The Bully Pt 26

I was a broken man after losing both of my girlfriends on the same day. I was also fearful of being assaulted, or worse, by Joker once he realized that I had cut my young charges free, in order to protect them from him. For this reason, I packed up my personal possessions and bailed from my corporate housing. I had to satisfy the requirements of the lease, which cost me a few thousand dollars, but Joker knew where I lived and that didn't bode well for me.

I rented a modest apartment on the other side of town, and I threw myself into work, swearing off women for life. I knew that I would never be able to recreate the once in a lifetime experience of living with two nubile teens, both of whom were willing to accommodate my every sexual whim. Surely, my living situation for the past nine months was the fantasy of most men. Probably the only way it could have been better, was if I had been able to continue exercising the leverage that I had over the two of them when we first cohabited. Amber had no other options when she flew into Los Angeles. I had been able to instill sufficient fear into the young girl by showing her the seedy sights of LA, and introducing her to Moe. Amber was so grateful for my protection, that she even allowed me to run roughshod over one of her 'hard limits,' offering minimal resistance as I re-Christened her with the humiliating moniker 'Bambi.'

Crystal was of the opinion that I had saved her life, which I probably did the first time I checked her into Promises and paid for her treatment. Crystal was also in love with me, she just loved methamphetamine more. I completely owned the two of them for the first couple of months, and it would have been incredible if I had maintained that level of control. However, as soon as they stepped out into the real world, they realized that they were a hot commodity. From that day forward, I sensed a higher level of pushback, particularly from Amber, who was now referred to exclusively as Bambi.

The perfect relationship, I mused, would be one in which the submissive partner had zero other options. Then the dominant partner could proceed in such a way as to focus entirely on their needs, while completely ignoring hard limits. Then it hit me. John enjoyed that relationship for seven years, sexually enslaving me through blackmail that would have destroyed my life. I knew I was never going to experience that type of heaven on earth, but it remained a fantasy of mine.

A few weeks after Crystal entered Promises, she wrote me a letter informing me that she was pregnant. Part of me wanted to take responsibility for her life, and that of her unborn baby. However, the more I thought about it the more I sensed that it could be a shake-down. I knew how to navigate the complexities of our legal system, so I petitioned the court for a prenatal paternity test, citing Joker as the father of Crystal's baby in the legal document. I guess it shouldn't have come as a surprise that the DNA match was his, seeing as how I was never able to get Lela pregnant despite many years of bare-backing her. Crystal left me alone after that, although it was still humiliating that both of my ex-girlfriends were impregnated by two black gangsters that ran in the same crew. I did get some relief a few months later, when I saw on the local news that Joker had been killed just outside the Dolphin Motel, which was the scene of most of the homicides in our town.

Like I said, I threw myself into work, spending ungodly hours in the office and the Law Library. I swore off women, satisfying my sexual urges by jerking off into Crystal or Amber's soiled panties that I kept in the laundry hamper. I was already a respected member of the law firm, but when I coupled my photographic memory and great research skills, with my willingness to work seventy hours a week, I quickly became Samantha's most valuable employee.

I still harbored feelings for Samantha, who despite being a few years older than Lela, Crystal or Amber, embodied everything that I found desirable in a woman. I just had to suppress those emotions, as Samantha had made it clear to me that I was never going to get any sexual favors from her. Sometimes it was hard to be around Samantha, and I knew that she would always be 'the one that got away.'

To her credit, despite obviously knowing that I was still in love with her, Samantha remained the consummate professional. We worked in close proximity for several hours each day, so it wasn't surprising that I would occasionally get aroused. If Samantha noticed that I was sporting wood, she would instruct me to take a break, and that would be my cue to use the Executive Washroom and jerk myself off. It only happened about once a month, and Samantha was good natured about it, often asking me if I felt better once I returned to the task at hand.

Samantha never talked about her sex-life, so I wasn't sure if her needs were being met. I figured that she knew that I was completely available to her if she ever wanted a casual hook-up. However, Samantha remained adamant that the only possible sexual contact between us in the future, would be her pegging me if I fucked up at work.

Samantha and I did get closer as we burned the midnight oil together, but it was a friendship that was never going to blossom into anything remotely sexual. Over time, I opened up about my relationship with Crystal and Amber, and their complete capitulation to me. Samantha seemed genuinely interested in my approach to dominating them, and I shared freely the sordid nature of our three-way relationship.

"Crystal's real name is Mary," I informed my boss one day, as we took a mental breather from our case-load. "Snake, the pimp who organized Lela's Bukkake party, renamed Mary 'Crystal' due to her addiction to methamphetamine," I added, as Samantha stared at me blankly.

"I don't get it, Mark," Samantha said with a confused look on her face.

"Methamphetamine is often referred to as Crystal Meth," I said, trying to help Samantha forge the connection. "So Snake renamed Mary, as Crystal."

"How utterly humiliating that must have been for the poor young lady," Samantha responded in a horrified tone. "Did everyone call her Crystal?"

"I only ever knew her as Crystal," Samantha, I said. "Later on, after Crystal was my girlfriend, her friend Amber joined us from Wisconsin," I added, trying to fill in the blanks for my boss.

"Yes, you had two girlfriends for about a year, if I remember correctly, Mark," Samantha added with a smile. "That must have been hard work keeping two women happy under the same roof."

"Actually, they worked hard to keep me happy, Samantha," I said proudly. "It is astounding what people will do when they have limited options. I completely owned those two young ladies."

"Well, I hope you treated them with respect, Mark," Samantha chastised me playfully. "Women were not put on this earth to be a man's plaything."

"I used both of them as I saw fit, Samantha," I responded. "I even re-Christened Amber within the first week of her arrival."

"Jesus, Mark," Samantha said with a laugh. "Did you name Amber after her drug of choice, too?"

"I didn't permit my young charges to drink alcohol, or do any drugs," I said firmly. "House rules. I gave Amber a particularly humiliating moniker, and one which I knew that she hated."

"Do tell, Mark," Samantha said sarcastically. "I wait with bated breath."

"Everyone called her Bambi," I said with a chuckle. "And Bambi hated it."

"It is typical male behavior like that, which has caused me to swear off serious relationships with men, Mark," Samantha said, the disdain evident in her voice. "I would never suffer such indignity. My identity is intrinsically linked to my birth name, so much so that I wouldn't even change my last name if I got married. And yet you felt entitled to give that poor young girl a demeaning nickname, Mark. Men can be such pigs."

"I wanted Bambi to feel humiliated every time a man called out for her, Samantha," I added cheerfully. "I know it's fucked up but after all I endured with John, I just wanted to own another person, mind, body, and soul. For a short time Bambi was my toy."

"Your toy, Mark?" Samantha replied with vitriol in her voice. "I am surprised you didn't re-Christen Amber, Toy. That would have been even more demeaning for the poor young girl."

"Bambi seemed appropriate for the teenager from Wisconsin," I responded. "Amber was cautious and inquisitive, had a high-pitched voice and was blessed with a sense of wonder, just like Bambi."

"Jesus, Mark," Samantha said in disgust. "You really are a prick to women."

"Amber's moniker raised a few eyebrows when I made her dance at Temptations on amateur night," I continued proudly. "Bambi truly was just like a deer in headlights when she stepped nervously onto the main stage."

"You made Amber dance at a strip-club, Mark?" Samantha asked in disbelief. "I have never danced for a man in my life, even during a committed, monogamous relationship. How utterly degrading for a woman to cavort naked for a man's amusement."

"Bambi performed for about thirty men, Samantha," I corrected her. "You have to understand that I was master of their collective universe," I said proudly. "I made them dress identically at all times, garter-belts, stockings, even crotchless panties to facilitate my entry whenever I wanted to bust a nut."

"Mark, you are such an asshole," Samantha responded playfully. "And what is it with men and crotchless panties?" she continued. "It seems so demeaning for a woman to wear underwear with a gaping hole in the crotch, solely for a man's enjoyment. You know that they were probably dreamed up by a thirty year old virgin living in his mom's basement," she added with a giggle. "I have never worn such a humiliating item for a man's amusement, and nor would I, ever."

"Never say never," I responded with a smile, as Samantha scowled at me. "Are you dating someone special, Samantha?" I asked tentatively, feeling like we had finally lowered our defenses.

"I only date young guys that I meet at college when I am teaching my ethics class," Samantha responded. "I use them solely for my pleasure, receiving oral-sex and the occasional rim-job in the shower, with minimal reciprocation. Once in a while I even convince a good-looking hunk to submit to my strap-on phallus. The way I used John, all those years ago," she added with a twinkle in her eye.

It was candid exchanges like this that kept Samantha and I close friends, although I always wanted more from her. I would have happily performed analingus on Samantha in the shower, but her stated intention to keep me in the 'friend zone' prevented me from verbalizing my desires.

I had learned during the course of my life that it is often random events that shape it. It was quite random that John found out about my sexual assault of Lela, and then used that information to blackmail me into sexual slavery for seven years. It was quite random that Lela allowed Snake to modify her tattoo without possessing the means to pay him, and was then forced into giving him a rimjob. Danny Marshall holding my career in his hands, as Human Resources left it up to him to decide my fate, was yet another random event.

And so it was, four years after my break-up with the Wisconsin runaways, Crystal and Bambi, that another random event completely changed the trajectory of my life. Samantha and I were working in the conference room, and I had just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. My cup was still half-full, but Samantha got up from the large mahogany table, and went over to the industrial-sized coffee machine.

I never saw exactly what happened, but I heard the distinct sound of glass breaking, followed by Samantha's pitiful cries of anguish. Apparently, the handle broke off the large jug right as Samantha was about to pour herself a cup of steaming hot coffee. The jug hit the floor of the conference room, smashed into small pieces, and deposited its contents, nearly half a gallon of boiling liquid, all over Samantha's feet.

I jumped to my feet to help her, but even though I was quick-witted enough to pour the contents of several chilled water bottles all over her feet and lower legs, Samantha needed medical attention. In addition to the second-degree burns over the bottom third of both legs, Samantha also had several small glass shards embedded in her skin. We weren't that far from the nearest emergency room, but by this time in my career I had been gifted one of the coveted premium parking spots, and unfortunately they were located underground, accessible only by elevator.

Acting decisively, I got on the public address system and asked if anyone was parked directly in front of the building entrance, as we had a medical emergency. Less than two minutes later, Samantha was bundled into the front seat of a junior employee's car, and sped directly to the hospital. In her haste, Samantha left her laptop, cell phone, and day planner in the conference room.

I gathered up Samantha's important personal belongings and retreated to my office. It was getting close to the end of the day, and while most of the employees began to leave, everyone knew that I burned the midnight oil, so it was not unusual that I remained in the office. In fact, by seven o"clock, I was the sole employee on site, and the janitorial crew were not due until ten o'clock that evening.

It was with a certain amount of trepidation that I opened Samantha's laptop. I punched in her old access code, and was hoping against all odds that Samantha hadn't changed it. Unfortunately for me, my ex-girlfriend and current boss had updated her access code. However, I had lived with Samantha long enough to know that she always had a list of passwords in her day planner. It took me all of sixty seconds to find her logon and password information, and suddenly I was in her personal computer.

I was aware that Samantha would know that I had been snooping around her laptop, so I intentionally opened her address book first. That way, I figured, I could pawn off my invasion of her privacy on looking for her emergency contact person, due to her medical incident. Of course, once I had unfettered access to Samantha's computer, I had a good look around her photos. I had that old melancholy feeling when I stumbled across some photos of Samantha in a bikini on vacation in Palm Desert. She truly was one of the most desirable women on the planet and I fucked up royally when I let her slip through my fingers. Impulsively, I forwarded one of the more risqué pictures to my phone. The photo showed Samantha in a jacuzzi topless, her perfect breasts in full view. I figured I would jerk off to it when I got home.

After an extended perusal of her photos, I accessed Samantha's conquests file. To my surprise, only two names had been added to the list of her sexual partners since we broke up several years ago, leaving the grand total at nine. I felt that familiar pang of loss as I contemplated the difference between Samantha and the CumSlut. I regretted having made the wrong choice, especially as I saw written evidence of Samantha's sexual restraint. My boss had only slept with nine men in her entire life, whereas the CumSlut had allowed fifteen men, including me, to jerk off on her face in a two hour period.

Interestingly enough, five additional names had been added to Samantha's pegging list since she forcibly violated my ass, two of which were her work subordinates. One of them was Pete Hudson, my co-worker who had met Lela in the Four Seasons Hotel Bar. Judging by the red cherry emoji next to his name, Samantha had been Pete's first foray into getting butt-fucked.

This had happened nearly five years ago, and from memory closely aligned with the date that he had enjoyed Lela at the Four Seasons. As predicted by Lela, Pete had missed work the following day, but I had no clue that his miscreant behavior had cost him his anal-cherry. Pete Hudson had long since moved on from our law firm. However, I was happy to learn that the prick got sodomized by our collective boss for failing to show up to work after his long night with Lela, who he knew was still my wife.

The other employee that Samantha had disciplined with a strap-on phallus was Jason, who ran the mail room. In a busy law firm the amount of inter-departmental mail is staggering. Most other businesses conduct their communications via email or other electronic memos. However, in the legal field nearly all documents need to be originals, so hard copies are constantly circulating the office. A tiny percentage of this mail gets routed incorrectly, and the procedure is to simply return it to the mailroom for redistribution. I can only assume that Jason routed one of Samantha's important documents to the wrong department and she decided that the appropriate punishment was to butt-fuck the poor guy. Either way, Jason had a red cherry emoji next to his name, indicating that he was also a first-timer.

I broke away from Samantha's conquest file to look in her day planner. Again, I had lived with this woman, and knew that she kept a fairly detailed account of her dating life in that book. According to her planner, Samantha had only been on one date in the last four months, and his name didn't appear on either of her conquest lists. As I perused her planner, I stumbled across a list of passwords, which was a rookie move on Samantha's part.

My curiosity got the better of me when I saw her Bank of America password. I know I shouldn't have opened her Banking app, but as soon as I logged on using the password, Samantha's iPhone dinged, sending me a six digit code for further verification. I entered the code that was sent to her iPhone and I was granted access to her bank accounts.

Bank of America had provided a concise summary page of Samantha's bank accounts. She had a savings account that had a balance of one hundred and forty thousand dollars. In addition, Samantha had a 401K retirement account, that was pitifully underfunded when compared to her age and estimated income.

The lack of voluntary contributions to a 401K plan was not uncommon amongst law professionals. Law firms are at the leading edge when it comes to offering innovative, competitive retirement plan designs for their partners and staff. Our firm offered a cash balance pension plan, which allows a much higher annual contribution limit than the 401K plan, whose limits are set by the Federal Government. The company did that to remain competitive in the ever-evolving battle for talent, and it worked. Nearly every single employee at my firm had underfunded their 401K, and maxed out their contributions to the cash balance plan.

In Samantha's case, her 401K was inaccessible without significant financial penalties, until Samantha turned fifty-nine and a half years of age. In addition, it was clear that Samantha had neglected to personally prepare for retirement, beyond the generous company plan. In fact, as if to confirm that Samantha lacked even rudimentary fiscal skills, the majority of her liquidity was in her checking account, which yielded zero interest.

Samantha had over four hundred thousand dollars in her checking account, and the amount of activity was staggering. It appeared that a tremendous amount of money moved through that account. Despite the fact that Samantha deposited forty-two thousand dollars a month, presumably her net income after deductions, there was a comparable amount being paid out each month.

I was blown away by her monthly expenses, even though I knew that she had expensive tastes, having had to replace some of the lingerie that I pilfered. Samantha's mortgage was twenty two thousand per month, which seemed reasonable as she lived in a six million dollar home. Samantha had significantly upgraded her car from when I first met her and she was driving a convertible Maserati. Now the proud lessee of a Lamborghini Aventador, her monthly car payment was six thousand dollars per month, and the insurance premiums were an additional eight hundred per month.