In December, I wrote a short 3,000 word story about a female punk rock singer who urinated over a fan on stage, partially inspired by real-life events. I enjoyed the tale and played with the characters in my mind over the following days. I said I would write more chapters if there was positive feedback.
There was.
I had plenty of comments and the story fared well in the "scoring." So, I wrote more.
Out of principle, I never release a chapter until I have written and edited the entire book. But, four extra chapters became six, and then eight, and there are now two dozen chapters on my hard drive. Over 70,000 words of golden showers, female domination and absolute filth with a plethora of additional characters. It's about 80-90% finished. Mostly, it needs editing.
I hope to complete the entire story before Easter. But I didn't want everyone who asked for a continuation to wait any longer. I promised I'd write something in the weeks after the first chapter, and it's been nearly three months. So, here is the next instalment and I will release the remainder as they become ready.
If you have not read the previous chapters, then please do so, as the following story won't make much sense.
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Natasha's offer came with a few caveats. I'd never negotiated the ground rules of a relationship before commencing an emotional commitment, but Natasha was unlike any of my other girlfriends.
Her first stipulation was that I had to promise to provide regular cunnilingus. She demanded that "my lips had better spend lots of time on her lips," and there should be no expectation that Natasha would reciprocate oral sex as she "hated giving blowjobs." In three years of their relationship, Gary had received just a single session of fellatio with my new partner and that was - in her words - "one too fucking many."
Her second requirement was that she really enjoyed dominating her male partners, and that daily golden showers, among other pieces of perverted female domination, were to be anticipated. She wanted a partner who was open-minded about trying new things and keen to expand their horizons. Natasha expected to wear the trousers in the bedroom and our relationship would be based on my submission to her kinky and filthy desires.
Thirdly, both partners were allowed same sex shenanigans. Natasha was openly bisexual and had no desire to stop enjoying the fruits of her fellow females. I could not be jealous because she had multiple lesbian lovers. She also adored group sex, and Natasha demanded that I not get possessive if others played with us.
Her final demand was a "what goes on tour, stays on tour" rule. I found this harder to agree to, given what had happened with Samantha, but she didn't want to relinquish her sexual freedom while the band toured or she travelled. She gave me the same privilege; when we were apart, we could act as if we were single.
After discussing my concerns with her, I relented, and those four rules became the basis of our relationship. In return, the amazing punk rocker promised a rampant sexual adventure.
For the first month, it was a little strange. Natasha had gone from unattainable rock goddess, to co-protagonist in a scandal, to a wild friend, to kinky lodger, to twisted sex play partner and now to a femdom girlfriend in the space of ten weeks. She spent her days practising her vocals; Faye and Maddison wrote most of their music, and the band's lead vocalist needed to practise the lyrical arrangement of their new songs.
Faye continued to visit most weekends and some weekdays. I know she originally visited to ensure Natasha was comfortable staying with a strange guy in their remote abode, but I worked long hours and her best friend visiting meant I felt less guilty about leaving Natasha alone. She didn't move out to the countryside to be lonely, and Faye's overnight stays ensured that she was not.
The final stage of my European employer's adoption of the new Stock Exchange API took all of one weekend to go into production, but I promised Natasha that I would spend some of my £15,000 bonus on her if it went well. When the project completed on time and on budget, I used £5,000 to buy her a five-year-old cream three-door Fiat 500. A joyrider had written off her previous vehicle before Christmas and she had not found a suitable car within her constrained insurance payout to replace it.
Her new trendy runaround had scarlet red seats and a cream interior, and while it was not the same size and with the same amount of gadgets as my executive saloon, it gave her the independence to leave my house when she wanted; Sarratt Green did not have any public transport connections, and so she really needed her own vehicle.
She cried, shouted at me, caressed the bonnet, cried again, chastised me, kissed me, kissed the car, spanked me, urinated over me, cried once more, and then took her new wheels for a spin around the Buckinghamshire countryside with her bandmate. Natasha reminded me I was not her charity case, and that the gift was inappropriately generous, but that she loved it wholeheartedly and that the four golden showers I received that evening were her showing her appreciation of my generosity.
Natasha and Faye had talked extensively about Nessie. The cheeky half-Irish, half-Scottish young lady staffed their merchandise stalls at their gigs, and ran their merchandising section on their website. She had originally attended a top public school but, at 13, her parents split up and they sold their country home in the divorce. She moved to a cramped two-bedroom house in North West London and her mother registered her at the local comprehensive. The upheaval in her life scarred the teenage innocent, and the meek girl never completed her "A Levels." A chance encounter with Faye meant she joined the band on their fifty-date Filthy Bitch tour. She enrolled as a naïve virgin. Three months later, she had whittled away her bedpost with a considerable number of notches of both male and female dominant partners while discovering her sordid submissive side, and was now - two years on - an integral part of band life.
Nessie, who worked part-time at a bar as a senior barmaid-cum-supervisor when she was not on tour, was keen to meet Natasha's latest beau, especially when their lead singer drove to Ickenham to pick her up from work in her new vehicle.
Thus, at the end of February, there was a weekend when Faye and Nessie visited Natasha and me. Nessie had a welcoming innocence about her. The expression in her slate grey-blue eyes and broad smile was disarming; she spoke with a warm, embracing voice that had delicate twangs of Edinburgh and Dublin. Her long, wavy ginger hair, that cascaded over her shoulder and reached below her breasts, bounced as she flung her arms around my girlfriend and then me.
She was genuinely friendly, excitable, and wonderfully elegant. I could understand how she sold so much merchandise for the band. Her convivial behaviour and sexy body easily unlocked the wallets of the band's punters.
After I showed Nessie to a spare bedroom, as Faye used Natasha's old room, I dished up the vegetarian dish from the slow cooker. Nessie purred as I passed her a plate of cooked rice, spicy bean chilli with soured cream, nachos, and guacamole. She spoke excitedly and was more energised and flustered that Natasha had a boyfriend than my partner was.
Her warmth and good spirits were infectious, and the following day, we took our guests for a long walk in Wendover Woods. Faye and Natasha spoke and argued about the new album, so I had time to talk to the elegant redhead who oozed sex appeal. Immediately, I liked her as I remembered her buoyant attitude from the shows.
After our hike, we walked to our local village pub for a few drinks, and I treated Natasha to her usual round. Nessie and Faye shared two bottles of wine, and the 21-year-old merchandise saleswoman was louder, bouncier and more excited than before.
