I left my car in the Lake District and I took the train to Watford before getting a taxi to my home. Natasha stayed in Cumbria for two weeks and persuaded her mother to move in more permanently with Alfredo. They moved many of her possessions from the familial home in storage. Apart from Stephen, the messages from Natasha's siblings were of support for the separation. Svetlana and Adam expressed relief, given their father's bullying attitude about their sexuality, and my fiancée called the Police when Matthew showed at Alfredo's house yelling threats against his wife.
Natasha filmed the altercation before the Fuzz arrived, and I understood why Ruslana had left him. Over a few evenings, her mother had explained and confessed more of the abuse she had received at his hands, and my fiancée persuaded her mum to file for divorce. Alfredo was not her "next husband" but the friend and lover offered sanctuary as she sought to organise the rest of her life.
After my partner returned from Windermere, Monika and "the boi" spent most of their weekends with us. I witnessed their relationship grow and how naturally the teenager performed her dominance. When they stayed, the playful dominatrix treated me to a more sensual pegging, a softer domination and a varied play. On many occasions, her partner and I explored my bisexuality, and often Natasha and the teenage domme doubled up on me. They were beautiful releases.
One weekend day, my fiancée put Jamie and me to work. My pregnant lover marked out a six foot square patch in the marshy end of my garden and told us to dig it down by half a metre. In the spring sun, the harsh physical toil exhausted me, while the two dominatrices sat at a table and chatted. They ignored their naked submissives striving in the mud, and after a couple of hours we had dug a trench eighteen inches deep. In all four corners, and halfway along the top and bottom of the pit, she had us excavate three-inch round holes, which were filled with large metal loops and some quick-setting concrete from my shed. This was for "the future," she said. After "the boi" and I showered and made tea, the crater escaped from my mind.
A couple of weekends later, we experienced my fiancée's fiendish imagination. The chains, attached to the metal loops at one end, and handcuffs at the other, were a clue as to the intended use, and after a few days of heavy downpour, Monika secured Jamie and me into the cold mud.
The marshy earth was deep; They had churned it over the day, and I sank into algid sludge. Spreadeagled, naked, and vulnerable. I could barely move my ankles or my wrists as the dominant women grinned as they stared down at their submissives. Natasha, in just her riding boots, and Monika, in Wellingtons and stockings, giggled at me and Jamie.
The filthy puddle underneath me was cold and slimy. I felt the goo ooze between my skin and the women took a garden chair each and placed it beside our heads. Natasha's feet rested on my chest as they continued to chat. Dirty mud caked my body, and her grassy, muddy boots were inches from my face.
I stared up at the wooden chair, and when she needed to pee, she simply leant backwards and sprayed her warm, acidic piss over me from her seated position. The jet arched through the air and landed on my chest.
Natasha crouched beside me, donned a rubber glove, and smeared the earthy slurry over my body and my face. My erect cock itched as the brown clay-like substance clung to my skin, drying in the heat of the spring day. The girls took videos and photographs. They verbally taunted us, and they whipped our thighs until we screamed. My floating subspace was a delightful experience, and I loved every minute of my torture.
Another weekend, they put strap-on dildos over three of the chairs and Nessie, Jamie and I had to race each other to orgasm by bouncing down on the rubber cocks fastened to the wooden seats. They coerced the "boi" and I to play Soggy Biscuit, and the girls filmed the computer science student swallowing a cracker with our cum pooled on top.
Pregnancy made Natasha hornier and there was no end to the games we played. She became more inventive, more dominant, but also more loving outside of the debauchery. Her actions were not sadistic, but merely an enthusiastic libertine responding to her boundless imagination and her hormones.
One summer's night, Jamie and I visited the cruising bar on Warren Street together; my fiancée had made some friends at the prenatal classes we had to attend, and she asked that I allow her to host a "Mums-to-be soiree" without male attendance.
The dark industrial bar was exactly as I remembered, and Jamie wore just a neon pink jockstrap as they pranced around their utopia. The room was full of arousal and the non-binary slut was in heaven. I hadn't finished my first beer before the student had fellated a man three times their age. Within twenty minutes of our arrival, dominant tops had strapped the playful nymph into a sling and they were being railed by a succession of thick pricks.
This was their new favourite place, and while Jamie was spit-roasted by a group of tattooed football hooligans, I sat on a sofa next to a naked couple. Opposite me, a tall black skinhead lounged in a chair; his splayed legs proudly advertised his meaty cock rising from a bushy pocket of pubic fuzz, the only hair on his smooth espresso-coloured skin.
He was muscular and defined, without being sculpted, but everything about him screamed confidence. A small smirk crept over his face as he saw my gaze land on his semi-erect cock and he nodded towards it. "Ain't gonna suck itself, whitey."
Those words, delivered with such disdain, were my kryptonite. The presumption that I wanted to blow him was humiliating, and his body language of indifference and contempt captivated me.
I fell forward onto my knees. I didn't even contemplate not fellating him. My lips touched the end of his circumcised prick and the warm, velvet sponge slipped against my tongue. "Ask," he snapped. "Beg, faggot." His hand roughly grabbed my jaw as he glared at my submissive gaze.
"Please, can I suck your cock?"
Those words came from my mouth; my debasement aroused me as I stared into his expression, stuffed with snickering derision. He sneered at my shameful pleading and slapped me across the cheek. "Get suckin', whitey."
Sweat, arousal, manly musk filled my nostrils as my lips sunk over his tip and slowly worked down his shaft. His muscular hands grabbed the side of my head as I edged my mouth further and further down his erection, taking more of his thick meat into me.
I ran my tongue under his frenulum and sucked it as I pleasured his cock, but I wasn't in control. He steered my head onto his dick and ground himself into me, forcing his prick to the back of my throat.
I gagged as he did it; I had not completely trained away my gag reflex, and I struggled as he took his pleasure from my mouth. Not used to such rough cocksucking, the dominant top gave me no respite as they pillaged and plundered me. But the powerlessness of the situation was an incredible delirium. When he released his grip on my head, I bobbed quicker, worshipping that black meat as passionately as I could.
