The Bully Pt. 13

I felt disgusted with myself by the time I drove back from Lela's apartment. It seemed like such an uncharacteristic loss of self-control on my part. I had allowed my jealousy of John to enrage me to the point that I had called Lela a "dirty CumSlut" and I had urinated all over her, two things that I swore I would never do.

As I rehashed the events of the last few months, I shifted some of the blame from myself to the CumSlut. Lela had offered me the option of urinating on her multiple times, framing it as a highly enjoyable experience for her, something that she craved even. I knew it was a critical component of her service as a submissive escort, and judging by her client journal and her admissions to me, many of her paying customers urinated on her.

To paraphrase her own words, was I to be the only man who fucked her that didn't give her a good soaking? Either way it didn't really matter. We were done and my parting gift to the CumSlut was a golden shower.

Inexplicably, Lela didn't seem like our relationship was over, and less than two hours after I left her place she texted me.

"Thanks so much for bringing me the medication, Mark," Lela began cordially, presumably referring to the Epsom salts. "I am feeling much better after that good soaking!"

I read that text at least a dozen times, trying to absorb the double-entendre of the "good soaking" remark. Was Lela thanking me for running her a hot bath, or for giving her a golden shower, both of which could be considered to be a good soaking? Even as Lela continued to try and engage me via text messages, I made the decision to ignore her. In my opinion, she was in a fragile emotional state and I didn't want to get dragged into her spiral of self-hatred. Lela's texts became increasingly frequent and much more erratic in nature.

Lela asked me to come over to her place the following morning as she felt sufficiently healed to fulfill all of her sexual promises to me. She assured me that all three of her orifices would be unsullied and completely available for my use. I was sorely tempted by that offer. I had so many unrealized sexual fantasies that Lela was willing to accommodate, and she had primed the pump with our nightly phone-sex conversations.

However, I knew that I needed to be resolute to avoid being sucked into her black hole, so I ignored her. When I never responded Lela asked me if I wanted to urinate on her again because she had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. When that failed to elicit a response from me, Lela threatened to tell Samantha about our encounter, even claiming that she had a hidden camera in her bathroom. A few hours later Lela promised to stop seeing John if I took her back, which I knew was a total fabrication. Lela was unraveling quickly, and I wanted no part of it so I took the easy way out and blocked her on my iPhone.

Lela had referred to the process as ghosting, but whatever its current name I took it seriously, even instructing my workplace to put Lela's calls directly into my voicemail. I managed to avoid that dirty fucking CumSlut for almost three months before I was notified by the local psychiatric hospital that she was under observation, having attempted suicide by hanging. Lela had listed me as her next of kin, having not one other person in the world that she trusted.

"This wasn't a cry for attention," the attending Psychiatrist informed me, as we looked at Lela through a small observation window. "This was a very serious and well-planned attempt to take her own life. Lela is extremely fortunate that the window frame gave way under her weight."

When Lela recovered and was able to receive visitors, I was the only person to visit her, which was damaging to her already fragile psyche. Lela seemed broken beyond repair but as I looked directly into her eyes I realized that I still loved this woman very deeply. We sat next to each other in the hospital bed for four hours that day, despite repeated assertions from the attending Psychiatrist that Lela needed to rest.

"Please, Doctor," Lela begged. "Mark is my only friend in the world. I am feeling very lonely right now and I need his company."

After the Doctor acquiesced, Lela and I sat holding hands as we opened our hearts to each other. Our tears flowed freely and we professed our undying love for each other. After a protracted conversation, I asked her to marry me.

"Mark, I love you too," Lela whispered. "But our marriage would never survive. I crave the abuse of men way more than the money I earn from it. I will never be able to give up sex work."

I loved this young woman so much that I tried to justify her behavior, in the same way that a truly understanding woman allows her bi-sexual husband the occasional homosexual encounter. Or the way a man learns to live with the behavior of his alcoholic wife, even if it leads to her periodic arrest for public intoxication.

"We all have flaws, Lela," I began in earnest. "I will learn to accommodate your needs, to live with your desire to be dominated sexually by strangers. I will love you unconditionally."

And so, from that day forward, Lela and I began our revamped relationship. I waited until she was released from the hospital to engage in any physical relations with her, by which time I had explained the situation to Samantha, who didn't seem that surprised at the turn of events.

"It's not like we are hot for each other anymore," Samantha said disdainfully. "That spark died the day you forcibly sodomized me. Plus, despite your denials, I still think that you would rather jerk off into my dirty intimates than make love like a real man. My only regret is that I never got to bend you over my desk and butt-fuck you with my strap-on. I am better off without you, Mark."

I moved out shortly after that conversation and I did respect the fact that Samantha acted with complete professionalism at work. I hadn't told anyone about the changes in our relationship, but apparently Samantha had shared our break-up with a couple of the Senior Management Team, and also Human Resources to protect her interests. In fact, I endured some scathing criticism from some of my superiors who thought that I was completely nuts to dump Samantha, who was a shoe-in to make partner at the law firm, for Lela, the filthy CumSlut.

Danny Marshall was particularly vocal in his criticism of my decision.

"Have you gone mad boy?" he asked me the first time we were alone in the office. "You do know that Samantha will be a partner in this law firm in the near future, right?"

"I know that, Mr. Marshall," I responded, with as much deference as I could muster.

"And presumably you must also know that Lela is a submissive escort who works under the name of CumSlut, right?" he continued aggressively.

"Yes sir, I am aware of my fiancée's occupation," I responded warily.

"Well then boy," he continued with his air of arrogance, "You should also know that some of the management team enjoy the services of the CumSlut from time to time. In fact, I have scheduled a blowjob from your girl Lela tomorrow morning when Samantha is in court," he added with a flourish, thoroughly rubbing my nose in the upcoming encounter.

Even though it was emasculating knowing that some of my superiors at work were employing the services of the CumSlut, I was committed to Lela. I loved and cherished her, provided for her every need and allowed her the latitude to fulfill her desire to be dominated. Lela actually enjoyed rubbing my nose in her infidelity too, a throw back to the college days, when I was an unwilling cuckold. I always knew a few days in advance when Lela was going on a date, and I was often instructed to make the arrangements. At six hundred dollars per hour, at least the encounter nearly always took place in a luxurious hotel, but it was still emasculating to call the reservations desk and book a suite for my girlfriend and her lover.

Most of the time Lela would take a cab back to our place, although some of the more expensive hotels had chauffeur service included. Every so often, Lela would encounter a more dominant man, and having endured a thorough beat-down, she would ask me to come and help get her home. These were my least favorite dates, and I occasionally questioned why I was in this fucked-up relationship. However, as I would nurse Lela's wounds and run her a bath of Epsom salts to reduce the swelling, I could tell that she loved only me.

Of course, much to my chagrin John was also there on a regular basis to fill the void in Lela's soul. Now that I knew what financial accommodation she extended to him, it was even more of a kick in the nuts. I couldn't help myself either, and I would check Lela's purse before and after John's sessions. It was disheartening to find that she was thirty or forty dollars worse off after catering to his every need, having paid for the budget motel room.

John would rub it in my face too, when we passed in the hallways at work.

"I only ever take Lela to seedy motels," he taunted me one day as I was using the copy machine. "To teach that dirty CumSlut a lesson in humility. You know I don't pay to use your girlfriend either, Mark. Lela even pays for the motel room," he added cheerfully. "And I am a very demanding customer."

Two or three times a month John would take Lela to some seedy motel and butt-fuck her on a cheap beat-up mattress. To hear Lela tell it, John liked to urinate on her as she knelt on the molded plastic floor of the shower enclosure, looking up at him as if he were the most important man on earth. Unfortunately, that would be the only use the shower got on those days, and Lela would return home to me reeking of John's piss.

Predictably, as the chief engineers of the Joshua Tree Retreat, John and Danny Marshall bonded and became good buddies. I noticed the two of them hanging out at work, and as John shared more of Lela's sordid history with his direct supervisor, Danny felt entitled to take additional liberties with Lela.

Mr. Marshall informed me of his intentions too, taking great delight in rubbing my nose in Lela's infidelity.

"Your girl is coming here tomorrow morning at 9am," Danny gloated as I lowered my head in defeat. "I need you to entertain her until I am ready. Samantha will be in court all morning so we won't be pressed for time."

The following day my heart was pounding in my chest as the appointed hour approached. Completely unaware of my emasculation, the receptionist paged me over the intercom.

"Mark, please come to the front desk, you have a guest waiting."

I could barely look Lela in the eye as I entered the reception area. No stranger to breaking the ice, Lela was already deep in conversation with the receptionist, exchanging tips about hair and makeup. Even though Lela was wearing a long, black leather trench coat, the extreme height of her stiletto shoes gave some inkling as to her occupation. It was apparent that Lela wasn't here to fix the photo-copier.

"Mark, Lela is here to see Mr. Marshall," the receptionist informed me. "However, he is tied up with a client right now and has asked me to hold all of his calls until 1pm. Can you please entertain Lela until Mr. Marshall is ready for her?"

"Certainly, Mary," I stammered, unable to conceal the embarrassment at being openly cuckolded in my own place of employment.

"May I take your coat, Lela?" the receptionist asked politely.

"I think I should probably keep it on, Mary," Lela responded with a giggle. "This is a fairly conservative environment and I am not wearing a business suit."

As the two young women shared a laugh it occurred to me how adept Lela was at putting people at ease. It was undoubtedly a critical component of being an escort, and Lela had mastered the skill.

"Well, always nice to see you Lela," the receptionist said with sincerity. "Until next time."

"You too, Mary," Lela responded warmly, the air of familiarity between them patently obvious.

Lela flashed me an apologetic smile as it became apparent that my fiancée was a regular visitor to this office, and we left the reception desk together.

I had been tasked with entertaining Lela until my boss was ready for her, so I led her back to my office. As we walked in silence through the hallway, I checked my future wife out. Even with the long trench coat hiding her lithe form, her sky-high fuck-me pumps and the symmetrical black lines that ran perfectly straight down the back of her Cuban-heel stockings, gave a clear indication that she was a bad girl. Lela's long black tresses were beautifully coiffured, and she had obviously spent time on her hair and makeup.

Once we arrived at my office Lela removed the long black trench coat, undergoing an immediate and complete transformation. Dressed in a wildly inappropriately short skirt, and scented like a French whore, I could see the straps of her garter-belt peeking out from under the hem of her micro-mini as Lela stood just inside the door waiting for Mr. Marshall.

It was excruciatingly uncomfortable to make small talk with Lela as we waited in my office for my boss to arrive. My fiancée was dressed very provocatively, smelled intoxicating, and had obviously spent a considerable amount of time on her hair and make-up. She looked spectacular and while I wanted to bend her over my desk and experience her feminine wiles, Lela was here to be used and enjoyed by another man. That other man also happened to be my direct supervisor, which added to the unique power dynamic between the three of us.

When Danny Marshall finally strode into my office, he was full of confidence, and dressed immaculately. Sporting one of his trademark black tailored suits, he made quite an entrance. The sleeves of his crisp, white, neatly starched dress shirt emerged from the cuffs of his bespoke jacket to showcase a very expensive looking pair of cuff links. You couldn't miss the masculine, over-sized watch that dominated his wrist, a Yellow Gold Rolex Submariner that retailed for about thirty thousand dollars. It was an impressive timepiece, with a very distinct Yellow and Gold bezel.

It was one of the few times I had seen him without his sunglasses on, and he made no secret of the fact that he was ogling my woman from head to toe. A broad smile crept across his face as he processed and reveled in my discomfort and jealousy.

"Hello again, beautiful," Mr. Marshall whispered, reminding me that my future wife and current boss had previously hooked-up.

"Hello, Mr. Marshall," Lela replied seductively, biting her lip as she tried to appear coquettish in front of this physically intimidating man. "Nice to see you again. You look very handsome as always."

"Thank you, doll," Mr. Marshall said, using an out of fashion and quite disparaging term for my future wife. "I have heard nothing but good reports about your services in Joshua Tree," he added flashing me a grin. "I will be certain to sign up for the next company retreat."

"I look forward to that Mr. Marshall," Lela said in a cheerful voice. "John told me you had approved the Joshua Tree entertainment budget. I was hoping that you were going to be there so that I could thank you appropriately."

"Well I am here now, babydoll," Mr. Marshall said condescendingly. "With my very own entertainment budget."

"Well then, Mr. Marshall," Lela said seductively. "Let's go and entertain you!"

"Danny," Mr. Marshall said softly. "You may call me Danny, Lela."

"Danny," Lela repeated coyly, her expertise at manipulating men evident as she smiled appreciatively at my boss.

"Let's synchronize our watches, Mark," Mr. Marshall said disdainfully, in a not too subtle reminder that he was on the clock with my future wife.

A cursory glance at my watch also showcased the difference in our financial well-being, and Mr. Marshall couldn't resist a quick dig at me.

"Nice Casio," he said with a chuckle, as he turned towards Lela.

"Shall we?" Mr. Marshall said as he extended his hand towards Lela. "Let me take your coat for you."

Lela smiled broadly at Mr. Marshall and moved into his personal space. In an overt display of ownership, Danny rested one hand on Lela's tight little ass and escorted her from my office. When they exited the door, Lela instinctively turned right in the general direction of Danny's large corner office.

"Actually Lela, the entertainment venue today is the Executive Washroom," Danny instructed my fiancée, as he rotated her so that she faced down the hallway to the left of my office door. "I feel like something completely different, a change of scenery. Only Senior Management and Partners have access to that facility and they are all in court this morning so we will have complete privacy."

I knew that Lela was just working the older man, but her exaggerated squeal of excitement at learning that she would have Danny alone in the Executive Washroom cut me to the core. I knew that Lela was a submissive escort, for sale to anyone with the price of admission. I had known it long enough to become somewhat comfortable with the idea. I had dealt with the aftermath of some of her more brutal beat-downs under the guise of BDSM sex, nursing her back to health over the ensuing days. I had even witnessed some of her work in Joshua Tree, although the vast majority of Lela's sexual activity with my co-workers occurred out of my sight.

However, today was different. My fiancée was in my office all dolled up and smelling divine, looking like a million dollars. Right under my nose Lela was flirting incessantly with my boss, just before she was about to entertain him in the Executive Washroom, whatever the fuck that entailed.

I knew that Mr. Marshall was a blowjob guy. He had made that quite clear to me during my first week at work remarking that oral sex was "quick, easy and doesn't mess up your three thousand dollar suit." However, his choice of words with regard to a change of scenery and the fact that he needed privacy, made me fearful that my boss had greater sexual expectations of my fiancée.

After the two of them left my office I opened the department schedule on my computer. My boss had been accurate in his assertion that all members of the Senior Management team, including the partners of the law firm, were currently engaged offsite, either in meetings or at court. A quick glance at my iPhone indicated that it was nine-fifteen in the morning, and it would be at least one o'clock before any of Danny's bosses were back at the office.

I was pacing around my office for the first thirty minutes or so, unable to get any work done as I obsessed about the change of scenery that Mr. Marshall desired. Had I been in his situation, on the clock at six hundred dollars an hour, I would have certainly wrapped up my sexual encounter within the first hour in an attempt to curtail the expense.

At six hundred dollars per hour Lela certainly wasn't on the budget end of the spectrum when it came to working girls. However, as I contemplated that Mr. Marshall was wearing a thirty thousand dollar watch, it occurred to me that he might have paid Lela to entertain him for a while.

A little less than an hour later, Lela and Danny walked past my office door, arm in arm whispering and giggling, apparently sharing a hidden joke. My future wife was wearing her trench coat, but was barefoot and had shed her Cuban-heel stockings. As I contemplated where she had left her shoes, my office phone rang.

"I need you in my office, boy," Mr. Marshall instructed me. "Now."

If Samantha had been in the office I might have gone to her for guidance. However, with the entire Senior Management team currently off-site, Mr. Marshall was the ranking member of staff, and if he ordered me to come to his office, I needed to get my ass over there. My boss occupied one of the coveted corner offices, a status symbol in the corporate world. The huge mahogany door to his office was closed as I approached it, so I knocked for permission to enter.