The Bully Pt 22

Snake urinated on my wife's face for almost thirty seconds as Crystal clung to his side whispering words of encouragement in his ear. Once he finally finished his piss, Snake slapped Crystal's ass forcefully, and she dropped to her knees in front of him. Snake shook his cock a couple of times in Crystal's general direction, flicking the remaining drops of his urine onto her upturned face. Apparently Snake had put Crystal through this demeaning ritual in the past, because as soon as Snake let go of his cock, the teenager cleaned his meatus with her tongue.

"Good girl," Snake said condescendingly as Crystal looked up at him. "Zip me up."

I watched on jealously as Crystal used her dainty hands to close the zipper of Snake's jeans. Snake flashed me a derisive look, before softening his demeanor.

"Pleasure as always, Mark," he said cheerfully, before giving me a thumbs-up and exiting the dingy motel room.

Crystal arose slowly from her kneeling position, and walked towards me on her way out of the room. Pausing briefly by my side, she placed her lips next to my right ear.

"I really like you, Mark," Crystal whispered. "I totally want us to fuck sometime."

Having verbalized her desires, Crystal kissed the side of my neck, thereby transferring a few droplets of Snake's piss from her moist lips to my skin.

"Oops," Crystal said playfully, as she licked the residue of the urine drops from her lips. "My bad."

I watched her skinny frame as she sashayed flirtatiously out of the motel room. Yes, Crystal was a borderline-emaciated teenage drug addict, who traded sexual favors for methamphetamine, but deep down I harbored a strong desire for her. I felt that a long hot shower and a trip to the beauty salon, combined with a few good meals, would go a long way towards cleaning the young girl up.

Talking of cleaning up, the motel room and Lela were both in dire need. Despite the door having been ajar for much of the Bukkake party, the motel room stank to high heavens of sweat, alcohol and urine.

Lela was a complete mess, covered in the semen of fifteen men, including myself, and drenched in Snake's foul-smelling piss. Her feet were badly bruised and swollen, and despite my best efforts I was unable to get my wife standing upright. The soles of her feet were too painful to exert any pressure on, and I couldn't carry her by myself.

Out of pure desperation I called the only person that I could trust to extricate me from this awful predicament, Samantha. Babbling almost incoherently, I managed to convey that I was in dire need of assistance in just a few words.

"Please help me, Samantha," I mumbled, the stress of Lela's ordeal scrambling my brains. "Room 46. Dolphin motel. Bukkake. Bastinado."

My abbreviated plea for help evidently created more questions than it answered, as Samantha asked for the definition of two words that she had never heard before. Having to explain to my boss, and former girlfriend, the mechanics of a Bukkake party was humiliating. There was a stony silence as Samantha processed exactly what Lela had endured.

"No further words required, Mark," Samantha finally whispered. "I will look up Bastinado myself."

After some initial resistance, Samantha agreed to drive to the budget motel room and help me get Lela back to my house. A few minutes later there was a light tap on the door of room 46, and I nervously opened it.

Samantha was dressed impeccably in a pale yellow, silk sundress, that accentuated her perfect form. She smelled divine too, having apparently just spritzed herself with my favorite perfume. I inhaled reflexively at the sight of this alluring woman, and was assaulted by the overpowering scent of urine that pervaded the small motel room.

Samantha crossed the threshold and instantly turned her nose up at the sordid scene. The gulf between Samantha and the CumSlut had never been more evident as they occupied the compact space. Samantha was a picture of femininity, the silk material of her dress hugging her lithe frame as she knelt to ask Lela if she needed medical attention. Lela, by contrast, was laying in the fetal position, covered in the semen of fifteen men, and soaked with the contents of Snake's bladder.

Samantha looked up at me from her knees and flashed me a death-stare, and in that moment I instantly regretted calling her. Her disdain for me was palpable as she slipped her perfectly-manicured nails into some medical-grade latex gloves. Between the two of us we managed to carry Lela to the shower enclosure, although Samantha couldn't contain her revulsion at the facilities.

"Jesus, Mark," Samantha said in repugnance. "This shower is disgusting. Fucking rank."

Resisting the temptation to tell my boss that she should have seen it before I scrubbed it, I simply followed her lead, and we got my wife cleaned up. Samantha made no attempt to conceal her contempt for me, scowling at me repeatedly as she washed the filthy combination of piss and ejaculate from my wife's face and hair. Predictably, as we struggled to support Lela's dead-weight in the confines of the shower enclosure, there was some transfer of bodily fluids. Samantha seemed to ignore it at first, focusing her energy on Lela's well-being. However, by the time we had dried Lela off and laid her on the motel bed, Samantha was back in the bathroom cursing as she wiped several semen stains from her beautiful silk dress.

Samantha resisted asking any questions in front of the CumSlut, having made the assumption that Lela was distraught from her ordeal. However, as soon as Lela was in bed at my house and under the sedative effects of some pain medication, Samantha was all over me.

"Did you not learn any lessons from your wedding day, Mark?" Samantha exclaimed angrily. "Why can't you treat your wife with the respect that she deserves?"

Samantha wasn't looking for answers, and the whole sordid situation was way beyond her comprehension. Her rage was surfacing, and she was particularly irate about the state of her dress.

"I need to get out of this dress," Samantha cried in exasperation. "These semen stains are making me nauseous."

At the time it was an innocent offer on my part. Samantha had outlined her problem, and as a man I sought to offer a solution. Knowing that I had possession of one outfit that would fit Samantha perfectly, and provide her sufficient modesty to drive home, I retrieved her pink Fendi suit from Lela's closet.

That beautifully tailored suit had been through some disgusting times, but as I held it aloft, wrapped as it was in a clear, plastic, dry-cleaning bag, it looked brand-new.

"Use my bathroom to freshen up, Samantha," I said quietly, offering the recently cleaned Fendi suit to my boss. "I will take your yellow dress to the dry-cleaners tomorrow morning, so you don't have to explain the cum-stains."

Accepting the offer of fresh clothes with grace, Samantha extended her dainty, manicured hand and took the bag from me. As I relinquished the Fendi suit, I remembered that I had hidden the accessories inside the bag, in an effort to stop Lela wearing them with her clients. I wasn't sure how Samantha would react, but when she emerged from my bathroom a few moments later, she was wearing the matching pink stockings. Samantha adjusted the short skirt in an attempt to maintain her modesty, treating me to a glimpse of the pink garter-belt as she did so.

Like I said, it was an innocent offer. However, as soon as Samantha emerged from my bathroom wearing the pink suit, all of my feelings for her surfaced. I had so many great memories involving that Fendi suit. I had lusted after Samantha while she was wearing that form-fitting outfit during our ethics class. After class, I had caught a glimpse of her garter-belt straps as Samantha adjusted herself in her convertible Maserati. Years later, after our unexpected win in the Pepsi class-action lawsuit, Samantha had seduced me, allowing me to bend her over her desk and fuck her in that very suit.

Of course, there were some bad memories too. I had forcibly sodomized Samantha while she was wearing that suit, my rage fueled by several shots of vodka after watching the CumSlut film her trailer for her escort services. John had forced me to pamper him while I was dressed 'en femme' in that silk suit. John had even urinated on me as I knelt before him, my garter-belt peeking out from under the short hem of the silk skirt, as if I was somehow enticing him. The night I threw coffee on this Fendi suit to prevent Lela from wearing it for John, was when Lela first met Snake, and all of its ensuing drama.

"You look like you have seen a ghost, Mark," Samantha said softly, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Are you okay?"

I should have maintained my distance and kept things professional. After all, Samantha was my boss. However, as my feelings for my former girlfriend overwhelmed me, I moved towards her and leaned in for a kiss. I had misjudged the situation so badly, and regretted my actions the second Samantha raised her hand to stop me.

"Jesus, Mark," Samantha said, recoiling as she got a whiff of my neck. "Did those black guys piss on you too?"

As I stood awkwardly in front of her, it was evident from her body language that Samantha was completely over me. I should have cut my losses and bid her goodnight, but after a lengthy exchange, I broke down and begged Samantha to take me back.

"I just want to be in a healthy, loving, monogamous relationship, Samantha," I cried, as she looked on impassively. "We had a really good thing going, didn't we?"

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Mark," Samantha intoned contemptuously. "That ship has sailed. You blew it by choosing the CumSlut over me. You had an opportunity to save yourself after John defiled Lela on your wedding day. All you had to do was heed my sage legal advice. Do you remember what I told you?"

Of course, I did. Those exact words had reverberated around in my head ever since I decided to ignore them.

"Yes, Samantha," I said dejectedly. "Verbatim. You said do not fuck that dirty bitch tonight, and I will file the request for annulment first thing in the morning."

"If you had kept your dick in your pants, we would have had a reasonable argument for annulment," Samantha continued in an agitated tone. "However, here we are, years later, with another large group of men using your wife as a fuck-toy. I find the whole notion of any woman being a man's plaything absolutely nauseating. However, truth be told, I think the CumSlut enjoys it. Lela's sole purpose on this earth is to provide men with an orifice into which they can pump and dump. And you were dumb enough to marry the dirty slut."

"I don't want to be married to Lela any more, Samantha," I whined. "I want you."

"Understand this, Mark," Samantha responded, talking slowly so that I could fully absorb her words. "You will never enjoy my touch again. You will never kiss, hug or make love to me. There is only one possibility of sexual contact between us, and I will spell it out for you. If you fuck up at work, I am going to forcibly sodomize you with a mammoth strap-on phallus. Capiche?"

The vitriol with which she spat the final threat left no doubt in my mind that Samantha meant it. She was completely over me, and viewed me as damaged goods. This gorgeous, accomplished woman wanted nothing more to do with me, and that realization really hurt.

After Lela recovered from her injuries, we agreed that we would never have any contact with Snake again. We ran in different circles so it wasn't going to be that difficult to avoid him. Lela blocked Snake on her phone and on social media, and we tried to put the demeaning event behind us.

Bukkake is an effective way to thoroughly demean a woman, but from a purely medical standpoint, it is a very low-risk sexual encounter. It wasn't ideal that Snake had allowed fourteen men to ejaculate on my wife's face without submitting to her usual battery of STI testing. However, in the absence of any cuts or open wounds on Lela's skin, the transmission of infection was minimal.

Far more disconcerting to the two of us was the fact that Snake had bare-backed Lela, and ejaculated inside her vaginal cavity without any form of birth control. The latter incident wasn't planned obviously, but as soon as my wife discovered that Snake's oversized cock was bumping up against her diaphragm, she elected to remove it.

Lela had used a diaphragm with much success over her years of escorting, but also had access to the morning after pill, Levonelle. I was acutely aware that Snake had barebacked my wife and had deposited a huge load inside her pussy. Lela and I discussed the option of the Levonelle pill, but her reaction was quite surprising.

"Snake called me the day after the Bukkake party," Lela said casually. "He admonished me to let nature take its course, Mark," Lela added, as I listened on dumbfounded.

I wasn't too happy about the apparent roll of the dice, but once Lela had made a decision I was powerless to stop her. If truth be told, I wasn't too surprised when Lela informed me that she was pregnant. She was still reeling emotionally from her previous miscarriage with John's baby, all those years ago, and Lela was adamant that she wasn't going to terminate another life. We went about our day to day life, keeping the pregnancy a secret.

By the time Lela's condition was visible, John took an interest in the situation.

"In all likelihood the baby belongs to Snake," John said cheerfully, as we bumped into each other in the lobby of our law firm one day. "African-Americans rank first in the index selection. They embody the elements of survival of the fittest. Lela told me that she had to remove her diaphragm in order to accommodate Snake's mammoth cock," John added with a chuckle. "Ouch!"

I shuffled uncomfortably in front of my nemesis, as he continued to belittle me.

"You have been fucking Lela bareback for years, Mark," John added disdainfully. "And yet the last guy to impregnate her was me. There is no way that this baby is yours. When are you going to tell Snake the good news?"

I had absolutely no intention of telling Snake that Lela was pregnant, although obviously I couldn't share that information with John. A few days went by, and because John is a controlling asshole, he decided to give Snake the good news himself. I guess John must have given Snake my cell phone number, because the gangster called me one day out of the blue.

Snake and I had a very brief, one-sided conversation during which Snake instructed me to meet him the following evening at the Dolphin Motel.

"Book into room 46," the black thug ordered me. "And bring your slut wife."

After Snake hung up on me, I was on edge for the rest of the day. I wasn't sure of his expectations, although I was certain he had several, both sexually and possibly paternally. I was dreading the following evening. In fact I even kept the news from Lela, planning to tell her late the next afternoon. Unfortunately for me, Snake texted my wife a brief instruction of what he wanted her to wear, which didn't sit well with Lela.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me that we were meeting Snake?" Lela said angrily, right after the text from him. "He wants me to wear the pink Fendi suit, Mark. John must have told him that this was your exclusive outfit. I'm not even sure that I will fit into that skirt while I am pregnant. And room 46 again for fuck's sake? This is getting out of control."

"Lela, please," I begged. "Snake has already threatened my life once. Let's just get with his program tomorrow night."

"I am going to text Snake and ask him if he has a plan B, in case I am too fat for the Fendi suit," my wife informed me. "Maybe I could wear a Cheerleader skirt, or something with an elasticated waistband?"

I knew that I was wasting my time trying to stop Lela from texting Snake. However, I wish I had at least made an effort because a couple of minutes later, Lela enter the room smiling broadly, and thrust her phone into my face.

I swallowed hard as I read Snake's response.

"The main thing is the health of the baby," it began innocently enough. "If you are able to comfortably wear the Fendi suit, then do so. If not, the cuckold can model it for me. John said that your hubby looks adorable in pink."

I was nauseous when I read and digested Snake's text. Part of me wanted to call him and tell him to get fucked. However, deep down I knew that I was absolutely terrified of Snake. In fact, he had instilled sufficient fear into me that I was going to wear, and do, whatever the fuck he desired. I just prayed that Lela could still fit into her Fendi suit.

Lela took Snake's threat to dress me up as his bitch, as an opportunity to mess with me.

"You have packed on a few pounds too, Mark," she teased, as she rubbed my belly. "Why don't we make sure that you still fit into my pink silk suit, in case we need to go with plan B?"

"Lela, please don't joke around about that prospect," I implored her. "I am already sick to my stomach worrying about it."

"I just think it is prudent to be prepared for the worst, Mark," Lela responded with a giggle. "One of us has to show up at the Dolphin Motel wearing Fendi tomorrow night. Snake will fuck you up if he feels like you willfully disobeyed him."

"Jesus, Lela," I whined. "Why don't you put me out of my misery and just see if the suit still fits you?"

"I guess we will find out tomorrow night which one of the two of us is getting dolled up for Snake," she responded cheerfully. "Have you considered your footwear options, Mark? Snake likes his bitches in sky-high pumps."

"Lela, please," I cried, the stress starting to wear me down. "Enough."

"Maybe we should go to Payless Shoes, Mark," Lela continued to taunt me. "Buy you some pink high-heeled pumps just in case I am carrying too much baby weight to squeeze into the suit."

The following evening, with Lela shoe-horned into the silk Fendi suit, we paced nervously around the well-worn carpet of room 46. In an exercise of control, Snake showed up almost an hour late, texting me just before he arrived.

"Wait on your knees by the bed," the message read.

A few seconds later, as Lela and I knelt on the jizz-stained carpet, Snake entered the unlocked door with Crystal in tow. It had been a few weeks since I last saw the young woman, but Crystal had lost even more weight and was clearly intoxicated. Her nails were perfectly manicured and she was wearing bright pink lip-gloss, which gave the impression that she was still capable of taking care of herself.

Snake breezed into the room as if he owned it, which at the time would have been an accurate characterization. Tossing a small hold-all onto the bed, he addressed my wife as she knelt before him.

"Lela," Snake said pleasantly, as he stooped forward and kissed my wife tenderly on her forehead. "Are you comfortable on your knees, or would you prefer to sit on the bed?"

"I am fine, Snake," Lela answered nervously.

"How are your feet, sweetheart?" Snake continued. "Still sore from the Bastinado?"

"I am healing slowly, Snake," Lela responded hesitantly.

"And the baby?" Snake probed, as he gently patted her stomach. "Any news to report?"

"All good so far, Snake," my wife replied. "I have been having regular checkups."

Once the small talk was dispensed with, Snake sat on the bed, positioned in such a way that his feet hung over the side without touching the floor.

"Crystal, get naked and then fetch my moccasins," Snake instructed the young girl.

Crystal obeyed reflexively, the way a military recruit that has just completed basic training responds to commands. The nubile teen stripped naked, sliding her thong underwear down her toned, freshly-shaved legs before tossing her clothes onto the bed. I tried not to ogle her because I didn't want to give Snake any excuse to punish me. However, the sight of Crystal's lithe frame was too much to ignore, so I stole the occasional glance.