The Bully Pt. 12

Lela knew exactly how to get me aroused, and as she continued to boast about John's sexual prowess, I felt my own cock dance between my legs, and knew I was going to be able to enjoy a second orgasm.

"What would you like to talk about, Mark?" Lela said seductively. "Is there anything on your mind?"

"Samantha is such a selfish cunt sometimes," I blurted out, failing to censor myself as I softly stroked my slowly-hardening cock.

"What happened, baby?" Lela whispered seductively. "Whatever it was it seems like it has gotten you all hot and bothered."

As I detailed the one-sided hook-up, Lela listened on intently, giggling occasionally at my obvious frustration with my sex-life.

"Even after I massaged her feet, bathed her, and satisfied her orally, all Samantha wanted to do was fuck my ass," I cried. "She is so fucking selfish."

"Oh, baby," Lela cooed. "It sounds just like my sessions with John. He is such a selfish asshole, it is truly unbelievable. The liberties that man takes are incredible, particularly as he doesn't even pay for my services."

In retrospect I should have expressed some mock-horror about the fact that John enjoyed the services of the CumSlut without financial accommodation. However, as I had read Lela's client journal, this revelation was no surprise to me. Lela picked up on my lack of reaction too, and quickly arrived at the correct assumption.

"You knew, Mark?" Lela asked quizzically. "Did John tell you that he enjoys my services for free? That asshole promised not to rub that in your face."

John and I had reached an accord in the office, and while our working relationship was not ideal, I didn't need the extra drama that a false accusation would create. So, in an attempt to mitigate this situation, I confessed to Lela.

"John didn't tell me, Lela," I stammered. "I stumbled across your client journal at the Joshua Tree resort, and couldn't resist opening it."

"Oh you naughty boy," Lela teased. "Snooping through my little black book. Were you surprised at how many of your so-called friends and co-workers are fucking me on a regular basis?"

Lela had the attention of my cock now. It was one thing to learn that my Bank Manager and Dentist were getting balls-deep inside the love of my life, but as I processed Lela's words, my cock rose to full-mast.

"Friends?" I said hesitantly. "Co-workers? I never got that far through the list, Lela. I saw John's name, and a couple of our professional acquaintances. But my friends? My co-workers? Which ones?"

"Are you hard yet?" Lela asked sidestepping my questions.

"Yes," I admitted. "I am rock-hard, Lela."

"Good boy," she said condescendingly. "I am going to grab my client journal and share some juicy details with you. This might sting a little."

I should have just hung up the phone right there. Lela had given me fair warning. I wasn't going to like what I was about to hear. However, the cuckold in me was rooted to the spot and when she returned a few moments later, Lela resumed her taunts.

"Are you still there, Mark?" she asked rhetorically, knowing that I was hanging on her every word. "Good boy."

The revelations were excruciatingly painful, but as Lela reeled off the names of my close friends, co-workers and family members from her client list, I realized the gravity of our situation. Not only had she humiliated me beyond repair, but her lack of respect for my boundaries would ensure that our relationship could never be resurrected. Lela had submitted to so many of my friends, co-workers and family members, that it would have been impossible for us to rekindle our flame.

Inexplicably, I wanted more details, and Lela was more than willing to oblige.

"It is quite a coincidence that you called me because your girlfriend was trying to sodomize you, Mark," Lela began playfully.

"How so, Lela?" I said tentatively, wondering if I might regret my decision to seek additional information.

"Well," Lela began, "there is someone else very close to you that enjoys anal sex," she teased.

"Who?" I responded reflexively, before I had decided if I really wanted to know.

"Phil," Lela whispered. "Your brother."

Even before Lela filled in the blanks, hearing my brother's name was a kick in the nuts. My heart was pounding as I contemplated hanging up the phone, but Lela was in a mood to share and started to talk before I could react.

"Once a month your brother pays to butt-fuck me," Lela said in a cheerful tone. "His preference is to fuck me in his car," she added with a giggle. "We parked on your driveway once in the middle of the night and he sodomized me in the back of his Lexus while you were asleep."

"Lela. No. Please," I begged. "Phil is one of your clients? My brother? Really? Does his wife know about this?"

As I contemplated the nature of my relationship with my brother, it pained me to learn that he regularly butt-fucked my ex-girlfriend. Phil and I had recently been on a fishing trip together, and I had poured my heart out to him about the fact that it was killing me that Lela was a submissive escort.

Being a cuckold is a complex emotional situation, and my revulsion at my brother's behavior was mixed with that familiar titillating feeling that comes from the humiliation of learning that another man is enjoying that which you perceive is yours.

"Danny too," Lela taunted. "Or Mr. Marshall as you are required to address him. Your direct supervisor at work. Danny entered the restroom at your office right after I had given you the farewell blowjob. I imagine that he came in to take a piss, but when he saw me exit the bathroom stall with semen on my lips he intervened. I really didn't need the drama so I offered to suck him off if he let me leave afterwards. The first blowjob was a freebie but Mr. Marshall has been a regular paying client of mine ever since."

My heart sank as I processed the fact that Lela sucked my boss off on a regular basis. I was always a little fearful of Mr. Marshall, and my relationship with him was much more formal than my work relationship with Samantha, who headed up our office. Mr. Marshall was an Alpha Male who always wore an expensive tailored black suit to work. He was physically intimidating and rarely took off his sunglasses.

Samantha had shared with me that prior to her rapid ascent at the law firm it had always been a bit of a "boy's club." I had heard rumors circulating that back in the day Senior Management occasionally enjoyed the services of hookers at work, although Samantha's promotion to head of our office had significantly tempered their shenanigans. Mr. Marshall had a predilection for blow jobs and still enjoyed the occasional working girl when Samantha was out of the office.

"Blowjobs my boy," he had told me during my first week in the office. "Quick, easy and they don't mess up your three thousand dollar suit."

I thought Danny Marshall was a douche-bag from the second I met him, but to learn that Lela regularly indulged him in his favorite sexual activity was a kick in the nuts to me. It also made complete sense why he had given the green light to her attending the Joshua Tree retreat. Before I could censor myself I blurted out the first of many questions.

"Does Danny just pay you for oral sex, Lela?" I said shakily, the cuckold in me wanting to know every sordid detail.

"Mr. Marshall," Lela corrected me. "Show the man the respect he deserves. He is your boss, remember."

"Mr. Marshall," I said quietly. "Does Mr. Marshall just pay for blowjobs?"

"So far," Lela responded cheerfully. "But you know how men are. Eventually he will want more. They all do. Danny texted me yesterday to let me know that he has been granted access to the Executive Washroom, and the additional privacy that this facility provides. I am sure it won't be long before he gets balls-deep in one of my other orifices."

I was well on the road to my second release now, stroking my erect cock as Lela mocked and taunted me with tales of her paid encounters.

"Who else, Lela?" I said shakily as my sap started to rise.

Lela correctly surmised that I was getting close to orgasm and turned her focus to me.

"How about you, Mark?" she cooed. "When are you going to come over and get some for yourself? How about swinging by tomorrow morning for a quick blow and go before work? You can come on my face if you like. And when are you finally going to give me a golden shower?"

Lela's provocative words took me over the edge, and I struggled to stay quiet as I erupted across the crotch of Samantha's silky panties while she slept in the next room. Of course, because she is a dirty bitch, Lela continued to taunt me as I emptied my nutsack.

"Tim Jacobsen is on my client list too," Lela whispered, referring to one of my best friends in High School. "That dirty fucker enjoys piss-play almost as much as I do!"

I let out a moan of disbelief at the mention of Tim's name. I had known him since we were Juniors in High School and he knew that Lela was my first girlfriend and the love of my life. I didn't blame him for lusting after her as she was a beautiful woman, but I resented the fact that he acted on his impulses as soon as Lela was for sale. Lela made no secret of the fact that she was "fetish-friendly" but why on earth would one of my best friends choose what is arguably the dirtiest sex-act, and pay to perform it on my ex?

"How did he find out about your services, Lela?" I asked, the mere thought of Tim urinating on Lela ruining my post-orgasmic bliss.

"It was part of my marketing strategy, baby," Lela said with a giggle. "Tim asked me out numerous times after I turned eighteen. I always said no as I was faithful to you. However, after I got into escorting I contacted Tim and told him he could fuck me for four hundred dollars. In fact, taking a page out of the Mary Kay Cosmetics playbook, I contacted everyone that we went to High School with, which was relatively easy with the advent of social media. Tim responded almost immediately, chomping at the bit. In fact, he was so excited that he came over that same day and we fucked twice in an hour."

"Did Tim urinate on you the first time you let him fuck you, Lela?" I asked incredulously.

"No, baby. Of course not," Lela said cheerfully. "Your best friend was quite the gentleman the first few times. Tim liked me to dress up in my Cheerleader Uniform and suck him off. After he recovered we would fuck in the missionary position. Tim is like you, a quick come. It was easy money and he was a really nice guy."

"Nice guys don't piss on women, Lela," I said in desperation. "What changed?"

"Well," Lela said quietly. "Tim fucked me a few times and the sex was fairly vanilla. However, when my hourly rate increased to six hundred dollars, he wanted more from me. It started with a request for doggy-style, and then a demand to give me a facial. As Tim got more comfortable with my submissive side, his demands escalated. Now we meet once a month, and he butt-fucks me in my Cheerleader Uniform before giving me a golden shower."

I was completely over this conversation and I just wanted to hang up the phone and go to bed. Lela was still in escort mode and wanted to coax another load from me.

"Do you think you might get hard again, Mark?" she whispered. "I have plenty more stories to tell. You can call me anytime."

Lela and I terminated our phone call shortly after the revelation about my former best friend. I was shaking with a combination of rage, jealousy and arousal, and I suspect that Lela could have coaxed another load out of me, had I called her back. I left Samantha's silky panties in full view on the marble countertop, coated with ejaculate from my two loads, right next to the harness with its pre-lubricated phallus. I had made my decision, and it was a clear "fuck you" signal to my girlfriend as our relationship struggled with its last gasping breath.

The following morning Samantha was pissed when she saw her soiled panties laying in clear view in her bathroom, and this was the catalyst for her increasingly selfish and dominant behavior towards me. Not one to shy away from conflict, Samantha summoned me to her office. As I meekly entered the room, Samantha stood commandingly behind her oversized desk, and pointed to a low-slung chair. After I lowered myself onto the seat, Samantha emerged from behind her desk, holding the soiled panties aloft between her thumb and forefinger, as if they were somehow contaminated.

As she did so, I realized that Samantha had eschewed her usual short skirt and was wearing a tailored pant suit. I had only ever seen my girlfriend in a skirt, and she appeared far more masculine and dominant in the tight-fitting pants. Looking at me with pure contempt, Samantha tossed her panties in my general direction, straightened her back, and thrust her hips forward, making herself appear physically imposing.

It was at this moment that I noticed the unmistakable outline of Samantha's strap-on phallus, as it nestled within the confines of her neatly tailored pants, and the mere sight of it caused me to lower my head in submission.

"I am only going to say this once, Mark," Samantha began assertively. "Consider this an ultimatum. I have beaten around the bush for too long. This is a non-negotiable for me. You will never make love to me again unless you willingly submit to me. I want you to voluntarily bend over my desk, wiggle your tight little ass, and invite me to fuck you with my strap-on. Capiche?"

Despite her foreboding appearance and her assertive tone, I never responded to Samantha that day. I simply remained in silence, head lowered as she berated me for my lack of understanding of her needs. My submission seemed to embolden her, and at one point Samantha stood right in front of me as I sat on the low-slung chair. Her phallus was clearly visible through the fabric of the tailored pants, a veiled threat of my impending violation.

We never made love again after that night, but Samantha would masturbate openly in front of me, and use me for oral-sex whenever she had the slightest inclination. I was already fairly submissive by nature, and years of being dominated by John had conditioned me to be compliant. In addition, Samantha was my boss at work and that power dynamic continued once we got home.

After I had catered to Samantha's every desire, she would retire to bed leaving me alone with my lube and her soaked panties. Once she was asleep, I would call Lela and she would taunt me to two or three very satisfying releases. It was a fucked-up dynamic, but it appeared to work for the three of us.

Each time Lela and I spoke she would release the identities of one or two more of the guys that had purchased her services, and as she diverged the details of the hook-up, I would jerk off into Samantha's panties. Lela told John that I knew about the financial component of her trysts with him, and he began to rub it in my face at work. I wanted to get back at John and tell him that I was cohabiting with Samantha, but we had agreed early on in our relationship that we needed to keep that out of the workplace.

Lela offered herself up to me continuously, a no reciprocation necessary, no-holds barred encounter. It became increasingly difficult to turn her down as she was my sole source of sexual release, albeit through phone sex. Then a few weeks after the sexual dynamic of my relationship with Samantha had changed, an opportunity presented itself. Samantha was going away for a long weekend, leaving Thursday morning and returning Sunday afternoon. I was going to run her to the Airport in her Maserati and pick her up at the end of the weekend. It seemed like the perfect time to hook up with Lela, so I mentioned it to her during our nightly conversation. After detailing Samantha's itinerary, there was a palpable silence at the other end of the line.

"How about I come over Thursday afternoon right from the Airport, Lela?" I asked tentatively, laying my cards on the table.

"Oh, baby, Thursday won't work for me," Lela said much to my disappointment. "I am seeing John at the Dolphin motel on Friday. As you know from reading my client journal, John has a strict requirement that I abstain from all sexual activities for twenty four hours prior to his appointment."

My heart sank at the news. Lela had been actively encouraging me for several weeks to come over and use her in whichever way I saw fit. Now that I had the opportunity to take her up on her offer, John was cock-blocking me, once again.

"I could do Saturday," Lela added cheerfully. "I can just keep the motel room for another day."

The Dolphin motel was a seedy dump of a place, ten miles outside of our town and adjacent to a freeway rest-stop. It was frequented by truckers and always had a few street walkers milling around its parking lot. A bargain at twenty nine dollars per night, you could also rent rooms by the hour. There was no way that I was going to fuck Lela in that shit-hole and I told her so.

"I am not going to make love to you in the same room that John just used you in, Lela," I blurted out in exasperation. "Plus that place is a total dump."

"No arguments there, Mark," Lela said with a giggle. "But you know the score. John always uses me in seedy motels. It's part of his kink. And what is it with you getting all high and mighty all of a sudden? You don't want to use the same room as John? He fucked me dozens of times in your college bed. He even made you sleep in our combined secretions, if I remember correctly."

"Lela, please," I begged. "Cancel your appointment with John and spend the day with me. With Samantha going out of town the timing is perfect."

"John doesn't take no for an answer, baby," Lela taunted. "You must know that by now. However, let's compromise. Why don't you come to my place on Saturday. I have a really nice apartment and an extensive array of fetish wear and costumes. I can fulfill all of your fantasies and maybe you can finally empty your bladder all over me."

While I had some serious reservations about meeting Lela the day after John enjoyed her services, I was working with a limited time frame and so I agreed. Initially my plan was to abstain from sex, well jerking-off to be more precise, but I folded the second Lela and I started our nightly phone conversation. Lela knew me better than anyone and was an expert at getting inside my head. She laid out my sexual options in excruciating detail as I masturbated into Samantha's panties. In fact, as I tried to get my head around exactly what I was going to do to Lela on Saturday, she coaxed two more loads from my swollen nuts.

Time seemed to slow as I waited for Saturday morning, and after running Samantha to the airport on Thursday, I rushed home eager to have phone sex with Lela. Maybe we could FaceTime tonight I contemplated, as I sped down the freeway in Samantha's convertible Maserati. Unfortunately for me, Thursday night didn't go quite as planned, and despite my barrage of texts to Lela, she ended up ghosting me. I endured a fitful night's sleep as I tossed and turned wondering why Lela had completely blown me off.

Lela didn't respond to my attempts to reach out on Friday either, and I began to wonder if we were still on for Saturday. Finally, feeling despondent and lonely, I ended up calling Samantha to check in with her. Unfortunately, my calls went straight to her voicemail and I began to question whether or not she had some male company in her hotel room. Inexplicably this thought excited me, and like a pervy cuckold I ended up jerking off into a pair of her panties.

Lela did reach out to me first thing Saturday morning, texting me her address. A few moments later I received a second text.

"Can you please pick up some Epsom salts from the pharmacy, Mark?" Lela wrote. "Oh, and text me when you are fifteen minutes away."