(A not-true story inspired by the country life of a real-life domme, who is a friend.). The story starts off slowly but gets exciting enough. Hardcore femdom occurs in Chapter II. If you don't like serious female domination or people in their 60s having sex, move on to something else.)
When the doorbell rang, Joanne had been looking at herself naked in the mirror. What she saw did not displease her but she wasn't entirely happy either. She was 62 after all, so what did she expect? But as she studied her quite tall frame -- 6'4"--she thought, not too bad! She was a full figured, very tall woman. Not fat, but voluptuous and curvy, although carrying a few extra pounds around her belly. Her very large breasts suited her large body as did her ample buttocks. Her areolas were large and brown against her white skin, with large nipples sticking up in the center, hard from the cool air in the house.
She like it cool. Still, the breasts sagged some, but not as much as one might have expected from her age and their size. Her long hair was silver gray. It looked good because she took good care of it. Her arms and legs looked toned, from a long-standing habit of working out with weights. Her pubic region, always large and hairy--that was still the case--was not very gray. At least, not yet. She did not fully understand why that was the case. She didn't mind either way. The days seemed long past when anyone would see it anyway. Or so she thought.
She was fully retired now. Her mind wandered back to her career about which she had many fond memories. She had been a dominatrix. A good one, too. She remembers how it wasn't what she intended to do when emerging from college, but an acquaintance put the idea in her head, saying her height and assertive demeanor made her a natural.
He had been right. Navigating those early days by starting out in one of the commercial dungeons in New York and then eventually transitioning out on her own had made for a lucrative career. And she really enjoyed it to boot! Dominating men for a living, tying them up, whipping them, teasing, tormenting them, making them thank her for it on their knees had been a rush she loved every time. Occasionally, with special clients, she would even "rape" them.
Joanne had been retired for about four years now, moving from the city to rural Vermont. She had always loved the outdoors, the peace and quiet of nature and animals. Indeed, the only downside to working in the city was that she had been away from that environment for so long. She was by birth a country girl who had made it pretty big -- no pun intended -- in the big city. Her size and shape had made her pretty unique in the profession and had allowed her, once experienced, to charge a premium compared to the average for her field. She had retired quite comfortably.
Her mind wandered to her many--thousands, really--clients over her 30-year career. They were mostly men, usually she met them only once or twice, but she had developed a lucrative list of "regulars." They were the gems--the ones who came back to her over and over again, several for 15 years or more. If they were kind and sincere, she liked them. But her favorites were short, thin, submissive men! She could dominate them with ease with her superior height and strength--and relished doing so. There was nothing quite like the rush of having a small, weak male totally in her power!
Yet, she sort of regretted she had not found someone to settle down with in retirement, not that some of her clients hadn't suggested it. But she felt most were just imagining a permanent unpaid session with her. She wanted a real partner to enjoy life with at this point, although she certainly would want him obedient and submissive. When she moved away from New York, she dismissed the idea that it would happen. She had always been content alone, too, so she was good with it.
When the the doorbell rang, it shocked her mind back to the present. She had just finished some outside work--there was a lot of it at her very secluded country place--and had just showered. The last thing she expected was her door to ring--who could it be all the way out here? She threw on some tight black yoga pants and a sweatshirt. She thought about her gun in the hall drawer and checked it to make sure it was easy to grab but left it in its place. She then opened the door. She shushed her two old dogs who barked half-heartedly at the sound and smiled at her two cats who didn't care what the dogs saw or heard and kept on sleeping.
Jack had been driving along the rural road in Vermont when he heard his car start to sputter and then eventually stop. Oh, fuck, he thought. That's just great. It's Friday at 5:00 pm and I'm broken down in the middle of nowhere. He had gas--so it was a real problem.
He had been out driving on a vacation by himself. His beloved wife had passed away three years ago and he was taking the time to enjoy driving the countryside, something she had not enjoyed. He was far from home, however, as he retired not long after his wife died. The sad, ironic result of her untimely death was that he was better off financially. He had inherited his wife's retirement account, all their assets, and he was childless. At age 60, he had discovered he could do whatever he wanted, which by his nature was not particularly expensive. He did not have costly habits or hobbies.
He pulled out his phone. Oh, great, no service. He studied the little S0S up in the corner and willed it to connect but nothing changed. Sighing, he got out of the car. Capable in many areas of self-preservation and reliance, repairing car engines was not one of them--a gap in his education that he always regretted. He looked around. He didn't know if help was even possible in this nowhere at this hour and did not relish spending the night--or weekend!--in his car. Well, he thought, better start walking to see if he could get some help. If that was even possible, it would require a landline.
It wasn't very long before he found a longish driveway with a mailbox at the end. The drive was paved, but you couldn't see where it led. With nothing else in sight and no cars having driven by, he decided to walk down and find out. He was a little bit apprehensive about the no trespassing signs at the front of the property, but as a former country boy himself, he knew that was common. His parents had had them, too. Usually, there was nothing untoward about them. Usually.
It took about 15 minutes before he reached a farmhouse, which was not too large and not small either. It came with the requisite large barn and tractor showing through the open door. It was quiet, almost with a deserted look, but he suspected someone was home because he could see a light on inside and, especially, a large, modern SUV was parked in front. He headed for the door. Once he had climbed the farmhouse steps, he stopped at the door and pushed the doorbell.
When the door opened, Joanne saw a not-young man looking at her, but a man who was in fact a good deal shorter--and thinner--than herself. Well, most men are shorter than herself. Still, he was not unattractive. Not at all. Sure, he didn't have George Clooney's or Denzil Washington's "old man" good looks but he was reasonably fit, a bit extra around the middle but not a lot, and a relatively youthful face that was betrayed by the short gray hair on his head. The hairline had retreated but most of it was still there.
Jack was a bit taken aback when the door opened. The woman giving him the once over was incredibly tall! She was wearing just slippers but towered over him by a good eight inches! Her presence was formidable in other ways: her body was not stick thin, as some very tall women tend to be, it was voluptuous, even sexy. Large, commanding breasts protruded from her chest, her arms and legs revealed substance and strength--Jack had to avoid staring at her legs, which he found surprisingly appealing, mostly because of the black leggings. She was clearly carrying a little extra weight, but she had a very feminine shape. Secretly a lover of Amazonian women for decades, his cock involuntarily twitched when his near instantaneous appraisal had finished. She shushed her dogs, who obediently quieted.
The face staring at him was skeptical, noncommittal when the door had opened, dressed with her long silver hair--but it was beautiful, full-bodied and clearly well-maintained, even if it was unstyled.
"Yes?" was Joanne's only word on the greeting after they both had finished their simultaneous and near instant appraisal of one another.
"Um, yes, hello. My name is Jack. I am so sorry to disturb you on this Friday evening, but unfortunately my car broke down near the end of your drive, and I can't get any cell phone service. I was wondering if you could let me use your phone or call a tow-truck for me."
Joanne studied the man for a couple of seconds. "Well, I can but it won't do you any good. You're out in the middle of nowhere, frankly, and any of our local tow-trucks and mechanics in the area are closed for the weekend. We could get one from the city, but their driving out here at this time of day could end up costing you $1,000 dollars round trip. Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Umm, huh, well, what choice do I have, unless you are willing to take me to a local motel until places open up on Monday?"
Joanne was starting to like this man. He had an honest, easy-going and pleasant demeanor. She opened her door up further, indicating he was welcome to come in.
"Why don't you come in and we can talk about that," she replied, eyeing her gun drawer as he walked in. She felt comfortable but you can never be too careful sometimes. The weather was warm--he was wearing only shorts and a t-shirt, so he clearly wasn't carrying or hiding anything dangerous. She knew she could take him, if she had to--but you never know there either.
"Would you like some water or something? I have tap water and some cans of bubbly water. Or a coke?"
