Julie Becomes John's Pet Ch. 14

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

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Nate had worked for the same place for over twelve years, and at first they told him that he would have to "occasionally" travel to corporate headquarters in New York. What started as him being away two or three days a month went from two or three days a week, and as time went on and his responsibilities grew he began working in New York full time. He was told it was a temporary thing, but he'd been doing it for almost four years. Nate came home on a Friday and announced the company was taking him out of his hotel, furnishing him with an apartment in Manhattan, and giving him a promotion and a raise.

My husband was thrilled, as he said he was tired of "hotel living", but I wasn't as happy. I told Nate that this signified that the "temporary" assignment had obviously become a permanent one. When Nate semi-snidely told me that he had accepted that some time ago, it dawned on me how we never talked about those things...we never talked about a lot of things.

Maybe that was why we no longer fought.

Nate then went into his "OK, let's get serious" mode. He said that his career future was in New York...would I be interested in moving there in two years, after our son graduated high school?

My immediate, reactive thought was NO FUCKING WAY- give up John to move to New York?

It was as if John and I had two different relationships. I've put a lot of emphasis here on the sexual side of our bond, but there is a lot more. John and I have so many romantic moments- we talk, we share, we laugh.

I was in love with John. But did I love him?

There were more questions. One night John surprised me by first tying me up (something he had never done before) and then inserting a ball gag into my mouth. From there he whipped my behind with the kind of crop a jockey uses on a racehorse. The feelings of pain, helplessness, and desperation actually turned me on. If it hurt too much, I wouldn't be able to communicate that...and that was part of the turn on, as were the thin, red blister stripes that adorned my rear end the next day.

What the hell was the matter with me?

I found myself thinking back...the younger readers may not understand this, but when I was growing up it was common for parents to apply corporal punishment to their children. I got spanked, my brother got spanked, and our friends got spanked by their parents. It was just the way things were.

One night when I was twelve years old I was angry with my parents over something, and I retaliated by sneaking out of my bed in the middle of the night and watching TV in the living room. It was in the 70's, before we had cable, so I was flipping through the most boring shows imaginable until I heard my father storm down the stairs. There definitely was a moment of anticipation- was he going to spank me? At this hour? He did, and I woke up everyone in the house as I cried out when he struck his open hand into my pajama bottoms and spanked my behind.

My recollection of this event was always that it was an act of defiance, and that I'd won the battle- I got back at my parents by deliberately misbehaving, and when my father tried to retaliate he created a house-wide disruption. He gave me a spanking, but I knew I could take it. In my mind I'd come out on top, and I felt that everyone else knew it as well.

But looking back- was my intent sexual? Did I goad my own father into performing an act that I drew sexual gratification from- being dominated, spanked, and humiliated- even at that young age? Did I like and want the pain? I honestly can't remember.

At the time I had already developed into a sexual being, hitting puberty and fantasizing about being the girlfriend of either Greg Brady or Keith Partridge (the TV sitcom heart throbs when I was young), depending on the night. Here's the thing- in these fantasies, I would always try to be a good and proper girl, like I'd always been instructed to be by my parents. "Greg" or "Keith" would take me to a party, dinner, hamburger stand, whatever- and on the way home they'd pull their car over to a romantic spot to "get to know each other better", without asking me beforehand. They'd try to kiss me, and I'd say no- but they'd overcome my objections- by force if need be- and soon I'd give up my futile resistance and we'd be passionately massaging each other's tongues. From there they'd start grabbing my tits through my shirt, and if I tried to stop them they'd simply overpower me. By the end of the fantasy I'd be stripped naked in the backseat of their car, exhibiting my body for their pleasure, with them still fully clothed. Getting fucked or giving head was never part of the fantasy, and I'm certain the lack of "fairness" of me having to have my clothes taken off without my partner having to do the same was also part of it. I touched myself in that exact manner they did in my mind as I ran this scenario through my head almost every night.

It bears repeating- as early as sixth grade I went to bed every night fantasizing about putting up a pristine front but ultimately submitting to a stronger man's wishes. Every night, in the end I'd be slutting out for them. I'd pushed this out of my mind for a long time, but now that long-forgotten taste was right back in my mouth. I came to realize that the first time John pulled out his cock and ordered me to suck while we were "just friends" may have been the start of the fulfillment of my ultimate, long buried desires.

Anyway, not long after the late-night spanking incident my parents announced that times had changed, and there would be no more corporal punishment in the house. I remember feeling weird about it at first, not knowing what to think. The first time I did something wrong, my parents told me I couldn't use the phone for a week. I was PISSED- why couldn't they just give me a spanking so I could get my punishment over with?

I wish I knew what was really going on in my mind at that time.

Back to the present- as far as my sexual relation with John goes, he had a new obsession with my asshole. (no, not Nate- the one on my body- yes, that was supposed to be funny). John told me that he was going to keep my pussy nice and tight for him, but that he was going to stretch my ass out to the point where his big cock would be loose inside me. John humiliated me by making me dress provocatively, taking me to an adult toy store, and making a big deal about picking out a toy that was the right size for my ass. He eventually selected something that was over a foot long and funnel-shaped. It was started about four inches around, but got bigger and wider until it had the girth bigger than a soda can. It was like an exaggerated alien penis. The loser "this is why I work here" cashier giggled and I shook nervously as I paid for the item and John openly laughed and said we'd be back for something bigger soon. I felt that familiar feeling of combined shame and exhilaration.

John couldn't wait to use it on me- he was like a kid with new toy, pardon the pun. When we finally got some time together he immediately had me strip and get on my hands and knees on his bed. With zero foreplay John lubed up his penis and started fucking me in the ass. John is so big that when he fucks me in the ass I can really feel it in my vagina, and I have orgasms.

After John blew his load in my ass, he lubed up our new toy and went to work with it. He stuck it in my behind, and started pulling in and out. When he got it in past a certain point it was even thicker than his dick The device was going deeper into me than John ever had, and it was really stretching me out. John was thrusting in and out of me, going faster and deeper while it felt tighter and tighter around my asshole.

It was like John was playing a stereo, and he kept turning the volume higher and higher. At first the music was low and pleasant, and then it got louder until it maxed to a pleasure point. Then it got louder, and like good classic rock music that hurt your ears a bit, but you liked it....in this case enough to have an orgasm, and a big one.

John kept hammering my ass with this thing- like loud music, there's a point where it's good...then loud...then WAY too loud. This thing was stretching my butt-ring and it HURT. This was no longer "good" pain...it was agony.

I desperately clung to his sheets and tried to find the strength and courage to absorb what John was giving me. I wanted to show John that I could take it, that I would be loyal to him and do whatever he pleased. But as he pushed this thing that stretched me further and further, it's width was stretching me too much- it burned and felt as if I were being ripped apart, and I genuinely feared a trip to the emergency room.

It was too much pain- I sobbed and cried out for John to stop. I sobbed and begged- PLEASE- it was way too much. I was crying like a baby, both from the pain and feeling of defeat.

John immediately but slowly and carefully pulled it out of my ass. I sat there sobbing as he told me that everything was OK, and that he didn't mean to really hurt me. We put our arms around each other, and I buried my head in his chest and softly cried.

I was very much in love with that man.

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