The Bully Pt. 01

I was devastated when I saw their body language, as Lela was showing a far greater public display of affection than she ever had with me, appearing completely comfortable in the arms of her new man. Snuggled in close beside him, as he occasionally kissed her on the forehead, she seemed enraptured by him, and I exited the locker area feeling sick to my stomach. Of all the students in the school, John was the last guy I wanted to see Lela with, and I figured that she was just teaching me a lesson.

That day at school was one of my worst ever, as not only did I keep seeing them together, but all day I was bombarded with questions about whether or not we had broken up. After school I returned home disconsolately, wondering how long she was going to punish me for. I couldn't even face dinner, and ended up going to bed around eight o'clock, before enduring a restless and sleepless night.

Two days later, as the two of them appeared inseparable, I began to fear that I had lost her. John and Lela were all over Facebook, the social-media platform being one of the primary forms of communication for the kids in my school. Taking selfies together all over town, they presented a unified image of a happy couple. I tried not to look, but something drove me to log-in to Facebook regularly, and as I obsessed over my ex-girlfriend, I was looking at the website several times a day. Immediately after Lela coupled up with John, she began to dress a little less conservatively, exposing more skin and favoring shorter skirts and tighter tops that showcased her nice rack. She had a glow about her, a satisfied look on her face, as if she had found happiness.

On the night of the Winter Formal Dance I was sick to my stomach, my jealousy consuming me as I contemplated whether Lela would attend, and if she would be accompanied by John. I had already rented a tuxedo, and secured a room at the Marriott, and so was definitely going to attend, with or without Lela.

I stopped by the Marriott before the Formal to apply the finishing touches to the room. I had hoped to run into Lela at the dance, and convince her to come back to my hotel room. Ideally, my thoughtful gestures of the fresh flowers and the chocolates would go a long way towards making my apologies to her, but just to make sure, I scattered rose petals all over the bed. I had also procured an expensive bottle of Chardonnay, and I put this inside the mini-fridge. By the time I was done, the room looked beautiful, the perfect location for an intimate moment with Lela, assuming I could persuade her to come back with me.

It was with a certain amount of trepidation that I entered the Winter Formal. I was dreading seeing John, particularly if Lela was draped all over his arm, and I felt like an outsider, now that my status within the school had been diminished. I felt a sigh of relief as I scanned the room, as there was no sight of John.

I saw Lela first, attracting the attention of many of the partygoers as she entered the ballroom. She looked spectacular, glowing as she took in the admiring glances of the assembled teenagers. Her hair and make-up had been professionally done, and she looked much more worldly than usual. Even though she was wearing the same dress that we had purchased together, it had been extensively modified, and was no longer the demure, somewhat matronly outfit that she had modeled for me in the department store. The hem was much shorter now, several inches having been cut from its former knee-high length, so that it hung provocatively exposing her upper-thighs. She had taken the waist in too, the material clinging to her shapely hips and taut abdomen like a second skin. Lastly, the bust line had been lowered significantly, and she appeared to be wearing a push-up bra, which when combined with the dress alterations thrust her perky boobs skyward, and made her look decidedly available.

She walked with much more confidence too, under the admiring stares of most of the young men. Her high-heeled stilettos made her four inches taller, showcased her toned calves and served to make her seem far slimmer, her physical stature appearing almost model-like. We made eye-contact briefly, and Lela flashed me a smile, making no attempt to suppress her burgeoning self-confidence.

I hesitated briefly before I moved slowly towards her, just long enough to allow John to reach her first, his muscular upper body enveloping her, as they shared a tender kiss. Lela was completely engrossed in this young man, her eyes never leaving his as they enjoyed an extended, open-mouthed kiss. I didn't know where to look, feeling like a pervy voyeur as I took in their show of affection, but unable to avert my gaze.

As they came up for air, Lela extended her toned arm and John slipped a corsage over her slender wrist, the exquisite accessory matching his own boutonnière, which was pinned to the lapel of his jacket. This had the same affect as the Lettterman jacket, identifying her as his. Once they had declared themselves paired up, John led my ex-girlfriend to the dance floor, and they nestled in close, and began to gyrate together to the slow music. Their bodies were pressed closely together, which was going to attract the attention of the chaperones, if they kept it up. As Lela ran her fingers through John's hair, before resting her hand on the back of his neck, I noticed the absence of her purity ring. This was an absolute kick in the nuts for me, and with my head spinning I retreated to the bathroom. I was hyperventilating as I entered one of the stalls, and sat down on the toilet seat.

Under the assumption that Lela had removed it just before entering the dance to fuck with my head, I began to browse the pictures of the two of them, that I had stored on my iPhone. It was a real gut-punch when I realized that all of the pictures taken of the happy couple in the last few days, depicted my beautiful ex-girlfriend absent her symbol of purity. I didn't want to believe it at first, trying to convince myself that she had simply chosen to wear the ring on a necklace, or a bracelet. However, as I pored through dozens of photos of them, including several taken at a recent pool-party, I came to the conclusion that Lela had definitely stopped wearing it.

As I looked back at our shared memories, I saw the purity ring prominently displayed in every picture. By a process of elimination, I was able to establish the timeframe of Lela's decision to eschew wearing the symbol, and to my disgust, it coincided with the day after I forced her to accommodate my needs. I wasn't sure if she felt that she had become impure after I ejaculated on her breasts, or if she was signaling her intent to John, that she was available, but it was killing me.

I knew that I needed to get the hell out of there, but I didn't want to leave without talking to Lela, so I waited until John went to use the restroom, and then made my move. I only had a couple of minutes, so I used the time wisely, telling Lela that I loved her, and that I was very sorry for my past actions. The last thing I told her, as John approached was my room number at the Marriott.

I knew John wouldn't touch me at the dance, so I waited until the last second before I left Lela, making an impassioned plea for her to come to my room after the event. I left the Winter Formal immediately after that, and headed back to the Marriott.

On the off-chance that Lela would stop by later that night, I made the room as inviting as possible. Once I was satisfied that the hotel room was perfect, I sat in the leather recliner in the corner of the room, admiring the intimate setting. I had dimmed the lights, put on some sensual music and lit some scented candles. The room smelled heavenly, the candles combining with the rose petals to make it a very alluring environment in which to seduce someone.

Nearly three hours later there was a soft tap on the door. After I asked who was there, Lela responded.

"It's me, silly. Open up."

As I opened the door John and Lela practically fell into the hotel suite, their intoxication apparent as they giggled at some hidden joke. Lela was still wearing her modified formal dress, but had draped John's Letterman jacket over her shoulders to keep her warm. I went to voice my objection to his presence, but before I even got the words out, John punched me hard in the stomach, causing me to fall to my knees, gasping for breath.

"Stay on your knees, you fucking pussy," John said aggressively, his testosterone level clearly elevated by the alcohol that was evident on his breath, and his close proximity to my beloved ex-girlfriend. "Lela told me that you forced yourself on her."

"Lela," I pleaded, "tell John the truth. I got caught up in the moment and apologized immediately after. We didn't have sex."

"I read your texts you asshole," John said aggressively. "What you did to Lela was sexual assault. If she decides to go to the authorities, you will be in big trouble."

Initially I assumed that the presence of John in my hotel room had been a spur of the moment decision. Maybe Lela had just told him about the day that I got caught up in the moment, and ejaculated on her stomach and bra. However, as he towered threateningly over me and produced a set of stainless-steel handcuffs, I realized that it had been completely premeditated.

As a fan of documentaries, I had seen my fair share of shows on the Discovery channel about being kidnapped. The common thread, the central piece of advice, was to avoid escalation of your situation. Force the kidnappers to deal with you right now, on your terms. If you were on the street, resist getting into a car. If your movements were unencumbered, resist being tied up. According to all of the expert advice, the threat could best be addressed with your defense mechanisms intact, and this included the use of your hands. Armed with this knowledge, I made it very clear to John that there was no way I was going to allow him to restrain me, and I held my hands wide-apart in front of me, in defiance.

"Put your hands behind your back, Mark," he said in a threatening manner. "I am only going to ask you once."

I glanced nervously at Lela, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying John's domination of me.

"Do as he says, Mark," she added softly. "You know he will beat your ass if you disrespect him in any way."

Shaking my head from side to side, thereby conveying my intent to resist being bound, I decided to get up from my knees. I knew I had a better chance of holding him off and getting some help from the hotel employees if I was on my feet. John anticipated my move, however, and wrapping one of the steel bracelets around his knuckles, punched me hard on the side of the head. The strike knocked me to the floor, completely disorienting me, and as I lay there in a daze, he stood over me.

"Strip," he ordered.

I knew that John had the capacity to resort to extreme violence, after all he had slammed my head into the concrete and knocked me unconscious during a previous fight. For this reason I obeyed him immediately, and he let out a sneer and called me a pussy in a very disparaging tone. I was trembling as I disrobed, partly at the embarrassment of being naked in front of another man, and partly from the adrenaline of being physically abused. To make matters worse, I had a very visible erection. Developed as I waited patiently for the arrival of my ex-girlfriend, it jutted from between my legs, giving the two of them the impression that I was getting off on being dominated.

After I was naked, John cocked his fist as if he was going to strike me again. At that point my fear was in control of my actions, and as Lela looked on in amusement, I begged John for mercy. With my compliance now secured, he told me to lay on my stomach on the floor, and put both hands behind my back. When I heard the click of the handcuffs being tightened around my wrists, my level of fear elevated significantly. I was now rendered completely helpless, unable to defend myself in any way in the event that John decided that he wanted to pummel me more. A couple of kicks in the ribs later and I was writhing in pain, and struggling to breathe. Throughout my ordeal, Lela watched on dispassionately, her lack of empathy astonishing to me, considering the amount of time we had been a couple.

Once I was incapacitated, John dragged me roughly from the floor, and forced me to kneel right next to the bed. He gave me one hard, back-handed, bitch-slap, just to let me know who was in charge, and then he approached Lela. After removing his Letterman jacket from her shoulders, he draped it over the back of a chair, and then sat on the bed, about two feet from me. Lela made no attempt to hide her arousal at his dominance of me, and hopped onto his lap and straddled him. As I watched on disconsolately, Lela and John made out, their passion evident as they french-kissed and he openly fondled my girl. She had always rebuffed my amorous overtones, but presumably under the effect of the alcohol, Lela seemed very receptive to John's aggressive sexual behavior.

As his hands roamed over her young, lithe form, I willed my erection away, to no avail. It was humiliating enough to be forced to witness their intimate encounter naked and on my knees, but to appear excited by the visual made me look like a cuckold pussy. The two of them soon forgot about me, and John's wandering hands appeared to have induced a favorable reaction from Lela, as she began to quietly moan. John's hands disappeared under the base of Lela's formal gown, and as he raised the hem, I was treated to a glimpse of the garter-belt that she had elected to wear instead of the panty-hose that acted as an additional barrier against unwanted sexual advances. I had only ever seen such a provocative item of lingerie in porno movies, and was captivated by the silk and lace straps that attached to the top of her stockings.

As they kissed and dry-humped in front of me, Lela was getting increasingly aroused, and made no attempt to slow John's advances as he unfastened the rear of her bodice. Slipping the gown down over her shoulders, he deftly undid the clasp on her bra, causing it to fall away from her body, thereby exposing her pert breasts. While I was enthralled to finally see her naked boobs, the circumstances under which the unveiling took place was not ideal, as I knelt before her, physically restrained. John was on a roll now, helping Lela to ease out of her formal gown as he continued to kiss her passionately. She offered him zero resistance as he brushed his fingertips gently across her nipple, which stiffened almost immediately under his touch. Even though my principal emotion was jealousy as my nemesis kissed and felt-up my ex-girlfriend, it was accompanied by a touch of admiration for his moves.

It goes without saying that John had much more sexual experience than me, but in spite of his reputation as a lothario, he possessed a skillful touch when it came to the ladies. Lela was certainly responding favorably to his caresses, moaning quietly as he toyed with her fully-erect nipples. I could see some other physiological responses from Lela as John increased her level of arousal. In addition to both of her nipples standing upright, her breathing was labored and her face was flushed. I had never induced such physical reactions from her, as I had always focused on my pleasure, during our brief encounters. As I watched him tease my ex, I wondered how many of the Varsity Cheerleading Squad had moaned and writhed under his touch. I know he had fucked most of them, although that certainly wasn't going to happen today, with this virtuous young woman. Most of the bimbo Cheerleaders were sluts anyway, I mused. John's tender, yet obviously orchestrated seduction may work on them, but any second now Lela is going to put the brakes on him. When he lowered his lips to her left breast, she arched her back and let out a satisfied whimper, which was a clear signal that she consented to his actions, and the exact opposite reaction that I expected of her.

"Oh, that feels good, John," Lela whispered, as she placed her hand on the back of his head, thereby encouraging him.

Emboldened by her positive affirmation, John sucked lewdly on her nipples, nibbling them occasionally which elicited an even more favorable response from Lela. I am not sure if John was taking his time because he was thoroughly enjoying rubbing my face in it, or if women responded better to a slow, measured touch. However, at some point Lela was ready to move to the next step, and she lowered one of her dainty hands into his crotch, and began to rake her nails across his presumably erect cock.

To say I was shocked by her bold move would have been an understatement. Despite our months together, after we both turned eighteen Lela and I had only engaged in heavy-petting, and the occasional hand-job. However, she never initiated any sexual behavior and only responded to my sustained advances after I effectively wore her down. Now, after half an hour of John's skillful caresses, she was willingly stroking his cock, albeit through his pants. He gave me a self-congratulatory smirk before addressing my beautiful ex.

"Did you buy the Rabbit, as I instructed?" he asked cheerfully, as I pondered why the fuck he would ask her to purchase a domestic pet.

"Yes, John," Lela responded quietly, her shyness surfacing once more. "It's in my purse."

"Good girl," he said in a condescending manner. "Fetch it."

I could see how he was exerting his control over her, and as she hopped from his lap, we both admired her tight little ass. Clad only in her panties, garter-belt and stockings, she looked very alluring as she walked over to her purse. Her self-confidence was increasing as John devoured her with his eyes, and as she returned with a gift bag from Spencer Gifts, she was positively glowing. I shuffled uncomfortably on my knees as Lela opened the bag and produced a brand-new, still wrapped, personal massager.

"Good girl, you resisted the temptation to try it out," John said enthusiastically. "Unwrap it."

Lela tore the massager from its packaging, and began to insert the batteries after some brief instructions from John on how to open the latex object. He had obviously had some previous experience with this device, and I wondered how many women had purchased one, at his behest. Once the massager was ready for use, John spoke firmly.

"Kneel on the bed, Lela," he ordered her. "Face your ex-boyfriend."

John tossed the discarded packaging towards me, where it landed in a crumpled pile at my knees. The words "Rabbit Personal Massager," were clearly visible on the front of the brightly colored cardboard, and I could also see the words "Vibrating Sex Toy," on the instructions that were inside the plastic. The picture showed an oversized, realistic, life-like phallus, complete with a veiny shaft, and an exposed glans, mimicking a circumcised cock.

I had never witnessed a woman masturbating, but despite her compromising position, being asked to pleasure herself in front of two men, Lela offered him no resistance. As she knelt on the bed, I could see that she was in an elevated state of arousal, and the crotch of her silk panties were visibly damp.

"Ok," John said, taking control of my ex-girlfriend. "Turn it onto the lowest setting to start with. Touch the tip of the Rabbit lightly against your clitoris, and see how it feels."

Lela jumped reflexively at the first contact with the oscillating phallic symbol, and I heard her let out an audible gasp, a few moments later. John watched her admiringly for a few moments, and then lowered his lips to her nipple and began to gently bite it. I knew that this wasn't Lela's first orgasm. We had talked about masturbating openly, after she joined the Celibacy Club and began to wear her purity ring. At one point it looked like this would be my only sexual option, although after several weeks of dating, she relented and gave me the occasional hand-job. Lela told me that she masturbated very infrequently, in the bath-tub using the portable shower head attachment. However, the combination of the lack of privacy, and the guilt that her Catholic upbringing made her feel after the abominable act, ensured that her self-pleasure sessions were quite rare, and limited to one quick release. I had never even tried to pleasure her, let alone help her achieve an orgasm, so as John teased her erect nipples, she was in uncharted territory.