Over the next few days I felt really bad about the way I had treated Samantha. This was a beautiful, intelligent, accomplished woman who could have had her pick of just about any man. Inexplicably, Samantha had chosen me, and I knew that it was based on attributes other than my very average physicality.
I had fucked up royally, allowing the CumSlut to manipulate me and burrow her way so deep inside my head that I had lost control of my emotions. The relationship between Samantha and I was irreparably damaged after my sexual assault of her. The new restrictions that she had placed on me created additional strain in my life, as I was no longer allowed to unwind from the stress of the day with a beer or a glass of wine.
Our sex-life was tempered by the fact that the spontaneity had been removed. Having to ask for consent for every single sex act was laborious and slowed the flow that typically exists between two committed lovers. Samantha's main focus, at least sexually, seemed to be attempting to fuck my ass with a strap-on, and the whole pegging scenario reared its ugly head every time we made love.
Half of me just wanted to submit to Samantha, take some amyl nitrate, bend over her home-office desk, and let her add me to her list of conquests, if women even kept such a list. With only seven lovers in her entire life, maybe Samantha didn't even need a list.
The other half of me was scared to death at the prospect of getting butt-fucked by Samantha. I had endured unspeakable suffering at John's hands, submitting to that Alpha for seven years under the threat of blackmail. John had used sodomy as his primary weapon against me, expecting me to dress like his personal fuck-toy, adopt the position, and signal my availability to him on numerous occasions. John had also taken me forcibly, anally raping me on several occasions in front of the love of my life, Lela. I felt like I could quite happily go the rest of my life without being fucked in the ass.
Samantha always portrayed pegging as a fun, titillating way to spice up the relationship. However, the fact that she had fucked every single man that she had ever kissed, with a strap-on, raised some red flags for me. Samantha had even admitted her desire to hurt men, and I also had the specter that she harbored deep-rooted resentment towards me for my unwelcome assault on her anus. Truth be told, I was scared that if I willingly bent over Samantha's oversized desk, I would be subjected to a protracted and brutal butt-fucking.
In retrospect I should have talked to someone about it, either a therapist or a close friend. However, I didn't want to open up that can of worms with a paid counselor, and I wasn't permitted to speak to my closet friend, Lela, so I simply buried the rage deep inside me.
Two weeks after the photo-shoot I received a text from Lela.
"My portfolio is online," she wrote. "Check me out and see what you think. My working name is CumSlut."
My hands were trembling as I opened up my laptop and searched for CumSlut on the BDSM Escort Website. There were about twenty pictures on her profile and a video that was about one minute long. I browsed through the still-shots first, the demeaning and humiliating pictures bringing the nightmare of that day to the forefront of my mind. There was a picture of Lela being walked to heel on the end of a dog leash, a close-up of the back of her neck highlighting her "Ratt's CumSlut" tattoo, and one of John jerking off into a saucer as Lela looked up at him with her tongue out. Nothing too incriminating on my part, even though I had signed the consent form to allow the use of my image. The most disturbing photo was one of Lela on her knees in the shower tub completely drenched, with the caption "I really need to take a shower now."
The inference was that she had been doused in some foreign liquid, but one could have said it was champagne, or beer or even a dip in the jacuzzi, all of which would have necessitated a shower afterwards. The video was the same. Nothing too perverse, just the indication that Lela was available for whatever your heart desired, if you were inclined to dig deep in your pockets.
Prostitution is illegal in the vast majority of the United States, so Escort Agencies typically state that the rate is for time and companionship only, and anything else that occurs is between two consenting adults. For this reason the services are cryptic in their description, and Lela's was no different. She listed a variety of extras. Klixen service was one hundred extra, the Rusty Trombone was fifty dollars more. Lela's hourly rate was a shock though, starting at four hundred dollars for outcall. At least that might keep some of the riff-raff out, I pondered.
The whole profile was nowhere near as incriminating as I had feared and I let out a sigh of relief after I logged off. A couple of hours later, Lela texted me again asking me what I thought about her webpage. I had committed to Samantha that I wouldn't stay in contact with Lela, so I ignored her texts, even as they escalated in frequency and became increasingly volatile.
Finally, six hours after she first texted me, Lela sent me another message.
"You are going to regret ghosting me, Mark," Lela said ominously. "Check out my private gallery you fucking pussy."
If I had some concerns the first time I accessed Lela's profile, my anxiety level skyrocketed at her veiled threats. I knew that Lela was emotionally unstable, manipulative and conniving, and generally capable of creating havoc in my life. Once I was in CumSlut's profile, I noticed that she had added a private gallery. You needed to become a premium member in order to access this restricted area, and I reluctantly stumped up the ninety nine dollar fee, aware that this charge would appear on my credit card statement, to which Samantha had access. As I logged in to the secure area, I made the decision to share my actions with Samantha before she questioned the credit card charge. I noted that there were fourteen premium members, eight of whom were currently online.
Once inside the member-only area, I was horrified to see over two hundred photos on display, the majority of which were extremely graphic in nature. I clicked on one file which was labeled "Golden Shower" and was shocked to see Lela on her knees with several different streams of piss defiling her. The men were anonymous due to the angle from which the photo was taken, but there were six or seven of them urinating on my ex-girlfriend's face and upper body.
Presumably this had occurred shortly after I left the photo-shoot, and in retrospect I was happy that I got out of there without witnessing the demeaning event. Backing out of this file, I clicked on the available videos, before opening one that was captioned "The Cuckold."
My heart sank the second I saw my face, particularly as I realized that I had signed the consent form with no coercion. I was stood on the sidelines, watching intently as a man in a Ratt T-shirt was getting a rimjob from Lela. The video angle caught me with a very incriminating look of desire on my face, and my hands buried deep in my pockets. It left little doubt that I was erect, and I appeared to be fondling my cock. The video was nearly three minutes long, edited in such a way to make me appear to be a pervy voyeur.
I was staring at Lela for the duration of the movie, my face transmitting emotions of lust, jealousy, and angst in equal measures. The cameraman had captured the moment when John had asked if there was a fluffer on set, and even as my face reddened and I lowered my head to avoid eye-contact with him, the edit made it appear as if I was ejaculating in my pants. They got a brief shot of me licking my lips and interspersed the clip in with Lela licking John's semen from the saucer, which made it look as if I wanted a taste of his ejaculate.
Finally, the last fifteen seconds showed Lela being defiled by six or seven men in the shower, which was followed by a short clip of me exiting the bathroom with my eyes lowered and my hands in my pockets. I was actually looking for the Director to let him know that I was leaving, but it appeared as if had participated in the piss-play.
