censured his youngest son. “It’s why I had to go to Uni, although Dad wouldn’t help me out financially unless I went on a Christian Conversion Therapy course first and I wasn’t doing that. Mum helped me, but Dad didn’t. In the summer, I got a job for this holiday company and I was in Crete one year, and Cyprus the next. Just to avoid going back to Windermere. And when I had to, I rowed so much with him. I could never have a boyfriend without him losing it, so I ended up in Joseph’s flat before too long!” He grinned.

It felt cathartic to talk to him. His only girlfriend in his life was the daughter of a family friend at the church, who horrified her parents when she declared her lesbianism. “So, they thought we would turn each other straight, and we went along with it for a while. She’s a teacher now in Manchester at some high school. Married too. And like me, still as bent as a duck’s dick.” He chuckled. “But for three months, it was the only time he laid off the bullying.”

He recalled plenty of childhood tales about my fiancée, and he asked about my background, too. I explained about Samantha and my job, and I freely told him everything. We had spent two hours talking, and Adam and I were the last of the guests to arrive for the hotel breakfast, eating just before the end of their sitting. After food, we wandered into the city. My weekend fuckbuddy wanted to go to a specific market, and as we perused the stalls, he selected a pair of lightweight camouflage shorts and T-shirt from the vendor.

“You need something too.”

“Like what?” I asked. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, not answering the query. “Somewhere magical.” He explained nothing and selected an old England football kit - white shirts, shorts and socks. He also bought us both a pair of cheap beach shoes.

We had lunch in a greasy spoon and travelled back to the hotel; I had a little backpack, and he put our purchases in that. The venue near the mainline station was at the bottom of a set of steep stairs. It smelt damp and musty, with slate grey walls. Adam walked in front of me, pushing the stout swing door open.

The small room was a quarter of the size of the club the night before, and the unforgiving aroma smashed into my nostrils as we stepped into the space.

Adam had brought me to a very busy piss party. A makeshift bar on the left served a variety of drinks, as 1980s disco classics played through the tinny speakers. The room was full of all ages and sizes of men; many were naked, but others wore sportswear, military dress, construction clothing or kinky outfits.

I felt overwhelmed as I digested the scene; over eighty guys crowded into the intimate space. At the back, a large inflatable bath, where three men were kneeling in the tub, and I saw another couple emerge from a private room.

We changed into the outfits and beach shoes Adam selected from the market, and put our day clothes into the backpack, which we stashed into the coat check. Two pints of beer from the bar were quickly drunk as I watched the debauched scene unfold.

A thin man in his mid-thirties, wearing just tight white underwear, approached us. His warm, apprehensive smile and youthful hair made him look like he was uncertain of what he was about to ask us. The nervous guy gripped his drink as he introduced himself. “Hi,” he muttered, leaning against the wall and staring at Adam with his deep brown eyes. “Charlie. You dom, sub, or versatile?”

“Sub,” my companion replied. “A bit vers, but normally sub.” His smile flickered, and he gulped his drink. “I remember this place from a couple of years ago. Hardly changed!”

Charlie and Adam chatted; I listened to it as I surveyed the scenes in front of us. Charlie’s perversion was that he loved wetting his clothes, and he outraged his last girlfriend, who was not aware of his kink or bisexuality, when he revealed his fetish. I felt blessed that my partner was so open-minded as we conversed.

“I need to go,” he muttered.

“Me too,” Adam replied, and I followed them as they walked through the orgy. He stopped in the corner, groaned, and with both of us watching him, the white cotton material grew darker.

Liquid tumbled down his legs as he urinated in his tight briefs, publicly wetting his clothes. I felt my dick harden as I watched him humiliate himself. Adam pulled the waistband of his underwear and viewed the flow of pale yellow piss arch from his small, erect nub and against the sodden fabric.

With his left hand holding the elasticated strip, my weekend companion fished his prick from his pants and gestured me to do likewise. Charlie sighed as we pointed our cocks into his underwear and unloaded our bladders, splashing his cock with our piss, and saturating his tight briefs, so it tumbled down his thighs.

“Do you want a blowjob?” Adam asked, and the guy nodded. My fiancée’s brother grinned at me, pulling Charlie’s soaked underwear to his mid-thigh. “Go on then, piss slut! Suck ‘im off!”

I knelt in the puddle. His prick reeked of urine and the slippery dick tasted of harsh urea. His small thicket of pubic thatch smelt musty and dirty, and my lips sucked his sodden cock.

He groaned as I fellated him, giving him oral as Adam played with his nipples. My tongue flicked his sensitive spot as I easily took the length of his shaft into my mouth.

He squirmed as I gave him head. He had engaged in his fetish, publicly wetting and humiliating himself, before two more guys had debased him by filling his pants with pee. His overactive lust could not resist the stimulation and he grunted as cum rose from his balls and he fired it onto my tongue.

I washed his musky, bitter seed down with another pint of beer; the bar did a good trade, given that most people aimed for hyperhydration to replenish their bladders and after we had sunk a further drink and spoken to some more patrons, Adam and I wandered over to the large paddling pool.

Puddles of cloying piss covered the navy floor of the tub, with four men kneeling or lying in the inflatable. I looked at my fiancée’s brother, who grinned as he grabbed me by the waist and threw me against the low sides. “In we fucking go!” He cried.

We tumbled over the side, landing on the inflated pouch and in the disgusting patches of pee that sprayed as my body bounced on the cushion. Adam landed on top of me, scattering the pools of urine and covering us both in splashes of piss.

He wrestled me. His hands pinned me onto the floor as we grappled and scuffled, knocking into the other occupants of the inflatable. The attendees stopped to watch us as we played in the wastewater, and as I held Adam to the ground, two men urinated over our bodies.

Harsh, acerbic, nasty liquid flowed from the surrounding cocks, covering the six people in the pool. We only ever got a minute’s break as several of the attendees liberally splashed their piss over the pigs in the bath.

The pee was a harsher, more intense flow than what I received from my fiancée and the band. The bitter, acidic liquid made my eyes water as it splashed through my hair and face. But I felt horny. Natasha had wired my dick to respond to the smell and taste of urine and Adam’s constant touching, as well as the piss-soaked environment, left me aroused.

I saw a man take a cock up his arse, and receive a pee enema, and several guys drank straight from the spigot. It was a raunchy, depraved, Sybaritic event that I would never have attended if my weekend fuckbuddy had not brought me. Adam and I swallowed mouthfuls of bitter pee, and I kissed and stroked Adam as we wallowed in filth.

I enjoyed exploring my bisexuality, but when it came to watersports, I massively preferred my female domination piss play. Adam might have detected a slight reticence in my body language, but I didn’t object to any of the golden showers or depraved humiliation. I did not have the same overenthusiastic verve I had at the cruising bar on Warren Street.