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 ï>¿Jules By flight_o_fancy

   Jules 08 - The Safety Of Home?

   A brief interlude before the game continues.

   I find J waiting patiently on a bench outside the store.  "Mission
accomplished, I see," she nods to the envelope.  I just stare at her
wordlessly.  My mind is a jumbled mess of emotions that I don't have the
energy to sort out.  "Let's get you home."

   J orders dinner to be delivered and opens a bottle of wine, as I retreat
to a much needed shower.  She doesn't even complain as I emerge in
well-worn sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, sensing my need for familiar
comforts.  I eat ravenously, but I notice J mostly pushes the food around
her plate.  This woman really never eats.  With my belly full and a glass
of wine behind me, I begin to feel almost human again.

   More wine flows and I relate the events of my encounters with Lisa and
James.  J listens with genuine concern and asks probing questions.  She
draws out my innermost feelings on the events and I feel powerless to hide
from her.  My thoughts on Lisa are uncomplicated, if a bit surprising.  She
pushed me outside of my comfort zone in a multitude of ways.  I found it
exciting and my body responded in kind.  J took particular interest in the
way the encounter ended, with me sacrificing my own pleasure to exert
control over the situation and enforce the bounds of the deal.

   My thoughts on James are a bit more complex.  On the surface it seems
quite simple.  Sam took a dislike to me and wanted to embarrass me while
giving James a cheap thrill.  But in reality, there's much more to it than
that.  Was James the real victim?  Our 'show' was supposed to humiliate me,
not him.  But in the end, he was retreating in shame and I was...  what? 
It's hard to admit, but I was incredibly turned on.

   My arousal was certainly not due to any desirability or prowess on
James' part.  I feel a lot of things for him: sympathy, affection and a
growing, almost maternal protectiveness.  But lust is nowhere near this
equation.  Instead, my arousal was fueled by the sheer depravity of our
performance.  The thrill of being watched, the expanses of flesh that I had
bared, the tease of flesh that remained hidden, the desire I stoked in
James and Ryan and maybe even Sam.

   And then came the guilt.  Had I used James?  Sam had said he needed to
'live a little,' and it would be easy to write off his involvement as
exactly that.  After all, it's not everyday that he gets to grope and
fondle an attractive woman while she grinds on him until he cums in his
pants.  That was quite likely the sum total of his sexual experience.  I'm
sure Ryan would have jumped at the chance to trade places with him.

   And yet, James didn't get any say in it.  The entire situation was
presupposed on his virginity and his acquiescence.  He was an innocent
bystander, that ended up being the punch line.  I can't shake the feeling
that I've done him a grave injustice.  Until now, I've been able to tell
myself that I was an unwilling, or at least reluctant, participant.  But
did I really have to take things as far as I did?  Did I just get carried
away or did I use James to fulfill some lewd, exhibitionist instinct I
didn't even know I had?  Worse yet, did I rob him of the opportunity to
experience these emotions and sensations with someone he cares about and
who cares about him?

   In the end, these questions are just too big and my emotional state too
frazzled.  J and I retire to the couch with something mindless on the TV to
distract me from the events of the day.  J moves behind me and begins to
rub my shoulders.  Her touch is exquisite and I feel some of the day's
tension melt away.  I have so many more questions, but I can't bring myself
to ask them.  After all of the chaos and turmoil of the day, I won't do
anything to disrupt the comfort I feel in this quiet moment.  There's only
one nagging need that isn't being met...

   "You know," J breathes into my ear.  I blush a little as she picks that
specific thought to interrupt.  "If your story was accurate, and I have no
reason to doubt it was..." Her hands move from my shoulders, slowly down my
back until they slip under the hem of my shirt.  I gasp quietly as her
fingers trace across the bare skin of my back and around to my belly. 
"I'll bet you're still feeling a bit..." I moan as her fingers slip beneath
my waistband.

   "...unfulfilled." One finger parts my moistening lips and slides into
the hungry depths below.  One finger, then two saw in and out of my most
intimate area, before withdrawing to rub and tease my clit.  J's other hand
snakes up my shirt and she pinches my nipple.  Hard.  J coos into my ear
"Let go, Little Butterfly.  Cum for me." and then bites down on my earlobe.
There is no slow build up this time.  My orgasm rushes up with explosive
force.  It's as if every ounce of tension, every shard of pent up energy
erupts out of me in a single, delicious moment.  I cry out unintelligibly,
as release washes over me.  Then for the second time in as many days, all
of my senses fade to black.

   This time, my sleep is blissfully uninterrupted.  I am wrapped in a
cocoon of warmth and comfort that the concerns of the waking world cannot
penetrate.  Consciousness returns slowly, one sense at a time.  The smell
of fresh coffee.  The feel of cool air playing lightly over my naked body.
The sound of J's melodious voice, welcoming me back to reality.  "Good
morning, sleepy head.  I trust you slept well?"

   "Mmm, yes." I purr, still not willing to open my eyes.  Memories of the
night before slip back into my mind.  "What happened?"

   "Well, you had one earth-shattering orgasm," she chides.  "And then you
slept like a baby." I slowly open my eyes and begin to take stock of my
surroundings.  A cup of coffee sits steaming on the nightstand next to me,
filling the air with its delicious aroma.  "I had hoped you were going to
return the favor," J continues, "but I guess rest was more important. 
Understandable, but you owe me one." She smiles, obviously amused, before
continuing.  "You were out for 12 hours, so I had to find other ways to
entertain myself."

   My eyes follow J's voice to where she sits and several things begin to
compete for the limited brainpower I have available in the morning fog.  J
is sitting casually at the foot of my bed.  She is already dressed and her
hair and makeup look as perfect as always.  How is this woman always so
presentable?  I am lying on my back on top of the covers, my clothes are
noticeably missing.  A towel is spread underneath my lower body, my legs
are splayed wide and my pubic area has been shaved completely bare.  As she
talks to me, J is idly tapping away on a phone.  My phone.

   "I've been chatting with Paul a bit this morning, pretending to be you.
I have to say, bad choice.  You can do much better!"

   "WHAT?!?" I call out, sitting bolt upright.

   J giggles at my reaction.  "A word of warning, bored and horny is a
dangerous combination for me.  Did you know those pictures of your little
performance in the restroom came from your phone?  No?  You should really
keep closer tabs on this thing." She holds my phone up as if to
demonstrate. "Anyway, I sent a couple to Paul last night." She says, as if
it's completely normal.

   "What?  Why?" I'm in shock and can't get past single syllables.

   "Mostly I wanted to see his reaction.  You can tell a lot about someone
by the way they react to the unexpected.  Paul's reaction was... 
disappointing." No surprise there.  My ex can be a lot of things.  He can
be cute and charming and a whole lot of fun.  But he can also be a bit of a
pig.  He hasn't quite grown completely out of his obnoxious frat boy phase.
He was always asking me to send him nudes or let him film us having sex.  I
never relented because I didn't trust him.  I didn't want them to end up on
the internet or be used to boast to his friends.  I guess that cat is out
of the bag.  I chuckle morbidly at the unintended pun.

   "What did he say?" I ask with growing horror.

   "He was surprised, understandably.  I played it off like you were drunk
and didn't mean to send them to him.  I asked him to delete them, but he
said he'd only do it for a blowjob."

   ""You can't be serious?!?"

   "Which reminds me, we need to get moving.  You're supposed to be at his
place at 10 so you have time before his friends come over to watch the
game. Oh, and he wants his Packers t-shirt back."

   The sheer casualness of her tone makes me think I misheard her.  It
takes a few beats for my brain to catch up.  "Why would you do that, J? 
You said you were my friend." I cradle my head in my hands, unable to
comprehend the situation.

   "First of all, bored and horny is bad.  Remember?" I'm not amused.  "In
all seriousness, this will be good for you.  You can regain some power in
that relationship."

   I'm flabbergasted.  "There is no relationship!  He cheated on me and I
dumped him.  How much more power do I need?!?"

   "That's just it.  He feels like he got away with it.  He got to double
dip for a while, and then move on to his new thing.  You need to make him
realize what he lost.  Prove to him, and yourself for that matter, that he
didn't get an upgrade.  You are a butterfly - a beautiful, sexy butterfly.
Make him rue the day he ever wandered."

   My head is spinning.  I had fully intended to never see Paul again.  I
had certainly not intended to send pictures like THOSE to him.  And the
thought of a blowjob to get them back...  But J just sits there, looking at
me expectantly and somehow all of my freewill just seems to drain away. 
"Ugh!  Do I have a choice at this point?"

   "You are powerful, Little Butterfly.  You always have a choice!" That
damn smirk returns.  "But you also know that you'll play the game."



   Jules 09 - Ex Games

   Jules makes a play for power.

   J doesn't complain when I stay in my sweats and t-shirt.  I refuse to
dress for Paul's pleasure.  But she takes a firm stand on hair and makeup,
insisting that we maintain some minimum standards.  I do my best to tame my
bed head, still blushing slightly each time I reach for the hairbrush. 
Meanwhile, J goes to work on my makeup.  The eventual effect is flirty,
cute and almost wholesome.  This seems incongruous with my task for the
morning.  As we walk out the front door, she hands me a shopping bag. 
"Packers t-shirt" she states in response to my questioning look.

   I drop J off at the coffee shop from yesterday, presumably to retrieve
her car.  I then make my way to Paul's apartment, trying to ignore the
shame that is forming in the pit of my stomach.  "It's just a blowjob," I
tell myself.  "You've done this before." Paul answers the door wearing only
a pair of sweatpants of his own, obviously opting not to dress for the
occasion either.  "Hey babe, fancy meeting you here."

   His smarmy manner is a turn off.  His bare, toned chest isn't.  I'm
reminded that, aside from James' awkward fumblings the day before, I
haven't enjoyed a man's touch in quite some time.  And while Paul has a
laundry list of faults, too many to name, sexual prowess is not one of
them.

   I stop myself before my thoughts stray too far down that path and don an
expression that I hope portrays unconcerned confidence.  I need to reclaim
power in this transaction, and fawning like a schoolgirl won't help.  "We
have business to attend to." I say wryly, pushing past him into the
apartment.

   "You look good," he says, giving me a once over as we make our way to
the living room.  I let his gaze linger on me for a moment, silently
wishing I had worn something a little more flattering.  Whether that's to
shift the balance of power or gain his approval, I'm not certain.

   "Thanks.  Here's your shirt." I toss the bag to him.  He acknowledges it
with a quick chuckle before depositing the bag on the coffee table, amongst
the snacks that are set out for the game.

   I want this over with, so I get right down to business.  "Let's agree to
terms.  I'll give you one blowjob..."

   "To completion," he interjects with a cocky smile.

   I roll my eyes.  "One blowjob, to completion.  I then watch you delete
the pictures and the whole text exchange from your phone."

   "Wait, you're serious?  You're really here for a blowjob.  I thought
this whole thing was a joke, like you wanted to get back together or
something." He shakes his head in amusement.

   "We are NOT getting back together!" I say a little too forcefully.  "So,
you'll delete the pictures?"

   "Well now I know you're willing to blow me for them." I make a mental
note to kill J the next time I see her.  I hadn't even considered that he
wasn't serious, but of course he wasn't.  What woman in her right mind
would agree to this?  Apparently I would...  and did.  Am I actually still
considering it?

   I shake my head to try to clear my thoughts.  I tell myself that I came
here intending to go through with the bargain, but I know that's just a
rationalization.  The truth is that J wants me to play the game, so I'll
play it.  So much for 'in my right mind.'

   "Can I trust that you have no other copies of them?"

   "Scout's honor." He holds up three fingers.  I scoff, but have no real
choice but to trust him.

   "Afterwards, we never speak of the pictures or the blowjob again.  The
slate is wiped clean, like none of this ever happened."

   "Whatever you say, babe." I wish he would stop calling me that.  It's
way more demeaning than endearing.  Did I really find him charming at one
point?  "One more thing, though."

   "What?" I ask flatly, fixing him with an untrusting stare.

   "The Packer's home opener is in an hour.  Wear the shirt." He nods to
the bag on his coffee table.  "For good luck." He flashes me his biggest,
shit-eating grin.  I want to refuse.  I want to tell him to go fuck himself
and storm out.  I want to knock that fucking grin off his face.  But I
relent, telling myself that it's a stupid hill to die on.

   "Fine." I grab the bag and head to the bathroom to get myself ready.

   "Thanks, babe.  You're the best!" Ugh!

   I hear J's voice in my head.  "You know that you'll play the game."

   Safe for the moment in the privacy of the restroom, I pull the t-shirt
from the bag.  Paul is a big guy, well over six feet tall, and his clothes
are equally big.  I used to wear his t-shirts as a dress around the house.
I know he likes the look, so I slide off my sweatpants.  I hold up the
shirt, and immediately realize that J made some modifications.  The
neckline is cut into a V-shape, both deep and wide.  The sleeves have been
removed, leaving large, gaping arm holes.  As a final indignity, the seams
on the sides of the shirt have long slits rising several inches from the
hem.  A narrow triangle of material has been removed around each seam,
mimicking the neckline and emphasizing the effect.

   "Of course" I mutter in resignation as I exchange my own shirt for the
remains of Paul's.  There's no pretending it's anything but obscene.  Any
move brings my bra-covered breasts into view.  "Tits," I correct myself. 
Lisa's admonitions ring firmly in my mind.  No one is tempted by 'breasts',
they want 'tits'.  I consider the look for a moment and decide to lose the
bra.  The bolder my display, the more I'll be able to shift power in my
favor.  If he wants tits, he'll get tits.

   The seams are cut high enough that the sides of my panties are on
display.  I'm wearing some of my old, utilitarian panties which seem out of
place with the rest of the 'ensemble'.  With a wicked thought, I slide the
panties off of my legs as well.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  Paul's
not going to know what hit him.  Holding up the hem of the shirt, I look at
my hairless sex.  'Pussy' I decide.  Or maybe even 'cunt.' I run one finger
up the length of my slit, gently parting the lips.  Moisture starts to form
and I shiver in arousal.  Definitely 'cunt.'

   I realize that I've spent way too long in Paul's bathroom to change into
these tiny scraps of clothing.  I neatly fold my discarded outfit and take
one last pause to reset my nerves.  "Take back the power.  Show him what he
lost.  Make him rue the day." I repeat J's words in my mind and step out of
the bathroom.

   "Took you long eno...  Wow!" I smile inwardly as my appearance has the
desired effect.

   "Miss me?" I challenge as I perform my best catwalk strut over to where
Paul waits by the couch.  He can't hide his surprise as his eyes drink in
my form.

   "What's all this?" he asks, unable to pull his eyes from my body.  My
outfit, and my behavior, are shockingly out of character for me.  At least,
they were 48 hours ago.  Standing here like this, anticipating wrapping my
lips around my cheating ex-boyfriend's penis would have been unimaginable a
few days ago.  It's amazing how much my frame of reference has shifted in
so short a time.  Not 'penis'.  'Dick'.  Or 'cock'.  Lisa would be proud.

   "This," I spread my arms wide to give him an uninterrupted view.  The
shirt slips off of one shoulder and the neck is cut deep enough to allow my
full tit to pop into view.  I stand there defiantly, making no move to
cover it.  "This is what you gave up when you fucked that little tramp." I
do my best to keep the pain out of my voice, not wanting to remind him how
much he hurt me.  I'm not sure I entirely succeeded.

   The jab apparently hit home, as Paul's voice takes on an edge.  "Where
was this a few months ago?"

   "You didn't deserve it." I say flatly.  But I know the truth.  I didn't
have it in me then.

   "And I do now?" He laughs incredulously.

   "Now it's just business." I fix his stare with mine and promise myself I
won't be the first to look away.

   A moment passes and Paul drops his eyes back to my body with a short
huff.  "Well, I do like your business suit." Before I can respond, he
reaches a hand under the hem of my shirt and cups my mound.  His eyes widen
as he feels my smooth skin.  "Nice" he whispers as one finger slips easily
between my folds.

   "But not part of the deal." I push his hand away with more reluctance
than I care to admit.

   "You're soaking wet." He smiles, daring me to deny it.  I feel the power
shifting back in Paul's favor.  I make a desperate play to get it back.

   "What can I say?  I get off on watching you squirm."

   He laughs loudly, shattering my confidence.  "Squirm?  You're here to
suck my dick!" He may as well have slapped my face.  I hate him.  But I
hate myself more.  All of the fight drains from me.

   "We may as well get to it, then." I say dejectedly.

   I've sucked his dick before, several times over the course of our
relationship.  Blowjobs seem to be a favorite of his.  Each time he would
have his cock out, hard and ready, before the words were fully spoken.  He
probably didn't want me to have a chance to come up with an excuse to bow
out.  So I watch him, unmoving, waiting for him to pull his cock out, to
stroke it hard, to do something.  But he just stands there with his hands
on his hips, until he finally says "Go right ahead.  It's not going to suck
itself."

   I am completely defeated, and Paul is apparently going to do me no
favors.  He is standing in front of his couch expectantly.  I sink to my
knees, dragging his pants down as I go.  He hadn't bothered with underwear.
He sits on the couch, making himself comfortable as I wrap a numb hand
around his semi-erect cock, and stroke it absently.  "The deal wasn't a
handjob." I glare up at him, before taking his hardening dick into my
mouth.

   I swirl my tongue around the tip a few times and feel it start to come
to life.  "That's it, you know how I like it." I have to remind myself that
he wasn't this much of an asshole when we dated.  A few slow bobs of my
head along its length and Paul's member grows to its full size.  I pull his
dick out of my mouth and run the tip of my tongue along the underside, from
balls to tip.  "You're a bastard, you know that?" I hiss before taking him
back into my mouth.

   "Such language," he laughs.  "Do you kiss your mom with that mouth?" I
am awash in humiliation, but manage to press on.  I find my rhythm and am
rewarded with small grunts of pleasure.

   I don't really like giving blowjobs.  I don't begrudge them too much and
I want to give my partners pleasure.  But the act itself never turned me
on. This one is different.  The entire situation seems completely depraved.
I'm kneeling, effectively naked, in my ex-boyfriend's living room wearing
an outfit designed to display my body as lewdly as possible.  And as he
makes degrading comments about me, I'm busy sucking him off.  And all of
this in an effort to get him to delete pictures of me fucking myself
senseless with a hairbrush in a public restroom.  I should be petrified
with shame.  I should be curled up in a ball unable to face this reality. I
should probably be in a fucking institution.  Two days ago, I was worried
about showing little glimpses of my bra in public.  Two days ago, even
using this kind of language was unimaginable.

   Now, I feel my juices start to run down my leg.  My shame is an
aphrodisiac.  Each insult, each disgusting remark, sends a jolt of
electricity straight to my pussy.  I remove one hand from Paul's thigh and
tease it along the length of my sex.  My cunt.  This move does not go
unnoticed.  "You know, after you suck me off I would be happy to take that
freshly shaved pussy for a test drive.  I'm sure I'm good for a second
round."

   If he wasn't being this much of a prick, I might have taken him up on
it. If he wasn't being this much of a prick, it wouldn't have turned me on
so much.  "Not a chance in hell!" I fire back angrily, removing my hand
from my cunt.

   "Your loss, babe.  But it's probably for the best.  The guys will be
here in a few minutes to watch the game.  It might be embarrassing for you
if you're bouncing up and down on my dick when they arrive."

   My eyes go wide with panic.  A glance at the clock tells me it's 20
minutes to game time.  They could show up any minute!  I need this done,
NOW.  I take Paul's hand in one of my own and guide it to my exposed tit.
He starts to grope and fondle it harshly as I return my hand to his cock.
With my other hand, I pull up the hem of the shirt, exposing my dripping
cunt to Paul.  I hear an appreciative "Ooh" as I start to slide two fingers
in and out of my engorged pussy.

   I pull Paul's dick from my mouth and lock eyes with him.  I pump him
furiously with my hand and conjure the sluttiest voice I can muster.  "Cum
for me, Paul.  Shoot you seed down my throat!".  I plunge his cock back in
my mouth as my other hand starts to furiously rub my clit.  Paul's
appreciative moans tell me he's getting close.  But I'm racing against the
clock, as well as my own impending orgasm.

   "Do it!  Fill my belly with your cum." I'm getting desperate.  Desperate
for Paul to finish.  Desperate for my own release.  "I need it, Paul.  Cum
for me." As I say the words, I feel my orgasm welling up inside me.  I try
to push it back down, to focus on Paul, but the need is overwhelming.  I
practically attack him with my mouth while never stopping my relentless
assault on my pussy.  Paul drops my tit and grabs the sides of my head.  I
feel him quiver as I pull back to give him one more round of encouragement.

   "Use me!  Make me your slut!  Make me your whore!" I lean forward to
take him into my mouth once more, but he holds me in place.  As the first
rope of his semen hits my forehead, my own orgasm takes hold.  I feel a
torrent of shame-fueled ecstasy as Paul's spunk splatters across my face
and hair.  I take a moment to regain my senses and let go of his deflated
member.

   "That was awesome!" Paul's as giddy as a schoolboy.  "I haven't cum that
hard in, well...  ever!"

   "Delete the pictures!  NOW!"

   "Okay, okay.  Keep your pants on, babe." eyes my naked pussy as he pulls
his own pants up and reaches for his phone on the end table.

   "Very funny." I grab a napkin from the coffee table to get the worst of
the mess off my face.

   "There, all gone.  See?" He holds his phone up to show me the screen.  I
can't really see as I'm still cleaning his sperm from my eyes, but I don't
press the issue.

   Just then, there's a knock at the door.  "Oh no!" Paul giggles, his face
a mixture of mock surprise and genuine delight.  "Coooomiiing!" He calls
out in a sing-song voice, the pun intended.  Paul heads to the door, barely
able to contain his laughter.  I leap to my feet, grab my stack of clothes
and am hot on his tail.

   Paul opens the door and stands aside so as not to obstruct the view. 
"Hi, guys!  You remember Jules..." I bolt through the doorway, the mockery
of an outfit not covering anything of consequence.  I shove past the two
confused men standing there, and sprint to the parking lot.  I hear Paul
call out behind me.  "What about my Packers shirt?"

   So much for reclaiming power.



   Jules 10 - Full Circle

   Back where it started.

   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.