The Bully Pt. 19

"Tim doesn't merely have possession of my original High School Cheerleading Uniform, Mark," Lela taunted me as I picked up my pace and began to fuck her in earnest. "I granted him exclusive rights to enjoy me in it. I did order a replacement uniform from the Athletic Department of our old High School, as I get many requests for uniforms; school girl, nurse and cheerleader included."

"Exclusive rights, Lela?" I questioned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I imagine it is pretty self-explanatory, Mark," Lela said condescendingly. "Just as you are requesting exclusive rights to my pink Fendi suit, Tim asked the same of my High School Cheerleader Uniform. All of the special men in my life should be able to select one outfit of their choice for their sole enjoyment, wouldn't you agree?"

"Special men, Lela?" I responded jealously. "You are my wife. Tim Jacobsen is an old High School buddy of ours who pays to fuck you occasionally. And you view us both as special men in your life?"

"Once a week," Lela said with a giggle, avoiding my line of questioning. "Tim and I fuck once a week. Besides," she added cheerfully, "there were other considerations that led me to give Tim that particular outfit."

"Other considerations?" I asked, as I continued to fuck Lela in the missionary position.

"More practical considerations," Lela responded, as she nibbled my earlobe. "It was just easier for me if Tim retained possession of it. It was embarrassing for me to take that crop-top and short pleated skirt to the dry-cleaners once a week, particularly as they would reek of his urine. Now Tim has to deal with that unsanitary errand."

I let out an involuntary whimper of arousal as I processed Lela's words. I was rock-hard now, fast approaching orgasm as I imagined my best friend in High School in line at the dry-cleaners, holding my wife's cheerleading uniform at arm's length, in an attempt to reduce his exposure to the stink of his own piss.

A few seconds later, as Lela whispered in my ear, I experienced a very powerful climax. Lela wrapped her legs tightly around my lower back and dug her nails into my flexing buttocks.

"You can have exclusive rights to my pink Fendi suit, Mark," Lela said magnanimously. "Sole enjoyment. For your eyes only. I won't wear that for any other man. I promise you."

As I composed myself and lowered my head to her shoulder, I heard Lela let out a moan of frustration upon realizing that she was going to be left high and dry, once again.

True to her words, Lela did completely drain my nuts that evening, and as we settled in for the night, I felt a strong connection towards her. I could feel Lela toss and turn as I started to drift off to sleep, and a few minutes later she left our marital bed. I heard the distinct sound of the Sybian machine being fired up, and mere moments later Lela's impassioned cries as she reached her first climax. I knew that I should have done the right thing and gone to offer her some assistance, but I had a full belly and an empty nut-sack so I allowed myself to fall asleep.

Lela kept her promise about the pink Fendi suit for several weeks. It occupied a special place in her closet, and I gave Lela the accessories that I had pilfered from Samantha. Of course, I never shared the origin of the garter-belt, stockings and matching panties with Lela, and she just assumed I had gone to Agent Provocateur and purchased them. Lela and I fucked regularly with her wearing Samantha's Fendi suit and all of the accessories. Once Lela was heavily scented in Samantha's perfume, I would close my eyes and imagine that I was balls-deep in my ex-girlfriend, and current boss.

I knew that Lela never wore that suit on a date because it was always hung in the same place, and I could check on its whereabouts whenever I felt the urge. By this time in our relationship Lela had also stopped hiding her client journal, and while it wasn't left out in the open, I was able to access it at will. Lela recorded the sordid details of every paid encounter, including exactly what she had worn. When I questioned her about this seemingly unimportant detail, she responded as if I were simple.

"Mark, wouldn't you expect me to wear something different each time, if you were paying six hundred dollars per hour for my services?" Lela said incredulously. "All men want variety. Well except Tim Jacobsen," she added with a giggle.

Having access to Lela's client journal was a mixed blessing. On one hand it enabled me to be certain that I had exclusive rights to the pink Fendi suit. However, it also fed my raging jealousy, as Lela was fastidious in her recollections of her dates. Understandably, I would occasionally read something disturbing that I couldn't unlearn, and I would obsess over the minor details.

Then, about six weeks after I gifted Lela Samantha's old suit, the inevitable occurred. Lela was not one to always keep a promise, and I came home one evening from work and she greeted me in the entrance hallway holding a large glass of red wine. Luckily for me, Lela was also dressed in her pink Fendi suit and all of its accessories. My cock stirred in my pants, coming to life immediately as I processed what delights were in store for me tonight. I lowered my briefcase to the ground, placed my cell-phone and car keys on the console just inside our front door, and closed the gap between us, inhaling Lela's intoxicating scent as I did so. Lela extended one arm to hold me at distance, and spoke assertively.

"Not tonight, Mark," Lela said coldly, as she handed me the wine. "I am going out tonight."

"Where are you off to, Lela?" I asked, my confusion surely registered all over my face, as I took a large swig of the Merlot.

"I have a date," Lela said without a hint of shame. "I wanted to tell you in person before I left, but I need to get my ass in gear, right now."

"Why are you wearing that outfit, Lela?" I whined. "You promised me that I had exclusive rights to that pink suit."

"My client requested a specific outfit, Mark," Lela continued, her irritation slowly surfacing.

"Just tell him no," I naively suggested.

"Ha!" Lela blurted out reflexively. "I don't think so, Mark. This is a man who doesn't take no for an answer."

My heart sank as I processed the fact that Lela was talking about John. Then I felt panic as I considered the likelihood that John would share the history of the pink Fendi suit with Lela. She would shit a brick if she knew that this suit once belonged to Samantha. In the last six weeks Lela had worn that ensemble numerous times for me, scenting herself in Samantha's perfume, before bending over something and then being taken by me with considerable force. Lela could not meet John tonight dressed as she was.

"John?" I asked rhetorically. "Are you meeting John, tonight?"

"Listen closely, Mark," Lela began condescendingly. "I could have snuck out of the house before you got home from work and you would have been none the wiser. For some reason John wanted you to see me dressed this way, and he instructed me not to leave home before you saw me. I have no idea why. However, I wish this childish competitiveness between the two of you would end. I am so fucking tired of it."

"Lela, please don't let John fuck you in that suit," I whined. "It is the only outfit in your closet that hasn't been soiled by another man."

Technically, I knew that wasn't the exact truth. John had defiled me in it, the night of my wedding to Lela. However, I had no plans to share the exact details of that humiliation with Lela.

"How about a compromise, Mark?" Lela offered. "I wear the suit to meet John and I promise to remove it before we fuck. It's more of a prank really," she added with a wry smile. "John thinks that it is absolutely hilarious that I am going to check into the Dolphin motel wearing a Fendi suit!"

"Hilarious, Lela," I said sarcastically. "The motel clerk will probably take one look at your expensive ensemble and waive the five dollar key deposit."

As previously stated, I had never been in a committed, monogamous relationship where both partners were equal. Lela had heard enough of my concerns and moved to shut me down.

"Listen, Mark," she said forcefully. "I am leaving to go and check myself into a seedy motel. Once I am on my knees inside the motel room, I am going to call John and invite him over. I am going to submit completely to your nemesis, offering him access to all three of my orifices, while I remain dressed in your special outfit. I imagine once his balls are completely drained, John will want to urinate on me, fouling your precious Fendi suit, to which you assumed you possessed exclusive rights. Learn to live with it. Suck it up."

"Lela, please," I said weakly, trying one last time to change her mind.

"Don't wait up for me, Mark," Lela said dispassionately. "Oh, and just for your information the motel clerk did waive the key deposit once and John sent me back to the office to pay it. You see John typically returns the key in the morning and redeems the five dollar deposit to buy his morning coffee."

I knew that the last remark was merely punitive, Lela's dig at me for having the gall to argue with her. There was no way that I could stop her leaving, and in less than twenty minutes Lela could potentially learn the origins and sordid history surrounding the Fendi suit and its expensive accessories. Lela unlocked our front door, and stepped over the threshold. This was an unmitigated disaster and it was beyond my control.

I reacted before I could even think about it. I raised the large glass of red wine and threw its contents directly at the waistline of Lela's pink suit, ensuring that I soaked both the jacket and the skirt. I didn't hang around to face the consequences either, bolting out of the open front door and walking briskly down our driveway as Lela's threats hung in the cool night air.

"You are going to fucking regret that, Mark," Lela yelled as I slinked off down the street. "I am going to make you pay dearly for that."

I was still wearing my work clothes, and felt a little conspicuous as I walked through my neighborhood in my suit. A few minutes later Lela sped by, apparently trying to avoid keeping John waiting for too long. I knew that the wine had stained both pieces of her Fendi suit, but I was confident that I hadn't messed up Lela's hair or make-up. It was an encouraging sign that she passed me after mere minutes, and I took it to mean that a simple change of outfit was all it had taken to get Lela back on track.

Once Lela passed me I returned home, looking forward to finishing the bottle of Merlot that Lela had opened. I knew that I was going to suffer the consequences of my actions, but I would deal with that another day. As I walked up my driveway I realized that my keys were on the console just inside my self-locking front door. I entered my property through the side gate, and went to the designated flower pot to retrieve the spare key.

Despite running late for her date with John, Lela had found the time to remove our spare key from its hiding place. She had also locked the side door to the garage, in which was hidden another spare key. I reached instinctively for my cell phone and then remembered that I had placed it on the console with my car keys. In addition, my wallet was inside my briefcase, which was sitting just inside my locked front door.

As I weighed my options, they seemed limited. With no access to my car, no cell phone, and no money or identification, I couldn't really go anywhere so I decided to sleep in the tool shed in my back yard. It was cold and drafty in there, but at least there was a single overhead light bulb, and an old transistor radio. Without my phone, iPad, or laptop, I couldn't even use the time productively by working. In fact, without my electronic devices I didn't even know what time it was and the minutes dragged by.

I cleared some tools from the top of a workbench to create some kind of resting place, but I didn't get much sleep as I slowly absorbed the reality of what I had done. In the morning I was dying for a piss, ending up urinating behind my shed, out of sight of any neighbors who happened to be looking from their second-story windows. I had access to an outdoor faucet, and drank some water as I waited for Lela to return.

Fortunately for me, the nature of my job enabled me to have a flexible schedule with regard to attending the office. Blessed with an almost photographic memory, my day to day assignment was research of legal precedent, and I worked from home a lot. This would at least spare me the embarrassment of walking to work in the same clothes that I had worn the previous day.

As the radio programming transitioned to the morning show, at least there were frequent updates as to the time. However, when eleven in the morning came and went, I started to worry as there was still no sign of Lela. I heard her car pull into our driveway shortly after mid-day. As I approached her driver's side door, any concerns that I harbored about confrontation immediately evaporated when I saw Lela's physical condition.

Judging by her pained efforts to exit her vehicle, Lela had been thoroughly abused by John. She couldn't walk unassisted, and I half-carried her to our front door. Once inside Lela indicated that she needed a hot bath and Epsom Salts, her faint squeaky voice barely audible as she struggled to communicate. I helped Lela out of her ripped and soiled lingerie, most of which we ended up later discarding. Once she was in the bath Lela asked me to leave her alone, and I reluctantly gathered up her clothes and left the bathroom.

The cuckold in me couldn't help inspecting the crotch of Lela's panties, and while there was a copious amount of dried semen coating the liner, I could also smell the distinct scent of Lela's arousal. In fact, the aroma of her vaginal secretions was all over her panties and the top of her stockings. Whatever physical and verbal abuse John had subjected Lela to, had caused her to self-lubricate.

I heard Lela emerge from the bathroom about an hour later, and she shuffled into the guest bedroom, locked the door and stayed in there until it got dark. I knew better than to engage her, but I did knock on the door a couple of times to see if she needed anything. Once she assured me that she just needed to rest, I left the house, taking her soiled Fendi suit to the dry-cleaners. I picked up some Sushi from the local Japanese market and headed home. I noticed several missed calls from Lela from the previous evening, and made a note to listen to them later.

Lela was in the living room when I arrived home, dressed in a large bathrobe and carpet slippers. She had her feet resting on an ottoman, and was clearly in a lot of physical discomfort. Her face lit up when she saw the Japanese market's shopping bag and as I began to lay the table she spoke.

"I took quite a beating last night because of your impulsive behavior," Lela began. "John detests insubordination and has warned me repeatedly that any disobedience on my part would result in corporal punishment."

"I am sorry, Lela," I said meekly, as I approached her.

"If you must know," Lela continued, "I am actually proud of you for taking a stand. That Fendi suit obviously has some deeper significance for you, and I was happy to see you grow a pair and fight back. However, there will always be consequences for our behavior and I have suffered because of your actions."

Lela reached out to me for help standing, and couldn't walk unassisted to the dining table.

"John marked me from head to toe," Lela said quietly. "He was quite brutal, and I loved every second of it. I don't know why submitting to that prick gets me so aroused, Mark. I am damaged goods, a dirty CumSlut."

I had seen this look of self-hatred on Lela's face many times in the past as she struggled with her demons and lack of self-worth.

"Time will heal your wounds, Lela," I said empathetically. "You just need to rest up, baby."

"Time will heal most of my marks," Lela said softly. "John beat my feet with a rattan cane until they almost bled. I am going to be limping for weeks. But they will heal over time. He sodomized me with a huge dildo too. I think I may have some rectal fissures. But they will heal over time. My nipples are bright purple from a protracted session with the clamps. I can't even wear a bra. But they will heal over time."

Lela seemed hesitant and tears welled up in her eyes, as she struggled to find the words.

"John left something on me that won't heal in time, Mark," she whispered shakily. "I am so sorry, baby. I just can't say no to him."

I must have telegraphed my confusion on my face, because before I could ask Lela what she was saying, she lowered her head and turned away from me. As her long, black hair fell away from the nape of her neck, I noticed that she had a large bandage on the back of her neck.

"What did he do to you, Lela?" I asked shakily. "What the fuck did John do?"

I rose reflexively from the dining table and walked over to where Lela was seated. As I looked on in horror, Lela slowly removed the dressing, and her modified tattoo came into my view. "Ratt's CumSlut" was now "John's CumSlut" clever artistry having been used to cover Ratt's name with a large white heart, upon which was inscribed John's.

"Did John force you to do this, Lela?" I asked angrily. "Did you sign a consent form and an age-verification document? Was the tattoo guy licensed and wearing gloves? Did you check his health certificate?"

As I peppered Lela with questions, she started to cry, so I backed off a little. I allowed her to gather herself and then she spoke.

"I wasn't forced to get my tattoo modified, Mark," Lela admitted. "It happened earlier in the evening before John got rough with me. He had me mount the Sybian machine and edged me for about an hour. I was so desperate for release that I would have agreed to anything. That was the deal we made. John said he would let me orgasm if I would get my tattoo modified slightly. After I agreed, John texted someone and a few moments later some loser gang-banger showed up with a tattoo gun."

"You didn't even go to a licensed tattoo shop, Lela?" I asked incredulously. "Did you know the guy that showed up at your door?"

"His name is Snake and I have seen him around," Lela admitted. "His crew hang out at the Dolphin motel running a small prostitution ring. I have seen his work before and was impressed with the artistry of it. It happened so quickly, I never had a chance to back out. Ten minutes later we were done."

I was lost for words. So many concerns were racing through my head, primarily health-based.

"Did he wear latex gloves, at least, Lela?" I asked in a concerned tone.

"Latex gloves," Lela said dismissively. "Mark, you are such a fucking pussy sometimes. You really have no clue where this is leading do you?"

"Enlighten me, Lela," I said sarcastically. "What happened?"

"Snake didn't wear latex gloves," Lela said coldly. "Snake didn't wear any latex at all, in fact. Even when John forced me to suck him off as payment for the artwork."

I had heard enough but Lela was just getting started. She got almost as much enjoyment out of telling me about her exploits as she did from submitting to dominant men.

"When Snake was done he applied some soothing balm to the tattoo and then applied a bandage dressing. As John watched on intently, Snake washed his hands in the motel sink and then approached me and asked me for forty dollars as payment for the tattoo. I told him that I assumed that John was paying for it, but John just shrugged his shoulders and left me out to dry. Snake runs a small prostitution ring so he views sex as currency, a legitimate way to pay for goods and services. I asked John if I could borrow forty dollars but he said he never brings cash on our dates."