The Bully

I endured a fitful night's sleep after my protracted butt-fucking. My rectum throbbed incessantly from Samantha's invasion of it, and I was sick with worry about my upcoming visit to the high-end, intimate-apparel stores. I had a horrible feeling that I was being set up for some more humiliation, and as I drove towards the Agent Provocateur retail store, my guts were churning from my elevated level of anxiety. I knew they opened at 10am and I was hoping to get in and out with minimal drama, maybe even being lucky enough not to encounter any other customers.

After I parked my car, I limped gingerly towards Agent Provocateur. Shuffling painfully in the universally recognized manner that Elizabeth Shue's character in "Leaving Las Vegas" had, I felt all eyes on me as I made the walk of shame. I was practically telegraphing the fact that I had been forcibly sodomized.

I had never been inside a luxury lingerie store, preferring the more reasonably priced Victoria's Secret chain. I probably should have anticipated a more upscale experience, but the first thing I noticed was the phenomenal beauty of the all-female staff. Every one of the the tall, slender women looked like a model, and I was quite nervous as I was approached by a gorgeous redhead.

"Hi, my name is Amanda," she said sweetly. "How can I assist you today, Sir?" she added in a slightly flirtatious manner.

"I am here to see the Manager," I responded hesitantly. "My name is Mark."

Amanda's body language and facial expression changed immediately upon learning who I was, and it was evident that Samantha was a high-value customer, who had garnered loyalty and respect from the commission-based staff.

"Ah, the panty thief," Amanda said disdainfully. "Samantha told us all about your misdeeds and punishment. We have been expecting you."

I truly had no idea how much luxury intimates cost, but less than twenty minutes later I emerged from Agent Provocateur with a small, beautifully wrapped package, encased in a signature-pink gift bag, and nearly four hundred dollars poorer. I had declined the initial offer of gift-wrapping even though I knew it was free.

However, the Store Manager overruled my decision, announcing in front of several beautiful young sales women, "Samantha stated unequivocally that she wanted everything sealed so that you couldn't soil any of her newly-purchased items."

This disdainful remark was met with a smattering of giggles from the all-female staff, and I felt my face redden as I slinked out of the store.

This pattern repeated itself throughout the morning, as I dutifully made the rounds of the luxury lingerie stores and methodically replaced all of Samantha's pilfered items.

Whilst there weren't any sexual overtures in any of the businesses that I visited that day, I was certainly treated with contempt the second that my identity and purpose for being there were discovered. By the time I had secured all of the necessary replacement items, I was emotionally drained and nearly two thousand dollars worse off. If there was a silver lining, it was that I did at least retain possession of the stolen intimates, and I made a mental note to take everything to the dry-cleaners.

Samantha was already in court by the time I limped into work, but judging by the looks on my co-workers' faces, word of my punishment had apparently spread like wildfire around the office. There were several hushed whispers as I walked gingerly down the corridors, and the occasional rendition of the Queen hit, "Another One Bites The Dust."

Once I was situated, I texted Samantha to let her know that I was finished with my purchases, and she instructed me to bring them to her house at 4pm that afternoon.

I showed up exactly on time, ringing the doorbell once to announce my arrival. Samantha kept me waiting on her doorstep holding several instantly-recognizable lingerie gift-bags, in an overt act of control. When she finally opened the door I noticed that she was wearing her tailored pant-suit, although she turned her back to me before I could determine whether or not she was packing any additional heat.

"Come on in," Samantha said brusquely, as I crossed the threshold of the home that we once shared. "Upstairs. Neatly arrange the packages on my bed."

I climbed the stairs alone and began to place the beautifully gift-wrapped items on the bed. A few moments later, Samantha joined me with a large glass of wine in her hand. As I worked diligently to follow her instructions, Samantha sipped her wine and watched me intently.

"Where is the CumSlut tonight?" Samantha asked, finally breaking the uneasy silence. "Out buying Epsom Salt to ease your rectal discomfort?"

"Lela is working tonight, Samantha," I said quietly, trying to convey my respect for her. "Staying at the Hilton. She will be gone all night."

"Shameful," Samantha responded coldly. "What a dirty slut your wife is. You got just about what you deserved, Mark. When are you planning to tell her that we had sex?"

"Had sex, Samantha?" I stammered, in disbelief. "You forcibly sodomized me. That hardly constitutes sex."

"So, you are not planning on telling Lela that we hooked-up then?" Samantha pressed. "I haven't decided whether to talk to her or not. It will depend on how the next couple of hours go."

"Samantha," I pleaded. "It will break Lela if you tell her that you punished me for stealing your intimates. Haven't I suffered enough?"

"Strip, Mark," Samantha ordered me. "I have yet to make my decision, but it will depend on your obedience and attention to detail in the next few hours."

I had been in this position enough times in my life to recognize the futility of any pushback. In addition to holding a significant amount of leverage over me with regard to telling Lela, Samantha was also my boss, and could greatly impact my career as a lawyer. It made me shudder to think that a couple of hours had suddenly turned in to a few hours, but I had already made the decision to obey her every command.

Once I was completely naked, Samantha tossed me a small hand towel and instructed me to kneel on it. She approached me from my blind side, circling me slowly as if I were her prey. As she came into my peripheral vision, I noticed the unmistakable outline of the strap-on phallus under her tailored suit pants. I swallowed hard, a reaction that did not go unnoticed by Samantha.

"Unzip my pants," Samantha ordered me. "I am in the mood to get my cock sucked, Klixen Style, and I know you have lots of experience."

My hands were trembling as I held the zipper to Samantha's pants and slowly lowered it. It brought back so many memories of kneeling before John, right before I was forced to pamper that asshole. Of course, John's end game, in addition to subjugating me, was to blow his load down my throat. With Samantha this was different as it wasn't so much about sex, as it was about power.

Samantha made me extricate her strap-on phallus from her form-fitting suit pants, and then ordered me to suck it. I could tell that she was relishing the control that she had over me, and as I took the phallus between my lips, she began to taunt me.

"What time does Lela's appointment start, Mark?" Samantha began in a mocking tone. "I wonder if she is on her knees right now, too? You are a pair of worthless cocksuckers."

Even though Samantha was unable to feel any physical sensation as I worshiped her strap-on dildo, the whole scenario was exciting her, and I began to smell the aroma of her arousal. It was faint at first, but as I pampered her fake cock it grew stronger, until it permeated the entire bedroom. The scent of my ex-girlfriend's vaginal secretions also brought back lots of memories for me, and I felt my cock slowly stiffen.

"I bet John went weak at the knees every time you pampered him," Samantha said with a giggle, as she withdrew the phallus from between my lips.

As I watched on from my kneeling position, Samantha slowly and methodically removed her clothes, pausing to hang each item in its respective place. She made no attempt to further arouse me by performing an erotic strip-tease, and the whole affair was rather mechanical, although apparently leading towards an intended purpose. All I could focus on was that intimidating phallus as it stood to attention between her shapely legs. Finally, once she was completely naked except for her panties, Samantha removed the leather harness and placed it on the floor right in front of me.

I really wanted to remove that intimidating fucking sex-toy from the equation, and its placement concerned me. Samantha flashed me a grin and then slid her panties down her toned legs and kicked them towards me.

Then, with self-confidence oozing from every pore, Samantha rotated slowly before me, allowing me to take in her almost perfect form. I felt my cock rise to full attention as I observed exactly what I had given up to marry the CumSlut.

Samantha's physique was virtually flawless, her lean, toned body completely unblemished. As I admired her from my kneeling position, I observed the total lack of disfigurement, in complete contrast to my wife, the CumSlut. Samantha had no tattoos, no marks of ownership by another man, no bruises, no bite marks, no red stripes on her ass from being viciously caned. In my eyes Samantha was absolutely perfect, and I wanted to fuck her more than anyone else on the planet.

It seemed like we were heading in that direction too, as I noticed that Samantha's inner-thighs were slick with her secretions. After several slow rotations, Samantha moved towards where I was kneeling and picked up her discarded panties. Parting her legs slightly, she put the silky intimates between them and wiped her leaking fluids from her inner-thighs and vagina. Once she was satisfied with the impromptu clean-up, Samantha hung the wet panties around my neck, and I was instantly assaulted by the strong aroma of her arousal.

As I inhaled reflexively the scent was intoxicating, and I looked down in embarrassment as my cock hardened to its full potential.

"Let's see if your shopping excursion was successful, Mark," Samantha said cheerfully, as I knelt passively before her.

Moving over to the neatly arranged gift-wrapped packages on the bed, Samantha grabbed the first item, and began to rip open the beautiful wrapping paper as if it were Christmas.

"I just love La Perla," Samantha exclaimed excitedly, as she held the tiny, silk, intimate apparel aloft and began to thoroughly inspect it. "I need to make sure you haven't soiled any of my pretty lingerie, Mark," she mocked. "I know how you get when you are around my intimates."

Once Samantha had unwrapped the La Perla items, she gathered them up and went inside her huge walk-in closet. I assumed that she was going to put the newly-purchased intimates away, so I was quite surprised when she emerged from her closet a few moments later wearing them.

"What do you think, Mark?" Samantha asked rhetorically. "You like?"

As I knelt before Samantha with her wet panties draped around my neck, I couldn't contain my excitement. My cock danced between my legs at the sight of my ex-girlfriend wearing such exquisite lingerie, and I felt pre-cum pooling at the tip of my penis.

"I will take that as a yes," Samantha exclaimed in delight. "What should I try on next?"

For the next hour Samantha unwrapped her new intimates, going through the same ritual of a thorough inspection, followed by modeling the lingerie for my visual excitement. I watched on forlornly, periodically inhaling her scent that wafted up towards my nose from her panties. I was rock-hard the entire time, leaking pre-cum profusely, as the purpose and placement of the small hand towel became evident.

Every few minutes Samantha would approach the spot where I was kneeling, and run her perfectly manicured fingertip along the underside of my erect cock. As she grazed my frenulum, she would induce moans of pleasure from me, and the occasional expulsion of a glob of pre-cum. At first it felt fantastic, but as my desire and frustration increased exponentially, my nuts slowly tightened and her constant teasing became quite painful. My knees were sore too after a prolonged period in this stress position. A memory stirred of Lela and I kneeling by the front door of my dorm room waiting for John to come home and use us both.

Samantha apparently was feeling no pain, as she sipped her wine and treated me to an extended fashion show. I knew her well enough to recognize the signs of her arousal, and she would approach me periodically, remove the panties that hung from my neck, and use them to wipe the vaginal secretions from between her ever-moistening pussy. Once she had removed the excess juices she draped the wet panties around my neck, and continued with her show.

Finally, after I had witnessed Samantha showcasing every single item that I had pilfered and subsequently replaced, she approached me completely naked.

"Which was your favorite, Mark?" she said seductively, as she tenderly wiped some of my pre-cum around my glans using the tip of her forefinger.

"Peach," I stammered, barely able to form the words. "Peach. Agent Provocateur."

"You have good taste, Mark," Samantha responded playfully. "At least in lingerie, if not in choice of life partner," she added, her tone becoming considerably more acerbic. "That is a six hundred dollar outfit. Why don't you run downstairs and fetch me some more wine?"

I flashed Samantha a confused look trying to convey whether I was permitted to grab a towel to preserve my modesty.

"Go," she said impatiently. "The Chardonnay in the fridge."

You have to remember that Samantha and I had shared this house, cohabiting as a loving, committed couple for several months. Now as I rose unsteadily from my sore knees, the change in the power dynamic was evident, and I descended the stairs buck-naked with Samantha's panties hanging from my neck.

When I returned a few moments later carrying a full glass of chilled Chardonnay, Samantha was kneeling on her King Size bed, attired in six hundred dollars worth of peach-colored Agent Provocateur lingerie. She looked absolutely phenomenal, particularly as she had glossed her lips with a matching shade of peach lipstick. Samantha motioned for me to place the wine on the bedside table, and pointed at the hand towel. Following her directive, I knelt on the small piece of Egyptian Cotton, and watched on as Samantha lowered her dainty hand to her clitoris and began to masturbate.

A different side of Samantha emerged as she stimulated herself to climax multiple times. Making no attempt to hide the fact that she was a misandrist, Samantha informed me that she was consumed with controlling the men around her.

"In fact," she exclaimed excitedly, "I relish in the inevitability of work-place mistakes. I intend to butt-fuck any of my subordinates that mess up at work. They all know it too," she added proudly.

In between each release Samantha sipped on her wine, her intoxication becoming increasingly apparent with each passing moment. Finally, after a very vocal climax Samantha slumped forward and after a brief recovery period addressed me.

"Would you like to fuck?" Samantha asked, slurring her words as the alcohol surged through her veins.

I knew that she was fucking with me. However, under the circumstances, with my nuts aching and begging for release, I knew that I had to give it a shot.

"I would like nothing more, Samantha," I said candidly. "I have missed you so much."

Samantha let out an inebriated giggle, placed her wine glass on the floor by the side of the bed, and maneuvered herself into the doggy-style position.

"Come on then, stud," Samantha slurred. "Buckle up. Let's do this."

I rose tentatively from the small hand towel on which I was kneeling, and slowly approached her.

"Buckle up," Samantha repeated, the frustration in her voice more pronounced.

Apparently I wasn't doing a good job of concealing my confusion because Samantha looked directly into my eyes, and addressing me as if I was a moron, she simplified her instructions.

"Put my harness on you dumb ass," she said aggressively. "And let's fuck."

My hands were shaking as I tried to secure the leather harness around my waist. It was so emasculating being forced to wear a strap-on, particularly as the phallus bore the tell-tale signs of my saliva from where Samantha had made me suck it.

"Tuck your cock inside the leather waistband of the harness," Samantha instructed me. "And mount me from behind."

Once I was buckled up, I got onto the bed behind Samantha, and lined the tip of the strap-on phallus up with the entrance of her pussy. No further lubrication was necessary, and I slid deep inside her love-canal with minimal resistance. Once I was all the way in, Samantha issued her next instruction.

"Let's fuck, Mark. Give it to me."

Over the months that Samantha and I had cohabited, I had endured some pretty one-sided sexual encounters, but this one had to be the worst. As I increased the cadence and depth of my thrusts, Samantha became more vocal, and it was apparent that she was thoroughly enjoying getting fucked. At least one of us was getting their jollies from the encounter. It was doing not anything for me, and I felt only humiliation as I pounded into her with her wet panties hanging from my neck.

From my perspective, not only was the coupling mechanical and completely devoid of sexual pleasure, but as there was no fear of premature release or softening, it seemed like it would last until Samantha deemed herself totally satisfied.

Of course, that selfish bitch milked the experience for all it was worth, climaxing several times as I worked to pleasure her. As Samantha orgasmed again and again, my nuts ached and I slowly leaked pre-cum all over my stomach and her leather harness. By the time Samantha slumped forward on the bed and motioned for me to extract the strap-on phallus from her well-fucked pussy, I was sweating, both from the physical exertion and the torment of not being allowed my own release.

Samantha laid on her stomach for several moments, composing herself before she finally addressed me.

"Remove the harness, Mark," Samantha ordered me. "Then fetch a bath towel and a bottle of virgin olive oil."

Understanding that my fate depended on my 'obedience and attention to detail,' I unhooked the leather harness and then I swiftly descended the stairs into the kitchen and grabbed the olive oil. When I returned to the upper level of Samantha's home, I entered her bathroom and reached for a bath towel. Inexplicably, there was a container of Vaseline and a small plastic bottle of KY Jelly sitting on the counter-top, and I only hoped that they were to be introduced into the mix in the near future. I was out of my mind with desire and was desperate to bust a nut.

"Place the towel on the bed under my hand," Samantha directed, as I entered the bedroom.

Samantha offered me no assistance as I lifted her lifeless arm up and arranged the towel as instructed.

"Pour a healthy dollop of olive oil into the palm of my hand," Samantha intoned.

Her arm was hanging limply by the side of her body, hand upturned and wide open. I tilted the bottle of olive oil and a large glob landed in the center of her palm. I still wasn't sure of her intent but as Samantha slowly closed her fist, thereby coating the inside of it with the makeshift lubricant, I realized that she planned to humiliate me one last time.

"Decision time again, Mark," Samantha slurred. "I will permit you one last orgasm for old times' sake if you want. Or you can get the fuck out of my house right now. Your choice."

It wasn't even a choice as far as I was concerned. I had spent the last few hours in sexual torment and my nuts were aching for release. If I had a shred of my pride intact, I would have gathered up my shit and strode out of there like a man. However, over the years I had learned to take my release whenever offered the opportunity. Truth be told, I couldn't really imagine any scenario of my climax that would create less of a connection between the two of us. However, as Samantha laid prone on the bed, with her oiled hand closed into a tight fist, my decision had been made.