Julie Becomes John's Pet Ch. 09

Literotic asexstories – Julie Becomes John's Pet Ch. 09 by Johns Pet Julie,Johns Pet Julie
Welcome to Chapter Nine of my still-developing story, all of which is completely true. This story won’t make any sense unless you read the first eight chapters first. Click my profile for the link to those chapters.

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I’d been having a personal trainer over the house three times a week for close to two months. Of course, Nate complained about the expense- but who cares. I was looking good, and I needed to, as I was wearing skimpier outfits and consistently exhibiting my body to John and his digital camcorder.

I had considered offering John an apology for the remark I’d made in the closing part of Chapter Eight, but I decided not to. I really did want to see if he had something up his sleeve that was more creative than making DVDs of the two of us fucking.

It was Thursday, and the mailman arrived, carrying a package that needed to be signed for. When I opened it, I was astounded. Inside was a bright red bra and panty set, a pair of black stiletto heels, a white button down blouse…and a skirt that had to be seen to be believed. It was dark red, with a back and yellow checker pattern, and was incredibly short. I measured it with a ruler- it was exactly eight inches long. There was a note in the envelope which read:

Hi Julie:

You and I have a big date on Saturday. Call me as soon as you get this package.

I frantically called John at work (who else could the package have been from?). I explained that if I wore a skirt like that in public, I’d likely get arrested. John told me not to worry, and instructed me to wait at the corner of an intersection in a Portland, a small city close to where we lived. He strongly told me to wear everything in the package, and nothing else.

Since the episode I had with Nate in Chapter Six, we’d been more distant than ever. I’d avoid many of his calls when he was away in New York, and I’d come up with excuses for us not to do things together, even with the kids. I felt bad about that for my kids and, but I was that angry with him. Nate would walk through the door on either Thursday or Friday evening, and the kids would be thrilled to see him. Me…I just wished he’d stay in New York. Awful but true.

This time, Nate came home on Friday evening and had a big surprise — we were all going to Boston to see the Red Sox on Saturday night- the night I had my date with John. When I told my family that I couldn’t go, I had to deal with three sad, disillusioned faces staring back at me.

Of course, Nate had to be confrontational while asking where I was going. I had to make up a lie, and fast. I told everyone that I had made a commitment to my friend Caroline attend a scrapbooking party with her.

My son asked why I couldn’t “blow that off”, and I told him that wouldn’t be fair to Caroline…I had promised I’d go. I made a commitment.

Nate asked why I’d put Caroline in front of my family, and I exploded. I started screaming at him- and I mean SCREAMING.

“Nate, what the fuck am I supposed to do — never make plans with anyone ever again because you may miraculously want us all to spend time together? Every Saturday night since — I can’t remember when — you’ve sat on that fucking chair and gotten sloshed while watching sports on TV. You should have called me and told me you had tickets!”

Of course, Nate couldn’t see what he had done wrong. He played “Mr. Good Dad” and re-iterated that he wanted it to be a surprise.

I couldn’t control my rage. Through clenched teeth I told him “The only surprise is that you’re showing interest in doing something with the three of us. It is beyond ridiculous that you expect us to have our schedules cleared for tomorrow night. You could have easily called and told us there was a surprise for Saturday night without telling us what it is. But no, you walk in here like King Shit and expect us to drop everything! You know what, Nate? FUCK YOU!!”

And to think, he hadn’t even been home for five minutes.

I grabbed my keys and stormed out the door. I heard my daughter Marcy trying to catch up to me, crying and telling me not to go. I drove off anyway. I’m not proud of it, but that’s what happened.

(Note: two days later we all had a big “family meeting” and I apologized to everyone for the way I behaved. I was TOTALLY WRONG for berating Nate in front of the kids, and I truly regret having done so).

*******

The next day, Nate found a buddy to take the extra ticket. I condescendingly told my husband that I thought it would be a good idea if his friend drove. The shot went way over his head, as without thinking he said “oh yeah, he is”. They all left early on Saturday afternoon, leaving me plenty of time to prepare for my date with John.

I put on the outfit, and while I adored John, I questioned his fashion sense. The red bra was a push up and did a great job making my breasts look good, but the color showed right through the white blouse. The blouse was short and tight, but not overly so. But that skirt…wherever we were going, it was going to be an invitation to trouble. It barely concealed by rear end and private area. I looked in the mirror and noticed that no matter how I stood, sat, or walked, the red underwear was apparent. The red underwear clashed with the darker red skirt. When I walked, I noticed that the shoes were very loud, emitting a loud “CLOP!” sound with every step not taken on a carpet.

As I put the outfit on, did my makeup and looked in the mirror, I had a revelation. There were times in my life where I would have loved to have done something as daring and adventurous as going out dressed like…well, dressed like a slut, or a prostitute. But I’d been too shy, too nervous. I would never do it for Nate, because there was always a chance he’d act as if I were doing something indecent, or worse yet, laugh at me. Even if he asked me to, I couldn’t, as I’d be betraying the “model home maker” role I’d been cast into. It was as if my face had changed to fit that mask.

With John, I didn’t have to worry about “being a lady” or anything like that. I didn’t have to decide whether or not to do what he asked, I just did it. It made things a lot easier, and a lot more exciting.

I drove out to Portland, parked my car, and walked toward the intersection where John had told me to meet him at 6:00. I was fifteen minutes early.

As soon as the first car of teenagers passed by that honked their horn and hooted at me, I realized that John intentionally had me waiting on a street corner dressed like a cheap hooker.

A car pulled up with two men in it, one asking me “how much, how much for two blow jobs?” I stared straight ahead and told him I was waiting for my boyfriend.

Several cars honked their horns with their passengers screaming things at me, asking if I needed a date, etc, but I looked off in the distance and waited patiently for John. I was scared and humiliated — what if someone I knew drove by? Time passed….6:15…no John. 6:30…no John.

Things bottomed out when a police cruiser showed up. Two cops got out of the car, and asked me why I had been standing there. I told them that I had been waiting for my date, and this is where he wanted to meet me. The officers shook their heads in disbelief over my story.

One officer asked if he could look through my purse. I knew I could refuse, but I figured if he saw that I didn’t have any drugs, condoms, or whatever in it, he’d get off my back. So I agreed.

The two cops looked through my purse, looked at my license and saw where I lived (a well-to-do suburb), then gave each other a look that said “I don’t get it either”. There was nothing in my purse that even hinted that I might be a prostitute or a criminal.

One cop noticed my wedding ring — which John insists that I wear — and asked why I said I was waiting for my boyfriend there. I took a deep breath, and told him that this is where he asked that I meet him. They both kind of laughed under their breath.

Finally, the older cop told me that he didn’t think I was looking for trouble…but if I stood out on this street corner long enough — dressed like that — I’d find it. I assured him that if my “boyfriend” didn’t show up soon I’d go home. They accepted that and left.

Of course, I would have stayed out there all night, until the next morning, waiting for John. He said to wait, and wait I would.

After another half hours of honking horns, whistles, and indecent proposals, John finally arrived just after seven. He pulled up, lowered the passenger side window, and asked how I was doing. All I wanted to do was get in that car, but John kept making small talk.

It occurred to me that he wanted to make it look like I was negotiating with a potential customer.

He finally let me in the car, laughing as he did so. John looked fantastic wearing a black, single breasted suit and a silk khaki shirt. I wanted to jump him right in the car, and I was already excited wondering what he had planned for the evening. It was as if he’d created a whole new world for me, and I was anxious to explore it.

John had arranged reservations for one of Portland’s best steakhouses. We walked in and were seated immediately. As we walked through the room, I looked around — we were a couple that caught the eye of many males and females in the restaurant. Of course the loud “clop, clop, clop” sound I made with every step attracted attention. It was truly amazing, I was not used to other women checking out my date, and I’m certain I was getting a lot more attention than usual with my revealing outfit. When I went to sit, I had to do so very carefully, holding my skirt down as I awkwardly lowered myself into the chair.

The waitress was a pretty young blonde, seemingly in her late 20’s. I thought for a moment of how this could have been my life — waiting tables on a Saturday night and relying on tips — had I not met Nate.

John asked the waitress to recommend a wine that went well with beef. I have no idea what she recommended, but John told her to bring a bottle over. Since she didn’t say how much it cost, I immediately figured out that I’d be paying for our dinner, or more accurately that Nate would be.

I guess now would be a good time to mention that I wasn’t only providing John with sex, but with gifts, and sometimes expensive ones. I think it was part of the fun for him, and perhaps for me too. One time we were hanging around at his apartment after sex, and he showed me an ad in a magazine. It was a watch that he said he really liked. Of course, that meant “Julie, go out, buy me this watch, and act as if it was your idea to surprise me with a gift”. All part of the power game, I suppose.

Anyway, for a moment I felt terrible about what I was doing, and promised myself that I’d be nicer to Nate effective immediately, and that I’d let go of the incident that happened over a month ago.

John smiled at me and asked if I needed to use the Ladies’ Room, and I actually did. He looked at me and told me to walk across the restaurant toward the bathrooms, frequently looking back to smile at him. From there, I was to “accidentally” stumble into the Men’s Room. John told me to look back and smile as seductively as possible while opening the door, and to drag the incident out, staying in there as long as I reasonably could.

It sounded like fun. I got up, but before leaving I gave John a kiss on the forehead. I thought that would add a nice touch, and John later agreed. I walked toward the bathrooms (with my shoes broadcasting my every step), looking backward and appearing that I was too busy flirting with John to pay attention to where I was going. I stopped at the Men’s Room door, looked back lovingly at John, and opened the door. As I did so I heard someone say “Uh….MISS!” in the background, but I ignored it and headed in.

I walked through that door like a bull in a china shop, with my heels loudly announcing my arrival as I stepped into the middle of the room. One man was washing his hands, I saw the feet of a man standing in a stall, and a third man was using a urinal. I’d seen them on TV, but I’d never actually seen one in person. I stopped to take a look, much to the chagrin of the man caught in mid-stream.

I did my best to act confused as I stood in the middle of the bathroom, idiotically exclaiming “I’m sorry…this isn’t the Ladies’ Room?” No one answered, but I looked to toward the urinal. Above it, where the men stood, there was a thin glass case at eye level with a newspaper thumbtacked to corkboard. One side displayed the front page of the newspaper, the other showed the front page of the sports section. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, and I must have been standing there for a long time.

“You guys read that while you pee?” I stupidly asked to no one in particular. The poor guy using the urinal had a panicked look on his face. I casually apologized and left. As I exited the Men’s Room into the Ladies’ Room, just about everyone within eyeshot was looking at me. I raised my eyebrows and but on a tight “oh gosh, I’m so embarrassed” gesture with my mouth. I did what I needed to do and quickly returned to my table.

John had a look of amazement on his face and said he was afraid I’d fallen in. When I told him what I’d done, he had to cup his hands over his mouth to contain his laughter. He told me I’d earned bonus points for that performance, and I was proud of myself.

When the waitress arrived to take our order, John ordered a porterhouse steak and baked potato for himself…and then he ordered a filet mignon and vegetables for me.

By making my menu choice for me, for the first time I felt as if John had displayed his total control of me in front of someone else. I wondered how that waitress saw me- dressed like a slut and having someone deciding what I ate and drank.

No matter, I was having a wonderful time. I saw the man that was using the urinal get up to leave with his date, and I made a big deal about standing up and waving to him. He was ready to die of embarrassment!

The dinner was great and the company was better. Despite (or perhaps, because of) all of the power games John was playing, I hadn’t had a night out like this in a long time. We talked and laughed as if we belonged together. When the bill arrived, John thanked the waitress and pointed toward me. I happily pulled out my credit card and handed it to the waitress.

John then leaned toward me and whispered, “go back into the Ladies’ Room. Take off your bra and panties. Then when you walk back to the table swing them around in your hands until I tell you to stop”.

At that moment I hated the heels on my feet. They loudly attracted attention, and everyone was going to see what I was doing. Still, I had no choice. I went to the back into the Ladies’ Room, entered a stall, and removed my underwear. I took a deep breath before leaving, then exited while walking back to the table with my head down, twirling my bra in one hand and panties in the other for all to see, until John told me to put them down on the table. They brightly stood out against the white tablecloth.

The waitress had already returned the bill, and John instructed me to leave a nice tip. I did- $40 on a $120 tab- and I stood to leave. John told me there was one last thing he needed to take care of- his shoe was untied.

I let out an involuntary gasp and asked him what he wanted me to do. He calmly told me to get on my elbows and knees, and to tie his shoe. I could feel myself starting to shake- this was the craziest thing I’d ever been asked to do, but I had no choice.

I did as he asked. I placed my knees on the ground, then my elbows in front of them. As I did my skirt came up, and I felt a bit of a draft in an unusual place.

There’s no question in my mind that I was mooning everyone behind me as I performed the degrading task of getting on the floor and tying John’s shoe. I tried to tie it as quickly as possible, which of course meant that I kept screwing up and had to repeat the process several times. It seemed t take forever.

When I finally finished, John and I quickly rushed out of there, as we were certainly going to be asked to leave. I got over my embarrassment quickly, as he and I were cracking up by the time we got to his car. We’d certainly given a few dozen people a night to remember, and something to talk about.

We got back into his car and onto our next destination. We weren’t in the best neighborhood (for Portland, at least) when John pulled into a strip club.

I couldn’t have looked very comfortable, since John assured me that it was OK — he knew people here, and they had a private party room.

To get into this place, one had to climb a big flight of stairs in a dark hallway. On the door at the top, there was an ominous sign:

NO ELECTRONIC DEVICES

NO CELL PHONES

NO CAMERAS

CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED- YOU’LL BE SORRY IF WE CATCH YOU

I’ll tell you what happened when we got inside in Chapter Ten.

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