Bishop's Red Light Romp Ch. 01

Amanda, dear Amanda; she was never too far from Annette's thoughts, (be it in a boardroom meeting, or getting happily banged into the headboard of a King-sized four poster). Whatever Annette did, Amanda managed to drift back into the back of her mind. The past few months had been happily exciting for Annette, (with regard to that oh so special "BFF with benefits").

Amanda, the lovely Texas call girl had popped back into Annette's life nearly a year before at a swinger party hosted in Surrey by Annette's dear friend Anika. Although the encounter between the two old lovers was nothing short of spectacular, Annette had worried it would amount to a one night stand and that she might not see her former lover again. It was therefore a happy surprise when Amanda contacted her the next day... indicating she'd stay in the London area for a few more days.

The two found themselves secreted like two happy peas in a pod up in Amanda's room at the Rathbone hotel for several days; frolicking and living off room service... wrecking bedsheets and each other's makeup. When Amanda eventually had to get on a plane and fly back to Austin, it was with the promise she'd be back. Annette took solace in the fact Amanda at least shared the inclination to have them see one another again but the realist in her said not to get her hopes up.

Once again, fate intervened. It seems Amanda's boss in Austin in few weeks decided to expand the business footprint and jump operations across the 'big pond.' Amanda was given a promotion to that of head of the 'European Interest,' as well as moving orders. No sooner had she set foot back in London, then she was expected to set up the toe hold for European wing of the call girl operation, (and in of all places, London's West End). Amanda's school for girls was born, (although none of the female members appeared to be either school age or particularly studious).

A few months later, Amanda had spread the 'business' footprint out like an oil spot; right under the very noses of the authorities. Amanda's exercise and meditation club was born on the East End, (although most of the clientele did not fit the description of Yoga or fitness buffs). It all brought her back marvelously close to Annette, but Amanda's work regime (and that of Annette's), had over the last few months put the crimp on things. What Amanda really needed was some competent leadership within her stable of girls with whom she could delegate day to day operations and merely serve as contact with the Austin home office. She also constantly was concerned about having the whole thing blowing up in her face.

#

Annette now wished more than anything wished she were here... away from the 'organization," just enjoying herself. She sighed a little huff of regret and then went back to simply allowing whomever that particular random stranger was down between her legs, to go about the business of eating her.

She could also see the line of selected diners coming to an end. At the very rear of things were what she'd best describe as a pair of British hipsters, a man and a woman and they were queued up to Annette and Felicia respectfully. Annette had heard them speak to one another and had picked out their East End London accents; cockney but with a level of grammar that spoke of education beyond working class roots. If anything, the hipster attire was a direct attempt to break away from humble beginnings, she surmised.

Oh... and were they ever sporting the 'look' too! The woman was petite, in fact she had the body of a little crumpet. The man was pleasingly tall and with long slender torso with powerful arms. Beyond that, the hipster stamp of shunned convention was etched on everything about them.

He was rockin the required beard; copied it appeared as the result of deliberate study of 19th century Anglican clergy...above which was an impeccably twisted mustache appearing to contain the wax of three beehives. Above that and atop a handsome nose, rested the standard issue lenseless glasses, (these in crimson and burnt umber rims). He wore a red Mister Rogers sweater, skinny jeans and tennis shoes with no socks, (to broadcast to the world his disdain for men's hosiery). His overall impression was that of a chiseled intellectual cross fitter meets tragically cool Russian writer, (the kind who uses thirty words if three did nicely and whose choice of killing himself would involve climbing to the top of his suicide note and jumping).

His female sidekick (and apparent piece of arm candy for the evening), was rocking a mini skirt with floral print. Beneath it, she wore yoga pants coming down to high top Converse sneakers. Over her shoulders she wears a man's shirt...above a mid-riff spaghetti strap t-shirt. Up top, the little she-biscuit had sported black lens-less glasses that matched her tendrils of inky black hair that stuck out beneath a grey knit hat.

She was oozing the tragically cool intellectual look clearly as much as he and trying to not be overtly sexual with her appearance, Annette could see as much quite clearly. This only might have worked with anyone else, but Annette not only loved beautiful faces and bodies; she was the quintessential sapiosexual mind-slut, and the sight of this brainy broad waiting patiently in the queue for Felicia's puss only served to make her clit throb with longing like a stubbed toe.

She didn't have to wait long. As the orchestra raced through more dizzyingly fast hokey polka tunes, the bearded cooler than thou Rasputin wannabee dove between Annette's thighs and commenced to gnosh. She expected the tickle of beard and the touch of yet another male tongue. She was not prepared for what followed.

Apparently the hand of fate had saved the best for last for her. She felt the brush of his beard sure enough, but then her clit and labia were subjected to a delightfully ravenous oral assault that made Annette suck in her breath and instantly raise her hips in pleasant surprise. Like Peter and Nancy before, the hipster was well versed in all things cunnilingual, (and she could tell that after just a mere twenty or so seconds as his lips and tongue sipped and nibbled her just-so). She wasn't at all sure how many languages this gentleman had mastered in his life but she was absolutely certain he was if anything; an accomplished cunninglinguist. Her hips began to hump his lips and muzzle accordingly and she let the sensation take over.

The only other man who truly could 'snuffle her truffle' this superbly was conspicuously absent. Sonovabitch Brad! If he'd shown up with Shelby like they'd agreed tonight it might be HIM dining on her twat waffle instead of this impeccably groomed rug muncher.

'Oh well Brad, your loss...' she thought. She could have the next best thing and simply enjoy this fellow, then she could subject bad-boy Brad to a face riding at a time later of her own choosing, and she let out a contented chuckle at this thought.

Oh but she soooo missed her Brad; who was she kidding? Even though she was peeved at him, she couldn't be too terribly cross with her Bradly Knight; her knight in shining personal lubricant. Aside from this strange absence; he'd been rather good to her... so good in fact.

As the licks from the bearded one down below lapped at her like a randy tomcat at a saucer of cream, she remembered something Brad had done a few weeks before; prior to him leaving. He'd actually popped it on her as a Saturday surprise for her, Shelby, and her long lost love Amanda, (who'd just set up the East End branch of her London operation). It fulfilled one of her more base of fantasies; public sex of a most casual nature. Simply put, he took Annette and the girls dogging.

#

He'd set it all up a few days in advance. He and his mates had known of a place on a motor way rest stop about an hour North of London following a roundabout. They'd all joked of it and by now it had given Brad a wicked idea. The joke became a means to scratch a very real itch for his boss (and lover). It coincided upon of all things, Annette's birthday.

He first arranged to borrow a rather run down four door from one of his East End chums. He'd also found some rather shabby down market used clothes. He gave them a whiff and the Mackelmore rap number, 'Thrift Shoppe' danced through his noggin,

"Shoulda washed this, smells like R Kelly's sheets - PISSSSSSSSSssssss, but shit - it was ninety-nine cents!"

He told himself it was just mold and mildew. He'd thought of washing the horrid rags but then thought the better of it. He smiled at the grime and grease (as well as other questionable stains), with note of satisfaction. One needed to smell the part as well as look it and yes, these would do nicely.

Annette was frightfully angry with Brad that morning but she'd possessed better class than to show it. Still it bloody-well hurt. He'd forgotten her birthday completely apparently. No gift, no flowers, no card. He may have been a straight white male; true, (but even that was simply no excuse).

She and Shelby (who'd remembered a gift and a card), went for a run in an effort to clear Annette's head and perhaps give Brad and his memory a second chance. He let them go. He could tell she was furious and had completely taken the bait. He then left and picked up the car and the wretched rags from an underground car park down the street.

When Annette and Shelby returned, the morning was half over. There was Brad, still without a gift, sitting in her living room. She felt the burn of rage well up in her.

"Well dear," he piped up as he rose to his feet, "how about that gift?"

She immediately brightened up. She looked around the room and over his shoulder, betraying anticipation. Her look was unmistakably that of an adolescent female; hopping up and down happily as she said,

"Oh yes please!"

He kicked a cardboard box her way from beneath the coffee table. She looked into the contents of the box and frowned. What was she supposed to do with those?

"Change into them," Brad answered, "I can explain on the way."

"On the way?" she replied incredulously, "Brad, Shelby and I need a shower and so do you... and..."

"You are not going to shower this morning," he interrupted, "you both need to stink the way you are now."

"What? Look I don't..."

"It's true," came a familiar voice.

Annette spun around and turned to the entrance to the bedroom. Standing in the doorway was Amanda. She was dressed in the same nasty 'hobo chic' clothing that lay in the box (and with a wicked grin etched across her face).

"Look hon," Amanda explained in her twangy Texas drawl, "I stink from last night's work and I need a shower but I think where Brad is taking us, you'll want to fit in. Besides, Felicia heard what we are doing and she's tapped out, but she'll prepare a lovely bubble bath and lunch for our return.

"Alright," said Annette, cautiously reaching into the box of clothes and hoping it had at least been de-loused, "if you say so."

"Trust me hon," Amanda replied, "you are gonna have the best birthday ever! You and Shelby just need to get those rags on your asses,"

And so they did. Not a half hour later, four shabbily dressed people left Annette's parking garage below her lovely posh West End flat in a beat up four-door that was an affront to existing emissions control laws. To the casual observer, it would appear that they'd burgled the place.

They now had that look and dinge of people who if they applied themselves; might someday aspire to the lowest rungs of the working class. They appeared to be a tawdry mix of bad decisions and bleak prospects, doused with gin, cigarettes, and funk. They had the look and wore it with accordingly smelly aplomb.

What followed was forty-five minutes of a chugging blue smoke-infused car ride to the highway round-about and then a swerve into a rest stop a few kilometers up the motor way. The rest stop as it turned out had a low scrubby wood behind it, and beyond that lay a municipal park of some sort.

Brad now drove the decapitated chugger of an auto up to the edge of the carpark and then to the surprise of everyone in the car save him, he drove up onto the lawn and onto a rutted maintenance path that led directly between the park and the rest stop. Halfway-in, the path opened up into a little clearing surrounded by shrubs and trees on all sides. It was quite hidden from the road. It was also filled with around five or six other vehicles. Brad pulled to an empty spot and shut off the motor.

A cursory glance about gave Annette an idea of what this was all about. She saw men here and there huddled about one or two of the vehicles apparently queuing for something at each car. Looking at the spent condoms and an empty bottle of lube on the ground and she knew all she needed to know. When she heard a woman let out a half shrill shriek and half cackle from inside a swaying non-descript white van, it confirmed things for her... Brad had driven the three women to a dogging site!

"Well Annette," Brad said, dropping the car window on his side and motioning for Shelby and Amanda in the back to open their doors, "hope you enjoy your presents, and Happy Birthday dear..."

Annette shot her boy-toy cub an ear to ear smile as she leaned over and presented him a Thank You kiss, before popping her door open. Several men standing in other queues at other swaying and rocking vehicles now noticed three doors open on the beat-up car containing Annette and the others. It was a new car... a car they had not seen before here at the dog site. When the men saw three female rumps suddenly raise up through those same open doors and prostrate themselves skyward with panties and knickers nowhere to be seen, they began to move over like a pack of famished hounds who'd just whiffed something good on the wind.

Fresh kill. Feeding time. It drew more strange men.

From out of the muni park on the edge of the wood sauntered the figures of still more men to the car. To Annette, it looked a bit like the zombie 'A-cock-alypse' was at hand. In her mind she could almost hear the tortured mournful calls of 'ASS... ASS... ASSSSSS!' from the legion of undead and rampant un-satisfied cock sauntering its way to the car. She chuckled at the thought... she was bad, and this would be so good, she knew it to be so.

What followed was hookup debauchery of the most casual anonymous kind; pure and simple. A few of the men made quick gruff conversation with Brad through the front seat window. He was asked if he was the husband or brother ... or whatever to these women. He replied that he was the 'protection,' and that they could have fun with his 'gels' but to not be too rough or rude 'wif them.' He was met by nods and half smiles but damned little eye contact. The men moved to the women.

Grubby trousers were opened freeing grubby cocks as equally grubby hands now roamed the asses and bodies of the three women while Brad managed to keep a watchful eye on the goings-on. The women were being pawed as if they were the contents of a food locker by men who were absolutely mad with hunger. It's safe to say, foreplay was somewhat absent from the menu.

Annette from her place on the front passenger seat with her bare ass out the door, felt the rude push of cock as hands grabbed hips and loins aided with a little bit of saliva and sweat, pushed home. She felt the man's nasty hands groping and grabbing her for a bit of 'sweaty leverage' as his dong slooshed deep in an 'oh so nasty' stretching of her cunt. He began a foul stroking rhythm, his hairy balls swinging forward to slap her Venus mound as his thumb swirled the nasty pink circle of her ass pucker. Over the seat in the back she could hear moans and smacking of bodies, (as Shelby and Amanda were no doubt receiving the very same rough treatment).

Annette decided she'd need to have a little something at her other end. She unzipped Brad's trousers and retrieved his already hard cock. She began to suck it in the cramped space of the small beat up piece of shit car as her whole world rocked back and forth on shock-absorbers badly in need of replacement.

On and on the cocks came; her mind and those of Shelby and Amanda simply loosing count of them in the stream of endless rutting grabass fuckery. There would be a warm spooging rush of semen, followed by a dripping pullout; only to be followed by the sound of another belt and trousers being undone and another stranger's cock rooting its way into their pussies or ass-chutes.

Again and again hands held their hips as male lungs huffed and panted above and behind them in desperate need to hump and rut them rotten. Each time stretching and plowing penetration would end up with a choking male groan and a rush of foul seed somewhere inside them. The girls lost count of it all, to include their own cums as their cunts eventually flowed freely with their own brine.

Finally, after an endless succession of humping and spouting, the very last man in line shot his seed. He was a well hung black man with powerful forearms, (who emptied his balls into Annette's now poor pummeled bum-hole with a roar of triumph). Annette now set herself to the task at hand (or mouth that is), and brought off Brad with just a few strokes off his cock in a wicked deep-throat that had him jet huge ropes of boy-batter straight into her hungry gullet. She gulped down his seed and rose up to thank him once more; only to have him glance over her shoulder and urge her to turn around as the large black man tapped her upon the shoulder.

She spun around and saw Ted the well hung limousine driver, (and Shelby's sometime paramour), grinning at her as he put is cock away with a few drippy shakes. Her eyes went wide at the happy surprise, (she'd thought she recognized the great stretch of that black dong upon her intestines). There was another surprise a moment later.

"Here you go luv," Ted said, handing her a birthday card.

It was signed by Teddy and everyone in the car. Amanda and Shelby had signed it days before not completely knowing what Brad had in mind, but they'd had the foresight to say nothing when it appeared that morning Bradley Knight had forgotten the birthday of his boss and lover, Annette Bishop. It was a ruse pulled off well and Annette simply could not cease hugging and kissing Brad as then sat in the bubble bath back home later on with Amanda and Shelby as Felicia prepared a late lunch for them prior to joining them in the sudsy cleansing bubbles.

The whole thing gave Brad a bit of reprieve and a blank check with Annette. He'd done masterfully with the setup and she realized in her heart of hearts that she could never stay cross at him or her little Shelby for too terribly long. One thing else the experience gave Brad; it told him he was good at fooling Annette and providing her surprises that pleased her immensely.

#

Now as she lay on a stage of an Amsterdam sex club; wrapped in a latex cocoon that tied in the back whilst being nibbled on by a marvelously hungry hipster, Annette's ire towards Brad passed. He had a good explanation. He'd show up and make it all right and she'd laugh at how silly she'd been for being angry at he and Shelby. She knew this all to be true; besides... Mr. "Oh so impeccably groomed and hairy," was doing such a marvelous job with his choppers on her twat... he really was! Within only a few minutes, he brought Annette to the edge of a bucking head-shaking crotch-humping cum upon his hairy snout as she wailed and thrashed out of sheer climactic delight.

Oh and what a cum-gasm it was going to be - she could feel it! Her toes suddenly curled as she became aware of only his mouth and the urgent need to spend herself against it. It was so... wickedly marvelous. She shook and kicked and thrashed as if she really needed benefit of the latex straightjacket that swaddled her and then it hit. Her body became one glorious shuddering sneeze of feminine release as her mouth fell open and,