The Bully Pt. 10

Submissive escorts, however, were a different breed. You wouldn't hire a submissive and then take her to dinner or to the theater. You hired a submissive to humiliate them, to assert yourself over them, to have them endure your perversions. For this reason, Lela's portfolio needed to convey a certain message.

"Start on all fours, Lela," the Director ordered, snapping me out of my trance.

Apparently Lela had taken his directive seriously because she immediately got onto her hands and knees.

"Head back over the shoulder," the Director continued. "Arch your back. Make sure we get her tattoo in the shot, Tim."

Under a barrage of instructions from the Director, and with two photographers working furiously to capture her submission, they put Lela through a variety of poses and positions. They made her masturbate with her fingers and a selection of sex toys, culminating in a simulated orgasm. Next they asked her to drink from a bowl of milk that was placed on the floor. Then the Director instructed her to lap up some fake semen from a saucer.

I thought the Director's tone was unnecessarily humiliating, but given the fact that the session was three hundred dollars per hour, I guess he had to keep things moving. About twenty minutes into the session one of the assistants indicated that the replacement model had arrived. I really didn't want to watch Lela get fucked by another man, so I approached the Director and waited for an appropriate time to talk to him. When he turned to face me, I spoke.

"Am I free to leave?" I asked cordially.

"All of the required paperwork is complete," the Director responded. "You can leave if you want. Or you can stay and watch, if that is your thing. We are just about to start the fireworks."

While watching Lela get dominated by some random dude was certainly not my thing, as soon as John strode confidently into the photo studio, my feet were rooted to the floor. John acknowledged my presence with a sneer, and then picked up a leash and a riding crop from the array of BDSM equipment that was laying on a large table.

"Why don't you attach the leash to Lela's collar?" the Director suggested. "Wrap the leash around your fist and walk her like a dog."

"I know exactly what she responds to," John replied coldly. "Lela and I have worked together many times before."

"Ok," the Director responded, to my surprise. "Let's allow things to evolve naturally. We have forty minutes on the clock guys. Forty minutes."

John leashed Lela with unnecessary roughness, tugging violently on her collar as he brought her to heel and began to parade her around on her hands and knees.

"Perfect," the Director said enthusiastically. "This guy is a pro. They have definitely worked together in the past."

As the still photographer and the cameraman filmed the disturbing scene, John put Lela through her paces, subjugating her with an intensity that was difficult for me to watch. Furthermore, as if to rub his encounter with my ex-girlfriend in my face, John announced each scene prior to performing it.

"Klixen cock-worship session," John said firmly, as Lela got on her knees and gave him a protracted, edging, pampering of his cock and balls.

"Rusty Trombone," John said cheerfully, looking my way to gauge my reaction.

"Forced anal," he intoned, as he maneuvered Lela into the doggy-style position, with her ass raised up and her nose on the floor.

"Turn your head to one side, bitch," John ordered, as he extended one of his bare feet and rested it on the side of her face. "Lick my foot."

The photo-session was moving at a frantic pace now, and as I watched on in angst, the Director called time. I let out a sigh of relief as Lela's ordeal was finally over, but she was far from happy.

"We haven't filmed any corporal punishment yet," Lela said dejectedly. "Or any piss-play. That is always a favorite of dominant men."

"Some other time, Lela," the Director said firmly. "Your hour is up."

Over the time since Lela and I had split up, she had become a manipulative, conniving bitch. Despite knowing this, I offered minimal resistance when she came over to me and asked me to stump up another three hundred dollars to continue the portfolio.

"Please, Mark," Lela begged. "I will pay you back one day, I promise."

Meekly nodding my consent, I picked up my iPhone and did a Bank Transfer to secure the next hour. The Director resumed his periodic barking of commands, which stirred everyone else into action.

"Let's move to the punishment room," the Director instructed everyone. "Then we will finish up in the shower."

My heart sank at the indignity of Lela being punished on camera, and I knew that I should have left at this time. However, for reasons I don't profess to understand, I shuffled into that brightly-lit room behind John and the studio hands. Lela was naked now except for the dog-collar and leash, and she was being bent over a padded leather bench before being tightly restrained. John had a huge smirk on his face as we briefly made eye-contact, and as I watched on intently he grabbed three bottled waters.

"For the shower scene," John taunted me, as I quickly averted my gaze.

It was very difficult for me to watch, but John beat Lela quite brutally with a riding crop, a padded leather spanking glove and a rattan cane. Even though she cried out for mercy repeatedly, John kept assuring the Director that he had worked with Lela numerous times in the past, and had an intimate knowledge of her limits. The cameraman and still-photographer kept snapping away, documenting Lela's abject misery under the bright lights of the purpose-built room.

Finally, after a couple of strikes with the rattan cane that seemed unnecessarily harsh, I intervened.

"Can we give Lela a break?" I asked the Director. "Just to make sure that she is doing okay."

Judging by the look on his face, the Director seemed relieved to halt the proceedings, and he called a quick time-out. As John chugged on his waters, I spoke briefly to Lela.

"Are you okay, Lela?" I asked, my concern evident in my voice. "Do you want to call it a day?"

To my surprise, Lela seemed completely unfazed by her treatment at John's hand. She almost seemed to resent my intrusion.

"I am fine, Mark," Lela snapped at me. "Of course being punished hurts, but I need my pictures to look authentic. Real dominant men can spot a fake submissive from a mile off. I want anyone who views my portfolio to know that the tears are real. Stop interfering. The last thing I need right now is a fucking White Knight."

Lela's reaction to my genuine concern stunned me, and I recoiled in shock. However, John quickly snapped me out of it.

"The secretions are real, too," John said with a chuckle, as he ran one finger slowly across the entrance to Lela's pussy. "The bitch loves a firm hand. Lela is getting off on this."

Lela let out a whimper as John stuck his finger inside her snatch, and when it emerged it was slick with her juices. As he sauntered around the room, he held his hand aloft so that everyone could witness the fact that Lela had been self-lubricating the entire time that John was abusing her. When he got to me, John stuck his hand in my face, so close to my nose that I inhaled reflexively.

"That's the scent of Lela's arousal, Mark," John said with disdain in his voice. "I am not sure if you ever smelled that when you guys were dating."

There was a smattering of laughs amongst the crew as they digested the fact that Lela and I also had a history, and then the Director intervened.

"Look guys, I don't give a fuck about whatever the three of you had going on in the past. We are here to do a job, so let's wrap this up without any unnecessary drama, yeah?"

John and I nodded agreeably and I noticed two strange things happened after our brief exchange. Firstly, the crew became far more relaxed, and the tension that had been building as they witnessed John abusing Lela, instantly evaporated. Secondly, as I realized that Lela was thoroughly enjoying her debasement, I stopped worrying about her and focused on the erotica that was unfolding before my eyes.

"Tie and Tease next," John announced enthusiastically, as he began to tie Lela spread-eagled to a large St. Andrew's Cross.

Inevitably, as Lela's bondage session moved from the corporal punishment phase, to being teased mercilessly, she began to self-lubricate with much more intensity. As the scent of Lela's arousal began to permeate the room, I felt my cock twitch in my pants. In retrospect, I should have left the second I felt a stirring in my loins. Nothing good was ever going to come from me watching John put the wood to Lela, especially if he noticed that I was aroused. However, as John used a vibrator to bring Lela to the brink of orgasm multiple times, I was truly transfixed by the eroticism of it all, and no matter how much I tried, I could not suppress my erection.

By the time that Lela was begging John for release, I think most of the crew were hard. It must be an occupational hazard of working in the industry of models' portfolios, but Lela's ordeal seemed so real, so unrehearsed, so authentic, that you could taste the desire in the room.

I was in torment as my ex-girlfriend begged my nemesis for some release, shuffling around uncomfortably with my hands buried deep in my pockets in an attempt to conceal my erection. I am sure that my angst was written all over my face, as the crew processed the fact that I used to date this woman, but had paid for another man to dominate her. Deep down I didn't feel like I was a cuckold, but this turn of events certainly made me appear as one.

John was having a ball, bringing Lela tantalizingly close to orgasm, before removing the vibrator from her clitoris at the last moment. As the photographer captured her desperation, John circled the room holding the vibrator aloft.

"I want everyone to witness the evidence of Lela's arousal," he began in a taunting voice. "Look at her vaginal secretions coated all over the tip. What a bitch in heat Lela is."

A few of the crew glanced nervously in my direction, presumably concerned that John openly mocking me might lead to a physical confrontation. The Director intervened at precisely the right moment.

"We nailed that scene," the Director announced enthusiastically. "What's next?"

John tormented Lela for four hours that afternoon, as I looked on like a pervy voyeur, my erection throbbing in my pants. The Director called "time" twice more, which would have provided me with the perfect opportunity to leave. However, as titillating as this disturbing scenario was to me, each time the session ended, I picked up my iPhone and made the required Bank Transfer to secure another hour of studio time.

John fucked Lela in multiple positions, as the cameramen documented her subjugation. John inserted a realistic-looking pony tail into Lela's anus, attached as it was to a butt-plug. Then he rode her around the studio, using the crop to motivate her in much the same way as a jockey encourages a thoroughbred. I was so completely torn in two as my contrasting emotions competed with each other. Half of me wanted it to stop immediately, to spare my lovely Lela any more humiliation. The other half of me, emboldened by the sight and scent of her arousal, wanted it to last forever.

John, delighted to be the ring-master and center of attention, slowly took control of the proceedings from the Director, who truth be told, seemed as flustered as the rest of us.

"SeeHimFuck next," John announced, as he continued to swig his water in preparation for the shower scene.

Lela knew exactly what was expected of her in this fantasy scenario. She basically gave John a cat-bath from head to toe, before rimming him in several positions, as we all watched on in awe. As I paid for what I hoped was the final hour, the Director resumed control of the proceedings, the timing of the finale needing considerable experience to pull off.

"Okay, John," the Director asked matter of factly. "One hour left. How many money-shots do you have in you?"

"Three," John exclaimed confidently, as he looked right in my eyes.

Once again, I should have left right there. Despite having watched this self-entitled prick dominate my ex-girlfriend for the last three hours, I had so far been spared the indignity of watching the asshole blow his load, either inside or onto Lela.

"Let's start with a facial, John," the Director suggested. "That will be an easy clean-up, and then Lela can do a few costume changes while you recuperate. Somebody get two pillows and some baby lotion."

There was a brief pause in the action as Lela reapplied her lipgloss, and the crew brought the requisite supplies for the first cumshot scene. Once Lela was in the desired position, with her tits coated in a copious amount of baby oil, and her head propped up on two pillows, John straddled her. As the lighting guy moved his white box and mirror into position, John told Lela to squeeze her breasts together, and he began to fuck them.

As John lowered himself onto Lela's chest he supported his weight with his hands, causing his triceps to bulge under the exertion of the impromptu body-resistance work-out. His latissimus dorsi were flexing too, showcasing his impressive muscularity. I had felt inadequate even before hearing the comments from the crew, but as soon as they began to express their admiration of his physical prowess, I felt like a total pussy.

"Is your buddy a pornstar?" the still-photographer asked me, as he stood directly over John to document his superb physique. "Or an athlete?"

I watched John fuck Lela's tits with a renewed feeling of jealousy, and a few moments later, as Lela attempted to convey a look of complete submission to this man, John tensed up and blew a massive load across her face. Lela knew how to play up to the camera, and as they kept shooting she went through a variety of faked emotions, starting with mock-horror, then moving swiftly onto total satisfaction, before ending up with a submissive look on her semen-covered face.

John arose slowly from his prone position, and with total disregard for Lela's needs, approached the Director with questions about his own.

"Is there a fluffer on set?" John enquired, as he looked directly at me.

Based on our complicated history, I would have expected more from Lela in that moment, but she burst into laughter as the crew looked nervously at each other.

"I don't think so," the Director responded. "Unless you know something that I don't."

"Oh well," John said cheerfully, "No matter. I can get myself ready in about twenty minutes."

With that proclamation, the Director decided that it was time for a few costume-change scenes. Out of nowhere, someone procured a Ratt T-shirt in John's size, and as he put it on I dreaded where this was heading. Ratt was a glam-metal band formed in San Diego that had enjoyed commercial success in the 1980s. Of course, the significance of the moniker Ratt was not lost on me, particularly as this loser tattoo-artist was Lela's first boyfriend after we separated. To make matters worse, Lela had "Ratt's CumSlut" tattooed on the back of her neck.

There was no way that I could have known it at the time, but through some skillful editing, the Director made it appear as if Ratt, played by John, owned this submissive slut. Lela's final escort video, filmed as it was in the overly-stylized manner of TikTok shorts, showed Ratt blowing his load across Lela's face before panning out slowly as she arose to cleanse herself. As Lela headed towards the bathroom, the camera zoomed in on her "Ratt's CumSlut" tattoo.

Time seemed to slow down for me as the photo-shoot entered its final hour. I had witnessed Lela's total subjugation at John's hands, and even though I was aroused, I wanted to get the fuck out of there. That's why it was such a surprise when John's statement of intent reverberated around the room.

"Let's film a cuckold scene for all the losers that will watch Lela's video and not have the balls to make an appointment," John said, with disdain evident in his voice.

As soon as John mentioned the cuckold scene, I felt all eyes in the room upon me. It had to be obvious to the assembled crew that as Lela's previous partner, and the generous benefactor of this photo-shoot, I was there for only one reason. I shuffled around uncomfortably, trying to think of what to say if the Director wanted to film me watching John and Lela fuck. To my surprise the Director let me off the hook, even though the manner in which it happened was emasculating.

"No need for any additional cuckold shots," the Director said authoritatively. "I think we managed to capture Mark's angst perfectly, right guys?"

As the camera guys nodded their agreement, Lela was going through a series of costume changes, while John recuperated. A little less than twenty minutes later John announced that he was ready, and Lela was positioned on all fours, naked except for a black leather collar with the words "CumSlut" emblazoned across the front of it, in bright pink.

"Let's start with doggy-style," the Director said. "We can get a few close-up shots, John, before you blow your load."

John was wearing his Ratt T-shirt as he entered Lela from behind, still playing the part of Lela's dominant partner. As the still-photographer circled the two of them, it was apparent that he was ensuring that it was not lost on the casual viewer that Ratt owned this CumSlut. John fucked Lela for a few moments until the camera guys nodded to the Director that they had captured that scene adequately.

"Anal next," the Director said, as if he were ordering dessert.

With a smirk on his face, John withdrew his considerably sized cock from Lela's pussy. It was slick with her vaginal secretions, clear evidence that Lela was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"I won't be needing any more lubricant to butt-fuck this bitch," John announced crudely, as I felt all eyes on me for my reaction.

A few moments later, after the requisite nods from the camera guys, the Director announced that it was time for the next money shot.

"Bring the saucer back," the Director instructed, as one of the studio guys returned with the small porcelain plate covered in fake semen. "John, why don't you blow your load into the saucer. Lela, put your face next to it and look hungry."

I struggled to hide my anguish as Lela looked up at John from the side of the saucer, and he jerked his cock furiously, inches from her face. Even as I was aware that one of the camera guys had trained his lens on my face, I was unable to even force a smile. I couldn't look away either, which would have been the sensible move.

"Stick your tongue in the saucer you dirty CumSlut," John ordered Lela, right before he blew his load across the small plate.

Lela needed no further instructions, as would be expected from a true submissive. Once John had finished ejaculating, she extended her tongue and dipped the tip of it into John's semen.

"Enjoy it while it is warm, Lela," John said dismissively, as my ex-girlfriend lapped up his load like a kitten drinks milk.

"Holy fuck, this girl is a natural," the Director exclaimed enthusiastically, momentarily forgetting that this was a work place.

As the multi-hour session drew to a close, and John continued to swig from his water bottle, the inevitable approach of the shower scene weighed heavily upon me. As difficult as the events of this afternoon had been for me to watch, I just couldn't stomach the thought of John emptying his bladder all over Lela, and I told the Director that I was leaving.

"Ok, Mark," the Director said, reverting to his air of professionalism. "I just need you to sign a consent form in case we end up using your image in Lela's portfolio."