The Bully Pt. 15

However, as I viewed the Stanford neck-ties that bound her to the stainless-steel legs of the meat preparation table, I knew it had to be John. The lust in Lela's voice was enough to convince me that this was no prank.

"Mark, please," Lela begged. "Fuck me!"

I had only been in the cold-storage room for a couple of minutes but I was already starting to feel the chill. Lela's voice was wavering and her body was shivering and was covered in goose bumps. Her legs were shaking, and I worried that she might sprain her ankle, perched as she was atop her sky-high fuck-me pumps. I assumed that her quivering was her reaction to the reduced temperature of the room, until I realized that the butt-plug was vibrating, and she was in the throes of a multi-orgasmic episode.

"What happened to you baby?" I asked incredulously. "And at whose hands?"

"John violated me on my wedding day," Lela cried. "Just as he promised he would. He bent me over the countertop, secured me so that I could offer him no resistance and fucked me, vaginally and anally. It was one of the most satisfying moments of my life. I can't remember the last time I came that hard. I am so sorry, Mark."

I had known from the onset that this bitch was bad news. Devoid of any self-respect, and seemingly driven by self-hate, Lela was the epitome of a submissive. She craved the rough touch of a dominant man, and the only time that she was truly happy was when she was being abused. However, she was also my wife and according to the law, I had some conjugal rights. Despite Samantha's sage advice reverberating around inside my mind, I found myself involuntarily unzipping my suit pants. Lela seemed to simultaneously process and understand my internal conflict, and as she wrapped her hands around the legs of the stainless steel countertop, thereby conveying her consent, I extracted my erect cock from my flies.

"Do not fuck that dirty bitch tonight," was the soundtrack playing in my head as I lined the tip of my cock up against the entrance to Lela's pussy. The mayonnaise, or whatever the fuck that thick, creamy, white substance was pooled at both of Lela's cavities, would provide me with sufficient lubrication to get deep inside her, and claim what was rightfully mine.

As I pondered whether to take Lela vaginally or anally, she uttered a few words of encouragement and then dropped the other shoe.

"I always knew that I made the safe choice with you, Mark," Lela whispered. "You are the better provider but John is by far the superior lover."

I wish that I could say that I resisted Lela that night. It would have saved me years of compromise and suffering at her hands, and hundreds of thousands of dollars. However, as she wiggled her ass seductively before me, and John's ejaculate served as a make-shift lubricant, I entered her sullied vagina, thereby consummating our union in the eyes of the law. In a scene that would occur countless times over our years together, I got balls-deep inside my wife, moments after another man had defiled her, the intensity of the humiliating scenario causing me to blow my load within seconds.

After I withdrew, I instinctively straightened Lela up, re-attaching one of her garter-straps so that they were all uniform, in case I came back later for another crack at her. One of her high-heels was twisted slightly, so I unbuckled the strap and fixed the problem.

Lela hadn't even allowed me to catch my breath before she was offering me more of her delights.

"Do you want to fuck my ass now, Mark?" she whispered. "John came inside both of my orifices. His refractory period is about ten minutes."

I looked at Lela with the renewed clarity of mind that comes immediately after the male orgasm, and shook my head in disgust.

"It's your big day, Lela," I said contemptuously. "What do you want you fucking CumSlut?"

"Truthfully?" Lela asked, as she appeared to climax again. "Just leave me tied here for the rest of the night. Inform all of our male wedding guests that they can enjoy a quick pump and dump, as their parting gift."

I did leave Lela bent over the food preparation countertop on our wedding night, although just for enough time to seek further legal guidance from Samantha. She could tell from the ashen look on my face that I had fucked up, and she listened without judgement, as we walked the extensive grounds of the wedding venue. It was one of the most emasculating conversations of my life. Samantha and I wrestled for control of the narrative, as she sought to dissect the mechanics of my encounter with my wife, and I attempted to release the sordid details on a "need to know" basis.

"Don't be so cagey, Mark," Samantha warned me. "I am on your side. I am trying to establish if you still have any legal grounds to file for annulment."

As I nodded my head agreeably, Samantha continued.

"Technically, consummation of a marriage requires 'ordinary and complete' sexual intercourse," Samantha said, in as clinical a manner as possible. "Did you ejaculate inside your wife?"

"Regretfully, yes," I replied shaking my head in disbelief. "I knew that I shouldn't have done it. I just couldn't resist the dirty bitch."

"Do you consider that there was any physical or psychological incapacity?" Samantha continued, apparently leaving no stone unturned in her quest for a legal loophole.

"Yes, definitely," I responded enthusiastically. "Lela was restrained over a stainless steel food preparation countertop. Would this get me off the hook?"

"Christ no, Mark," Samantha said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "You fucked Lela while she was tied up? What other details are you withholding from me?"

Reluctantly, I filled in the blanks for Samantha. I told her about the Stanford neck-ties that were used to restrain Lela. I told her about the vibrating butt-plug that had been left wedged in Lela's anal-passage, causing her to climax repeatedly before, during and after our brief sexual encounter. I even shared Lela's request to allow the male attendees to enjoy her before they left the reception.

As she listened on with a horrified look on her face, it became readily apparent that Samantha considered Lela and I a worthy match. It was as if we were equally as damaged, and consequently belonged together. However, I was seeking legal counsel, not her opinion of my personal life, so she remained professional.

"Incapacity, in any annulment proceedings, must be physical or psychological. It may not prevent intercourse with anyone other than the spouse, but must be permanent and incurable," Samantha intoned, citing the legal definition from memory. "Recent legal precedent has demonstrated a fairly broad interpretation of incapacity. Some celebrity marriages have even been annulled due to impairment from excessive drugs and alcohol. However, no judge is going to annul your marriage on the grounds of physical incapacity, just because your bride was tied over a food prep counter and taken by multiple men."

"Two men, Samantha," I corrected her. "Two men."

"The last time I checked, the definition of multiple encompassed the number two," Samantha added coldly, clearly over this conversation. "You are legally married to the CumSlut, Mark. You need to come to terms with that."

That was the last in-depth personal conversation that I ever had with Samantha. We still had extended legal discussions at work, but from that day forward I had lost the counsel of the person who I considered one of the most grounded on the planet. I knew it too, as I walked away from her with a heavy heart. It should have been one of the happiest days of my life, recently wed, surrounded by my friends and family, but it was one of my life's low points. I wanted to grab the microphone from the DJ, and make a public announcement that there was a CumSlut bent over a table in the outdoor kitchen, if any of the male guests wanted to bust a nut.

However, I decided to do the right thing, and release Lela from her bonds. That pitiful slut must have been freezing her ass off by now. I know I had felt a chill within moments of exposure to that cold-storage room. As I approached the outdoor kitchen, I heard the unmistakable sound of Lela climaxing, and cursed myself for having left that vibrating butt-plug wedged in her asshole. So, it was a complete shock to me when I entered the chilled room and saw one of the chefs balls-deep inside my wife.

I knew that he was a chef because he was wearing the signature all-white uniform, and inexplicably had placed a meat cleaver off to one side of the countertop. He hadn't even taken the time to remove his toque, the tall white hat the use of which is ubiquitous in that profession. He had no clue who I was apparently, as he spoke to me in a very aggressive tone.

"Wait your turn, you fucking prick. The line is right outside the side door."

I sized him up, stole another glance at the meat cleaver, and bolted out of the side door. To my shock, there was an orderly line of young men in a variety of uniforms, extending away from the side door. John was there, holding court, ensuring that things were running smoothly. John has a powerful physical presence, and his years of martial-arts training imbued him with a sense of confidence which made most guys fall into line. Considering the high stakes, which presumably were trying to bust a nut inside this newly-married woman before the party was inevitably broken-up, John was doing an admirable job of keep the line orderly.

A few moments later the surly chef emerged through the side door, meat cleaver in hand. He was looking quite pleased with himself and gave me a friendly nod.

"You're up, buddy," John said to a young guy wearing a chauffeur's cap. "The CumSlut's real name is Lela."

I felt completely out of my element as I milled around in the open-air courtyard. This was a matrimonial ceremony for fuck's sake, and I was supposed to be the lucky man. However, as perverse as Lela's very existence was, it appeared that every man at the wedding would be extended the offer of getting lucky.

As I perused the assembled masses, I noticed some common traits. Youth was the primary unifying factor, followed closely by the dress code, which encompassed all kinds of service industry uniforms. The other unifying factor was the erections, visible in the pants of the excited young men. There was a diversity of ethnicity too, and even though the crowd resembled a United Nations assembly, I was relieved to see that there were no black guys in the courtyard.

The young men, presumably under instruction from John, were keeping the noise to a minimum, lest security, or worse the venue management, stumbled across their sordid set-up and called an immediate halt to the party. There were about eight guys in line, although as the chauffeur re-emerged from the side door less than five minutes later, it was evident that this was a true pump and dump event.

"Next," John intoned quietly.

The chauffeur joined the other guys that were hanging out in the courtyard. I watched him zip up his black pants and as he maneuvered his softening cock into a more comfortable position, I noticed traces of Lela's snow white lipgloss on the front of his uniform. It was evident to all in the courtyard that my wife had blown the young man before he got to fuck her.

The other guys had presumably already busted a nut, and were standing around smoking or chatting in hushed voices as they waited out their brief refractory periods in the hope of a second crack at Lela. Most of these guys had satisfied looks on their faces, in contrast to the guys in line who looked nervously at their cell phones to keep track of the time.

I had never contemplated the mechanics of a gang-bang, but if there existed a shining example of efficiency, this was it. To my horror, I felt my cock stiffen in my suit pants as I processed the situation, and I felt the familiar sense of self-disgust at my arousal. I eventually came to terms with the fact that I was a cuckold, but at this point in my life I was still in denial. Once I was fully erect, and back under the influence of my little head, I did what any young man would have done in that situation. I silently joined the end of the line.

"Mark," John said in a hushed tone. "Come to the front of the line, buddy."

I was on auto-pilot as I shuffled past the five guys who were ahead of me, dreading the possibility of confrontation in the event somebody took umbrage with me jumping the line.

"There has to be some perk associated with being the groom right?" John said cheerfully, as the guys behind me realized that I was recently married to the cum-receptacle tied over the food-preparation countertop.

When it was my turn to fuck Lela I entered the cold-storage room with a considerable amount of trepidation. Lela was still tightly restrained when I sidled up behind her. Someone had used some twine to secure her shoes to her feet and there was duct-tape holding her ankles to the base of the counter legs, which ensured that she was completely spread-eagled, and gave the impression that she was available to all-comers. Lela was moaning quietly and was in a sorry physical state. She had red handprints all over her ass from where guys had spanked her as they took her from behind. Semen was pooling all over her lower back and buttocks, presumably from the guys who withdrew just before they ejaculated. Her garter-belt was soaked in seminal fluids, and two of the straps had come unfastened. Her white silk stockings, that had been pristine the last time I saw them, were snagged in many places, and even had a couple of holes in them.

I swallowed hard at the depravity of the situation, and then lined up the tip of my cock with the entrance to her cum-filled pussy. Resting my hands on her ass, I slid my thumbs under her garter-belt straps, immediately noticing that her skin felt very cold to the touch. I wondered how long she could remain in this chilled room without any long-term effect on her health, and then with a nonchalant shrug, I slid right inside her vagina.

Once I was inside, I started to pound away in search of my release. Lela's pussy felt very loose, very wet and extremely warm, which was an encouraging sign that her core temperature was still at a healthy level. Someone had removed the vibrating butt-plug from her asshole, presumably to sodomize her. Judging by the gaping entrance to her anal-passage, numerous other guys had butt-fucked her too. Lela had no clue who I was even after I blew my load, just a few moments after getting balls-deep inside her. After I withdrew my softening cock from her pussy, I took my jacket off and laid it across her shoulders in an effort to warm her up. Then, acutely aware that I had jumped the line, I quickly left the sordid scene, rejoining the guys in the courtyard.

Six guys remained in the line as I re-entered the group. There was still a muted tone to the discussion, but word had apparently got around that I was the groom, because I was inundated with well-wishers. Well, more accurately I was besieged with requests for Lela's contact information, although only two guys actually wrote down her website address, once I informed them all that she charged six hundred dollars per hour.

A few minutes after I blew my load I needed to take a piss, so I asked one of the guys where the restroom was. The young man pointed towards a nondescript door, and there was a murmur among the crowd as I entered the urinal. Lela's lace bridal veil was suspended from the top of the stainless steel trough, seemingly to present a target for the young men to piss on. Judging by the state of the delicate bridal accessory, several of the men had taken aim at it. "Just married" was written in red lipstick on the rear wall of the communal toilet, a chilling reminder of the incident in the men's restroom at my office. It also served to let the assembled masses know that this young woman was another man's wife, although it wasn't much of a deterrent as they lined up to fuck her. I did my business and returned to the courtyard in embarrassed silence.

My heart sank when I saw Mr. Marshall in line with the rest of the guys. I had signed an agreement with him that gave him overnight access to the CumSlut twice a month, but as stated in the addendum this expired once Lela and I were married. Danny's ongoing disrespectful treatment of my fiancée was one of the main reasons why we moved the nuptials forward, and I wasn't going to let this go unchallenged.

Sidling up next to him so that I could address him with some semblance of privacy, I spoke softly.

"Mr. Marshall, do I need to remind you that we a have a written, legally-enforceable contract?" I whispered.

"I am fully aware of that, Mark," he responded with a smirk. "However your lovely new bride has decided to offer herself up as a party favor and I am going to get one more crack at that dirty CumSlut."

"But you signed a contract," I whined, sensing that I was fighting a losing battle. "You are a lawyer. You should know better."

"Sue me, Mark" Danny responded, shuffling forward slightly as the next happy customer emerged from the cold storage room with a smile on his face and an empty nutsack.

I should have protected her, I know that now. Lela and I had been married less than three hours, and there was sufficient security at the venue to intervene, had Mr. Marshall fought me for ownership of the CumSlut. However, like a pervy cuckold, I hung out at the crime-scene until such time that I was erect again. Then, enthusiastically invited to the front of the line by the assembled masses, I went back into the cold-storage room and butt-fucked my new bride. Someone had procured a thick, woolly Mexican blanket and laid it across Lela's upper body, and she did seem a little less chilled. I noticed that my jacket was laying on the floor, so immediately after I blew my load, I went to grab it. The tailored suit jacket was so thoroughly covered in semen stains and muddy shoe-prints, that I wrote it off and left it on the floor.

Once my nuts were empty the reality of the situation hit me. I had reached my breaking point as far as watching the CumSlut getting violated, but I knew that I was fighting a losing battle trying to get Lela to return to our suite. After making the decision to leave without Lela, I approached John to negotiate some kind of safety assurance.

"Will you make sure Lela gets back safely to my room when you guys are finished with her, John?" I reluctantly asked my nemesis. "I know that she will fight me if I try and rescue her before everybody is completely satisfied. She fucking hates White Knights. We are in the Honeymoon Suite," I added wistfully.

"You can have your slut-wife back after everyone's nuts are completely drained," John said with contempt. "The security crew has a shift change at midnight, and I just found out that two of the incoming crew are black," he added joyfully.

"John, please," I begged. "Don't make Lela cross that line. It's the only limit that she has left."

"Ooh," John taunted me. "Looks like I have really touched on a raw nerve here, Mark. I will leave the final decision to the CumSlut," John added with a chuckle. "However, knowing that dirty bitch, she will learn to appreciate, perhaps even crave, black cock. By the time you wake up tomorrow morning you will be married to a nigger-lover."

I was shaking uncontrollably by the time I got into the sanctuary of our hotel suite. Part-adrenaline, part-rage, part-unbridled lust. This had been the low point of my life with Lela, and I instantly regretted marrying her. Sure it had only been the hired help that had violated her, but she had cemented her status as the CumSlut with her disgusting behavior. John's words echoed in my ears, and I knew that he was right. Lela, under the extreme sexual provocation that the impromptu gang-bang provided, would undoubtedly succumb to the advances of the two black security guards. She got off on being humiliated, on having her limits tested, on being subjected to new debasements.