Group Sex Bishop's Red Light Romp

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,

"EEEEYYAAAAGGGGHH! HAAAAHHHH AAAGGGHH!" she bawled sending a great splash of lady dew against the hipster's face; adding a drenching spray of 'special product' to his beard, mustache, and hair.

The hungry hipster took it all in stride; shrugging it off as if he'd been at the prow of a boat that had just smacked through a great wave. She was dealing with no ordinary rug muncher. This impeccably groomed fellow was clearly she could see, a gynecological gourmand! He slurped and fed, rocking his head back and forth hungrily as he continued to feast and gobble at her puss-spout until he'd sipped every last briny drop from her.

Next to them on the stage, Ami was now gasping and grunting as Peter's penis pounded her rear porthole. Beneath her Felicia's spirited cunt munching had her on the edge of yet another splasher of an orgasm; Felicia inspired by the wicked lickings and strokes the brainy pint-sized hipstress between her legs was giving her with fingers and tongue. When she finally shrieked her way through her orgasm, she shook her head so ferociously her sunglasses nearly flew from her eyes but the club manager brought her hands up to her shades and held them in-place; maintaining a modicum of cool as the orchestra played frantically.

Kirsten asked Peter if he'd cum yet; he shook his head in an emphatic 'No' and then Nancy whispered a suggestion in Kirsten's ear as she pointed at the four people on the stage next to them. Kirsten said something quite unheard by all except Nancy, (who nodded back with a wicked grin). Again Nancy looked out to the crowd and waived to her hubby, Mr. Sir... who did a little finger waive back and went back to his second overpriced drink of the night that he was sipping slowly.

Kirsten now moved Ami and Peter from Felicia's proud pretty puss-licker and mounted the lovely Spaniard's face herself; pulling up Felicia's legs and bending them at the knees. She said something to the pretty hipster gobbling Felicia's twat waffle and she nodded in agreement, rising to her feet and shucking sneakers and leggings beneath her oh so shortie mini skirt. The crowd craned their necks and stared with keen interest as the band continued to play and the stage continued to rotate slowly.

As Kirsten held Felicia's long Spanish legs up (and her delectable derriere up as well), the pretty hipstress remounted the stage. She then mounted Felicia as well in a rip snorting lesbian scissor-fuck. Felicia was on fire with happy fuckery and showed her appreciation by immediately tucking into Kirsten's Teutonic twat schnitzel from down below; making the ring mistress nearly lose her hat once more (an image that was now almost becoming her 'signature look' as it found its usual place cocked down over one of her eyes).

Nancy and Ami now repositioned in a sixty-nine, with Nancy pulling the pretty arse cheeks open for Peter's proud pork sword. The Dutchmen once again sank into Ami's ravaged rectum once again; this time fucking much harder and faster. He was intent now on getting as close as possible to his orgasm but he was still saving it for something special. Beneath him, Ami and Nancy gobbled twats as their juices ran freely in weeping dribbles. It was all now an over the top frenzy of wanton hedonism before the crowd of onlookers, (who were almost hypnotized by the torrid spectacle before them). The band played... faster... and faster.

Annette let out a happy sigh, basking in the glow of the orgasm she'd just had at the hand... or should I say, LIPS of the bearded hipster. Truth be told; that last orgasm had HER and not the other way 'round! She'd had so many lovely mouths on her twat-waffle tonight but his was supreme! Apparently the best had been saved for last? There was just one thing she needed... some big veiny cock to make the night complete; maybe two even?

It was now as if minds were being read, for the hipster rose from Annette's sodden puss-hole and shot a glance to Kirsten the ringmistress; one eye cocked wryly and with both hands at his belt buckle. Kirsten returned his glance and looked at her watch before shooting him a smiling wicked nod in collusion.

Annette was confused at first, then she found herself spun around onto her belly. A second later she felt the lovely rude push. The hipster had released a true Krotch Kraaken of a cock and it was now pushing its way through the grotto entrance of Annette's sopping wet pussy!

She huffed out all her air and pushed her face into the pink matt of the stage as the shoulders of the cock made headway. A second later and it shunted on through... slamming home at the back of her cunt with lovely rude force as two strong hands gripped her hips. She let out another huff of air and then a low moan... this was what she'd wanted ever since she'd been cynched up in this silly jacket... vulnerability... and cock! She was about to get it in spades.

Within a few minutes' time Ami let out another howl of joy as Nancy's cunt munching and Peter's ass-plowing eventually tipped her over the edge of orgasmic release. As she and Nancy continued to roll about like a pair of fighting cats in a torrid mutual munch session.

Peter rose with his ramrod stiff cock and strode to Annette and her happily humping hipster. Annette looked up at the tall Dutchman, stroking a massive piece of timber in his hands. He'd yet to empty his balls and it was readily apparently he'd been saving up his load for her. She smiled, licked her lips and told him to get down with her and make himself comfortable.

Seating himself down before Annette with his legs to either side of her shoulders, Peter lifted Annette's head until it rested in the Dutchman's lap. He brought the tip of his dong to her lips and she opened her mouth to accept it, straight from Ami's ass-chute! Peter then lay back on the mats beneath him and wrapped his hands behind Annette's head.

Annette felt a lovely rush of excitement as the cock slid to the back of her throat and Peter pumped his hips ever so slightly. Relaxing and breathing through her nose, she just went with it... loving the helpless feeling of being happily spit roasted; the beautiful bearded hipster nailing her pussy from behind and the Dutchman plowing her tonsils up front in a nasty ass to mouth skull-fuck. She was home now... she was in her element, very much in this moment; loving it, living it, and hoping it would never end!

She lost track of time and only focused on the poke poke poke at both ends. Next to her, Felicia had been untied from her straight jacket and had now moved with Kirsten, Nancy, Ami and the hipstress in a five-woman daisy chain; each woman on her side lapping the twat truffle of the woman in front of her in a lovely mutually stimulating Sapphic ring. It didn't matter for Annette, she had her poke poke poke and her stroke stroke stroke and she was delirious with pleasure. Nothing else mattered, not her wayward cubs, not her responsibilities back in London, not the straining craning heads of the audience watching the rotating stage as the orchestra played; there was only the poke poke poking pleasure!

The pleasure didn't end right away for her either; it merely changed itself up after a few minutes. Just as Annette wondered how long Peter could maintain his nasty ass to mouth face hump the Dutchman let out a choked roar and his fingers lightly dug into her short black head of hair. Instinctively Annette bore down with lips and throat, like a calf nursing at its mother until she felt the boiling rush of warmth from the Dutchman's balls. It was a big load; he'd been edging and delaying his orgasm all this time with Kirsten, Nancy, and Ami so it was a huge expenditure for him; rope after salty rope of his cock curds spooging down Annette's gullet as she just took and loved every drop of his ball broth.

A few happy gulps later from Annette and she'd completely drained her Dutch treat. He was far from done, however. He raised her head in his hands gently and kissed her before telling her that he and the hipster humping her from behind were only half done with her.

He nodded to the bearded fellow plowing her from behind and the hipster shot a look to both Ami and his hipstress girlfriend. Ami, looked at her watch and nodded before diving back in to Nancy's pussy. The hipstress shot him a thumbs up and then wiggled that same thumb in Ami's poor poked pooper before returning back to gobbling the club manager's pretty pink puss hole.

The Dutchman said something to the hipster Annette could not quite make out over the noise from the orchestra and the moans of the daisy chain. A second later and the cock was out from her cunt and she was raised to her knees. Peter set about freeing her from her straightjacket, which landed on the floor in front of the stage not twenty seconds later.

Peter lay back down upon the stage, his wobbily dong still very much able to maintain penetration, (despite the fact he'd given Annette's tummy a lovely filling of dude-chowder from his nutsack). He could still fuck and he was anything but tired, (neither was the hipster and neither was Annette for that matter). It was unanimous.

Annette straddled the Dutchman's cock and sank down on the shaft; taking his cock up deep inside her. She began to hump and stroke it back into rigidity. It didn't take long. Now she anticipated what was next. Her hunch was correct.

She felt the hipster's strong forearms push her down onto the Dutchman. A second later and the bearded Rasputin wannabee was above her, she felt his weight. She felt his warmth and sweat. She felt his cockhead push against the pucker of her rectum... she was about to be pummeled at both ends in a sweaty double-penetration. She felt the rush of the cock as it slewed in to the darkest depths of her innards.

"Haarrrrhhhhhhh!" Annette gasped.

There was pain, there was discomfort for her (for a moment), then there was merely the rush of being plugged and corked by pulsing warm fleshy penetration for her. A selfishly hedonistic smile spread across her face. These two men had once again correctly read her wicked little mind like a filthy little book! They began to fuck in earnest.

She reached back behind her head in an attempt to stroke the hipster's beard; the thrill of everything getting the better of her. She was surprised then to receive his strong hand wrap up her wrist and her ears to be met by a firm 'NO' from him. Apparently there were a lot of things in this world he was ok with, but 'mussing the doo' was simply NOT on that list!

She chuckled and agreed, nodding in smiling submission. He continued to hold her wrist behind her back; squeezing it forcefully as he sawed his dong in and out of her dirt chute. It gave her the perfectly buggered feeling of helplessness she craved; a feeling that was only enhanced by the sensation of the Dutchman's throbbing ramrod as it shunted up inside her womb-hole like a piston. She cradled Peter's head to her neck with her remaining free hand and bid him to bite and nibble upon her. He complied as if he not eaten in days.

The only way for this to be more complete would have been for Bradley Knight to provide his gorgeous cock to her lips, mouth and throat; rendering her happily airtight and plugged all the way 'round. She'd have loved the sensation of that cock she'd sucked so many times before to fuck her tonsils and add to the joyous sensation in her pummeled pussy and her wonderfully rutted rectum. She'd love the delightful trickle of his pre-ejaculate and his choked efforts not to spend too soon, (all as the hipster's beard made delightful tickles on her shoulder and the Dutchman's chin stubble scratched her neck in just the very way she loved). She wanted him here... he was not, but it was fine for now. She had this, and this was so lovely for her.

This didn't take long for her either. The double-plunger man-sandwich brought her off in a series of happy sighs a short time later. Her pussy happily leaked and splashed like a busted rain gutter as her lady-dew ran down three pairs of legs.

Her sighs were met by a pair of distinctly male grunts as both Peter and the hipster shuddered and filled her front and back doors with jets of hot ball-sauce. She felt Peter's teeth rake her shoulder in a final nibble as he humped out the last dregs into her cunt; simultaneously she felt the swish of the hipster's beard and tash as he bestowed little pecks on her neck and between her shoulder-blades as he left the last salty squirt up her tush-pipe. The band played a triumphantly hokey fanfare as the audience came to their feet with a roar of applause. The center of attention once more, Annette Bishop felt... spent happy bliss!

The two women walked side by side; arm in arm down the sidewalk along the canal, headed to the point where the company car was to pick them up before driving back to the corporate retreat lodgings. The rain had begun again in little pits and pats as their heels clicked in unison on the concrete; clek clek clekking along beneath a two pair of long and desirable (if not somewhat tired lanky legs). Thinking back on the evening's events Annette was quite happily surprised by the way it had all turned out.

Almost immediately after her fanfare performance with the Dutchman and the well hung hipster, she and Felicia had retreated to the privacy of the dressing room. There was simply no time for anything more than a kiss from her two male costars. It was late and they still had no word at all from the cubs.

In the quiet of the dressing room Felicia checked Annette's messages. As she did, a text appeared. It was a bit of a mixed blessing.

"ITS ALL GOOD -CUD NOT BE THERE-2MORROW NOON FANTA Z SEX SHOP DOWN THE STREET FROM THE HOLE IN ONE CLUB - SORRY- SHELBY"

"What in the hell are those two doing?" bemoaned a completely worn out Annette when Felicia showed the message to her.

This was trying even her supremely calm patience. She always had a firm steady hand on the tiller of the corporation but now she wished to bring it soundly against the backsides of those two supremely naughty cubs of hers. No efforts to text back to either of them was met to success. She was frustrated... what was worse, the ball batter from Peter and the hipster needed to come out and she needed to pee.

Luckily there was a toilet in a stall to one side of the dressing room. As she heard it flush and she saw Felicia hop up from the commode; she stepped around her assistant and seated herself, (in need of a good emptying now that she was so full and more than a little frustrated by events).

Felicia sensed her mood. As Annette wrinkled her nose in mid piss and stared at her phone screen, she rejoined her in the stall. She knelt between Annette's knees and raised them up slightly; hooking them over her shoulders.

Annette continued to scowl and wrinkle her nose. Now it wasn't as much for the naughty-ass cubs whom she wanted to box the ears of. She really need to wee, (plus man-jizz was leaking at both her ends as if she were an overstuffed pastry).

Felicia dropped her pretty noggin and Annette felt her thighs go a bit high. Instinctively, she scooted her lovely bum to the commode's front; curving her body like a letter "c" on the very edge. Felicia was a "find."

The Iberian hottie's tongue and lips now went to work in earnest; making like a little bee inside her boss's petals. Annette had just finished pissing but it just didn't matter; the taste of a little wee trickling from another woman's snatch simply turned Felicia on to simply no end. It was Felicia's very own special "pee-version."

The lovely Spaniard had a good many kinks in her lexicon but watersports with another lady happened to be first and foremost among them. Besides... Annette needed a bit of stress relief at the moment. Yep, Felicia was a find!

Felicia's tucked in between Annette's legs and the buffet commenced. Her tongue and nose immediately met with the acrid taste and fragrance of Annette's pee dregs; this followed closely by a salty creampie, (courtesy of two well hung men). She regretted not having the chance to fuck them this evening and regretted things even more as the cock custard began to drip and flow from both of Annette's ends. Why did Annette get all the luck? Oh well, she was content to snack on this salty concoction of ... BRRRRINNGG THE PHONE RANG.

"Oh POO," whined Annette glancing down at her screen just as she was beginning to enjoy Felicia's nibblings, "I'll have to take this,"

She answered. On the other end a man's voice rang through the receiver,

"Hello my dear! How's my crumpet this evening?"

"Caesar darling!" Annette said with a sound of joy lilting on her lips and a look of OH FUCK NOW WHAT on her face, "Oh its you... I am so happy you phoned in. Worried sick about you, dearest. How is Ireland?"

"Green and wet," came his voice on the other end, "can you hear the rain?"

He held his phone to the sky from as the roaring rush of water bounced on his umbrella. She could hear it quite clearly. She could also feel dribblings and drippings of a different sort about to rush from her and meet Felicia's busy lips full in the lips and snout.

"Oh yes darling," Annette replied, "things are a bit wet here in London as well, getting wetter even."

She place her hand on Felicia's head and tapped for her to be silent, (as the sexy Spaniard snorted and snickered at the irony of her bosses' words). It wasn't the first time Annette had lied to her hubby about her comings and goings, (or cummings and goings for that matter). Caesar ate it all up like porridge, however. Whatever explanation given by Annette at any given time served as the perfect smokescreen for her many infidelities. Oh and there were soooo many... but then where was I? Oh yes... sorry everyone.

"So anyhow Caesar," Annette continued, "how long before you arrive back in *ugggh* arrive b-back... in *arrggh*... in London?"

As Caesar mentioned he'd be in Ireland for another week, Annette let out an uncontrolled shudder as if something was very much... well, out of sorts inside her. There was a bit of a 'rumble' in her 'tumble' as it were. She was now suddenly caught up in the most uncomfortable of abdominal spasms.

Apparently all that semen spooged up inside her tail-pipe from the hipster's hindquarter hijacking earlier that night was making an exit and at a most inconvenient of times. She felt as if she were crapping a half liter of his love lotion now and it was all beyond her control as all that cum just came, and came, and came! Caesar noticed she was not her usual 'chatty Cathy' self on the phone.

"What's wrong my dear," Caesar said concerned, "are you alright?"

"Oh well," Annette replied, "nothing I want to trouble you with. Felicia and I were in the mood for a little bit different sort of dining and I am feeling the after effects of a wrap and fruit dish that perhaps involved far too many people and their hygiene concerns. It was all quite satisfying but now I am paying the price!"

"Oh dear," replied Caesar, "well do get some rest and try to push fluids dear."

"Oh dearest," grunted Annette, "Felicia is helping me push fluids as we speak!"

This was at least truthful; the housekeeper was now pressing her face into Annette's crotch; forcibly sucking as much of that pesky man-batter as she could up into her lips. Sounding as if feasting on a particularly ripe mango, it could be said she was truly enjoying herself; male ejaculate being quite a favored delicacy for her on any day, but when supped from the lovely hindquarters of a beautiful woman... well, so much the better. Her enthusiasm had an effect on Annette, reducing her to a series of grunts and shudders but Caesar on the other end interpreted this all as the pangs of bad cuisine finding the quickest way out. He rattled on into his phone.

"Good girl that housekeeper of yours," Caesar remarked, "always there where you need her most and always cleaning up so you don't have to."

"Yes dear," Annette agreed, "and she is doing a fine job now taking care of messes here..."

"Well," he asked, "is there anything I can do? Should I come home early dear?"

"Oh no dear," said Annette, horrorstruck that he might return to London and not find her there at the flat, "you can help by staying there and taking good care of yourself and all things necessary,"

"Right dear," he went on, "well speaking of necessity, I really must let you go darling. I need to get out of all this rain and into something drier and a bit warmer."

"Alright dear," she replied, "enjoy yourself and doooo take care of things!"

"Indeed I shall my dear," he replied.

Caesar hung up the phone and tucked it away. From beneath his umbrella he peered up into the window as it streaked with rain at the figure bathed in red light. An unspoken transaction was proposed from his face to another. From behind the glass the very same beautiful window girl Annette and Felicia had flirted with earlier pushed a buzzer next to her. The door to Caesar's right at the top of the stairs buzzed and he went inside to get out of the Amsterdam cold and damp; only to get into the Red Light District's hot and wet!

"I only heard bits and pieces," Felicia said rising up and smiling between Annette's thighs as she wiped a little seminal blob from her lips and popped it mischievously in Annette's mouth, "what is going on?"

"Let's just say I bought myself and those two missing brats of mine a week. Let's get out of here. I need sleep and so do you!"

Felicia and Annette dressed and returned to the club floor. They didn't waste much time except to thank Ami the manager and give her cheek kisses for a simply marvelous evening. Ami received assurances from the both of them that they had a ride coming to pick them up before letting them go and that they'd be back to her club again. The two paused at the door; turning to survey the crowd for a final time.

Kirsten, the still naked German ring mistress with her ever-present hat cocked to one side over her eyes was up high egging on the audience. Below her on the stage two of the Arab businessmen "performed" with their respective call girls. Apparently one, of the men was already spent, (more talk than action I'm afraid). He lay to one side gasping in abject humiliation with a dripping wilted 'crotch falafel' below an oversized belly, (as his business partner struggled against the two prostitutes alone). They'd most likely return home with pumped up tales of false bravado worked out on the plane ride home concerning the evening's sordid events but for now; they were most anything but impressive.

Kirsten shot Annette and Felicia one of her winks and then made a look of disappointment at the two men at her feet on the stage. She waived to the pair of women at the door, acknowledging true sexual athletes departing the arena after a match well played. Annette and Felicia giggled and waived back.

Over at their table Nancy and her hubby, Mr. Sir, recognized Annette and Felicia and saw bother were about to leave. The cute couple from Phoenix made 'cutesy-cutesy' little finger waves at them and both women waived back. Apparently Mr. Sir was already receiving a reward for being so patient; as Nancy's other hand was clearly visible under the table in a fast blurring handjob on his erection. He'd later get her back to the hotel; reclaiming his wife in a wonderfully hard torrid fuck, (per a sort of marital ritual that they always executed at the end of Nancy's hotwife escapades). Certain husband and wife traditions can be so very endearing. Anyhow, Annette and Felicia chuckled at this last image of the evening and exited through the door before stepping up the stairs past the bouncers in their cheap tuxedos.

The two women stepped into the Amsterdam night. It was an on again; off again, rainy dark sky that greeted them. They shrugged off the dampness and occasional raindrops, both being sooooo very tired; they simply needed to find the car and get back to the lodge for a lovely post-orgy coma.

Now as they walked, Annette felt a twinge of trepidation. Although she and Felicia had enjoyed themselves supremely, there was still the question as to what this whole thing was about. It nagged at her like a toothache. Only from being too tired to think was she able to put it out of her head and merely focus on walking. The pair continued into the night, their fast clek clek clekking high heels pushing them ahead down the damp street along the canal as the glaring Red Light District's multicolored hues reflected in the puddles beneath them.

The rain began to come down harder now; not a downpour but a sober reminder of just how close the North Sea was to them. As the sky threatened to open up and crush them in tumbling sheets of rain they saw him ahead; the driver of the company car holding the door open, waiving them on with his collar pulled up to shield himself against whatever was about to come from above. Their heels clek cleck cleckity clecked faster as they made the last bit of distance; just as Mother Nature squatted to take a roaring piss on the town in her own torrential version of an Amsterdam floor show!

The door to the rear passenger seat slammed shut as the two women crumpled on the seat; leaning on one another with eyes closed in an effort to become reasonably comfortable, (ignoring existing traffic laws requiring seatbelts to be in use for all occupants). The driver didn't say one word after seeing their half-drowned cat state of affairs. It didn't matter; he knew precisely where they were going. He checked his mirror and pulled out into the street.

The car sped away. Inside on the rear passenger seat, one of the women; maybe Annette or perhaps Felicia was already snoring and dead to the world on the shoulder of the other. Behind them they left the rain, the puddles, and the on-off on-off neon glow of the Red Light District until tomorrow; the adventure only now just beginning for them.​