Jules 10 - Full Circle

Author's Note: This is a chapter in a multi-part story and is not intended to stand alone. This is my first attempt at writing erotica, so feedback is highly encouraged.

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I sit in my car for long minutes unable to move. The seats are cool against the skin left exposed by the tattered rags I'm wearing, as the evidence of Paul's bargain dries to a crust on my skin and hair. I had come here to regain power in the smoking rubble of our past relationship. Instead, I'm leaving debased, degraded and humiliated.

Why did I strip down to next to nothing for the benefit of my cheating ex-boyfriend? Why did I think a couple of pictures were worse than rewarding Paul's infidelity? Why do I keep playing J's game, no matter the consequences? And why am I so turned on?

"You're here to suck my dick," Paul's voice tells me. And that's really the crux of it. Regardless of whatever story I tell myself about teaching Paul a lesson or making him 'rue the day', I was here to suck his dick. The 'deal' had but one purpose- to get him off at my expense. And the more the price went up, the more eager of a participant I became.

"Fuck," I mutter as another realization sinks in. I'm now the other woman. After Paul and I split up, he stayed with the woman he cheated on me with. As far as I know, they're still together. I suppose I should be more charitable in my thoughts about her. "She's still a bitch!" Sue me, I'm only human.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" I shake my head to bring me out of my stupor. I take a moment to assess my situation. I'm still wearing the tattered Packers shirt, only dressed in the barest sense of the word. I did at least retrieve the rest of my clothes, but my shoes are still back in Paul's apartment. I'm not going to face Paul and his friends over a beat up pair of sneakers. I have my purse, so keys and phone are accounted for.

I also have a now familiar tingling in my pussy, despite having orgasmed mere moments ago. "I can't still be horny!" I admonish myself, noting that I've stopped using the embarrassed euphemisms for my vagina. My 'cunt,' I giggle. I briefly consider leaning my seat back and fingering myself to another orgasm here in the parking lot. But I'm not certain more of Paul's friends aren't expected. I also entertain the naughty idea of going through a drive-thru in my current state, tits and pussy hanging out and cum drying on my face. I feel a definite charge at the mental image, but decide I've tempted fate enough. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" I ask again as I start the car and head home.

I clean myself up and spend the balance of my Sunday in shockingly normal activities. I run several loads of laundry, buy groceries, and even check in with my parents. "Do you kiss your mom with that mouth?" My nipples go hard remembering Paul's taunt.

"Pull yourself together, you're turning into a slut." I tell myself, pretending that I'm not a little excited by the notion. After dinner, I spend a little time cleaning the apartment and then log in to work to prepare for the coming week.

I wake the next morning feeling refreshed, with the drama of the previous day a little further back in the rearview mirror. I shower and dress for work, eager to show off my new wardrobe. I opt for a stylish skirt and blazer combo over a crisp white blouse. Dark, thigh high stockings and matching pumps complete the outfit. The blouse is thin enough that I need to be careful with what I wear under it. I choose a lacy white bra and panty set which won't contrast too sharply with my pale skin.

I fix my hair and apply a little makeup, trying to remember some of the techniques that J used on me. I don't have her touch, but my efforts are rewarded and I upgrade my mental tally from cute to attractive. Go me! I take a moment to consider myself in the mirror. The overall effect is smart and professional. Nothing over the top, but a definite step up from my usual comfy and casual.

At the office, I'm greeted with appreciative comments about the look and even a playful wolf-whistle from Dan. Kim chides me about having an interview, but she smiles when she says it. All of the attention has given me a much needed lift after the rollercoaster of the weekend. The morning passes uneventfully, until I receive a text from J. "Sandwich Shop. 11." I notice there's no question mark. I reply with a quick affirmative and finish up my morning's work.

I arrive at the shop promptly at 11, and am not surprised to find J waiting at a table tucked away in a quiet corner. I retrieve my food and join her. Before I sit, she gives me a slow, appraising look up and down. "Well done, Little Butterfly." I take my seat across from her, beaming at the compliment. We spend a few minutes in idle chit-chat as I dive into my sandwich. I decide not to bring up my encounter with Paul. I'm in too good a mood to relive the humiliation. J, with an unsurprising lack of food in front of her, does most of the talking.

As I pop the last morsel of my sandwich into my mouth, that familiar smirk forms on J's lips. "Ready for the next stage of the game?" I swallow hard, but don't say anything. She fixes my eyes and continues. "You're currently wearing three items above the waist: your jacket, your blouse and your bra. You're going to go back to the ladies room and come back wearing only two. Your choice." She pauses a moment to let that sink in. "But Jules..." her smile deepens, "...keep the jacket."

I head back to the restroom in a haze of disbelief. I don't even consider not playing along. Whatever sway she has over me seems to be getting stronger. Or maybe my reluctance is getting weaker. Moments later I'm staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. There's really only the illusion of choice, since there's no way I'm going shirtless, even under the jacket. I retreat back to a stall for as much privacy as possible, and strip to the waist. I blame the cool air for my hardening nipples, but know that it's only one reason of many.

Soon I'm back in front of the mirror, bra in hand, checking my reflection. There's no hiding the granite points of my nipples poking through the silky fabric. A closer look reveals the dusty rose of my areolas contrasting against the milky white skin of the surrounding breast, barely visible through the thin fabric. I shrug the jacket back over my shoulders, concealing my secret just as another pair of women enter the restroom. The flash of white lace in my hand catches one of their eyes, and she gives me a conspiratorial grin. Too late, I realize I left my purse at the table with J. So with a resigned sigh, I exit the restroom, bra balled tightly in my fist.

Back at the table, I find that J has swapped seats. She's now sitting with her back to the room, leaving the corner seat for me. "Predictable, if disappointing," she says as I take my seat. Feeling naughty, I place the bra brazenly on the table between us. "Since you took the easy way out," she says, rising from her own seat, "you have one more choice to make."

She steps behind me, sliding between the wall and my chair, and leans in close to whisper in my ear. My pulse quickens. Nothing good ever comes from her being behind me. "First things first..." she reaches down to open the buttons of my jacket. My arms hang limply at my side allowing her to open the jacket fully. I pray that my nipples aren't obvious, knowing full well that they are. I keep my head down, willing the other patrons to ignore me. "Your fan club is back." My head bolts up to see the same middle-aged man from Friday staring at me with hungry eyes. How had I missed him when I walked by?

"Now here's your choice," she says, dragging my attention back from the man in front of me. "Two buttons from your jacket, or two from your blouse." J's breath is warm on my ear, but I shiver anyway. The jacket only has two buttons, so l would have to leave it open completely. But two buttons on the blouse is only slightly revealing. I flashed my bra to my coworkers repeatedly on Friday with three buttons missing. This time, I wouldn't have the bra but I'd have the extra button. And I could keep the jacket closed.

"The blouse," I respond finally.

"Good choice." It occurs to me that this choice, like the last one, is obvious. Is J goading me into some hidden trap? Or is she really just daring me to take the more adventurous path. She claims to be my friend, but she's also proven more than willing to leave me stripped of my security, my decency and my clothes.

"But first," she pulls me back from my thoughts. "You look thirsty..." I watch my hand move of its own accord, as if pulled by unseen strings. I pick up my glass of ice water from the table and drink deeply. As I tilt the glass back from my lips, J's hand encircles my wrist and holds it in place.

"Watch him," she breathes, almost inaudibly. My eyes return to the man at the next table. He waits expectantly, eyes fixed to my shirt. J guides my hand with gentle pressure and I offer no resistance. A small gasp catches in my throat as the cold glass touches my nipple, turning it to diamond. J circles the glass slowly and I feel the condensation soak into my blouse, my WHITE blouse.

"Keep watching." My eyes are locked on the man. His eyes are locked, unashamedly, on my chest. Long seconds pass before J guides my hand and the glass back to the table. "Now, for your choice." I look from the man to my blouse. The cloth is soaked and molded tightly to the swell of my breast. My tata, I decide in the absurdity of the situation. My nipple shows clearly through the now transparent fabric.

I look past my exposed chest to the table, where J has placed a small pair of sewing scissors. The invitation is clear. "Keep watching," she whispers again. She fades into the background and I take the scissors and look back to the man. His eyes roam back and forth from my chest to my face. Feeling emboldened, I give him a knowing smile as I bring the scissors to the top button of my blouse. SNIP... and I place the button gently on the table in front of me.

My eyes never leave them man as I bring the scissors to the second button. The man's face is red with a now familiar flush of arousal. SNIP, the second button joins the first on the table. I feel my shirt part slightly as the closure is released. Basking in the attention of my admirer, I bring the scissors to the third button. His breath catches as I ever so slowly draw the scissors closed until the blade just touches the thread. I hold it there for a long moment as the man's eyes beg me to continue. Then I pull the scissors down, wagging a finger at the man scoldingly but with a wide smile on my face.

I'm brought out of my reverie by the sound of someone clearing their throat. I look up to see a young barista, probably a college student, standing over me. "May I clear your dishes, Miss?" he asks my chest. My first instincts are to panic and cover myself, but I resist both.

"Yes, please." I reply casually as I place the scissors and my bra in my purse, making no move to cover my exposed boob. The young man stands for an awkward moment unsure what to do, before finally grabbing my plate and wandering away. I scan the room, but find no trace of J.

I gather my things under the watchful eye of the man at the next table. I shrug my jacket back over myself, but leave it hanging open. On my way to the door, I place a friendly hand on his shoulder and offer a cheerful "Have a nice day."

"Um... thanks," I hear him stammer, but I'm already out the door.