Julie and John Adopt a Slave

John was undoubtedly the best fuck in the universe.

OK, OK, OK, I know 'zactly what you're thinking, and no, it's not like my body count is THAT enormous, but sure, I'd had my share of boys (I will call them boys, after meeting John) and yes, a couple of girls (we've all lived in a dorm, right?) and in every way imaginable, John was IT. Not like he is the most handsome guy in my universe, or the most athletic. However, he was extraordinarily smart and funny and witty and charming. In bed, he is... how can I say this.... Thorough? Yes. Thorough. I've never left his bed not thinking about synonyms for 'satiated'.

But, I'm w-a-a-a-a-ay ahead of myself. This is supposed to be about Carolyn, our slave.

I'm not sure if 'slave' is the right word. I mean, legally she's free to go anytime she wants. However, right now, I'm pretty sure she's emotionally incapable of walking out the door. We've tried to do whatever we can to support her and let her know she's a free woman and we'll support her in whatever becomes of the next phase of her life. Sigh... even the suggestion that she should move forward breaks her down in tears.

For example, once, because of an all-night business meeting, John had to skip her regular Friday evening discipline session and spanking. She was a bundle of nerves all night, tossing and turning at the foot of my bed until he came home the next morning. He saw the mess she was in, and lovingly ordered her to strip and follow us into the back yard. He blind folded her, strapped her to the whipping post, left her to rest in the morning sun for a few minutes, and then came back out to administer ten swats across her bare bottom with his leather belt. She literally cooo'd like a dove in delight! After carrying her into the house, he lay her down in the big, soft doggie bed we had for her in the corner of the den, covered her with her favorite old, torn blanket, and let her sleep for the rest of the morning. I don't think I've ever seen Carolyn happier!

But again, I'm getting way ahead of myself. To understand how Carolyn came into our lives, you first have to go back a couple of years and understand how John and I became a 'couple'. I met John my senior year in college, which was only sorta senior year because spring was upon us and I was still a couple of credits away from actually graduating with my degree in classical studies. It was that week before everyone was starting to cram for finals, and the other girls in my dorm suite forced me to go with them to a party. It seems that some guy named 'John' was having a reverse going-away party with his housemates, whatever that meant.

Turns out, John and two other guys lived in a quaint but surprisingly nice and well appointed three-bedroom farmhouse out in the country at the end of a long gravel road. Kinda spooky, but nicely secluded and not that far from the university and downtown. Anyway, John had just finished his MBA and had been hired at what was rumored to be 'King Midas money' by a local investment banking house. John owned the farmhouse -- he'd inherited it from his grandparents -- and thus no longer would need roomies to keep the lights on. Since his roomies were also graduating, and both moving away, John was throwing a 'reverse going away' party, with decorations saying things like 'get the hell out of my house' and 'go away -- I don't need your ass anymore'. Delightful stuff. I later learned that John and these two roomies were the closest of buds, and many man-tears would be shed as they packed to leave in the coming weeks.

I approached this party with no small level of trepidation. I was a classics major, remember? Some people in my class actually broke out in hives when they got close to any of the 'vocational' schools (business, engineering, pharmacy.... Places where people learn to make a living). I was somewhat immune, having grown up with parents who were in business, but I still avoided B-school types like the plague I thought most of them were. Narcissists, boring, and just a little on the 'too drunk al the time' for my refined tastes, particularly in men. Too much Yacht Rock music. Odd hobbies, like curating a bourbon collection. My girlfriends, such as they were, told me THESE guys were completely different, and I'd have a great time. Nonetheless, I went to the party well protected with a chain mail of cynicism.

I was pleasantly surprised. John's roomies (at the time I couldn't catch their names, so I simply thought of them as 'Thing 1' and 'Thing 2') were over-the-top drunk, but in a somewhat charming sort of way. John, on the other hand, seemed sober and exceptionally welcoming. He was clearly the commodore of this den of pirates he called home, and was going out of his way, but in a demure sort of fashion, to make sure everyone was having a good time and comfie. There was something about him that made you want to have a good time, even if you were prepared the other way.

When John introduced himself, the first thing that struck me was the way he made eye contact. It was if I was the only person in the room and I was the only person he wanted to talk with. And I say 'with', because he had -- and still has -- this knack for listening that makes a person want to completely spill their guts. He led me over to a sofa, sat not next to me but to the side of me in the chair, and leaning in he gave me an extraordinary amount of attention. I had completely not come to this party with meeting a 'guy' on my mind, and in fact purposely wore my worst undies just to make sure nothing would happen (cuz... well... I know my history with men).

I'll cut to the chase... I woke up the next morning in the arms of the most comfortable man I'd ever met, my ugly undies in a pile on the floor next to his huge, fluffy bed. Like so many men, he woke up with a woodie, but his immediate attention was on me and if I was relaxed. I suddenly felt very safe. I also noted that I felt very wet. Very... wet... but in a good way. After a couple of minutes of his warm touch, I had the overwhelming urge to help him get rid of his morning wood in the most direct way I knew how and found myself enjoying the taste and in fact the morning smell of a man who obviously took good care of himself.

My clothes were a mess, scattered all over the room (except for my shoes, which I eventually found downstairs under the sofa). Without saying a word, he darted for his dresser and produced an oversized jersey for me to wear (Georgetown lacrosse, it turns out -- I was learning more about him every minute). We went downstairs, passing the two bedrooms soon to be abandoned by his roomies. They were both snoring it off, one I noticed (Thing 2?) thru his cracked door was with one of my suite-mates. Sigh... She was NOT the one I rode with, so I suddenly thought about my lack of transport home. Did Uber/Lyft come out this way? John had an automatic coffee maker (of course he did) and a custom grind imported from somewhere. (Edit: later found out the Kona coast of Hawai'i.) With a deft touch, he had a pan, some eggs, a few other ingredients, and I was enjoying a wonderful frittata (he calls it a 'lazy man's omelet').

He was still as charming and sweet as the night before. He asked me if I'd like to shower here (no thanks) or head back home at my leisure (yes, please, soon) and assured me he'd drive me. After breakfast, we went upstairs to dress. My suite mate was still snoring, so I figured I'd leave her transport needs up to her boy-toy, avoiding a duet walk-of-shame with her.

John asked me if I'd like some privacy, and I said, "A little late for that!" So, as I was getting dressed, John pulled on a T-shirt and some old blue jeans and a pair of Teva's. We had the most wonderful conversation on the ride back to my dorm. He was really interested in school, my plans (eventually grad school) and such.

Somewhere on the ride, he asked me, "Where are you planning to live once the school year was over?"

"Yeah, that's a real prob. I'm kinda behind the curve on that one. If I had a place to stay, I could maybe knock out the credits I'm missing this summer and actually graduate maybe by December and then segue into graduate school next year. Otherwise, I'm...." I just drifted off, really not having a great plan.

John, as I've come to learn, is a real softie on the outside but methodical and organized as hell on the inside. He's like a walking spreadsheet and checklist all rolled into one, and immediately sees through a problem to the logical solution.

"Well, I've got two spare bedrooms and no roomies starting about the same time you're being kicked out of the doom. I know this is sudden, but you're welcomed to stay with me until you get your shit together."

"Am I being propositioned, Sir?"

"No! Anyway, I thought we already crossed that bridge."

Well, yeah, we already HAD crossed that bridge, but this was moving terribly fast. I didn't know squat about this guy (other than he fucked like a monster. Albeit an extraordinarily gentle one. From what I could tell, he wasn't at ALL my type, but he was an exceptionally nice guy. That said, so are most serial killers.

(Mental note -- how many people do you have to kill before you become a serial killer? Two? Five? Gotta look that up sometime.)

Anyway, though, serial killer be damned, I could recognize a lifeline when I saw one. From all indications, John was a reasonably good roommate (after all, he hadn't killed Things 1 or 2, despite ample opportunity, and from what I could observe, the occasional motive). I could continue in school and keep my life in a semblance of order.

So.... Fast forwarding a bit... At first we put up a semblance of 'simply being roommates' with me turning one of the bedrooms into mine. That façade, only for our own benefit, lasted about a month. Other than a couple of days in the middle of my period when I didn't want to be touched by man nor beast, I shared John's bed, and frankly it was more comfie (and a hell of a lot more erotic and relaxing) than the one Thing 1 (or was it 2?) had abandoned when he moved out.

Somewhere around the middle of June, we moved the bed and mattress into the atti, and I turned the so-called 'bedroom' into my dressing room, Pilates studio, and study room.

Around mid-year, I'd finished my u/g credits and got early admission into the master's program in the classics, so I could start getting some of the prelim stuff out of the way. John and I were each-other's 'plus 1' and never really had any sort of conversation about whether we were a couple or not. We were roommates. Who fucked. A lot. Roommates with significant benefits. We even visited each other's families on the holidays, again as 'plus-ones'. The question hardly came up.

Oh, yeah, one of my aunts (one of the more randy ones) mentioned at Thanksgiving that he looked like 'fine breeding stock'. Ahem. I told her it never crossed my mind, and she just gave me a dirty but knowing look.

Oh, did I mention John had a dog? Of course, John would have a dog. A Golden Retriever named Winston who, other than twice-daily feedings, seemed to be fairly self-contained. In the daytime slept in a big doggie bed in the room downstairs John used for an office, and at night, on a rug near the foot of John's bed. This, of course, is apropos of nothing regarding this story, but it's nice to know.

By spring, nearly a year had passed, and we had settled into a very nice rut. It was pleasant. We took turns doing the dishes. People came by for dinner parties on occasion and my girlfriends commented that I had a refreshing glow about me. One of my ex-suite mates (the one who I found in bed with one of the Things) commented that my complexion was to die for. I simply thanked her (I didn't have the heart to mention that a regular oral dose of John's semen did the trick).

John was... ahem... my first anal. I was high as a kite. (A lonely farmhouse is a great place to grow your own weed. Did I mention John had a greenhouse?) We were up to our normal late-night calisthenics when I just had the most randy mood come over me. Even more randy than normal, and I can get pretty dog-gone randy. I flipped over on my belly, and John mounted me full-body on my back, rubbing his most wonderful cock between the cheeks of my soaking wet ass. Without even thinking (how does one think this sort of thing thru?) I reached behind and guided his cock into my well lubricated and very inviting ass. I cannot tell you how overwhelming it was. Of course, it felt wonderful PHYSICALLY, but the mental and emotional hit was almost too much. He was in total control of me, and I implicitly knew my job was to submit to him and let him violate me until HE decided he was spent. After he was done, and he had rolled off me, I felt less like his partner and more like a piece of his property. I knew I would need that again, regularly, but not too often or I would completely lose any sense of self.

I had to add that because, well, frankly, it leads to understanding how and why we met Carolyn. A woman NEEDS something. Maybe men do, too, but I can only speak from a woman's perspective. What we need certainly varies from woman to woman, but we need SOMETHING. Carolyn came into our lives at a point when she absolutely needed something or she would go absolutely mad. As inconvenient as it was (taking on a slave is hard work!) were able to give her that.

To be continued...