Julie Becomes John's Pet Ch. 13

Please allow me to apologize to everyone for pulling an eighteen month disappearing act. Let's just say that things changed and for a while I no longer enjoyed writing or remembering this time in my life. I am now fine with it- it's part of who I am and I'm glad I kept a journal of it. Writing is therapeutic for me, and I plan to continue.

Welcome to Chapter Thirteen of my story, which is completely true. This story won't make any sense unless you read the first twelve chapters first. Click my profile for the link to those chapters.

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We're fast-forwarding a bit from the last chapter. Summer was gone and it was now September. A few weeks ago I'd put on a brave face and cheerily waved goodbye to my daughter who was being driven by Nate to her freshman year of college in Massachusetts. I held back tears as they pulled out of the driveway, then ran inside and sobbed hysterically in my bed for hours. That's life- they eventually leave the nest. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

One day I realized that from a sexual and relationship standpoint, Nate was trying...at least a little. We were having sex once a week, which was more than we had been doing it in a long time. But that was it- once a week. If we did it on Friday night, I could count on him not being interested on Saturday, and if we didn't do it on Friday, I could guarantee he'd approach me for sex on Saturday.

Unfortunately, the "Friday or Saturday?" coinflip was the only thing unpredictable about my sexual relationship with Nate. But that was better than nothing, and we hadn't fought in a long time.

When Nate and I first got married we bought what we could afford- a large but old and odd house that desperately needed both interior and exterior repair and remodeling in a small town outside of Portland, Maine. The house has common entranceway where it then separates from the door to the "main" house, and a flight of stairs that leads to a one bedroom apartment. When we first bought the place we absolutely needed to have tenants to make the mortgage, and we sometimes had to deal with headaches. As time went on and Nate's career advanced we were able to become more and more selective about who we rented to, and sometimes the apartment would sit vacant for months. We'd had the same mortgage for 20 years, so we were paying a 1980's Maine mortgage rate on Nate's current Manhattan salary. We no longer needed to rent the apartment, so Nate was extremely particular about the person he would rent the place to. He handpicked our tenants, and would only rent to those he had absolute confidence thatwould be trouble free.

As I headed up those stairs for another late-night sexual romp with John, I chuckled over the irony of Nate handpicking our tenant. I really should thank my husband for that someday.

Sometimes when John did me from behind- whether I was getting it vaginally or anally- he would slap my ass, and that slight pain added to my pleasure. As time went on John was slapping me harder and harder as he fucked me. On this night he started laying in spanks until I cried out and literally started sobbing.

John stopped both fucking and spanking me, and asked me if I wanted to stop. I tried to regain my composure and simply said no. John then asked if I wanted him to keep fucking me, and I blurted out the words "yes, please". He then asked I wanted him to keep spanking me.

I was breathing hard and literally quivering as thoughts and hot flashes went through my mind. My ass was radiating with pain. As I struggled to remain on my hands and knees I finally surrendered to the truth and hissed out the word "yes" through clenched teeth.

Of course, John asked me to tell him in a complete sentence, and I did. I told him that I wanted to be spanked, and spanked hard. He demanded that I tell the truth, that he didn't want me saying whatever I thought he wanted to hear. I told him the truth- that I was enjoying the stiff slaps he was applying and that I wanted more. I wanted to show him that I could take it, and that I was willing to absorb whatever punishment he wished to apply in order to please him and show him my loyalty.

John went right back to work, penetrating my vagina with his huge cock while slapping my ass in a non-rhythmic manner. I had no idea when the next slap was coming, and when it did I would yelp out in surprise, pain, and pleasure. I was bucking back and forth wildly while John was doing this, and my sexual temperature was as hot as it had ever been in my lifetime. John then told me that he had no idea that I was such a "pain slut".

He then asked me if I was a pain slut.

The term blew my mind, as I found it to be incredibly degrading...but in an erotic sort of way. As he slapped and fucked away while pulling my hair, I kept telling John "yes, I'm a pain slut...yes, I'm a pain slut" (further demonstrating that I was also a humiliation slut as well) until I screamed and had an orgasm that literally sucked the wind out of me and left me trembling and gasping for air.

John laughed and joked that my orgasm could have shot him across the room. He also said that a scream like that wasn't just likely to awaken my son, but the entire neighborhood. I was unconcerned, and at that point, I asked him to please fuck me in the ass.

I used to generally dislike anal sex, but like so many other things that had changed. John and I had done it so many times had stretched me to the point where it no longer hurt. Plus I'd learned to rub the outside of my vagina as he pumped in and out of my ass, causing an intense feeling of pleasure, and having John pulling my hair with his left hand while administering blows to my ass with his right added to the sensation. I had two more huge orgasms before John finally came inside my ass.

Usually after sex- with either John or my husband- I needed a cooling off period. Even after my most humiliating and submissive sessions with John, I wanted to he held, and in most cases he did that for me. But this time I got dressed as quickly as I could, excused myself, and headed downstairs.

For whatever reason my euphoric sexual high was quickly replaced by an emotional low. Upon returning home I disrobed and looked at my bottom in the living room mirror. The left side was a bright pink, while the right side was beet red, and purplish blood blisters had already begun to appear. On top of it, I had begun to sweat profusely and dark circles were forming under my eyes.

I began shaking and crying. It really hurt to sit, but I couldn't stand. My heart was racing, and I felt both nauseated and light-headed. For a moment I was afraid that something was seriously wrong with me. I literally thought it was possible I was having a stroke, and considered calling 911. I'd have a lot of explaining to do, but it would be better than dying.

As I sat sobbing and blubbering on the couch I came to realize that I was having a panic attack. Not the dramatic one on TV where someone passes out and profanely tells Dr. Melfi about it the next day, but one where a person is so afraid or distraught that they encounter physical ailments.

Of course, there was a missing piece to the puzzle. I had no idea what was upsetting me, and why I was reacting this way. But I was scared to death, and felt like a small, helpless child.

Wisely, I called Caroline, and explained what was going on. She was the voice of reason, and said that openly sobbing in the living room of a house that occupied my son was bad enough, but doing it while being completely naked crossed the boundaries. That brought me back to reality- I slipped on a thin, satin robe while wondering when I'd be able to wear pants or shorts again. My ass really, really hurt, and I was sure that it would for at least a couple of days.

I continued to speak with Caroline, which really helped settle me down. I theorized that what upset me was that part of me felt I was becoming a pervert. Not a good, kinky semi-pervert but someone that was sick, dark, deranged...someone that was completely fucked up. A pain slut? Is that what I wanted to be? I mean, I had allowed- no, encouraged- John to beat my ass practically into raw hamburger. These weren't cutesy, esoteric slaps- John had struck me with powerful open-handed blows, and not only did I enjoy it, but at the time I was left wanting more.

Caroline said that she didn't think I was a pervert, and that I should relax. She theorized that the dull sex life I'd had with my husband was the abnormal thing, and that as long as I didn't get carried away with things I'd be fine. "I don't give a shit what anyone says" Caroline flatly stated, "a little S & M is healthy and normal".

Inwardly I questioned whether what I was doing was "a little S & M", but Caroline's words made me feel better.

Yes, my bottom hurt. But that's not where the sobbing was coming from. It was as if the lashes from John's hand opened up a wound that was from the deepest part of my soul, leading to some hidden pain that I didn't even know existed pouring out, and I couldn't stop it.

I raided Nate's liquor stash. It was all I had to sooth the pain. I had ice for my behind, but alcohol was what I needed to

When my son woke me in the morning I told her I wasn't feeling well and stayed in bed until he went off to school. I finally got up and got out of my robe. As I was afraid it would be, the back side of it was stained with blood. Not a lot...but plenty considering the nature of my injury. Blood isn't supposed to ooze out of your skin from open handed slaps.

I felt faint as I started at it. I'm someone that can't stand the sight or smell of blood.

Ever since my daughter left and my school started again for my son, I'd sneak up to John's place late at night for sex once or twice a week, usually around 11:00 PM or midnight. It was fine- I could get up early, make things appear normal for my child, and slip right back into bed if I were tired. John didn't have to be at work until 9:00 AM, so this was working out for both of us.

John and I had made love probably a hundred times before this night. Sometimes he'd disrobe me in a traditional fashion, other times he'd order me to strip. This time was different- he suddenly pinned me down and began tearing off my shirt. Instinctively I tried to stop him, but he was too strong for me. He literally tore off my clothes. It was so odd- I was resisting, but I wanted it to happen. After literally ripping my panties off, he pinned me down and fucked me. I tried to cross my legs and stop him, but he pulled them apart and had his way with me.

It wasn't real. We were just playing. But I got into the role of being a rape victim, which is really twisted. To this day, just the thought of the sound and feel of my panties being torn off gets me hot. I can't help it.

John kept upping the ante. The next time I saw him he not only beat my ass red, but he beat my breasts as well. He scissored one of my arms with his legs, and had the other one pinned underneath him. He held my head back by pulling my hair, and started hitting my breasts hard with open handed slaps. I had two orgasms while he did this.

Later that night, I examined the damage in the mirror. My left breast was beaten badly, and a dark red bruise was forming on it. In an odd way I was proud of it, and I was also turned on by it. And suddenly I felt that feeling of absolute panic.

As I trembled and hyperventilated the light went on in my head. The feelings of panic subsided and were replaced by a sense of stark, cold awareness.

I was going to get caught. Nate was going to catch me.

It was inevitable.

Chapter 14 will be submitted soon- I PROMISE!

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