When I awoke at 5am, I was in desperate need of a piss, and made my way to the bathroom as quietly as possible. Once inside I turned on the lights, and recoiled as I saw myself in the mirror. I looked like a complete pussy stood there in Lela's silky panties, the thong wedged between my buttocks, raising and separating them. I had red marks around my wrists from my extended time in the hand-cuffs, a large welt on my head from being struck with the stainless-steel restraining device, and bruises on my abdomen and rib-cage from being punched by John.
John's semen had leaked from my asshole as I slept, coating the base of my buttocks, and my inner-thighs as it dried on me. I sat on the toilet seat as I was feeling nauseous at the memory of what I had been through. As I lowered Lela's panties to my ankles, I noticed that the liner was soiled with dried semen and blood specks, the latter presumably mine from the protracted ass-fucking I had endured.
A large glob of semen dripped from my ass into the toilet bowl shortly after I squatted on the seat, a vivid reminder that John had used me as a cum-receptacle. After I did my business, I pulled Lela's panties back up in an attempt to stem the flow of John's ejaculate from my ass, at least until I could shower. I was dreading what was in store for me when John awoke so I sat silently on the floor of the bathroom with my head bowed, trying to digest my humiliation at his hands.
Inexplicably, as I recalled the events of the previous night, I felt my cock start to twitch within the silky confines of Lela's panties. As I sat there dismayed at my body's reaction to John's debasement of me, I tried to dissect the parts that I was responding to. There was no confusion in my head about the physical assault. I definitely was not into the pain associated with John's martial-arts strikes, and the protracted ass-fucking he had subjected me to stirred no arousal within me.
However, if I was completely honest with myself, the visual of Lela being used as his fuck-toy turned me on immensely. Sure it was tempered with some jealousy, particularly as John had taken so many of Lela's firsts. However, if I was to trust the signals that my body was exhibiting, it was evident that the overriding emotion was arousal. In fact, the more I replayed the visual of Lela's total submission to that asshole, the more my cock throbbed.
I tried to fight it, but as an eighteen year old man, there were few urges stronger in my life than sexual release. As my cock danced around in Lela's silky panties, the soft caress of the material on my swollen nutsack felt divine, and I closed my eyes and absentmindedly released the tip of my cock from my girlfriend's underwear. The second I brushed the tip of my finger across the pulsating glans, I knew I was going to succumb to my urges.
Scanning the bathroom countertop for anything that could be used as a makeshift lubricant, I settled on the liquid soap that was contained in a wall-mounted dispenser. After depressing the lever, a large dollop of the thick yellow fluid was sitting in the palm of my hand. Without any thought of the consequences, I wrapped my hand into a fist and began to fuck it.
Closing my eyes to block out the visual of my bruises and ligature marks, I instantly recalled the disturbing images of Lela as John put her through her paces. I picked up the pace of my thrusting motions considerably, fucking the crap out of my well-lubricated fist, as I visualized Lela losing her anal-cherry to my nemesis. As I got closer to my release I started to fixate on the more demeaning aspects of his subjugation of her. She had even licked his asshole for fuck's sake. I hadn't actually witnessed Lela rimming John, as he had been balls-deep inside my ass when it occurred. However, the thought of it was enough to send me over the edge, and seconds later I exploded across the bathroom counter-top.
Exploded was no exaggeration either, as my nuts constricted and then expelled their first load with such force that it splattered against the base of the mirror. Two more ropes of come blew across the counter-top leaving an unappetizing slimy mess across the marbled sink area. Almost immediately any feelings of arousal were replaced with shame.
In fact, I felt a wave of shame wash over me and before I had time to relax and enjoy my post-orgasmic bliss, my first thought was to clean the mess up immediately, in case John saw it and made me eat it for his own amusement. Once the counter-top was restored to its former state, I looked at my pathetic reflection in the mirror and my head lowered reflexively in embarrassment. I looked like a total pussy as I stuffed my softening cock, which was still glistening with the liquid soap, back into Lela's silky panties.
I gave myself a perfunctory clean up and then slumped back down to the bathroom floor, where I sat motionless in shock and humiliation at my involuntary response to the events of last night. I think I must have dozed off, because about an hour later there was a tap on the bathroom door, and Lela whispered softly.
"John, are you in the bathroom?"
Stirring slowly from my slumber, it took me a second to get to my feet, by which time Lela had knocked a second time on the bathroom door.
"John, open up, baby," she said seductively.
I hid behind the door with embarrassment as I slowly opened it. Lela's eyes teared up when she saw me, and I could see the palpable disappointment on her face when she realized that I wasn't John.
"Oh no. I think John's gone," she said, disconsolately. "He must have bailed when we were sleeping. Come with me Mark," she added, as she moved away from the half-closed bathroom door.
Cursing myself for falling back to sleep without taking the time to get dressed in my own clothes, I stepped sheepishly into the bedroom. Even though my morning jerk-off session had made my erection disappear, I looked like a complete and utter wimp wearing my ex-girlfriend's silky panties.
Lela didn't seem to even notice my predicament, or if she did she never acknowledged it. She seemed consumed with John's whereabouts. As we went back into the hotel bedroom, we both noticed it at the same time, John's Letterman jacket conspicuously missing from the chair on which it had hung the previous evening. In its place, in a crumpled pile under the chair, were my clothes from the previous evening.
A look of horror came over Lela's face as she processed that John had enjoyed all three of her holes, before moving on.
"He even took my anal-cherry," she cried, as she burst into tears.
Even as the writing was on the wall, I tried to be positive for her sake.
"John may have had early football practice," I suggested, knowing full well that all extra-curricular activity had been canceled the day after the winter formal event. "Text him."
Lela was disconsolate as she called and texted John several times, with no response. I took this opportunity to get myself dressed, but when I reached under the chair for my shirt and dress pants, I recoiled when I felt how damp they were. At first I thought that someone had spilled a glass of water or wine on them, but a cursory sniff revealed a much more sinister explanation, and elevated my level of rage immediately.
John, that fucking asshole, had crumpled my tuxedo and dress shirt into a small pile under the chair and had urinated all over them. It didn't make matters any better for me that it was a rental tuxedo, as I was still in the unenviable position of having to launder the foul-smelling garments. I surveyed the rest of the room, and after deciding that I didn't want the maids to witness the state of the bed, I stripped it.
Fortunately for me, I had a change of clothes in the small hotel closet, but as I retrieved my jeans and a pair of boxer shorts, Lela spoke in an unusually authoritative manner.
"Leave my panties on, Mark," she instructed me. "I like the way you look in them."
I flashed her a questioning look, but all resistance had been beaten and fucked out of me over the last several hours, and I had no fight left in me. In what would end up being a pivotal moment in our relationship, I nodded agreeably and slid my jeans over the silky intimates.
"Good boy," Lela said condescendingly. "Now you can attend to the laundry."
The bed sheets had a mixture of stains on them, dried semen, vaginal secretions, anal-ease lubricant, and several blood stains. A forensic examination would have revealed that the blood came from two different people. Namely me, from John's assault on my asshole, and Lela, as John had broken her hymen. Lela's pillow case had semen splattered across it, confirming my suspicion that John had tit-fucked her the second time he woke her up for sex. The other pillow case had a dark brown stain on it, the origins of which became apparent the second I sniffed it, and recognized the distinct aroma of chocolate. When I picked the pillow up from the bed, I saw the empty container stuffed under the headboard. That asshole had eaten the expensive box of Godiva chocolates that I had purchased as a treat for my girl.
Gathering up my piss-soaked clothes, I wrapped them up in the bed sheets and prepared to run it all down to the self-service laundry on the lower floor. Lela watched me intently the entire time, as if she was processing my place in this perverted three-way relationship.
When I returned from the laundry center, Lela was sobbing quietly, cursing herself for her stupidity. Once in a while she would blurt out a specific act that John had made her perform, which reopened the wounds for me, and was the last thing I wanted to hear.
"I can't believe he took my virginity," she sobbed. "How could I be so naive?"
A few moments later as I washed their wine glasses, she blurted out, "I can't believe he talked me into anal sex."
By the time the laundry was done, Lela was disconsolate, and I had been treated to a graphic description of everything he had put her through. John had enjoyed all three of Lela's orifices, had taken her virginity and her anal-cherry, had tit-fucked her culminating in a facial, and had even enjoyed a rim-job from her. If there was another way for a man to use a woman, I wasn't aware of it.
After we checked out of the hotel I offered to share the cost of an Uber with Lela, as we lived fairly close to each other. The driver gave us a confused stare as we entered the rear seat of his car, and both sat gingerly on our sides. John had torn both of us a new asshole, literally and figuratively. Lela's thong panties were not helping matters, as they separated my buttocks and irritated the sensitive area around the entrance to my well-fucked anus.
My rectum had throbbed all night, forcing me to adjust my position as I slept on the floor at the foot of their bed. Lela's pain began about four hours after losing her anal-cherry, as the effects of the lidocaine wore off, and her anus reacted belatedly to John sodomizing her. We hardly talked in the car, although Lela told me that she loved John three separate times, the revelations causing me immense discomfort.
As we approached Lela's street she burst into tears.
"I can't face my parents," Lela sobbed disconsolately. "Can I come to your house for a few hours?"
Even though I was in as much physical and emotional pain as Lela, I agreed to her request. After redirecting the Uber driver to my place, I called my parents and was relieved to learn that they were heading out to breakfast. My mum invited Lela and I to join them but my ex-girlfriend was in no state for socializing and I declined. Once we got to my room, Lela broke down and for the next couple of hours I stirred in torment as she rehashed the events of the previous evening.
"I can't believe I ate his asshole," she whispered. "I am such an idiot."
I tried to be a good friend in her hour of need, listening intently as she poured her heart out, and suppressing my judgment and revulsion. As time wore on, Lela seemed to take control of her emotions and her pragmatic side emerged.
"I don't hear you complaining, Mark," she said quietly. "Did you enjoy it?"
