The Bully Pt. 07

It felt wonderful to wash away the stains of my encounter with John, and as I closed my eyes and let the hot water wash over me, I could feel my rage dissipate. Lela snapped me back into reality by tapping on the shower enclosure and handing me an enema kit. As I got onto all fours to insert the enema tube into my rectum, I felt my rage intensify. In addition to being completely emasculating to be cleansing your rectum for potential use by another man, it was also frustrating not to be in control of anything. Once I had expelled the contents of my bowels onto the shower floor, I finished my shower and told Lela it was her turn.

She could barely look me in the eyes as we crossed paths on the threshold of the shower enclosure, and I noticed that she too was holding an enema kit.

"We will get through this, Lela," I assured her. "We are almost done with this nightmare."

After we were squeaky clean, inside and out, Lela stripped the bed sheets as I cleaned up John's piss from the toilet seat and bathroom carpet. Once the room had been freshened up, we had a brief conversation.

"I am so sorry I came with John," Lela said quietly. "We both know that it was you who got me ninety percent of the way there. I don't know why it arouses me so much to be used by men."

As much as I wanted to try and steer Lela in the right direction, we had a more pressing situation, trying to decipher the ambiguity of John's parting statement. He had definitely addressed both of us when he directed us to shower and freshen up the room. However, were his final words, "wear something red, next," meant for Lela or both of us?

If John had said "I need the two of you to wear something red," I would have followed his direction without hesitation. However, the ambiguity of his words forced me into making a decision. The stress of disappointing John overrode my reluctance to voluntarily doll myself up for him, and I turned to Lela in self-disgust.

"I am going to dress up for John too," I said meekly. "Just in case this was his expectation."

Lela and I prepared ourselves in complete silence as any positive energy had been sucked out of the room by John. Even when she emerged from the bedroom holding two matching butt-plugs and a tube of Anal-Ease, I simply leaned over the bathroom countertop in total submission. I felt like a condemned man must feel as he eats his final meal, as she lubed up the silicone plug and eased it into my rectum. After watching her insert her own plug, there was just nothing meaningful left for us to say so we helped each other into our matching red lingerie without conversing. Twenty minutes later, as we stood in front of the mirror giving ourselves the final inspection, Lela spoke in a wavering voice.

"Am I fat, baby?" she whispered, without any of her usual confidence. "John said I need to lose a few pounds."

"You look absolutely perfect to me," I responded reflexively, which put a smile on Lela's face. "Look at yourself in the mirror, baby. You are a goddess."

"Do you think I am just a CumSlut, Mark? A warm place for men to deposit their loads?"

"No, baby," I said quietly. "To me you a beautiful woman, inside and out. I love you. But tonight is all about John's needs. Our time will come, Lela."

Lela extended her arm to my side and slid her dainty hand into mine. As we stood motionless in front of the mirror and forged our connection, I took the opportunity to thoroughly check her out. Lela was wearing a silky bright red camisole and matching thong panties. She also had a red garter-belt with matching silk stockings, and high-heeled fuck-me pumps. A red silk ribbon was tied around the top of her head, which was a very feminine touch. Lastly her make-up was flawless, with her lips glossed in an alluring shade of red.

In contrast, even though I was similarly attired, I looked like a total pussy, all dolled up for another man. I was also wearing a silky red camisole although I had eschewed the thong panties for some silky boy-shorts. This enabled me to wear my Spanx shaping underwear which hid any evidence of my manhood. I was wearing a garter-belt and stockings in the same shade of red that Lela wore, and had squeezed into a pair of stilettos that I knew I would have difficulty walking in. Lela tied a silk ribbon around my head too, and also added a silk and lace choker to obscure my Adam's apple. I didn't have much makeup on, although she had glossed my lips in a bright shade of red and added some false eyelashes to soften me up a little.

"Just the final touches," Lela announced unenthusiastically. "Close your eyes, Mark."

As I shut my eyes Lela sprayed me from head to toe with a generous application of her favorite perfume. Once she deemed I was sufficiently scented for John's enjoyment she repeated the process on herself, until our bathroom smelled like a brothel. Then holding hands as a show of moral support for each other, we stepped into the dimly-lit bedroom, walked over to the door and slowly lowered ourselves to our knees.

Lela and I had waited in this submissive manner on numerous occasions for John to return home and enjoy us. Experience of being in this stress position for an extended period of time had taught us both to be prepared, and we each knelt on a rolled up bathroom towel to reduce the strain on our kneecaps. One hour elapsed before either of us broke the silence, and it was Lela who spoke.

"Maybe we should send John a selfie?" she suggested shyly. "Let him know we are ready for him to come home. My knees are starting to ache."

"I don't know baby," I responded nervously. "Doesn't it seem a little needy of us to invite him to come home?"

"Well," Lela said firmly. "Look at us. We are both dolled up for John, identically attired in his desired color of red. We both used a cleansing enema and inserted butt-plugs inside our assholes. I would say unequivocally that we have laid ourselves on a platter for him. I don't think that one selfie is going to change the dynamic much. Besides, don't your knees hurt too?"

Truth was my knees were killing me. Even with the additional padded support of the folded towel, kneeling for a protracted period of time was painful, especially when you are wearing high heels that prevent you from transferring some of the weight to your feet.

"Yes, Lela, my knees hurt," I said quietly. "Although sometimes the physical pain draws my focus away from the emotional and mental anguish that John inflicts on us."

"One pic," Lela said softly. "Just to see if he is coming back soon."

In concept it seemed pretty simple. We snap a quick selfie of the two of us waiting patiently in his desired attire, thereby conveying our availability should John be ready to come home. In practice however, one shot turned into twenty as we tried in vain to keep the balance between the unbridled enthusiasm that John expected from us, and complete emasculation that many of the photos depicted.

"Ugh, no, Lela," I said firmly, as we surveyed the latest attempt at excited submission. "Way too humiliating."

In this pose, taken with the assistance of an extended selfie stick, the two of us were kneeling at the foot of John's recliner smiling broadly at the camera. Even though the camera angle was perfect, and we were conveying an elevated level of enthusiasm for John's return, our position by his favorite chair made us look like a couple of lapdogs waiting for their master to come home.

We took pictures of ourselves kneeling by the front door, posed suggestively in front of the bathroom mirror with our glossed lips slightly parted, laying seductively in his bed, and on all fours in the middle of the bedroom. I hated all of the demeaning pictures with a passion but Lela finally asserted herself.

"Mark, we can wait on our knees by the front door for who knows how long or we can encourage John to come home and quit delaying the inevitable. I am going to pick one photo and send it."

With that proclamation Lela selected one of the images, added a short message, and I heard the swoosh of an outgoing text. Having made the decision that I was to wait for his response, Lela thrust her iPhone into my hand and went to use the restroom. My hand was shaking as I opened the attachment to see which picture she had sent. It could have been worse I thought to myself as I surveyed the photo of us side by side on the bedroom floor in the doggy-style position.

I didn't love the caption which read, "Please come home John. We are ready for round two."

However, my overall assessment remained as it was. It could have been worse. That was until I noticed the reflection in the large mirror that Lela had positioned to increase John's visual pleasure. I hadn't noticed when I put the silky boy-shorts on but Lela had cut a small hole in the rear of them. My butt-plug, which I had only worn under Lela's insistence, was clearly visible through opening in my boy-shorts and the corresponding satin-lined hole in the Spanx. My pose couldn't have been more of an invitation for John to fuck my ass, and I instantly regretted her choice of photo. This wasn't encouraging John to come home, this was full-on enticement.

I jumped when Lela's phone dinged a few moments later especially upon realizing that it was from John.

"Still at the bar enjoying my beer," he began. "You bitches look adorable. Send me another picture with a caption."

Lela was still in the bathroom so I scrolled through the photos that we had recently taken, selected the least incriminating one of me and tried to think of an appropriate title.

"Waiting patiently in your bed," I typed, as I sent John the latest image of Lela and I posed seductively on top of John's bed.

"Simulated blowjob next," was John's brief response, as I went to find Lela for her inspiration.

Lela and I ended up performing simulated oral-sex on a peeled banana for John's latest request, our lips parted suggestively at the tip of the curved fruit, which itself closely resembled the male organ. Lela planted a few tender kisses up the length of the banana and one on its tip, transferring her bright red lipstick to it in the process.

John never came home that night. As he sat at a local bar getting increasingly intoxicated, we entertained him for the next two hours by posing for pictures at his suggestion. The images got increasingly lewd as his level of intoxication grew, and by the end of the impromptu photo session I was in way deeper than I cared to be. We went through an entire bunch of bananas as he demanded that we completely pamper the make-shift phallus, before inserting it into Lela's pussy and both of our assholes for John's amusement.

John was now in possession of some of the most incriminating and demeaning images imaginable, and when he finally tired of our humiliation, he sent us a final text.

"Home soon. Kneel just inside the door and wait for me."

Wait for him we did. Silently, as the seconds dragged by until my feet, strapped as they were into six inch high stilettos, ached as much as my knees. Ninety minutes later we figured out that John wasn't coming back to the room tonight, and thoroughly exhausted from our ordeal we undressed and climbed into my bed. There was nothing that either of us could say that would have eased the situation so we lay down silently and I turned off the dimmed lights. I thought I heard Lela sobbing quietly under the covers but I had no words of consolation so I laid in silence until I finally drifted off to sleep.