I had planned this to be the final chapter, but when this instalment got to 20,000 words, I had to split it up. There are four more instalments.
They have all been uploaded to Literotica and will drop when they are approved.
* * * * *
In the weeks and months after Natasha and Bitches Against had bagged their first Number One record, at Christmas, life had continued at a weird pace. My fiancée and I adopted a female-led relationship around domination and, apart from my office when I attended a video call, I rarely wore clothes in the house or garden.
She paddled or spanked me several times a week; she pegged and urinated over me daily and we expanded our chest of bedroom toys considerably. Natasha became insatiable, and I joked it was "pregnancy hormones" as her overactive and depraved nymphomania barely stopped thinking about sex or kink.
Monika and Jamie had also returned from their Christmas break with renewed libidos. My Friday night sessions continued with the hot teenager, who liberally wielded her strapon dildos and expanded my submissiveness. One week, her friend witnessed the dominatrix peg me in a short kilt, and another, we had a "slumber party" with her "boi", and four of his gay friends. We watched a Bruce La Bruce film with plenty of explicit homosexual sex scenes, and when the movie finished, the seven of us used almost two boxes of condoms. Much to Natasha's glee and Monika's amusement, I had become a submissive, bisexual bottom with a ravenous sexual appetite.
For Jamie's birthday, Monika and I bought him lingerie from a trans-inclusive retailer, and the non-binary exhibitionist paraded around their flat, flaunting their lithe body in the translucent garments, before we took the promiscuous slut out for the evening to a wonderful restaurant I knew. They finished it as a star performer in their own gangbang film, with two dominant women and three bisexual men.
One Friday night, after a very passionate bout of cunnilingus and pegging, the dominant teenager passed me her tablet and showed me an erotic story. We sat in her bed as I read the well-written tale about an older man and a young dominatrix. It was highly arousing, and it turned me on as I digested page after page.
"That's mine," she admitted. "It's only chapter one, but all of them are doing brilliantly on the site. I'm up to Chapter Eleven. The sub is going to his first gangbang in the next instalment!" She chuckled as her hand gently stroked my erect cock under her duvet. "Nats said it was brilliant."
"It is," I replied, and saved the link on my phone for my journey home. "Is it based on me and you?"
"A bit." She smirked. "You don't mind, do you?"
"No, of course not. It's very flattering. Especially the description and size of my manhood. You've been very generous."
She giggled and kissed me on the cheek, whispering in my ear. "Your cock is bigger than Jamie's right now. They're back in their cage."
When I visited Monika's flat on Friday nights and Saturdays, Natasha often entertained Faye and Nessie; her best friends loved to stay with her, and she confessed she enjoyed having guests at home when I was away. It was the mark of a healthy relationship that we could spend time apart without feeling jealous.
The band received considerable royalties for their Christmas song and even more when their previous albums saw additional air play because of their fame. Faye said they cashed three times more money in December than they had over the past seven years combined, and this sudden influx of cash provided opportunities, which they argued over. Nessie found the solution; an underground nightclub in Watford had recently closed its doors, and the girls visited the premises, interested in investment. They offered a decent sum, which the owners accepted, and the plans for the Punk Rock Cafe took hold; the soundproofed venue furnished the rockers with rehearsal space during the day and it promised a generous income when open in the evenings. They planned to make it a go-to destination for hard rock enthusiasts, while also giving smaller bands exposure.
Personally, it was good to see them investing their windfall in their future and their business plan was robust and well thought out. When she was not a dogsbody and merchandise saleswoman on tour, Nessie worked in the Punk Rock Cafe as a supervisor. Together with their new manager, Roberto, eight barmaids, and two barmen, the venue reopened with a blaze of publicity in late February. I went to the opening night, and Nessie never stopped working and managing the bar. I had only seen her selling branded stock at the gigs and as part of the sexual games we played, but in the band's hospitality venture, she oversaw the staff and kept the operations running smoothly. The submissive minx acted with authority.
Faye and her new partner wanted to buy their own property and found a one-bedroom flat near their proposed Punk Rock Cafe. It was modest, but they had the income for a mortgage company to approve their application, and the sale progressed quickly. Outside of work, Nessie was the same dirty, submissive slut; she kept Scott as her "Straight Fuckbuddy" and his home was not that far from the small abode she shared with her lesbian sweetheart. One Sunday afternoon, she came to visit us with a plugged arse and obscene markings daubed over her skin. Her overnight rendezvous with her lover had started after the late night Saturday shift and had continued until the early morning as her casual sex with Casanova and his friends had taken turns in using her until dawn.
When the band practised and the club was not open, she made herself available and Natasha shared video footage on the band's private WhatsApp group of the young woman being sexually tormented. One of the inexperienced barmen confused his shifts and came to work four hours early and saw Nessie blindfolded, stripped, tied to the bar and with a vibrator fastened to her cunt. He accepted Faye's offer to "fuck the slut" as his boss had her umpteenth orgasm of the day.
Natasha had already arranged for my favoured builder to renovate another of the spare bedrooms into a nursery. She had refused to ask the ultrasound technician what gender our baby was, so we had the room decorated a neutral yellow shade. My fiancée also wanted us to get a nanny. She did not want to leave the band, but she required space and time to practise and to go on tour. We discussed it, and she reached out to Suna, the childcare assistant. The punk rock chick was unhappy on the South Coast and we travelled to meet her one Sunday. This - as we explained - was not primarily a sexual arrangement. We needed to employ someone to look after our newborn child when it was born, and to assist my soulmate as a new mother, not to be compelled to provide cunnilingus to my bisexual partner. Although - as Natasha reiterated - she would not discourage any carnal activity in the house.
Suna accepted the offer to become our Nanny, with a start in August, a fortnight before Natasha's due-date.
With all this personal expense, I leapt at the opportunity to join a FinTech startup. Alongside a generous package as Chief Technical Architect, I had options to receive shares. The founder was an ex-colleague of mine, and he hoped that his new company, dynamo, would be a bridge between the stock exchanges and end users. Work was busy and the stresses from managing multiple relationships with demanding companies took its toll. I needed my kinky escapes more than ever, especially when I had to speak with potential clients. I was not a natural salesman.
