The Bully Pt. 07

CHAPTER 7

A few months later as graduation loomed, John and I began the process of applying to Law Schools. It was apparent that we were both going to graduate with Summa Cum Laude honors, the highest distinction bestowed upon students. With that in mind, it was no surprise that we were both accepted to every school that we applied to. My preference was Yale, having always wanted to go to an East Coast "Ivy League" School. However, John waited until Lela had chosen her University, before declaring that we were going to Stanford University in California.

While Yale was continuously rated the best Law School in the United States, Stanford was a close second, and John's priority was remaining in close proximity to Lela, and her three available orifices.

"I know the bitch will fly across country to see me," he announced crudely, as he made the decision for the two of us. "But it will be so much more convenient for me to enjoy Lela if she is only a two hour drive from us. Particularly now that Samantha will no longer be in my life, after I change schools. Hell, you might need to step up occasionally, Mark," he added ominously.

Once again, I was in charge of finalizing the arrangements, and under John's instruction I secured us shared accommodation, at the school of his choice.

I was a little nervous about the prospect of three more years of sharing a room with John, particularly as he had made it clear that he might use me for his sexual release on occasion. As we arrived at the school, I was praying that he would find a girlfriend quickly. The administration official showed us to our new home, and I waited patiently for John to choose his bed.

"I will sleep in this one," he said decisively, pointing to the bed next to the window.

While the true meaning of his statement was undoubtedly lost on the admin official, I knew exactly what John was saying. He would sleep in the bed by the window, and fuck Lela and any other chicks that he dragged back here, in my bed.

I couldn't have known it at the time, but not only was Stanford Law School a very small enrollment, consisting of about five hundred and fifty students, but the young adults that were fortunate enough to have been accepted were focused on one thing, and it wasn't getting laid. John's good looks and charm weren't much use in this new environment, and while he had no problem getting dates, they typically revolved around studying.

The three of us had settled into a routine that seemed to work for all parties involved. I definitely had the short end of the stick, but tried to find the positives in my situation. It seemed like I was going to be permitted to graduate Law School and practice my chosen vocation. Lela was still infatuated with John, and drove over every weekend to accommodate his rapacious sexual appetite.

Lela and John still demanded that I remain in my chastity device, and I even saw the positive side of my sexual restriction. Being caged all week gave me a clarity of mind that had eluded me when my cock made all of my decisions. It was quite uncomfortable to develop an erection while wearing the cock-cage, and as a result I avoided situations in which arousal might rear its ugly head. The co-eds weren't a problem as the vast majority of them were at Stanford solely for the education, and put very little effort into their personal appearance. So, as long as I avoided watching porn or risqué movies, I was spared the pain of the cage biting into my stiffening cock.

I still enjoyed my weekly release, and looking once again on the positive side my orgasms were far more enjoyable. Even if the circumstances under which I was permitted to climax were less than ideal. Every Saturday morning Lela would release me from the cock-cage and allow me two hours of sexual freedom. As I knelt before them on the floor, John and Lela would snuggle on top of his bed taunting me as I jerked off. My first release only ever took a few seconds, but with my rapid refractory period I could always manage three releases in the allotted two-hour time period. Once in a while I would be treated to a fourth orgasm, either by being allowed to watch my favorite Clara Trinity porn movie, or if Lela was feeling playful, with a little verbal encouragement from her.

Of course, the two of them still enjoyed subjugating me, so occasionally Lela would invent some disrespectful behavior on my part, and after dressing me like a bitch, would encourage John to punish me through forcible rape. Embarrassing as it is to admit it, I would still get off under the combination of the prostate stimulation and the friction of my silk underwear, as John ground me into the carpeted floor of our dorm room.

Lela would get John off several times on the weekends, and they would often wait until right after I blew my load to fuck right in front of me. This presented me with quite the dilemma as I only had a two hour window each week in which to get my jollies. I wanted to get my maximum number of climaxes, so I suppressed my jealousy and watched them go at it as if it were porn. Over time I became conditioned to the sight of their encounters, and my cock would involuntary stiffen the second John entered my girl vaginally or anally, mere feet from where I knelt.

I would go so far as to say that the weekends were fun for all three of us, but the lack of casual sex options on campus for the rest of the week, meant that John eventually looked to me for release. The first time it happened was about a month into our first semester at Stanford.

It was early in the morning and I was sitting at the desk in our shared room, working on an essay for our constitutional law class. John emerged from the shower clad only in a towel, his muscular torso, honed from years of martial-arts training, flexing as he dried himself. He made no attempt to hide his erection as he approached me, and it jutted lewdly from the towel, pre-cum pooling at its tip.

Even though John had given me fair warning that at some point I needed to "step up" and take care of his needs, it was a total shock when he placed his hand on my shoulder, and instructed me to do his bidding.

"I need this chair," he said firmly.

Years of being dominated by this man had taught me one thing. When John wanted something from me, he got it. My choice was to submit to him without resistance, or get beaten into submission, and as proficient as John was in numerous fighting styles, he was able to inflict serious pain on me, with just a few well-placed strikes.

Rising from the chair in silence, my head lowered slightly to telegraph my compliance, I yielded the chair to him, and started to head for the exit of our shared accommodation.

"Where the fuck do you think you are going?" he said aggressively. "I left something for you to wear on the bathroom counter. Go and put it on."

I could have bolted from the room without any problem, as I could hear voices in the hallway that led to the recreation room, and John wouldn't have chased me in front of the other students. However, getting out of there without his consent would only have delayed the inevitable, and earned me a beating for disobedience. John knew this too, and he had a smug look on his face as he watched me scurry into the bathroom.

As soon as I noticed the overwhelming scent of Lela's perfume, I knew that she was part of this. My suspicions were confirmed the second I saw one of her chemises draped over the towel rail. The silk garment was a very feminine shade of light peach, and as I picked it up the matching panties fell to the floor. John had sprayed the intimates with a healthy dose of Lela's fragrance, and once I was wearing them I smelled exactly like her.

I looked fucking ridiculous standing there in my dream girl's lingerie, and I was very reluctant to step through the door and face John. When I finally plucked up the courage to enter the bedroom, he had already left the room. There was a handwritten note stuck to the bathroom door, which read, "wait under my desk."

The desk in our room, which was the property of Stanford University and technically mine as much as John's, was befitting of a future lawyer. Large in size, and very masculine with its construction being of dark mahogany wood and a dark brown leather top, the desk had three drawers each side of it, extending almost to the floor. This created a three-sided opening, into which the large leather office chair could slide.

After I pulled the chair out slightly, I got on to my hands and knees, and crawled into the confined space. Once under the table, I would have been invisible to John, had he sat in the chair. Repositioned on my knees, with my head slightly bowed due to the height of the desk top, I waited for him to return.

Because he is a controlling asshole, John kept me waiting for about thirty minutes before he finally strolled into our room. I heard him inhale sharply, as he took in my feminine scent. Then the familiar sounds of a man undressing, his metal buckle clanking as he removed his leather belt and dropped it onto the bed, followed shortly by the sounds of his zipper as he lowered it to take his jeans off.

A few moments later, naked from the waist down, John sat in the large leather chair and scooted it forward, further compressing me under the desk. Without any further direction, he parted his legs slightly and then I heard the clacking of computer keys as he began to type on his laptop.

John enjoyed the leverage that he had over me, and he liked to force me into situations where I had to take some initiative. This made me look like a willing participant, which I most definitely wasn't. If John didn't have the texts of my confession and apology for my sexual assault on Lela, I would have simply told him to get fucked. However, the ramifications of a police investigation and subsequent conviction were too life-changing, as they would have prevented me from practicing law, even if I remained free from incarceration.

Knowing that John held all of the cards, I leaned forward and planted a tender kiss on the tip of his cock. I had never been on the receiving end of oral sex, and had no frame of reference as to what felt good. However, under Lela's watchful tutelage I had viewed a lot of porn, and after being exposed to the Klixen website for several hours, I had a firm grasp of the concept and execution of edging blowjobs. Armed with this knowledge I tried to give John a very slow and tender blow-job. In the porno movies the guy typically writhed around in ecstasy for several minutes as one, or occasionally two, beautiful girls teased him relentlessly.

I strove to replicate that experience for John, and as I ran my tongue across his frenulum he let out a whimper of pleasure, which I took as confirmation that I was doing a good job. I took my time that day, pampering my roommate as I ran through the extensive catalog of the Klixen girls' signature moves. Forty minutes later, as I ran my tongue across the underside of John's nutsack, tantalizingly close to his perineum, he apparently decided that he was ready to bust a nut in my mouth. John reached under the desk with both hands, grabbed me by my ears, and holding me in his desired position, proceeded to face-fuck me in a very aggressive manner.

Being in control was very important to John, and the way he had positioned me, I was powerless to contribute much to his enjoyment. Undeterred by my reduced involvement, he seemed quite content to use my mouth as a cum-receptacle. My primary goal was to get him off quickly so that he didn't fuck my face all morning. To this end, I lifted the hem of my silky chemise, and wrapped it around my fingertips. Grazing my silk-encased fingers across his taint and asshole elicited another moan of approval from him, and shortly after I began to caress his swollen nuts with the silky material, John tensed up and blew his load in my mouth.

"Fuck, yeah, bitch," John exclaimed, as I drained his nuts. "You nailed the Klixen experience. I want to see your rendition of SeeHimFuck next. Clara Trinity right?"

As I processed his rapacious sexual appetite, I tried to swallow the stream of ejaculate that he was unloading. However, after two or three ropes of cum, I began to gag so I instinctively pulled away. Unfortunately for me, this caused John's semen to land in a splat across the front of my silk chemise and on my neck. After John had his orgasm, he was ready for some tenderness, while I just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

"Clean me up," he ordered. "Nice and tender. Just like the Klixen bitches."

As John's semen dried on my lingerie and my neck, I continued to suck, lick and kiss his slowly diminishing erection, until he was completely flaccid. Once he was satisfied that he had completely emasculated me, he pushed his chair back and motioned for me to come out.

"Stay on your knees," he said firmly.

As I shuffled out from underneath his desk, that asshole began to critique my performance.

"You get an A for effort," John began with a chuckle. "I am impressed with your research. How many hours did you spend on the Klixen website?"

Before I had a chance to answer, he resumed his critique.

"We can work on your technique, but you have potential, Mark," John said appreciatively. "You are definitely a work in progress but the effort is appreciated. Good job."

My face reddened at the prospect of me being a work in progress, but John was already moving on.

"I was browsing through some pictures of Lela when you were blowing me," he informed me. "You are going to marry her one day, Mark, you lucky bastard."

As I turned my head to face his laptop, John began to scroll through the pictures of my dream girl. That asshole had dozens of photos and selfies of Lela, documenting her transformation from a purity ring wearing eighteen year old, to his current day fuck-toy. In fact, as his MacBook had sorted the images chronologically, the first pictures were of Lela in her prom dress, with me standing proudly by her side. Taken about a week before the Winter Formal Lela looked like the picture of innocence, dressed in the loose-fitting, long-hemmed dress, that obscured her breasts. Her purity ring was proudly displayed and the full-length pantyhose cemented the idea that her innocence was not going to be taken until her wedding night.

The following set of pictures, taken in what appeared to be an exquisitely appointed hotel room, showed Lela in the same dress, albeit highly modified.

"We had a few drinks in my hotel room before the Formal," John goaded me. "Lela was really excited to show me how she had altered the dress you bought her. Way hotter, don't you think?"

I swallowed hard as I looked at those images, as you could barely tell that Lela was wearing the same dress. The original gown, with its below the knee length hemline, was demure, matronly even. Now that the hem exposed Lela's upper-thighs, the dress was sexy, and taking the waist in made it cling provocatively to her shapely frame. The addition of a push-up bra and high heels made Lela look far from innocent, particularly as she had shed her purity ring and those awful pantyhose.

"My personal favorite, coming up," John said softly, as he scrolled through the images.

This photo depicted Lela standing in the hotel room, holding a glass of champagne in one hand, and a Victoria's Secret Box in the other.

"I was the first man to buy her lingerie," John taunted me. "One of many firsts for Lela that night."

The next few snaps showed my dream girl excitedly opening up the gift, before holding up the matching garter-belt, stockings, and panties with a huge smile on her face. Fast-forward through the images, and Lela was wearing the snow white lingerie, holding her hem high to allow John to affix her garter-belt straps to her stockings.

"Remember that ensemble?" John asked. "Victoria's Secret advertised it as bridal lingerie. They even called the color Pure White. Lela had never worn a garter-belt before. I had to help her put it on."

Of course I remembered that stunning outfit. The bridal lingerie nomenclature was appropriate too, as John had taken all three of Lela's orifices that night. John kept me on my knees in that fucking peach-colored silk chemise until about ten minutes before our first class. Scrolling through his photo album, he taunted me with pictures of Lela in various states of undress, masturbating for him, and performing other lewd sex acts. I don't know quite why she had agreed to many of the images, but even as she was photographed after John gave her a facial, her broad smile conveyed her consent.

"You may get ready for class," John finally said, putting me in a situation where I had to run to avoid being late.

In my haste, I didn't remember to wipe his dried ejaculate from my neck, and during our fifteen minute bathroom break, John addressed me.

"Smile for the camera, Mark," he instructed, as he snapped a picture of me, and sent it to Lela.

"Mark, proudly wearing my load like a badge of honor," he captioned the photo, showing it to me just before he sent it to my dream girl.

In John's eyes, I had dressed up for him and voluntarily given him a blow-job, and that singular event changed the structure of our relationship. When I got home from my last class that night, there was a six pack of my favorite beer on the table. Sitting next to the Heinekens was a bottle of KY lubricant, a manila envelope, and the key to my cock-cage. I wondered if Lela had decided that I had served sufficient penance, and then I saw a handwritten note had accompanied the gesture of goodwill.

"Don't forget to cage-up on Friday afternoons and give me the key back," the note read, dispelling any notion that Lela knew anything about John's benevolence.

I picked up the manila envelope next and extracted an eleven by fourteen glossy photo from it. My heart sank as I processed the image, my dream girl on her knees in some exquisite lingerie, with John's ejaculate all over her face and hair. I wish the image had filled me with disgust, but my cock reacted of its own volition, and immediately attempted to harden. I let out an anguished cry as the cock-cage bit into my rapidly expanding penis.

At twenty-two years of age, being confined to a cock-cage was a drastic punishment, and the last several months had been a nightmare for me. Now, as John extended me an olive branch, and allowed me the sexual freedom that I deserved as a virile young man, I knew that it came at a price.

My hands were shaking as I unlocked the light-pink cock-cage, and once it was removed, my cock stiffened immediately. As I applied the lube to my throbbing member I had already made my decision. I would happily take care of John's needs, in exchange for my sexual freedom.

That evening, as I knelt on our dorm room floor and masturbated furiously to a picture of Lela smiling through a smattering of John's semen, I had one of the best orgasms of my life. Free from the cage, and slowly relaxing under the effects of the alcohol, I ended up jerking off three times that night, and by the time I turned in, I had a warm appreciation for John.

From that day forward, John and I settled in to our new arrangement. We never discussed the quid pro quo deal, but he allowed me the latitude to enjoy my new-found sexual freedom, and once or twice a week, I would dress up in Lela's lingerie, spray myself in her perfume, and crawl under his desk. More often than not I would remain on my knees for over an hour, as I replicated the complete Klixen experience until John, under the extreme sexual stimulation that edging provides, would finally blow his load.

Unfortunately for me, John had an extensive sexual history and was used to an endless stream of different sex partners. For this reason he was easily bored, and it became apparent to me after a couple of weeks that I needed to spice things up, if I wanted to keep the cage off.