Previous stories in this series: Off-Road Goddess, Paddled in the Boondocks, Lunch With A Dominatrix
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It was late on a Saturday afternoon that I drove to the east side of the city, following directions that had been given to me by Miss Julia. Near the industrial park where she worked, I turned onto a state highway and continued east just until signs of civilization began to fade. Making several turns down side roads and back roads, I found the large farm that was my destination.
Sprawling green pastures with grazing horses were bordered by white plank fences. There was a complex of barns and sheds visible on the property, and I turned in the open gate, following the wide gravel driveway towards a large house.
Miss Julia and I had been dating for just over a month and up until today she never told me where she lived. She had always picked me up at my apartment or we had met at an agreed upon location. For whatever reason she had preferred to keep her address a secret and I respected her decision. This evening though, she had invited me over to her house for dinner.
I knew that the small mansion at the end of the driveway was not my destination. Miss Julia said that she lived in a small cottage on the property. Before reaching the main house I turned onto a narrow lane which circled around by the stables and past a maintenance shop. Off by itself in a nice private setting by the edge of some woods was Miss Julia's cottage.
It may have been the original farm house. Tiny, with ornate trim and tall gothic windows. Paint peeled in large flakes, the front porch sagged, and the ridgeline of the roof had a noticeable swayback. On an otherwise well maintained farm, it seemed odd that this little cottage would have been allowed to deteriorate into a shack. Had Miss Julia's yellow Jeep Wrangler not been parked out in front, I wouldn't have thought anyone lived here.
The planks of the porch floor felt surprisingly solid underfoot. I knocked on the screen door. The front door beyond it was open to a sparsely furnished living room with a fireplace along the back wall. After knocking a second time and getting no answer I assumed that she wasn't home. Perhaps she was feeding horses for the evening over at one of the stables.
We had only had some steamy makeout sessions up to this point. Any time I tried to make further advances she stopped me, saying that she liked to take things slow. There had been no more domination role play, though I almost always addressed her as Miss Julia because that seemed to thrill her. Since I had been invited to her house this could be a special occasion. Thinking she might be waiting for me in her bedroom, I checked the screen door. Finding it unlocked, I went inside to see if she was home.
A pair of steel gray high heeled pumps was just inside the door, one upright and the other lay over on its side as if she had taken them off after coming home from work and left them there. An entertainment center of sorts was improvised out of planks and cinderblocks, as a roommate of mine had done when I was in college. It took less than a minute to look through the small one bedroom cottage, and Miss Julia was not home.
Before going back out onto the porch to wait for her, I couldn't help bending over and picking up one of her shoes. The spike heel looked like it was a little over four inches tall and the throat had a deep vee shape that would likely show off a bit of toe cleavage. The sole and tip of the heel had some heavy wear. Older shoes, or maybe favorites.
I held it up to my face, pressed my nose inside and inhaled deeply. There was only a faint hint of her scent. It would have been better to sniff them yesterday when they came off her feet after a day at the office. Placing the shoe back on the floor, I made sure it was back in the location I remembered.
No chairs were on the porch so I sat down at the top of the steps. I had to admit that her home was not as I had expected. My beautiful goddess lived in a shack and was a slob of a housekeeper.
While I waited for Miss Julia I thought about our last date. We had been out to some nice restaurants before, all of her choice, but on the last date when she arrived at my apartment she was dressed casually, wearing some tight jeans, cowgirl boots with tall heels, and a plaid shirt. I had been dressed as if going to work at the office and she insisted I change into some jeans, my hiking boots, and an old t-shirt.
As always, she drove. I told her that if she was taking me to a country bar to do some line dancing, I had no experience at all, but was willing to learn. She just laughed and put on a Dierks Bentley CD.
We drove east of town and out to the country, where I lost track of all the turns and streets, most of which were simply county roads with numbers instead of names. At the end of a narrow gravel road was a huge barn. Pickup trucks and older cars were parked everywhere. The large sliding doors on the barn were open and light and music spilled out into the night. Twangy electric guitar and a fiddle, somehow amplified, that spiraled out a series of notes faster than I could think.
There was a cover charge of only a few dollars and the draft beer was free. Serve yourself from one of many kegs that were sitting in metal trough full of ice. A large dance floor of polished wood planks lightly sprinkled with sawdust had been set up in front of the improvised stage. Christmas tree lights had been strung high in the rafters above and shone down like multicolored stars. While there were mix and match tables and chairs off around the sides of the vast open space, almost everyone was on the dance floor.
I don't consider myself to be much of a dancer, and I'm not even a real country music fan, but that night was the most fun I'd had on a date in a long time. Learning dance steps on the fly, our clothing damp with perspiration when we held each other tight during the slow numbers. We only left the dance floor a few times for some cold beer, and I don't think the band even took any breaks. They only paused occasionally for another person to get on stage and pick up a guitar or sit down behind the drum kit. The fiddle player was a frail looking old man but he played effortlessly all night long.
The crowd was a curious mix. Some tough looking rednecks like you might expect, but a lot of old people too, and even some little kids. A few people were very well dressed, but most looked like they just got off work from the farm or some blue collar job and went to the dance.
Miss Julia's friend Sue and her boyfriend Dave were there, but we didn't hang out with them much. There was also an old couple I remembered. They owned the property where the trailer was where Miss Julia had severely paddled me some time ago. She told me that night that they had been foster parents of hers when she was younger and she stayed in touch with them, occasionally fishing in their pond or using the trailer as a weekend retreat.
While people at the dance seemed friendly enough, to my surprise Miss Julia was a bit of a snob towards most of them. Near the end of the evening I had this feeling like I was a trophy wife that a former geek had brought to his high school class reunion just to show off. I was brought back to present time as I heard the low growl of a diesel engine approaching. Miss Julia came into view driving a large yellow end loader, fitted with a backhoe.
The tires of the machine were coated with fresh mud and the front mounted scoop contained some heavy chain, lengths of dirty rusty pipe, and some tools I didn't recognize. Her thick dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore tan coveralls and floppy rubber work boots, and both were heavily smeared with mud. To see her dressed like that and driving the end loader, I found to be incredibly sexy. Miss Julia pulled a few hydraulic levers, lowering the backhoe and front bucket to the ground, throttled down the engine, then shut it off.
"Sorry I'm late," she called out to me as she climbed down from the driver's seat. "I had to take care of a technical difficulty." I assured her that it was no problem.
Miss Julia gave me a cautious embrace so as not to get me dirty, and a deep kiss with her hot tongue. She momentarily sat on the front steps to pull off her muddy boots and then tossed them to one side of the porch. I hadn't been ordered to worship her boots or shoes in a while, and I was glad that I wasn't going to have to lick that pair clean.
"You told me that you could cook," Miss Julia said in a challenging tone as we walked in the front door. "I have some pork chops in the fridge. Go cook them up for us along with whatever else you can think of while I get cleaned up. Don't disappoint me." There was no time for me to ask any questions as she quickly slipped behind her bedroom door and closed it.
It was true that I've always considered myself to be a good cook, though as a bachelor I didn't make many elaborate meals at home unless I had a woman over. Having someone over for dinner was always convenient as you didn't have to awkwardly ask them back to your place afterwards. Miss Julia may have similar thoughts. Perhaps later on we would light a few logs in the fireplace and then find other ways to heat things up.
The kitchen was primitive. A small addition off the back of the house, one step down from the living room, with a low sloping ceiling. I found the pork chops in the refrigerator as promised. Dirty dishes were heaped on the drainboard of the old porcelain sink across the back wall of the room. After a quick search of the few cabinets I realized that I'd have to wash some dishes first, just for the sake of having some clean utensils to work with. The pipes were already screaming with running water as Miss Julia was evidently in the shower.
I imagined her in the prefab shower stall that was jammed into the tiny bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Steam would be rising off her wet naked body, her breasts rolling gently under the hot water as she massaged thick suds of shampoo through her raven hair. Assuming that the water pressure was bad, I cracked the tap open just enough to wash a few items without disturbing her.
I found a partial bag of mixed vegetables in the glacier lined freezer. She also had some spaghetti and enough spices and condiments that I thought I could whip up a sauce to make that into a tasty side dish.
The gas stove was an antique but the burners fired right up. While the pork chops I had dipped in flour were starting to sizzle in a heavy cast iron skillet, I checked the refrigerator again. Near the back and possibly being saved for a special occasion was a bottle of chardonnay. I had no idea if that was a proper wine to serve with pork, but I set it in the center of the table along with two glasses. That was when I took a closer look at the bottle and realized that the label had been run off on a computer printer. There was a family name, something complicated and possibly of German origin, and the name of a small town just east of here. It was then that I remembered that Miss Julia had a source for getting some homemade wine. It would be interesting to try.
As I was finishing up in the kitchen, the bedroom door opened and Miss Julia came out. I had to catch my breath when I saw her dressed in a blue satin bustier top with black lace trim. It shaped her figure wonderfully, leaving the tops of her breasts fully exposed, the nipples barely covered by a border of black lace. She wore a black mini skirt that I could only assume barely covered her ass. Her shapely legs were sheathed in black nylon stockings, the tops of which were just visible below the hem of her skirt. Unexpected though were the boots that she wore.
On one of our previous dates, Miss Julia had worn some black leather knee high boots with some sexy heels. They would have been a better look with her outfit than the black rubber riding boots she was wearing now. Boots that I had been ordered to worship several times in the past, and perhaps would be licking later on as my desert. Her dark wavy hair was still slightly damp, and there were light traces of makeup on her face. Her smile was provocative, seductive, and challenging all at the same time.
