This is the penultimate chapter of my story. I'd like to thank all of my readers for their generous feedback and patience. This is the longest episode by a sizeable margin: over 12,000 words, or four times longer than the smallest part so far, and therefore it has required - as Natasha would say - "a fuck load of fucking editing."
So, please enjoy Natasha's second Christmas with John.
*****
The following day, as we cuddled in bed, I asked Natasha about her cryptic comment regarding Samantha. "If the baby is healthy, then I want to have it," she confessed. "It scares the fuckin' shit out of me, but everyone reckons we'll be wonderful parents. I wanna get married after I've dropped it, though. I'm not getting hitched when I am the size of a fucking whale."
I felt relief that the uncertainty had gone, and while it was early in her pregnancy, the prospect of being a father excited me. Natasha set a couple of conditions, and one of these was that sex would not stop when she "got fat." There was no chance I would avoid intimacy with my gravid fiancée, and we consummated my promise with a few orgasms by cunnilingus, before we indulged in some rough pegging that left me drained.
Natasha was especially keen to exert her sexuality since her decision. Each day that followed, she expressed her dominance forcefully. For three days, in between Christmas shopping and media interviews, she was insatiable: barely a drop of her pee didn't end up on my skin, and she forced my lips between her legs whenever possible. My fiancée spanked, plugged, and plundered my backside every evening as she imposed her sex drive on me. I enjoyed her dominant hedonism.
During the summer, I found a charming Grade II listed cottage for holiday let in a village three miles north of Windermere and paid a four-figure sum to rent the sixteenth century property for ten days over Christmas and New Year. The old post office on the narrow cul-de-sac possessed traditional charm with exposed wood beams.
As we packed, my bisexual lover stipulated she expected our trip to be a filthy, debauched adventure, and she wanted to push my limits. With parenthood on the horizon, the opportunities for these sorts of adventures would become more limited, and Natasha was determined to enjoy the festive break. I had booked a property with four bedrooms, as I suspected that my fiancée and I would have some additional visitors. Faye and Nessie, who had got exceedingly close in the days before and after the chart show, and were now "in a relationship", asked about joining us in The Lake District. Bohdana, Natasha's cousin, had pleaded to stay, as had Monika.
Jamie travelled to use the last bedroom with his partner. The non-binary student had argued with their parents over their lifestyle and, on the umpteenth day of arguments, the "boi" messaged if they could come to Windermere over the festive period. We collected Monika's red-haired cheeky submissive from a service station near Oxford, and the provocative nymph wore tight leather trousers with a bright-pink profanity-laden T-shirt criticising their family's political party.
Five of us had travelled in my saloon four days after the BBC confirmed Bitches Against as the Christmas Number One and the radio edit of their song played through my speakers while my car smoothly ate up the miles on the motorway. I visited my parents for a couple of hours in Preston and my folks delighted at meeting my fiancée again, as well as congratulating the two punk rockers on their musical success.
We reached the cottage in the dark and walked to the village pub for tea. Everyone was tired after the hectic week and long journey, and by ten in the evening, the house was serene as we dozed. The rented abode had two bedrooms downstairs, with a spacious bathroom and kitchen; a pair of smaller double chambers existed upstairs with a shared toilet and shower. Myself and Natasha picked the largest room on the ground floor. Faye and her new girlfriend opted for the adjacent bedroom, also with a king-sized bed.
The following day, I collected Monika, Stephen, and Bohdana from Windermere at lunchtime. Natasha's cousin and her boyfriend, who went to different universities, beamed as they sat on the double bed in their upstairs bedroom. Stephen's religious mother had given her son little privacy as a college student, and while the couple needed to spend Christmas Day with their families, they planned to stay with us over the festive break. We agreed to do our celebration on Boxing Day, so I frequented the supermarket to buy a large quantity of food and a larger amount of alcohol for our holiday.
Several friends of Monika, Stephen, Bohdana and Natasha visited in the two days before the festive period. Many wanted to meet the superstars, who dominated the music headlines, but also to spend time with their mates. My fiancée adored the attention and acted as the "lady of the house" with her generous hosting and domineering behaviour. One of her first instructions was that she believed Nessie, myself and Jamie - the submissives - should be naked while in the cottage, regardless who else was present.
We obliged, and the dominant exhibitionism raised the erotic tension a little, but we mostly kept sex to our bedrooms. After two weeks of debauchery, Faye and Natasha ensured the public displays of group hedonistic depravity were minimal, and apart from the odd spank or fondle, the shared areas of the house were free of sexual activity. There was also no partner swapping-- the only sex I had in those days was with Natasha.
When we left the holiday home, Jamie's brave wardrobe grabbed attention. The student had brought an eclectic blend of male and female clothing and mixed them. From scandalous booty shorts, pink kilts, fishnet stockings and elegant dresses, the "boi" adored their feminine attire, and with their long scarlet hair and graceful poise, they did not appear masculine at all, especially as a first impression.
The Christmas Eve Popbitch newsletter, entitled "Popbitches Again!" had an abundance of Bitches Against content; their chart success had propelled the unknown punk rockers into the limelight, and the band had spent seven years enjoying themselves. The gossipmongers had several tours worth of rumours and tales to publish, and the stories in the sensational e-mail about my fiancée and her friends were scandalous. Natasha made me read them aloud.
"The receptionist at a Midlands hotel observed which member of Bitches Against streak after a drunken card game through the lobby and into the car park, before kissing every lucky attendee of a stag party as she returned via the bar. When she lost again, her forfeit was to find the groom, and then the machine in the gents."
"There are many musicians who can drink legendary amounts, but a member of Bitches Against may even have had Keith Richards, Ozzy Osbourne, or Keith Moon under the table. On a recent trip to Manchester, they had a liquid lunch, then joined a Hen Do in the afternoon, a Stag Party in the evening, went clubbing until the small hours and then did shots with the bar staff at the rock cafe until dawn. At around 60 units of alcohol, they must have been one beer away from driving a motor into the Stockport Swimming Pool?"
I read almost a dozen stories to Natasha and Faye, who chuckled as the tales flowed from my mobile phone. "Half of them are completely true, three more are mostly accurate and one is nonsense," the red-haired lesbian replied. "But I'm not telling you which is which!"
"I reckon Yasmin or Maddison did the drinking," I told her. "And Nats with the drunken streak and shagging the groom for a bet."
My fiancée gasped in horror. "Fuck you, bitch! I do not lose at cards. That was Paula. She's dog-shit at Poker. That's why we played it. And she didn't just have the stag, she had the entire party. Or all those who wanted to play."
