The Bully Pt. 16

It was well after midnight when I swiped my way into Samantha's room. Even though it was a little less luxurious than the Honeymoon Suite, Samantha always traveled in style, so her suite was also opulent. It smelled divine too, the scent of Samantha's favorite perfume permeating the entire room. I was way too amped-up to sleep, the events of the evening having elevated my levels of desire, rage, jealousy and testosterone to crazy heights.

I decided to take a shower, and as I entered Samantha's bathroom I noticed a new unwrapped toothbrush and a single unopened condom on the countertop. A memory stirred of her initial seduction of me, and the similar situation in which I had been offered toiletries and personal protection. Maybe Samantha was planning on getting lucky tonight, I mused as I entered the large shower enclosure.

As I drifted back to the first time Samantha and I made love, I was filled with remorse and regret. There was no doubt in my mind that I had married the wrong woman, and that I would rue my decision for the rest of my days. Samantha was the total package, educated, classy, beautiful, and financially independent. Lela, by contrast, was a dirty CumSlut who craved abuse from random strangers on a regular basis. Had I married Samantha I could have taken her anywhere with my head held high, as opposed to my partnership with Lela, and its incumbent periodic embarrassments.

When I emerged from the shower I was fully erect, with a clarity of mind that I had not experienced in weeks. I couldn't get Samantha out of my mind, and the fact that the entire suite smelled of her scent was driving me nuts. I briefly thought about returning to the Honeymoon Suite and trying to engage Lela and Samantha in a threesome, but as I thought about the potential ramifications, employment wise, I dismissed the idea as a ridiculous fantasy. If only I could get Samantha to come to me, I thought, but I knew she had turned her phone off so there was no way to text her.

Once I was dry I realized that I had no change of clothes. My underwear were disgusting, the interior of them coated with the dried secretions of a dozen or more men, as I had tucked my softening cock inside them after each of my orgasms. Wearing just a towel, I opened the largest closet in the room in search of a bathrobe. Even though Samantha was only booked into this hotel for two nights, she had packed a dizzying array of clothes for the trip. Having co-habited with Samantha for several months, I knew that she owned lots of sexy clothes and lingerie. Inexplicably, it appeared as if she had packed them all.

My cock was throbbing as I perused the contents of Samantha's wardrobe, pausing to recall the specific moments that I associated with each article of clothing. There was a yellow silk sundress that she had worn to a co-worker's wedding. I had fond recollections of Samantha on her knees blowing me in our hotel room, wearing that dress. Then a dark blue suit that she had worn in court when the verdict that we wanted was rendered. Fresh from a huge victory, Samantha had invited me to fuck her over our kitchen table while she was still wearing that business suit.

It seemed like every item of clothing in Samantha's hotel wardrobe carried some sentimental value for me. Then, as I got to the end of her business attire, there it was. The light pink silk suit that she had been wearing the first time I looked closely at her. In her capacity as our ethics teacher, Samantha had bent over to plug her laptop in, and I first fantasized about having sex with her. Later that evening, as John and I carried her stuff to her convertible Maserati, I caught a brief glimpse of her garter-belt and my body responded with an immediate, involuntary erection. Many moons later, after a huge unexpected win in a class-action lawsuit, Samantha had seduced me, culminating in her bending over her home-office desk in that exact same pink suit.

Men are driven by visual stimulation, and as it was my intent to jerk off before bed, I hung the light pink suit on the exterior of the closet, so that I could imagine Samantha wearing it as I masturbated.

As I went to close her closet door, I noticed Samantha's laptop sitting on the top shelf. Reaching up for it, I prayed that she had not changed the access code. To my surprise, as I entered her old password, I was granted entry into Samantha's computer. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for as I scrolled through her files, but I soon stumbled across an unencrypted pages folder titled "Conquests" and I knew it would answer some of my questions.

If the data in the file was to be believed, Samantha had only fucked seven guys in her entire life. This was consistent with what she told me when we were dating, and my name was the last on the list. In fact, in a revelation that was almost impossible to comprehend, Samantha had pegged more men than she had allowed to penetrate her. A total of sixteen men had bent over and taken Samantha's strap-on, which created way more questions for me than it answered.

John's name was on the list of guys who had allowed Samantha to violate their anus, and judging by the date of the entry, Samantha pegged him just three weeks after they first dated. Next to John's name was the word, "Consensual" and an emoji depicting a bright-red cherry. As my eyes fixated on the word "Consensual" I began to question what other options Samantha offered these guys. I got my answer as I continued to peruse the list and saw two guys from my work, apparently pegged recently, with the words "Punishment (Work-related)" next to their names. My mind was spinning as I tried to contemplate what kind of oversight or mistake at work would result in your boss bending you over and pegging your ass. And, how on earth would Samantha bring up the subject with a straight face?

As I tried to visualize quite how that conversation would unfurl, Samantha's earlier words about Danny Marshall reverberated around in my head.

"I will have his ass for this. Literally."

At the time it seemed inconceivable that Samantha would bend Mr. Marshall over her desk and violate his anus with a strap-on, but the thought of it put a smile on my face.

Of the sixteen names of the men that Samantha had violated, five were listed as "Consensual" and the rest as "Punishment" although the second group, which totaled eleven men, were split between four "Punishment (Work-related)" and seven "Punishment (Personal)." There were a total of nine, bright-red cherry emojis, whatever the significance of that was.

Samantha had always been very vocal and forthright about her pegging proclivities when we were dating, and I made a mental note to myself not to get on the wrong side of her at work. After I stowed her laptop in the exact same place that I found it, I briefly imagined the look on John's face when Samantha told him that she wanted to fuck his ass, on the third date no less. The thought of Samantha making John her bitch actually caused my cock to stiffen, and I was ready to jerk off.

I grabbed the closest thing that I could find to a bathrobe, which happened to be a silk kimono-style dressing gown. It already bore traces of Samantha's scent on it, but I gave it a healthy spritz of her perfume, before turning back the bed covers. The silky kimono felt divine as it caressed my nuts, and I inhaled the intoxicating scent of the woman who I should have married, as I began to slowly edge myself. The light pink suit was hanging from the closet, and I closed my eyes to recall the visual of Samantha bent over her desk inviting me to enter her.

My plan was to edge myself for several minutes before I actually blew my load. I had fucked Lela both vaginally and anally a few hours ago, and only had one shot left in me. I was encased in silk, scented in Samantha's exquisite perfume, and on the road to release, when there was a light tap on the door.

I have a strong belief in manifesting your future, and when I heard someone at the door I knew it was Samantha. She had probably waited until Lela fell asleep before deciding to retire to her own room. Having been issued only one key card, and being in no mood to engage with the reception staff after what they did to Lela, Samantha continued to tap lightly on the door of room 402. It took me a few moments, but I jettisoned my lube, straightened up my silk bathrobe, and walked excitedly to the door. Opening it slowly as I stood directly behind it, I was stunned to see John stride confidently into the hotel room.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" John began in a hyper-aggressive manner. "And where the hell is Samantha?"

I could tell immediately that John was intoxicated. I had lived with this man for several years, so I could detect even the most minor changes in his demeanor. John was drunk and he was amped up, which in my previous experience was not a good combination.

"Where is Samantha, Mark?" he repeated firmly. "She hasn't responded to any of my texts. I need to know the truth about you fucking her in that pink suit."

I tried to explain that Samantha had taken it upon herself to nurse Lela back to health and that she had turned her phone off. However, John had a vacant stare on his face as he checked out what I was wearing, and he kept inhaling my scent.

"When will she be back, Mark?" John continued, as I tried to conceal my erection.

"Very soon," I lied, hoping that the impending return of our mutual boss would slow his roll. "I am expecting her at any moment."

Familiarity is a two-way street, and in the same way that I could detect subtle changes in John's demeanor, he could tell when I was lying.

"Bullshit," John barked. "Samantha's not coming back until the morning. It's going to be just you and me tonight, Mark," he said slurring his words. "Just like old times."

Having made his intentions clear, John punched me once in the solar plexus, a clean strike that simultaneously knocked the wind out of me and took me to my knees. As I knelt before him, gasping for breath, John stood over me in a very threatening manner.

"I may not hold your career in my hands anymore, Mark," John whispered ominously. "But you are going to submit to my every whim tonight. I am going to punish you for trying to rub my face in your encounter with Samantha. You are in for a long night."

After I finally got my breath, I contemplated my options. There was a courtesy phone on the small table adjacent to the bed. With the advent of cell phones, the typical hotel guest no longer used hotel telephones to make outgoing calls. For this reason, the bedside phone was solely for Inter-departmental use. If I picked up the receiver and pressed the button marked number one, I would be connected immediately to the Head of Security. I imagine if that call was disconnected for any reason, security would be automatically dispatched to perform a welfare check.

This was clearly my best option, but as John ordered me to my feet, I reflexively complied. He had dominated me so completely for such an extended period of time, that it was second nature to obey him. Besides he possessed the ability to strike at will, using either his fists or his feet with equally devastating results.

"Pour me a vodka and coke," John instructed as he took my place on the bed. "Lots of ice."

I saw John rearrange the pillows into a large pile before flopping back atop them. My hands were trembling as I approached the mini-bar, which was located next to a large fridge in one corner of the room. Suddenly feeling very self-conscious in my silk kimono-style dressing gown, I didn't know whether to bend over or kneel to get the ice out of the freezer. John anticipated my dilemma and issued a firm instruction.

"Bend at the knees, Mark," he taunted. "Much more becoming of a lady."

My anxiety shot through the roof as he demeaned me, but I tried to play it cool, to laugh it off as playful banter. After I fixed his drink, I returned to the side of the bed and handed it to him.

"Perfect," he said, as he took a large swig. "Kneel at the foot of the bed."

At this point, option two presented itself. With John fully reclined on his back, with his head propped up on the pile of pillows and a full glass of liquid in his hand, I knew that I could get to the hotel door before he could react. We hadn't engaged the security lock yet, so one turn of the door handle and I would be in a shared corridor and could scream bloody murder for help. I moved slowly to the foot of the bed, gauging John's potential reaction time as he continued to lounge in the pile of pillows.

"You keep looking at the door, Mark," John said in a mocking tone. "Are you worried that someone will come back and spoil our fun? Lock the fucking thing."

Once again, conditioned to obey this dominant prick, I meekly approached the door, secured the deadbolt, affixed the security chain, and placed Samantha's key card in the electronic lock adjacent to the door.

"I feel much safer already," John taunted. "It requires a multi-step process to unlock that door now. On your knees."

This was like being in a slowly unfurling nightmare. The outcome was inevitable, but even as I willed time to slow down, John was reveling in his total control of me.

"Take my shoes off," he said with contempt in his voice. "We need to have a little chat about your earlier revelations."

My hands were trembling so much that I could barely untie his shoelaces. Once both shoes were removed, he wiggled his toes.

"Socks next," he said cheerfully, as my hands reached under the hem of his suit pants and tugged down on the elastic of the socks.

Once his bare feet were exposed, the commands became very specific.

"Listen carefully, Mark," John warned me. "If you get any of this wrong, I am going to punish you. Understand?"

I swallowed hard as I absorbed his words, determined not to arouse his anger unnecessarily.

"Yes, John," I said with as much deference as I could convey. "I understand."

"You are dressed like a geisha," John said with a chuckle. "For this reason, I want you to wash my feet first, Japanese style. That is a mark of unparalleled respect."

Even though John hadn't articulated it correctly, I knew exactly what he meant. There exists online a sub-genre of porn, most commonly know as JAV. Although JAV depicts fairly mainstream sex-acts, they are choreographed in such a way to focus on the importance of female submission, and fastidious cleanliness. The primary focus of these videos is the pleasure of the man, and his orgasms are the sole purpose of the JAV woman's existence.

Everything moves slowly in JAV porn, both to allow the man to savor the moment, and to convey the desire of the woman to perform whatever necessary sex-acts to get the man off in the most pleasurable manner possible. As John relaxed on the bed and sipped his cocktail, I washed and dried his feet in the most submissive way imaginable. This slowly evolved into an extended foot massage, and under his detailed instructions, a protracted foot-worship session. Pausing only to refresh his cocktail, John kept me on my knees for nearly thirty minutes, licking and kissing the soles, heels, toes and instep of both feet until he deemed my show of respect sufficient.

"I don't know whether or not you fucked Samantha in that light pink suit," John began as I remained kneeling before him. "Or why you have inexplicably hung it on the outside of the closet, Mark," he slurred, as I refreshed his cocktail. "However, here's what is going to happen next. I want you to gather up all of the accessories that complement that light pink suit. Don't miss a single detail. Once you are positive that you have everything, go into the bathroom and get yourself prettied up for me. I don't know exactly why that pink suit is there, but its placement certainly wasn't accidental, and whatever your original plan was, it has now been modified to accommodate my needs. I am going to enjoy exactly what you claim Samantha offered you."

"John, please," I begged. "It's my wedding day. Haven't you taken enough from me today?"

"Mark," John countered firmly. "This is happening tonight. You fucked up when you tried to rub your tryst with Samantha in my face. As it stands right now, this will be a non-violent sexual encounter. However, if you need the extra excitement of a beat-down, I am more than willing to accommodate you. I know you told Lela that being forced into sexual relations seems less gay."

I lowered my head in submission, and John gave me a nod as he relaxed on the bed and sipped his vodka and coke. My shame enveloped me as I began rooting through Samantha's drawers for the rest of the pieces of this sexy ensemble, trying to recreate it exactly from memory. The garter-belt and stockings were easy to find, and located in the same drawer were a pair of pink silk panties, several hair ribbons, and a pink silk choker. I knew that the shoes were going to be the biggest challenge, as I was at least two sizes larger than Samantha. So, I picked up every single pair of light pink footwear that she possessed. The last thing I grabbed before closing the closet was Samantha's make-up bag. Once I had everything together, I retrieved the light pink suit from its prominent hanging place, and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I noticed the weight of the door the second I started to close it, and my eyes glanced reflexively at the reinforced door frame. I thought I recognized it as a multi-point door lock system, and when I turned the lock, and heard the reassuring sound of several dead-bolts entering the steel door frame, I knew that I was safe. There was a sign on the back of the door too, identifying the bathroom as a "safe-room" in the event of intruders. I don't profess to fully understand the mechanics of a safe-room, but as the sign indicated that the door could withstand a sustained pressure of fifteen hundred pounds, it seemed inconceivable to me that a two hundred and fifteen pound man, could break it down.

Of course, the physical capabilities of that safe-room were only as good as the mental capacity of its occupant, and as soon as John ordered me to leave the safety of the bathroom, I complied.

"I need more ice, bitch," he yelled from his bed, as I willingly unlocked the door and emerged to take care of his needs.

"Hurry the fuck up, Mark," John instructed in a more aggressive tone. "And leave the door to the bathroom open. I want to watch you transform yourself for me."

With that option closed, I resigned myself to the fact that this was indeed happening, and focused on the logistics, as Lela would always say. I gave myself a quick enema, and inserted a butt-plug after I was cleansed. The garter-belt went on first, followed by the silk stockings. As John watched on in amusement, I wriggled into the tiny g-string silk panties, and then the silk camisole. Once the two-piece suit was on, I added the choker to hide my Adam's apple, tied two silk ribbons into my hair and attached two tiny silk bows to the base of my garter-belt straps, using the Velcro tabs that they came with. I touched my lips up with some light pink lipgloss, and attached some pink press-on nails to my shaky hands. Finally, I spritzed myself with Samantha's perfume several times, hoping that my feminine scent would enable John to overlook some of my more masculine qualities.

After trying on several pairs of shoes, I settled for the sling-back pumps, the design of which enabled me to hang my heels over the back of the shoes, and still remain firmly attached to them. It felt a little precarious as I walked around the bathroom, but they looked very feminine.

"I am ready John," I said in a very squeaky voice, the stress evident as I spoke.

John took a large swig of his cocktail, and ordered me to enter the bedroom. He had lowered the lights somewhat, which took some of the pressure off me. However, I still felt like a complete pussy as I followed his direction and sashayed around the room for his amusement. Once he was content with my submission to him, he instructed me to replicate Samantha's actions on the day that she offered herself up to me.