The Bully Pt. 15

In a desperate bid to extricate Lela from the clutches of my deranged boss, we grabbed a calendar, selected a date that would restrict Mr. Marshall to two more nights with my future wife, and made the decision to run with this hastily conceived plan.

Lela and I continued to play Mr. Marshall's game, with Lela telling my boss that she would prefer a tattoo, if her opinion even mattered.

"Tattoos are cool," Lela said coquettishly, as my boss enjoyed the first of their two remaining nights together, without a clue of what was transpiring. "Obviously I want your name, Danny. And it goes without saying that it should include the words 'Property of' in huge letters."

To hear Lela tell it, Mr. Marshall ate it up, and they agreed on a large tramp-stamp right at the base of my fiancée's lower back. The cursive script would read "Property of Mr. Marshall" to convey the appropriate amount of respect that my boss deserved. My fiancée and my boss also thought that it would be fun to have a large arrow running from the base of the tattoo to Lela's asshole.

"Once I am inked, no other man will ever have access to my tight little ass," my fiancée promised my boss. "Maybe you should hold off ramming that new phallus inside my anal-cavity until just before I get married. That way you can permanently ruin it for my husband."

Mr. Marshall loved that idea, and fortunately for my fiancée, my boss didn't try to insert that enormous dildo into Lela's nether region. Lela skillfully delayed the application of the tattoo as well, by trying to make the event more emasculating for me.

"Mark's birthday is in nine weeks, Danny," Lela said, right after my boss had blown his load inside her anus, and was feeling magnanimous. "Let's get my tattoo done the day before his birthday. My friend is a tattoo artist and he said he will do it for free using some of the latest fade-free, non-removable techniques. That fucking badge of honor will be on my ass until the day I die. Mark will shit a brick when I limp home the day before his birthday with another man's mark of ownership permanently inscribed on me. We could even schedule your twice a month overnight freebie for that day. I could go home to my future husband with your semen leaking from my ass."

Like I said, Lela was a manipulative cunt, and she played my boss perfectly. Emboldened by the fact that Lela had willingly submitted to his desire to permanently mark her, Mr. Marshall actually treated my fiancée with a reasonable amount of restraint during their final two sessions. Lela said that she wouldn't have characterized their last two encounters as tender or respectful, but Mr. Marshall tempered his usual brutality, and didn't try to permanently injure my future wife, which we both considered a win.

After Lela and I finally picked a date for our nuptials, Samantha was the first person that I told. I still considered her my closest confidante and I respected her opinion immensely. Samantha sensed that there was no way that she could talk me out of the wedding, so she focused on what was important to her, the office politics.

"I will never claim to know the true dynamic between the three of you," Samantha began quietly. "However, the optics of you excluding John from the list of invitees will only add fuel to the rumors."

"Rumors?" I responded. "What rumors, Samantha?"

It was like pulling teeth getting information from her, but as I continued to probe, Samantha admitted that there were rumors that John, Lela and I were in a sordid, bi-sexual, three-way relationship.

"I don't really care if you and John are still lovers," Samantha whispered. "I don't even care if John hires Lela occasionally as a submissive. It's none of my business anymore. I don't even want to know who Clara Trinity is, or why my entire junior legal team, or at least the men, opted to donate blood on the Joshua Tree retreat. I can't get involved. What I do care about is the office optics and if you invite anyone from the firm, John needs an invite too. You were roommates for seven years, Mark. You guys joined the company as a package deal. It will create so much drama if you don't invite him."

Samantha had made her point, loud and clear. I had a decision to make, and as I wanted Samantha at my wedding, I needed to invite John.

Lela and I married the following month, a lavish affair at an exclusive resort. It was attended by over three hundred guests, most of whom had some serious reservations about the validity and purpose of the marriage, particularly as it seemed to have been put together so hastily.

As tradition dictates, I welcomed the invited guests as they arrived, although some of the expected pleasantries were harder to extend than others.

Tim Jacobsen was there, my High School best friend who had utilized the services of the CumSlut on numerous occasions, blissfully unaware that I knew all about it. Tim gave me a warm hug as we greeted each other, and while I didn't completely tense up, I felt uncomfortable knowing that once a month he got balls-deep in my fiancée's anal-cavity, before giving her a golden shower.

My brother, Phil, was there too, with his wife as his plus one. We had always been close, but after I learned of his indiscretions with Lela, I felt a wave of resentment when he entered the room. I didn't blame him for butt-fucking my girl on a regular basis. Lela was a very seductive woman, available for use by all and sundry for the entry price of six hundred dollars per hour. No, I didn't blame Phil for succumbing to his base urges, but it ate me alive that he felt compelled to park his car on my driveway in the middle of the night, while he sodomized my fiancée in the rear seat. That seemed like a real breach of the brotherhood code.

Of course, like most of the entries in Lela's client journal, my brother had no idea that I knew about his sexual encounters with my bride to be. I briefly contemplated whether or not Phil would cease his trysts with Lela once we were legally married, but as I watched his frumpy wife shuffle in behind him, I knew that this was a very unlikely scenario.

Samantha showed up alone, despite having been offered the option of a plus one. She looked absolutely fantastic in her designer dress, and I was once again reminded of the gulf that existed between my boss and the CumSlut. In fact, as Samantha made the rounds, dazzling everyone with her beauty, poise and conversational skills, I felt several pairs of eyes on me. It was as if the collective opinion of the room was that I had made a colossal mistake by choosing a working girl over a future partner in a prestigious law firm.

Samantha and I exchanged a warm hug, and as I inhaled her scent I was right back in that college parking lot staring at her garter-belt straps as she maneuvered herself into her low-slung Maserati. I thanked her for coming and watched in awe as she moved gracefully through the crowd.

Under pressure from Samantha not to cloud the office optics, I had invited John. I sincerely hoped he wouldn't show, but when he emerged through the door to the ceremony my heart sank, as I realized he had brought Danny Marshall as his plus one. Mr. Marshall was attired in all-black, making him an intimidating physical presence, and he was wearing blacked out sunglasses, which seemed highly inappropriate for the indoor setting.

There was a terse handshake between my direct supervisor and I, and he leaned forward and whispered his version of best wishes for the occasion.

"You better keep a close eye on the CumSlut, boy. You may have tricked me into thinking I had more time to finally break the bitch, but our written agreement doesn't expire until after the two of you are legally married."

With that ominous warning Mr. Marshall was gone and I decided to keep a watchful eye on that arrogant prick.

John was there obviously, looking like a million dollars in his bespoke tailored suit. You could sense the electricity in the room as the bridesmaids assessed his suitability and availability as a partner, and I know definitively that John got three of their phone numbers before turning his attention to my bride to be.

I watched John flirt with Lela for a few minutes before I felt the need to intercede. Lela was responding favorably to his attention, so I sent her a text asking her if she was still planning to get her make-up touched up before the nuptials. I saw her leave John a few seconds after she read my text, and I decided to confront John next.

I knew that there was a considerable amount of security at the wedding venue, so free from any concerns of physical violence from John, I waited until he was alone and approached him with new-found confidence.

"Stay away from Lela today, John," I said firmly. "This is our special day and I don't need you to fuck things up."

"Or what?" he responded cheerfully. "Are you going to kick my ass, Mark?"

"Just stay away from Lela," I repeated.

"For old time's sake, I will respect your lovely bride-to-be on your special day," John said graciously. "Fair enough?"

I should have let things be, accepted his offer of a truce and moved on. However, having gained a rare concession from my nemesis, I decided to push him further.

"Lela is about to make a commitment to be my wife, John," I began cheerfully. "I know that it eats you up that she chose me, just the way Samantha did."

I had obviously hit a raw nerve with John when I mentioned Samantha, because he moved right into my space.

"Just because you dated Samantha for a few months, doesn't mean shit," John said aggressively. "I dated her for months too, and never got past second base. I doubt you got any more play than I did."

I should have known better than to inflame John unnecessarily. However, it felt so good to know that I had enjoyed a greater level of intimacy with Samantha than John had, and I just couldn't contain myself.

"Do you remember that light pink suit that Samantha was wearing the night we carried her stuff to her Maserati, John?" I began innocently enough, which seemed to immediately reduce the tension between us.

"How could I ever forget it?" John said with a broad smile on his face. "Your face went red and you developed an erection at the mere sight of her garter-belt straps," he added, laughing.

"I fantasized about bending Samantha over her desk and hiking her skirt up over her tight little ass," I admitted. "On numerous occasions," I added.

"Me too, Mark," John exclaimed. "I wanted to fuck her so bad and yet the entire time we dated it was all about her needs. I would get the occasional hand-job in the shower, if I was lucky."

"Well," I said slowly, relishing the fact that I had beaten him to the punch. "On the day of our unexpected win in the Persil class-action lawsuit, Samantha seduced me."

"Bullshit," John exclaimed. "Samantha doesn't chase men, particularly not a pussy like you."

"I am not lying John," I said confidently. "Samantha and I both earned two hundred grand that day, thanks mainly to my diligence in the research department. After court we went for drinks, and one thing led to another."

I could see the jealousy written on John's face as he listened intently to my story. All of his pretext of superiority had vanished, and it felt fantastic to rub his nose in it.

"We shared an Uber back to her place, and ended up fucking in her bed," I taunted him. "I got her off too, several times in fact."

"So you took advantage of Samantha once when she was drunk, Mark?" John said dismissively. "Big deal."

"In the morning we showered together and she gave me a rim-job," I added, enjoying watching his face cloud over. "Later that morning, without any prompting from me, she dressed up in that light pink silk suit and all its accessories. Then she escorted me down the hallway to her home-office, bent over her mahogany desk and offered herself up to me on a platter. Samantha even invited me to butt-fuck her," I said with glee evident in my voice. "She told me that the last time she had sex in her office was when she bent you over her desk and sodomized you with a strap-on."

John was completely lost for words as he processed mine.

"Samantha and I had a very fulfilling sex-life," I boasted. "In fact, we lived together for an extended period of time. She can be a nasty little vixen with the right guy."

"Lela is going to suck my cock before the day is through," John countered aggressively. "You are going to regret ever telling me about you and Samantha."

With that threat hanging in the air, John turned his back to me and walked away. I didn't know whether to burst into laughter or to go and find Lela, but it felt so good to have finally got the better of John, on my wedding day to boot.

Unfortunately for me, true to his words, as I sat with the Pastor going over the preferred wording of our vows, John cornered Lela in the company of the make-up artist. Sensing the presence of an Alpha Male, the young cosmetologist excused herself, and as the door closed, John placed one hand on the shoulder of my future wife and forced her to her knees.

John made a small change to her bridal ensemble also, substituting her bridal veil for the one that he had pissed on years before. I noticed a faint, almost imperceptible scent of urine as I stood directly opposite my betrothed and exchanged vows. Of course, I was completely oblivious to Lela's violation, becoming aware of it only when the pastor indicated that I could kiss the bride. As I leaned in for our first kiss as a married couple, I tasted another man's semen on my wife's lips, and was acutely aware that it had to be John's.

Later as we enjoyed our first dance as a married couple, I used the few minutes that we had in relative privacy to ask Lela how it had happened.

"It just happened, Mark," Lela whispered as we slow danced to Lionel Ritchie. "The way it always has. The way it always will. John came in as if he owned the room. He had so much presence that the make-up artist bolted. John put one hand on my shoulder and started to demean me. He knows how I respond to verbal abuse. I just knelt before him and sucked him off."

"What did he say, Lela?" I asked, feeling the level of my arousal elevate. "Do you remember his exact words?"

"He told me that I wasn't worthy of the commitment of marriage," Lela began, the desire evident in her voice as she rehashed John's words. "He told me that even though I was wearing white, every single person in the room knew that I was just a CumSlut. After John blew his load he pulled a ziplock bag from his pocket and handed it to me. I knew right away that it was the bridal veil that he defiled me in, but I put it on anyway at his command. I just can't resist him when he gets dominant."

"Anything else, Lela?" I asked, as my cock stiffened slowly in my suit pants.

"Yes," Lela whispered softly. "John told me to let you know that he is going to get balls-deep in me before the reception is over."

"Lela, please," I begged her. "I never ask you for anything. Please remain unsullied on our wedding day."

"Don't let me out of your sight, Mark," Lela implored me. "I know I will let John have his way with me if he gets me alone."

Like most Americans, I had been exposed to weddings since I was a kid. It was just so heartwarming to witness the expression of love and commitment that pervades the matrimonial ceremony. I had always envisioned myself getting married in a quintessential setting, so it weighed heavily upon me that I would be spending my special day keeping my nemesis away from my bride. By her own admission, my lovely bride was such a fucking dirty CumSlut that she didn't trust herself to be alone with John, on her own wedding day, for fuck's sake.

It was hard work, but I did manage to keep tabs on Lela, chaperoning her through the speeches, the gift presentation and the increasingly raucous champagne toasts. The alcohol was flowing freely, and even though I kept my consumption in check, at some point I needed to take a piss.

"Stay right here, baby," I instructed my beautiful bride. "I will be back in a few minutes."

After years of being John's roommate I knew that he was an Alpha Male, an apex predator, a true force of nature. However, I had underestimated the hold that he exerted over Lela, and even though I was gone for less than five minutes, when I returned my bride was nowhere to be found.

In a panic I circulated the room, trying not to convey my fears as I casually asked the wedding guests if they had seen my lovely bride. When I finally bumped into Samantha, the one person who I really trusted, I was more candid in my choice of words.

"John threatened to fuck my wife at the wedding," I blurted out. "I left her alone for less than five minutes, and she is nowhere to be found."

Samantha and I had a good look around the wedding venue to no avail.

"John is nowhere to be seen, either," I said disconsolately. "This can't be good news."

Samantha placed her perfectly manicured hand on my wrist, and looked me directly in the eyes.

"Mark as your friend, I am so sorry that Lela continues to treat you with such disrespect," Samantha whispered in an empathetic tone. "You deserve better than that cunt. As your mentor, and legal counsel, I offer you this unmitigated advice. Do not fuck that dirty bitch tonight, and I will file the request for annulment first thing in the morning."

As I surveyed the room full of assembled guests, it dawned on me that Samantha was undoubtedly my closest confidante, and the person who garnered the most respect from me. I needed to heed her advice, stay the hell away from the CumSlut, and seek the appropriate legal indemnity from the courts. I was at peace with my decision, even as I pondered how to return the multitude of wedding gifts in the least humiliating manner.

Then my phone dinged. My heart sank as I realized that it was a text from John. I knew that I should have ignored it. Gone into hiding until the morning, when I could reconvene with Samantha and file the necessary legal documents to extricate myself from this sham of a marriage.

However, as I looked at my home screen and saw that John's message was titled "Mission accomplished," I couldn't ignore it.

My hands were shaking as I read the body of his text.

"I left the CumSlut in the outdoor kitchen. Your turn buddy, if you don't mind sloppy seconds."

My immediate response was to text Lela, "Where are you, baby? Are you okay?"

Thankfully, despite a lack of response from Lela, the outdoor kitchen was easy to find. It was deserted as the reception was taking place in the large ballroom, which had its own food preparation facilities. A few moments later I found Lela. I wasn't going to press her for the details, but as soon as I entered the cold-storage area of the resort, any questions about her resolve to remain chaste for our special night were answered. Lela was bent over a stainless-steel countertop, which apparently was normally used for the preparation of cold cuts for the charcuterie boards. Inexplicably, she was back in her wedding dress, although it was hiked up over her buttocks, exposing the pure-white garter-belt and silk stockings that she was wearing.

Both of her hands were bound to the stainless steel legs of the industrial food-prep counter, and there was mayonnaise dripping out of both of her orifices, and a black butt-plug wedged inside her anal-cavity.

"Use me, Mark," Lela begged, as the first signs of her defilement came into my view. "Dump your load inside my well-fucked pussy."

If I hadn't known better, I would have assumed that it was a prank. A few of my friends, in a drunken celebratory moment, tied my wife over a kitchen counter before spreading mayonnaise all over the entrance to her pussy and asshole. High jinks at its finest. Something for us to remember years from now, as we aged gracefully together.