The Bully Pt. 11

Over the next few days I felt really bad about the way I had treated Samantha. This was a beautiful, intelligent, accomplished woman who could have had her pick of just about any man. Inexplicably, Samantha had chosen me, and I knew that it was based on attributes other than my very average physicality.

I had fucked up royally, allowing the CumSlut to manipulate me and burrow her way so deep inside my head that I had lost control of my emotions. The relationship between Samantha and I was irreparably damaged after my sexual assault of her. The new restrictions that she had placed on me created additional strain in my life, as I was no longer allowed to unwind from the stress of the day with a beer or a glass of wine.

Our sex-life was tempered by the fact that the spontaneity had been removed. Having to ask for consent for every single sex act was laborious and slowed the flow that typically exists between two committed lovers. Samantha's main focus, at least sexually, seemed to be attempting to fuck my ass with a strap-on, and the whole pegging scenario reared its ugly head every time we made love.

Half of me just wanted to submit to Samantha, take some amyl nitrate, bend over her home-office desk, and let her add me to her list of conquests, if women even kept such a list. With only seven lovers in her entire life, maybe Samantha didn't even need a list.

The other half of me was scared to death at the prospect of getting butt-fucked by Samantha. I had endured unspeakable suffering at John's hands, submitting to that Alpha for seven years under the threat of blackmail. John had used sodomy as his primary weapon against me, expecting me to dress like his personal fuck-toy, adopt the position, and signal my availability to him on numerous occasions. John had also taken me forcibly, anally raping me on several occasions in front of the love of my life, Lela. I felt like I could quite happily go the rest of my life without being fucked in the ass.

Samantha always portrayed pegging as a fun, titillating way to spice up the relationship. However, the fact that she had fucked every single man that she had ever kissed, with a strap-on, raised some red flags for me. Samantha had even admitted her desire to hurt men, and I also had the specter that she harbored deep-rooted resentment towards me for my unwelcome assault on her anus. Truth be told, I was scared that if I willingly bent over Samantha's oversized desk, I would be subjected to a protracted and brutal butt-fucking.

In retrospect I should have talked to someone about it, either a therapist or a close friend. However, I didn't want to open up that can of worms with a paid counselor, and I wasn't permitted to speak to my closet friend, Lela, so I simply buried the rage deep inside me.

Two weeks after the photo-shoot I received a text from Lela.

"My portfolio is online," she wrote. "Check me out and see what you think. My working name is CumSlut."

My hands were trembling as I opened up my laptop and searched for CumSlut on the BDSM Escort Website. There were about twenty pictures on her profile and a video that was about one minute long. I browsed through the still-shots first, the demeaning and humiliating pictures bringing the nightmare of that day to the forefront of my mind. There was a picture of Lela being walked to heel on the end of a dog leash, a close-up of the back of her neck highlighting her "Ratt's CumSlut" tattoo, and one of John jerking off into a saucer as Lela looked up at him with her tongue out. Nothing too incriminating on my part, even though I had signed the consent form to allow the use of my image. The most disturbing photo was one of Lela on her knees in the shower tub completely drenched, with the caption "I really need to take a shower now."

The inference was that she had been doused in some foreign liquid, but one could have said it was champagne, or beer or even a dip in the jacuzzi, all of which would have necessitated a shower afterwards. The video was the same. Nothing too perverse, just the indication that Lela was available for whatever your heart desired, if you were inclined to dig deep in your pockets.

Prostitution is illegal in the vast majority of the United States, so Escort Agencies typically state that the rate is for time and companionship only, and anything else that occurs is between two consenting adults. For this reason the services are cryptic in their description, and Lela's was no different. She listed a variety of extras. Klixen service was one hundred extra, the Rusty Trombone was fifty dollars more. Lela's hourly rate was a shock though, starting at four hundred dollars for outcall. At least that might keep some of the riff-raff out, I pondered.

The whole profile was nowhere near as incriminating as I had feared and I let out a sigh of relief after I logged off. A couple of hours later, Lela texted me again asking me what I thought about her webpage. I had committed to Samantha that I wouldn't stay in contact with Lela, so I ignored her texts, even as they escalated in frequency and became increasingly volatile.

Finally, six hours after she first texted me, Lela sent me another message.

"You are going to regret ghosting me, Mark," Lela said ominously. "Check out my private gallery you fucking pussy."

If I had some concerns the first time I accessed Lela's profile, my anxiety level skyrocketed at her veiled threats. I knew that Lela was emotionally unstable, manipulative and conniving, and generally capable of creating havoc in my life. Once I was in CumSlut's profile, I noticed that she had added a private gallery. You needed to become a premium member in order to access this restricted area, and I reluctantly stumped up the ninety nine dollar fee, aware that this charge would appear on my credit card statement, to which Samantha had access. As I logged in to the secure area, I made the decision to share my actions with Samantha before she questioned the credit card charge. I noted that there were fourteen premium members, eight of whom were currently online.

Once inside the member-only area, I was horrified to see over two hundred photos on display, the majority of which were extremely graphic in nature. I clicked on one file which was labeled "Golden Shower" and was shocked to see Lela on her knees with several different streams of piss defiling her. The men were anonymous due to the angle from which the photo was taken, but there were six or seven of them urinating on my ex-girlfriend's face and upper body.

Presumably this had occurred shortly after I left the photo-shoot, and in retrospect I was happy that I got out of there without witnessing the demeaning event. Backing out of this file, I clicked on the available videos, before opening one that was captioned "The Cuckold."

My heart sank the second I saw my face, particularly as I realized that I had signed the consent form with no coercion. I was stood on the sidelines, watching intently as a man in a Ratt T-shirt was getting a rimjob from Lela. The video angle caught me with a very incriminating look of desire on my face, and my hands buried deep in my pockets. It left little doubt that I was erect, and I appeared to be fondling my cock. The video was nearly three minutes long, edited in such a way to make me appear to be a pervy voyeur.

I was staring at Lela for the duration of the movie, my face transmitting emotions of lust, jealousy, and angst in equal measures. The cameraman had captured the moment when John had asked if there was a fluffer on set, and even as my face reddened and I lowered my head to avoid eye-contact with him, the edit made it appear as if I was ejaculating in my pants. They got a brief shot of me licking my lips and interspersed the clip in with Lela licking John's semen from the saucer, which made it look as if I wanted a taste of his ejaculate.

Finally, the last fifteen seconds showed Lela being defiled by six or seven men in the shower, which was followed by a short clip of me exiting the bathroom with my eyes lowered and my hands in my pockets. I was actually looking for the Director to let him know that I was leaving, but it appeared as if had participated in the piss-play.

My mind was racing and my heart was thumping in my chest as I exited the video clip. As I went to leave the website, I noticed that there were now seventeen premium members, which was more than a little disconcerting.

I had a million questions running through my head, first and foremost how I was going to explain this to Samantha. Our relationship was on rocky ground, particularly after the episode of my aggressive sexual behavior. Samantha claimed that she trusted me, but this video painted me in a horrible light, and had been so skillfully edited that it was totally believable.

My options seemed very limited, to say the least, and despite my earlier commitment to Samantha, I texted Lela asking her what the fuck she wanted from me.

"Respect," Lela responded immediately. "An open line of communication."

I tried to placate Lela that night, both in an attempt to mitigate her anger towards me, and to buy me some time to weigh my options. It was a difficult decision to make, and one with potential ramifications to my relationship with Samantha. However, after sleeping on it, I decided to keep an open line of communication with Lela, despite Samantha's demand that I cut her off.

As it turned out, Lela's open line of communication only required me to send her the occasional text and make a periodic phone call. It seemed as if she was content as long as I wasn't blowing her off. In fact, after a particularly friendly text-exchange, Lela invited me to log on to her website, and much to my relief I noticed that she had deleted "The Cuckold" video.

After Lela posted her online profile she was besieged with offers of work, and within two months she increased her hourly rate. Now offering her services at six hundred dollars per hour, Lela was still very much in demand. We spoke regularly, always when Samantha was at work, and then one day Lela asked me for my banking details. Unsure of her intent, I reluctantly gave her my information, only to receive text confirmation a few moments later of an online deposit.

Lela transferred two thousand dollars into my account that day, putting a sizeable dent in the amount that she owed me. I called her shortly after the transfer, and she seemed excited to pay me back.

"I am averaging over one thousand dollars a day," Lela began animatedly. "Plus I get my rocks off being dominated. I can't wait to pay you back."

As Lela and I reached an accord, the tension between us dissipated and I focused on my relationship with Samantha. Things were going well, until I got a text from Lela asking for advice.

"John wants to book me for a two hour session this afternoon," she informed me. "What should I do?"

I called Lela shortly after she sent me the text, and told her exactly how I felt about that idea.

"I think you should politely decline him, Lela," I said, trying to suppress my jealousy.

"The Escort Agency are exerting pressure on me to take the booking, Mark," Lela responded nervously.

"They just want their percentage of your income, Lela," I countered. "They don't care about you or John, or your guys' fucked-up history. Please don't take the booking. I will give you the twelve hundred dollars if you decline John's request. You need to get that asshole out of your life."

"It's really not about the money with John," Lela responded. "Although I agree with you that John is toxic for me."

"How can it not be about the money, Lela?" I responded angrily. "You are a fucking hooker for Christ's sake. Of course it is about the money. Or do you give John a discounted rate?"

Even though Lela and I were no longer together, the thought of her pampering John drove me crazy with jealousy, and I wondered if she had texted me just to provoke a reaction out of me. Anyway, Lela hung up shortly after my outburst, evading the question of whether she extended a little financial accommodation to John, or if he paid six hundred dollars per hour, like all the other clients. Despite my reservations, and under pressure from the Escort Agency, Lela acquiesced and agreed to take the booking and meet John in the lobby of the Four Seasons, the finest hotel in our city.

To hear Lela recap the details, the pair of them didn't stay long in the opulence of the Four Seasons. John escorted Lela to the hotel bar and allowed her to indulge in a glass of inexpensive house Chardonnay before he dropped the hammer on her. John told Lela in no uncertain terms that she was a dirty CumSlut, unworthy of such fine accommodation. Then after one drink John announced his intentions to take Lela to a place more befitting her, a seedy motel called The Dolphin.

Years later, Lela shared with me that John managed to make her question her self-worth as they pulled up to the dump of a motel. As a further act of disrespect, John made Lela pay for the room that day, setting the precedent for their future meetings.

John used and abused Lela that day, and from that point forward he employed her services regularly. I still ran into him almost daily at our shared place of employment, and he would take every opportunity to rub his encounters with Lela in my face. Referring to her exclusively as "CumSlut" he would share the details of her latest subjugation at his hands. I should have just walked away, but I found the thought of him dominating her extremely arousing. In fact, so much so that I would often retreat into the restrooms at work to jerk off.

CumSlut accompanied John to our work Christmas party, dressed so completely inappropriately that everyone must have known that she was an Escort. Her presence put Samantha and I in an awkward situation, and we ended up leaving the gathering early. Some of our co-workers were aware of the history between Lela and I, and gave her a wide berth out of respect for me. However, some of the more recent hires were all over Lela, and John gave her work number out freely, much to my chagrin, and Samantha's annoyance.

As the months went by I kept my correspondence with Lela to a minimum, knowing full well how Samantha felt about the situation. Then in the early spring we had a company retreat in Joshua Tree, California. My employer rented Onyx House for a long weekend, an eleven thousand square foot resort, with a private swimming pool and jacuzzi. There were a dozen invitees, mostly junior members of the legal team, eight guys and four female associates. We were given the itinerary prior to departure, although it was made clear to us all that we were free to do our own thing, if we preferred. The plan was to transport the women to a luxury spa resort where all of the beauty treatments, massages, and other holistic offerings were complimentary, returning early evening for a shared dinner. The guys would hang out at Onyx House engaged in team-building exercises, and general guy stuff.

Samantha by this time was a senior member of the team, on the fast-track to make partner. Between living together and working together, we didn't get many weekends apart, so I made sure that she was okay with me attending the retreat. Samantha thought that it would be a great idea to have a long weekend in the seclusion of the desert, to recharge my batteries.

Unfortunately for me, things didn't go exactly to plan, as unbeknownst to any of us, John hired Lela to accompany him for the weekend. Lela showed up right after the female members of the team left in the minibus to go and enjoy the luxury spa. She was wearing a tiny, hot-pink bathing suit that left nothing to the imagination, and matching stripper heels. A lot of my co-workers recognized her from our company Christmas party, and now that everyone knew my prior history with Lela, you would have expected the situation to have been awkward.

However, one of Lela's strengths was making men feel at ease, and she came over to me and gave me a big hug. As the rest of the group looked on, we had a brief conversation.

"I am surprised that you came on our company retreat with John," I said quietly, fully aware that the entire room was listening intently. "Is this going to get back to Samantha?"

"First of all, Mark," Lela whispered sweetly. "I am not here with John. He certainly will be paying for my services but I am available to all of you this weekend. John will go over the ground rules shortly, but you should consider me an employee perk!"

I swallowed hard as I processed Lela's words. If I understood her correctly, Lela would be available for use by all of my co-workers during the retreat.

"Can I have a quick word, Lela?" I said as I ushered her into a corner. "Lela, please," I begged her in a hushed tone. "Don't do this to me. I have to work with these guys on a daily basis."

"You were the one who moved on," Lela said coldly. "Let me get to work, Mark."

As Lela brushed past me and stood right next to John, I realized that my words were in vain.

John placed one hand possessively on Lela's exposed ass cheek, and asked everyone in the room for their attention. The attendees fell silent and I could feel my heart thumping in my chest as John started to speak.

"Most of you know Lela," he began with a flourish. "Some better than others. For those of you who haven't made her acquaintance, allow me to give you a quick introduction. Lela, step forward."

You could have heard a pin drop as Lela moved gracefully into the center of the room. Attired as she was in just a tiny, thong bikini, her lithe frame was on display for all to enjoy. The fuck-me pumps that she wore showcased her toned legs, and for a brief moment I regretted ever losing her.

"Spin for us honey," John instructed her, relishing in the control that comes with purchasing another human for your use and enjoyment. "This, gentlemen, is the lovely Lela. You may have heard rumors about her history with some of the guys in this group, but I am going to give you a brief synopsis of the facts. Lela used to date Mark, in a platonic way. Then I dated Lela, in a very non-platonic way."

John paused to allow the guys a quick nervous laugh, and then continued.

"Lela and I have been casually hooking up for years, but she recently became an escort and since then the bitch has started charging me. Anything to add, Mark?" John said as my face reddened.

There was another smattering of nervous laughter, as my co-workers looked at me for my reaction.

"Nope, that pretty much covers it," I said quietly.

"Tell the guys your working name, honey," John continued. "And what the rules are."

To my astonishment, and I imagine to the delight of the assembled guys, when Lela spoke it was apparent this was going to be an unrestricted session.

"If you book me through the escort agency my profile is listed under CumSlut," Lela said with no apparent shame. "An old boyfriend of mine tattooed this moniker on the back of my neck, as I imagine all of you will notice at some point over the three day weekend. I don't really have any rules, guys," she whispered seductively. "I like being dominated, have an extremely high pain threshold, love anal sex and water sports. I guess, my only request would be no fighting amongst yourselves, particularly you two, John and Mark. I am available for your every need for the next three days. Believe me, there is more than enough of me to go around. By the end of this retreat every single one of you will be completely satisfied, trust me. All I ask is that you take turns without any fighting. Oh, and I know a couple of you are in relationships. Rest assured, anything that happens here, stays here."

"Thank you Lela," John exclaimed as he retook the floor. "There is one ground rule," he said cheerfully. "CumSlut is our little secret. For this reason, every evening just before the girls return from the Spa, she will retire to her own space for some much earned rest and recuperation. Please respect this house rule. Any other questions, guys?"