The Bully Pt. 05

Much to my chagrin, this pattern of behavior repeated itself over the course of the next few weekends. Lela would show up on Friday afternoon, and book into the Holiday Inn. Every Friday night, after our ethics class, John would leave in Samantha's car, and I would head over to Lela's room, in my grey sweatpants and no underwear. Upon entering the hotel room Lela would allow me to kiss her for a few minutes, which always got my juices flowing.

Then, under the guise of teaching me exactly how to pleasure John should my name get called, Lela and I watched porn together. I am not sure of the Catholic Church's stance on pornography, but Lela justified it as part of my ongoing education.

"Besides," she would say, whenever the subject of religion reared its ugly head, "we are not watching pornography with the intent of self-gratification. We are watching specific sex-acts to improve your performance, and to align it with John's expectations."

The sex-acts themselves were extremely specific, and Lela limited my viewing to rim-jobs, and edging blowjobs. Lela had mentioned the Klixen website the first time that we discussed the possibility of me being John's primary sexual outlet, and this seemed like as good a place to start as any. The Klixen girls are not stereotypical pornstars, in the sense of being skinny, huge-breasted, platinum blondes. Rather depicted as the girl next door type, they focus on slow, teasing edging blowjobs, performed by one, two, or occasionally even three extremely submissive women.

I loved watching those girls bring a man to the edge of insanity, for thirty minutes or more, before finally allowing him release. They were unlike any blowjob videos I had ever seen before, in that in most cases the women didn't take the head of the penis between their glossed lips. The orgasms were phenomenally powerful, and were often telegraphed by the expulsion of pre-cum immediately prior to the final explosion. Most impressively, they were induced solely by the girl's tongue running up and down the frenulum, after a protracted cock and ball worship session.

I would be rock-hard as I watched these videos, or "tutorials" as Lela referred to them. Lela would ask for my thoughts after each clip, and while I fantasized about being the recipient of such a pamper session, I was required to phrase my thoughts as if I were the person giving the cock-worship experience.

"I love how hard you get thinking about doing this for John," Lela would say with a giggle, as she stroked my erection through the fabric of my sweats. "Make sure we keep track of your favorite scenes."

Lela would allow me to kiss her as we watched the Klixen pornography clips, and there was some over the clothing fondling permitted, which inevitably caused me to soil the front of my sweats. Once Lela had teased me into a heavy-breathing, trembling, sweaty mess, she would allow me to dry-hump her. Lela would lay on her back on the hotel bed and invite me to climb on top of her. We both knew that my climax would take mere seconds, but Lela loved to wrap her toned legs around my lower back, place her moist lips against my earlobe, and ask me questions about what we had just viewed.

"I like the way the young redhead nibbled his nutsack for several minutes before she even touched his shaft," Lela teased as we rocked slowly together in unison. "I will show that clip to John. Can I give John my assurance that you will do that for him?"

It never took me very long to explode inside my sweatpants, the combination of hours of watching porn, and the physical stimulation of dry-humping the love of my life, conspiring to make me ejaculate prematurely, every single time.

"I will let John know what scene got you off, Mark," Lela whispered softly as I tried to gather my breath. "If he likes the look of it, he can put it on his bucket-list."

While I wasn't enthralled with the idea of John compiling a sexual bucket-list, I tried to look on the positive side of things. At least I was getting off, even if I was blowing my load inside my sweatpants. To hear John tell it, Samantha was steadfast in her refusal to give John any release, citing his reputation as a cock-hound as her rationale. Three months, Samantha had told him. If he managed to go three months without fucking anyone who attended this college, Samantha would have sex with him.

Driven by this promise, John elected to forgo all other sexual activity with the college co-eds. Despite having numerous options, he turned his back on the young available women, in order that his ethics teacher wouldn't be able to hear about his exploits through the grapevine.

Unfortunately for me, it didn't take long for Lela to observe a noticeable change in John's behavior. Emboldened by Samantha's control over John, Lela decided to tighten the noose on me.

Lela and I spent a lot of time together and she continually peppered me with questions about how men react to certain situations. At some point, she had figured out what made me tick, and decided to exert more control over me. One Friday night after our ethics class, I headed straight to the Holiday Inn to see Lela.

"Let's watch SeeHimFuck tonight," she said excitedly, as I changed into my uniform of baggy sweats and no underwear.

Watching porn "tutorials" had been our routine for several weeks by now, although I continued to be impressed by Lela's ability to find a continuous stream of relevant clips. According to Lela, SeeHimFuck was one of John's favorite porn websites, and as soon as she fired up the first clip, I knew that I was in for a rollercoaster ride. It wasn't that the girls were ugly, or that the scenes weren't beautifully filmed, it was just that the content was so demeaning.

The premise was that a beautiful young woman would completely pamper a man, focusing so completely on his needs that she would totally ignore her own. The videos seemed to follow a basic script. A well-built and well-endowed man would stand upright, as the porn star, typically wearing a bikini, would lick and kiss his nipples, armpits and stomach before removing his underwear. Once the man was naked, he would relax on the bed and watch intently as the young submissive girl knelt on the floor and worshipped his feet.

I had stumbled across the genre of "foot-worship" before, but in my experience it had always been a man groveling at the feet of a dominatrix. SeeHimFuck, in contrast, showed young attractive women sucking on a man's toes, kissing the soles of his feet, and even licking between his toes as he verbally abused them. I had never seen anything quite so erotic, and the thought of someone pampering my feet made me get rock-hard, which was impossible to miss in my sweats.

"You like?" Lela asked with a smile. "The foot-worship scenario?"

From the perspective of the man, it looked amazing, and I involuntarily blurted out my thoughts without any attempt at censorship.

"Fucking unbelievable, Lela," I said quietly. "I never knew such visual delights existed online. That is hot."

"That's great to hear, Mark," Lela whispered, as she started to stroke my cock through my sweats. "John will be so excited that you are on board. This is his favorite website."

Once again, in retrospect I should have voiced my resistance, offered her some pushback, dug my heels in. However, Lela's tender caress felt so good that I remained passively silent.

Lela and I watched about four different episodes of SeeHimFuck that night, and I don't think I witnessed a single female orgasm. The SeeHimFuck girls focused solely on worshipping whichever lucky bastard was up next.

"Who the hell is that?" I asked, as we started to watch a clip of a five foot Asian beauty pampering a six foot five muscular black man.

"Clara Trinity," Lela quickly responded. "You like?"

I could barely answer, such was my involuntary response to this perfect and very submissive woman. Petite in stature, with a beautiful face and perfectly white teeth, Clara Trinity exuded an air of total submission as she went through the SeeHimFuck script. I felt my pulse race as I watched her worship the black man's huge feet, before she licked him from his ankles to his inner-thighs.

"The bitch will eat his ass next," Lela informed me, as Clara knelt between his thighs and invited the black guy to put his feet on the edge of the mattress.

What followed was an intense, multi-position rimming scene, filmed at close proximity so that there could be no doubt that Clara's tongue was deep inside his asshole. I was breathing hard now, and I looked at Lela as if to secure her permission for my own release. Lela increased the pace and intensity of my over the clothes handjob, and then resumed her line of questioning.

"Anything here beyond your limits, Mark?" she asked as she took me closer to the edge.

The black guy had maneuvered onto his hands and knees now, as Clara was eating his ass and simultaneously jerking him off. I had never witnessed this on the big screen and Lela seemed to notice.

"Rusty trombone," she said quietly. "This position is called the Rusty Trombone, and it has definitely been checked off of John's bucket-list," she added with a giggle. "Amanda and I performed it for him the night we first met and John came really hard."

I swallowed hard at the thought of my girlfriend performing such a lewd act with my roommate. And Amanda was way too beautiful to be eating a man's ass.

"John is going to want that from you on a regular basis, Mark," Lela informed me matter of factly. "In fact, John is going to want everything that Clara Trinity is offering in this video, on a regular basis."

"Let's watch that one again," I begged, as I could feel the sap rising in my own cock.

Lela and I watched Clara Trinity pleasure that huge black man three times, as she continued to edge me. I was so desperate to climax, that Lela got me to agree to treat John with the exact same tenderness and respect that Clara had demonstrated in the video, in exchange for my release.

A few moments later, as the muscular black man knelt just above Clara Trinity's face and lowered his asshole onto her extended tongue, I blew my load in my sweats, crying out Lela's name as I ejaculated into the flannel fabric of the Walmart branded leisure wear. It was a tremendous orgasm, although my shame enveloped me as soon as I gathered my senses.

"Did that feel good, baby?" Lela cooed as I felt my face redden. "John is going to love your rendition of the Rusty Trombone. By the way, I am sure you have also noticed a change in John's behavior since he met Samantha."

"Not particularly," I lied, even though I felt like Samantha had John's balls in her purse.

"Well I have," Lela said firmly. "I have seen some very positive changes in John since Samantha cut him off sexually, and I want the same respectful behavior from you. You are no longer permitted to have an orgasm unless I witness it," she added cheerfully. "This is the first of my non-negotiable rules."

Lela's timing was perfect as she had waited until I had just blown my wad into my sweat pants before informing me of her new rule. Of course, basking as I was in my post-orgasmic bliss, and in no immediate need of an orgasm, I put up very little resistance as she laid her new program before me. That was until she began to exert her will by imposing unnecessarily strict rules.

"You will be permitted one orgasm per week," she said coldly. "In my presence, of course."

"I can't go six days without an orgasm, Lela," I pleaded. "At my age and with all of the sexual provocation you and John heap on me. Please, be reasonable."

I took her silence as an invitation to present a more compelling argument and this opened the flood gates.

"Lela," I began respectfully, "John's situation with Samantha is vastly different from ours. Samantha merely told John that any intimacy that would occur between them is contingent upon him not fucking other co-eds. This is a reasonable assertion, both because it would be embarrassing for a member of faculty to be in a relationship with a known cock-hound, and also because young women are less pro-active when it comes to mitigating STIs. I am sure that this is the last thing Samantha wants."

"Continue," Lela instructed me. "As one of America's future lawyers, let's hear your closing arguments."

"Samantha is a professional woman, and she also teaches an ethics class at our school," I continued. "I am sure that she doesn't want to be involved in any of the potential drama that could occur if John is dating multiple women. Also, Samantha is so far out of John's league that he is happy to forgo all others for a chance to fuck her."

A dark cloud appeared on Lela's face, and I regretted my choice of words in my final sentence.

"My situation is completely different," I continued, trying to resurrect my chances of Lela cutting me some slack. "I am deeply in love with you and have zero desire to be with other women. My only other sexual outlet is masturbation. Please don't shut that down."

Lela held all the cards in our relationship, so it wasn't really a give and take discussion that we ended up having. Rather I conceded everything to her and she gave me an inch, sounding very magnanimous in doing so. We finally reached an accord though and while I wasn't enthused about my new situation, I felt it was something I could live with.

In a nutshell, I agreed to forgo any clandestine sexual activity. I would be allowed sexual release on the weekend, if Lela felt that I had earned it. If I was having a particularly hard time with my level of arousal, I could FaceTime Lela and depending on how benevolent she felt, she might let me jerk off as she watched. In addition to this massive concession on my part, I also agreed to wear sweats with no underwear whenever I was in my room.

"John has agreed to help monitor your level of arousal," Lela informed me as I cringed with embarrassment.

Like I said, Lela sprang all this on me immediately after I had blown my load inside my sweats, so I was more amenable to compromise. It wasn't even a few hours later, when I walked to the campus library and was assaulted by the scent and visuals of scantily-clad co-eds, that I began to regret my decision.

Of course, Lela and John still "dated" every Saturday morning for about an hour, the brief hook-up allowing John two cum-shots, and Lela enough orgasms to last her until the following Saturday. When pressed, neither of them considered their weekly sexual encounter to be a violation of their respective commitments, John's to Samantha, and Lela's to her celibacy.

I guess it was worse for me sharing a hotel room with the girl of my dreams every weekend. Under Lela's instruction, we both wore sweatpants to bed, although by this time we had each purchased several pairs. This prevented any unwelcome advances on my part, and allowed Lela to be acutely aware of my level of arousal, as it was impossible to hide my excitement because I was forbidden to wear underwear.

Sometimes, if Lela was feeling magnanimous, she would let me dry-hump her before bed. As this event was typically preceded by a protracted make-out session, I would explode in my pants very quickly, and Lela would have a giggle as she looked at the clock, and informed me that three minutes had elapsed. My premature ejaculation was a source of amusement for Lela, and she eventually bought a cheap stop-watch so that she could get a more accurate assessment of the alacrity of my climax.

Whether or not she had allowed me the privilege of an orgasm the night before, there was no way for me to hide my arousal in the morning, as I watched her prepare herself for John.

Even though she still referred to their weekly encounter as a "date," we both knew that it was casual sex, and very fulfilling for the two of them. Lela would arise early, her lithe frame completely hidden in the baggy, oversized sweats that she wore around me. After making us some coffee, Lela would take a shower, leaving her cell phone on my bedside table, as I sipped my morning brew in bed. Most of the time Lela would inadvertently forget to take her razor into the shower enclosure, and even though I suspected that she did it on purpose, she insisted that it was unintentional.

Anyway, whether it was accidental or on purpose, we went through the same dance each Saturday morning. Lela would get into the enclosure, and then call out for me to bring her razor to her. Once inside the bathroom, I would hand her the Gillette Mach 3 over the top of the glass door, and she would immediately engage me in conversation. This ensured that I remained in the room, as she shaved her pussy for my roommate's visual pleasure. I could see her outline through the opaque glass, and Lela made a big show of spreading her legs apart to remove all traces of her pubic hair.

Once she was done, Lela would hand the razor back to me, and I would rinse it off in the bathroom sink, often dislodging the occasional pubic hair as I did so. I know she did it to fuck with me, but I have a feeling that it was John's idea.

What happened next, each and every Saturday morning, was definitely John's idea. When Lela emerged from the shower, she would ask me if she had received any texts. I would check her phone, which was resting on my bedside table, and relay the contents of the text from John, that always came right when she was in the shower.

Usually consisting of a single word, the text simply stated a color. On this particular morning, I picked up her phone, and saw the word "Red" in the body of his text.

"John texted you," I said quietly, hating this little exercise of control. "He wants you in red."

"Be a sweetheart and grab my red lingerie, Mark," Lela instructed me, as I headed for the closet in the hotel room.

This charade was very emasculating for me, and I hated every second of it. However, by the time I opened the closet doors, and was faced with several different colors of exquisite lingerie, I would be rock-hard, tenting lewdly in my sweatpants.

This morning, as I reached in and grabbed the red ensemble, I was particularly aroused as Lela had denied me release the previous evening, something that she did periodically to remind me that she was in charge. I hung the chemise on the back of the bathroom door, and then fetched the accessories from the drawers in the base of the closet. A pair of red silk panties, that happened to be crotchless, the matching garter-belt and stockings, red fuck-me pumps, two red hair ribbons, and her Rabbit vibrator, which hadn't been used in the seven days since I last cleaned it.

I hung her long black trench-coat next to the chemise, and then waited patiently to be called for Lela's final inspection. I think that this was Lela's favorite part of the charade, as she rotated before me and I ensured that her stockings were perfectly straight, her garter-belt straps were of a uniform length, and there were no tags visible. I even got a glimpse of her freshly-shaved pussy, as it peeked through the opening of her crotchless panties. Once I was satisfied that she was perfect, I helped her put her trench coat on, and she sprayed her perfume all over herself.

"Make sure my sweats get into the laundry hamper, Mark," was the last thing Lela said to me, as she breezed out of the room, looking like a high-class escort.

I was so horny as I began to clean up the room. The previous evening Lela had left me high and dry, which in itself was not unusual. However, what was unusual was that she had invited me to mount her, fully dressed of course, for a dry-humping session. This always led to a climax for me, and I was excited as we got into the missionary position, and Lela parted her legs slightly.

"Go on then, stud," Lela taunted me, as she started her stop-watch.

Getting a little tired of her ridicule, I began to slowly dry-hump her, while thinking about anything other than sex. I counted backwards from one hundred, tried to recall the phonetic alphabet, and generally engaged my mind so that I wouldn't blow my load quite so prematurely. After about five minutes, Lela decided that she had been dry-humped for long enough, and asked me to dismount. I obeyed immediately, but despite my pleas to finish, and my assurance that it would take less than sixty seconds, she told me to go to sleep.