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. 

* * *

Natasha phoned me on Sunday; I felt like I she interviewed me as a potential landlord, but whatever concerns she had, I eased them with our frank conversation, and the unpredictable punk rocker moved in the following Saturday. Faye travelled in her car to help her unpack and their roadie friend came in the van, loaded with dozens of boxes containing all of Natasha’s worldly goods. We hauled some of her possessions from the truck to the largest spare bedroom and the rest went into the annexe. After the cargo wagon left, the two women and I walked to the pub for tea. 

Faye asked, as we ambled down the narrow road, if she could stay the night. “I’m tired,” she explained as darkness settled around us. “And I need a bloody drink. I don’t wanna drive home.”

“Sure, I’ll make up my second spare bedroom. It’s got some of Samantha’s stuff in it, but I can move them.”

“Don’t worry about that; I can sleep in Natasha’s bed. She’s got a double and we always share on tour.” They both giggled at my surprised expression and I felt like an innocent, naïve little boy, as they scoffed at my reaction to their unexpected revelation. “We’re bisexual,” Faye explained.

Once more, I ordered my new lodger several pints, and both Faye and I kept up with her pace of drinking. Natasha flirted with the young waitress and two of the regulars watching the football, as she got steadily more inebriated. After a couple of hours, we walked back up the narrow track in the pitch black, with both the girls moaning about their bladders and Natasha warning that “I was going to get it!” 

Excitedly, we hurried into my home and climbed the stairs to my en-suite bathroom: a wet room. The slightly sloped floor behind a large glass Shower screen was ideal, and I disrobed as I crossed my bedroom. “He’s keen,” Faye teased, following me.

“He’s a fucking piss slut,” Natasha snapped. “Look how fucking hard he is.” I couldn’t help my natural reaction as I considered what was about to happen. Natasha sauntered around the transparent wall as I sat on the floor of my Shower space. My lodger kicked off her shoes, and lowered her jeans to her thighs, just like in Bristol. 

The three or four seconds as she settled herself, crouching over my face, were excruciating. My eyes took in her tight derriere and amazed at her smooth butthole. I looked at every fold, crease, and crevice of her perfect female anatomy as I waited. She sighed, and the stream started. 

I caught much of her deluge in my face. Warm pungency that splashed on my skin and entered my mouth. Harsh, acidic, bitter and nasty; it was a repulsive act that I loved and I tasted her acerbic flow.

Even though I smelt of an old urinal, with Natasha’s waste water drenching my hair, I could not get enough of her piss showering down on me. It was disgusting and filthy, and I felt like a pig wallowing in manure. But I wanted more and more of it. My mouth widened to catch more of her rain, swallowing some of the caustic honey. More humiliation. Her gaze said it all as she looked at my arousal, my actions, and my eyes. 

I loved this; I enjoyed doing it and I wanted more. 

She groaned as her stream slowed and she moved towards the front of the Shower. Piss pooled around me, and I saw Faye, now bottomless, push past my lodger. A narrow strip of pubic hair at the top of her cunt, and she put her legs on either side of me, straddling my throat. She never bent down, but beckoned Natasha to her. They kissed, and she released her stream as the two lovers embraced.

Natasha’s hands gripped Faye’s buttocks and squeezed them as piss flowed from the redhead’s desperate bladder. 

Tepid drizzle sprinkled over my face and my chest. A misty rain cloud erupted over me to coat me in Faye’s piss, as the bandmates snogged. They embraced, with Natasha’s finger circling Faye’s clit as the bottomless girl covered me in her warm urine. 

Her pee tasted milder than Natasha’s flow. It had less pungency and bitterness to it, and it didn’t smell as intense, but her urine still glazed my face. I was their urinal, and Faye groaned as the stream dropped to a dribble. 

Natasha’s finger swirled over her bandmate’s cunt. They panted as they broke from their kiss. “I want to fuck you,” Natasha panted, and ignoring me, the two women ran from my en-suite to christen Natasha’s new room while they left me marinading in a pool of female piss.

I wiped my wet face with my hands and inhaled the nastiness on my fingers. Absolute heaven. I licked the wetness from my palm and touched my sopping cock, masturbating myself to a creamy climax as I smelt and tasted the waste of the punk rockers. 

Faye and Natasha were not quiet as they had Sex, but they came down to the lounge a couple of hours later to get a drink each. I bade them good night, as I slunk into my study to work, and they were still shagging when I went to bed at midnight. 

The following day, Faye awoke before Natasha. The elegant keyboardist poured a small bowl of muesli and made herself a cup of tea. She sat in my conservatory playing on her phone as she ate her breakfast. “Natasha’s fast asleep,” Faye muttered to me. “She never is a morning person.”

“I heard you were up late last night,” I replied, sitting opposite her with my food.

Faye looked up at me with her bright brown eyes. “Problem?”

“No, of course not. This is her home, too. She isn’t answerable to me at all.”

“Great!” Faye smiled. “I think, maybe, you two will be good for each other. This house is too big for one person. But look after her.” She shovelled a spoonful of cereal into her mouth and sipped her tea. “I wouldn’t mind coming over in a fortnight. I’m away next weekend with Nessie. Moving to a strange area makes people lonely.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome. Never need to ask. This is Natasha’s home for as long as she wants it to be. I won’t veto her companions. It’s not my right.”

Faye put her hand on mine. “Yeah, I know. Make sure she knows. It’s an amazing place. You must have a good job in the City.”

“I am one of twenty-six people qualified by the Stock Exchange to work on the interface between the market and the brokers. And every system or system change needs reviewing and authorising by…” I stopped as I looked at her raised eyebrows. “I’m in IT,” I added, and she nodded. 

“I am going home to cook for my mum, my elder Sister, and my two-year-old niece,” Faye replied. She got up from the table and put her dirty bowl and cup in my dishwasher. “Oh, and Natasha’s tea is black with one sugar. I am sure she’d Love breakfast in bed!” 

Which is what I did. I made time for my new lodger; I didn’t want to smother her, but I also didn’t want her to feel unwelcome and isolated. We went for a walk, and I showed her some lovely views of the Chess Valley as the wind swept through the exposed fields, and we cooked tea together.

I was a little apprehensive about her moving in, but within 24 hours, I knew I had an amazing friend for life. We didn’t know each other, but we both believed that our arrangement would work for as long as we needed it to. Faye was right; I needed to share my home with someone, and Natasha was someone very special.

Natasha said she felt guilty that she was not paying me a penny, but she really didn’t need to. We laughed and joked together when I wasn’t working. She may not have been the stereotypical domestic goddess, but my new lodger baked incredible cookies, washed and ironed everything and cleaned my kitchen one day to a standard I had never seen before.

That first week was a little weird as we settled in, but we just worked. She loved to urinate over me too, and I adored feeling the warm piss of my lodger hit my face and roll over my lips, before filling my mouth or cascading over my body. She had to be dominant, and I embraced my new found submissive side.

Treating me as her latrine was a nasty debasement, but I adored being degraded in this way. We stopped doing it, mostly, while clothed. The extra laundry was unnecessary, and neither of us were shy about our nudity. I loved seeing Natasha naked or bottomless, and every time her delicious cunt perched over my face, my wank bank received another platinum entry. We played in the bathroom, my “wet room” en-suite, the garden, or in the annexe. The previous summer, I had bought an inflatable paddling pool for Samantha’s younger cousins and we inflated the blue pool for our piss play in the cool, converted barn; it was an ideal way of limiting our mess as she released her bladder over me. 

I had quickly become accustomed to the taste of her waste, and my cock stiffened every time she treated me to a golden Shower. I swallowed mouthful after mouthful of her steady stream, and often, she rotated her hips to ensure that her flow covered my face, my hair, and my torso. She soaked my body with the harsh, acidic liquid, and I adored every drop that rained down on me. 

Over the week, I ingested more and more of her piss; initially my stomach churned a little as I gulped down her elixir but as I consumed more, and she had drank plenty of liquid prior to urinating, the dominant reaction my body gave was one of sexual excitement rather than revulsion. 

Natasha loved to humiliate me. I adored her humiliation. Within a dozen days, I treasured every experience, and looked forward to being drenched by Natasha and devouring mouthfuls of her liquid. She took me across to the annexe, holding my hand, and led me into the isolated barn conversion. I undressed as she slid her shorts to the floor, and she watched me cross the room to the paddling pool. She said nothing as she stood over me and held her phone aloft. 

Unlike the other times we had used the pool, she stood in it, her bare feet inches from my shoulder and the bottomless punk crouched down to bring her cunt level with my face. 

“Hiya!” Natasha called. “Just want to fucking tell you all that I’ve moved out to the countryside between Chorleywood and Watford.” It took a moment for me to realise that she had turned her camera on, as she released a stream of pale honey into my open mouth. My eyes stared at her smooth arsehole as she continued to talk into her phone. “It’s the fucking dog’s bollocks out here and I’m staying with someone who takes the piss. My fucking piss. I’ll see you soon, you fucking sluts.”

Her golden nectar, delivered in a wonderful, delicious, humiliating act by the lithe punk rocker. I loved her for it, as she pointed her phone at me to record my degradation. She captured her piss raining over my face, and my gleeful quaffing of her acrid pee. 

“Fucking gobbling every drop, the filthy fucker,” Natasha narrated. “And his cock has a fucking stiffy, too. Look. This guy is a fucking pervert.” She sighed as her stream tailed off. “Which is good, ’cause so am I. Happy fucking Christmas, you fucking cunts. Speak in the New Year ’bout that fucking album.” 

She lowered herself slightly so her cunt touched my lips. “Go on, clean me!” She demanded. “All the band have just seen you drink my fucking pee! Now lick me clean.” She had never done this with me before, and my tongue swept over her slit, capturing the drops clinging to her skin.

I rolled my tongue over her pee-hole and caught her clit with my motions; she panted gently, and I did it again, focusing my lips and actions on her splayed crevice. 

I was no longer cleaning Natasha after she had emptied her bladder, but was performing cunnilingus on my new lodger. Her body rested on my wet face. My tongue swept over her delicious folds, tasting and smelling of muskiness and femininity. My cock hardened as I lapped at her wetness. 

Natasha ground her hips as I worked my mouth against her cunt. Her heavenly Pussy, flowing with moist horniness and soaking my face as I flicked her button. She groaned and squealed with increasing ferocity as I licked and worshipped her clit. I treasured every moment of cleaning her piss-soaked cunt and bringing her towards a screaming Orgasm. 

At that moment, I craved nothing more than for Natasha’s crotch to stay perched on my face. Her body shook as my lips flicked and lapped her button and her thighs tensed and tightened, howling into the empty room. Her screams echoed as her body tipped her into a powerful, trembling climax. 

Slowly, she stood up, panting hoarsely. She raised her bare foot and wiped pee over my face. “Smell my sweaty, pissy feet,” she ordered, and my tongue swept over her dirty toes. Grit stuck to my lips as she chuckled to herself. She giggled. “You’re disgusting,” she snapped, and I felt a sense of longing as she stepped out of the paddling pool to Shower. 

After we cleaned ourselves and the pool and cooked, I spoke to Natasha. I adored going down on Samantha, and missed having a Pussy to devour, but I needed to ensure that she did it willingly and not because she thought she owed me. “I fucking Love Sex, Love dominating, Love giving golden showers and fucking Love humiliating men. Being in control makes my cunt itch. I want to get my cunt eaten out and I want to have a mouthful of Pussy, and fucking Love my toys. But I ain’t going to do any fucking shit I don’t want to do, and fucking not as payment for a room. You calling me a fucking prossie?”

“No,” I replied. “I just…” My voice trailed off. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.” I considered myself chastised for bringing it up, and it was the only cross word she had uttered to me all fortnight. 

On Friday, she waited until I was in a meeting and entered my study, carrying a tall glass of “apple juice.” In front of the merchant bank’s CEO via video conference, I consumed 400ml of her refrigerated piss that scorched and burnt the back of my throat as it traversed my gullet. 

The chauvinistic director, calling from his home in the Caribbean, asked about my “sexy maid” as I consumed my lodger’s chilled concentrated pee with an out-of-shot erection pressing against my underpants and my desk. 

Seven people saw me drink Natasha’s dark piss. The director’s secretary minuted that meeting, and one of my biggest customers bore unknowing witness to the act. I had to gulp and consume the cold, chilly amber fluid, making no facial expressions. The large quantity of cooled, intensely flavoured, bitter, acrid juice churned my stomach and made my throat gag for water. The harsh smell burnt my nose and made my eyes stream, but I could do nothing to suggest the glass was anything other than freshly squeezed apple.

I had to pretend, and after the call ended, I rushed to the kitchen to fill my glass up with tap water. “How was my cold morning piss? Suitable payment for a fucking room?” She asked, with a straight face as she leant against the worktop, waiting for a pan of soup to boil. 

“I never said it was payment,” I moaned. “And it was horrible. Really intense.”

“Good. If you ever fucking suggest that I am peeing on you for anything other than for my fun, it won’t just be strong wee you have to fucking worry about.” 

I looked at the bubbling pan of fresh carrot soup. “Is that made with…” I mumbled.

“Carrots, stock, coriander. And I am going to use up some of that double cream in the fridge. Go back to your fucking office, and I’ll bring you some lunch in five minutes, you fucking piss drinker.” 

“Thanks,” I murmured.

She looked up at me and smiled. “You’re fucking welcome.” When Natasha deposited my freshly made soup, with a bread roll and a drink, in my office she left a Post-It note on the tray that read “Urgent Appointment. 1645. Annexe” and I smiled back at my lodger as I spoke on the phone. 

The day dragged and at quarter-to-five; I rushed across to my converted barn to see a bottomless pink-haired woman, hopping from one foot to another, in the paddling pool. I stripped as I walked across the room. “Good day?” I asked.

“I’ve had four pints of water for you!” She barked as I climbed into the inflatable pool underneath her. She knelt and coated my face and mouth with her warm piss. Sheer bliss, as the strong bitter ammonia-laden taste from earlier was barely present. 

But there was a controlling humiliation to her play; after smothering me in her piss and watching me gulp mouthfuls of her waste, she pressed my face into the puddles of pee in the paddling pool with her foot, and demanded that I use my tongue to lap at the splashes of her mess. 

Utter squalor, sheer filth and incredibly gross. And unbelievably arousing. 

As an outsider, it would have surprised many how normally we acted outside of the piss play. After that act, we cleaned ourselves, made tea and then watched a film next to each other on the couch. Those acts just reminded me of our living arrangements. It may have been my house and Natasha had moments in charge, but we worked and lived together. We helped each other.

On Saturday, as promised, Faye travelled out to Sarratt Green once more in her bright red Mini. The two friends went for a drive and a walk in the nearby countryside and returned at teatime as I dished up a Spaghetti Bolognese. 

The rain showers had soaked the girls as they walked up several steep hills. Over dinner, they both moaned how sweaty they were, and Natasha smirked as she helped herself to a third bottle of beer. Faye drank less alcohol, but still had a steady intake of fluids. 

After I cleaned up in the kitchen, Natasha held my hand and led me to the main bathroom. The two band members giggled conspiratorially as we walked up the stairs and opened the door. The long narrow room was between two of my three spare bedrooms, and the white freestanding bath was to our left. “Undressed and in the tub?” I asked, and my lodger patted me on the bum. 

“You’re fucking learning,” she teased, and they watched me put my T-shirt, underwear, socks and trousers on the wicker chair in the bathroom’s corner. Natasha and Faye waited for me to sit in the bath before they removed their lightweight hiking slacks. Faye kept her sexy scarlet briefs on.

My lodger sat herself at the head of the bath, with her thighs resting on the curved lip and her cunt positioned directly above my face. Faye sat next to her; her arse and Pussy hidden behind her silky red underwear. 

Then it rained; Natasha leant forward slightly, and a jet of pale piss hit my lips. I gleefully gulped the sharp liquid, catching it as it sprayed over my face and throat. My nostrils smelt of pee. My tastebuds became overloaded with bitter urea as Natasha sprinkled and showered me with her fluids. 

And Faye started pissing through her underwear. My cock rose as I watched a dark red patch form, and drops of her elixir fell from the silky briefs as they became saturated. Her trickle ran down the inside of the bath, collecting by my shoulder as the red-haired woman released the pressure on her bladder. I wanted to kiss it, lick it, and revel in it. I longed to taste and smell her feminine excretions and enjoy her natural act of expulsion showering over me. Instead, she wasted it.