Loading...Chapter One
Pamela watched the pick-up truck pull into her drive and wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron; her hired hand was here. Her husband had passed away three years ago and she had milked their prize herd all by herself as well tended the farm’s crops. For all her hard work she’d finally managed to make the last payment on the small farm and this year opted to hire a full-time summer employee.
She’d interviewed several young men. Some were obviously looking for an easy summer job, milk a few cows, lift a few hay bales, eat a fine meal and then party time. But that wasn’t what Pamela wanted or needed in her employee. Eventually, she’d settled on one applicant. She watched the young man get out of his truck and pull off his baseball cap. No one would have looked at the gentleman and seen “farmer” nor would they have seen “artist.” What they would have seen was a city boy wanting to experience life, and that was what he’d told her.
Pamela liked the answer. She’d not taught since she married Will and she saw Trent as her way of recapturing something she enjoyed doing, teaching. She didn’t have to be in a classroom. She just enjoyed showing people how to do something new. Her fingers were unknotting her apron when she heard the doorbell ring and she chuckled at her thoughts and how easily she was distracted.
She tossed the floured material across a chair and headed to the door, her fingers picked up a small ring. When she opened her house to the young man, it was with a welcoming smile and a dangling brass key. “No more need to ring the bell,” she said.
Trent grinned and took the offered key. “Thanks,” he answered back. When she stepped away, he walked in. He took a deep breath and his smile grew wider. “Misses Reins, I am so glad food comes with the job.”
She laughed and closed the screen door, opting to let the other stay open. “It’s the least I can do, that and offer you a place to sleep. You don’t know how much this means to me. I am curious how much easier this could make my summer, perhaps this will determine whether or not I hire a full-time employee.”
“Well, we’ll agree to use each other. I’ll use you to further my experiences in farming, which I have none, and you can use yours to determine if you’re better off continuing as you have been, which I am still in awe over.”
“Sounds like a plan. You go set yourself up and dinner will be ready by the time you’re done. Tomorrow we’ll start your lessons,” she said and left him so she could attend to dinner.
Trent grabbed the two bags he’d dragged in with him and headed to the back bedroom. She told him when he was being interviewed that if he was hired he’d be sleeping in her and her husband’s old room. He knew where to go, having been given a tour of the place when he applied. She’d removed any traces of her husband though, he figured she’d done that some time ago, years probably. Now the room seemed kinda bare, and more like a little hotel room with just the basics.
He tossed his bags to the queen bed and sat down. The blanket was thick and the color, vibrant. The pattern was a deep maroon with paisley print. There were matching night stands on each side. A full length mirror stood in the corner, its frame a dark cherry. A dresser that matched the head and foot board of the bed were also of the same coloring as the rest of the furniture. There were only a couple of paintings in the room. One was of a cabin beside a lake and the other, a waterfall. Both were lovely, but he figured just quick pieces that were stuck up there to cover the empty space where memories had probably been.
Trent walked over to the door of his closet and slid it open. Several empty hangers greeted him, but nothing else. Yes, she’d removed any traces of her Will and Trent was thankful for that. He wasn’t keen on sleeping in a dead man’s room, but he also knew the other option was kicking the widow out of the bedroom upstairs and that wasn’t an option. He left the closet open and then opened the door to the bathroom. It was a nice sized room. The colors were not feminine or masculine, but neutral. Pale green with a warm mix of a darker green around the edges of the room. There was a shower as well as a spacious tub. The sink had a medicine cabinet above it and the counter was large enough to accommodate his morning supplies. Clean linen was stored in a small closet located behind the door.
A knock reached his ears and he turned back toward the door. “Hey,” he said with a smile.
“Hi, dinner’s ready when you are,” Pam answered.
“Great,” he looked to his bags, “I’ll get to those later. I also have a box of odds and ends I brought, some things to fill my time when I’m not working, though I have a feeling I’ll be working hard.”
“That’s the plan,” she added with a laugh.
Pam turned to go and headed back to the kitchen. She hadn’t cooked for another in a long time and hoped she had fixed enough for the young man. Her employee followed behind her and she suddenly found herself concerned about how she walked. She rolled her eyes at the thought, telling herself to grow up, though at the age of fifty-three, she was grown up.
Trent followed his landlady/boss into the dining room and heard his stomach growl. He blushed when Pam looked back at him with a raised brow.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted and pulled a chair out for her.
Pam was shocked by the gentlemanly behavior. Will only pulled her chair out at restaurants, never at their dinner table. She blushed and thanked Trent before sliding her napkin over her lap.
Trent thought nothing of it and sat down beside her. He’d placed her at the head of the table and he sat to her right. He chuckled at the cloth napkins and kept his to the side of his plate.
“What’s so funny?” she asked as she proceeded to hand him a glass of lemonade she’d poured.
“This. I’m thinking that this is very elaborate for a hired hand.”
He looked at the mashed potatoes, gravy, beans, biscuits, chicken, corn and pie. “Do you expect me to move from the table or are you going to roll me to bed?”
She laughed. “Did I over do it?” she asked him.
Trent chuckled. “No, I think I’ll eat as much as I can and enjoy it, because there will be times I’m sure I will crawl into bed from exhaustion.”
“True.”
They ate in silence. Each one enjoyed the company, but neither wanting to force the other to converse either. Trent eventually broke down though and asked if it would be okay to add some pictures to his room. He’d not make a lot of holes in her walls, but he would need to make a few.
“No, I don’t mind at all. That room is yours for the next few months, longer if this works out and you decide you want to come down on weekends and work. I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy having the extra hands around here. It was a lot harder than I imagined it was going to be after Will passed, but I did it. Now I want to spoil myself,” Pamela answered.
“Then I will do my best to make myself at home. Are you okay still with Jill coming to visit me on weekends?” he asked.
“Trent, I told you over the phone that I wanted you to make this your home, so by all means your girlfriend can come over and before you ask, she can stay the night in your room. I’m older than you by twenty years. I’m smart enough to know you’ll want to bring your girlfriend home with you,” she stood up and grabbed his empty plate, “Slice us some pie and bring it out to the patio, we’ll enjoy it there.”
She left him blushing, but she wanted to make sure he knew he could have his life and live it while he was here on her farm, even if it meant she had to wear ear plugs so she didn’t hear what may transpire under her bedroom floorboards. When she returned, the young man had done as she requested and she quickly put away the left overs and joined him outside.
Trent watched her take a seat beside him and he found himself studying her as she ate her dessert. She was a nice woman, obviously strong, intelligent and possibly stubborn. She looked ten years younger then the number she spouted out earlier in the evening. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. The color reminded him of wheat waiting to be harvested. Her eyes were green and he thought her skin would be very soft if one were to reach out and timidly caress it. She wore no make-up and he found that refreshing.
There wasn’t a time he could recall Jill not wearing make-up. Even in the mornings after lovemaking she looked freshly put together. It wasn’t until he watched her ease out of bed and run to the bathroom that he realized how obsessed his girlfriend was with her looks. Jill was a looker, but he suddenly wondered what it would be like to see her freshly scrubbed with no make-up on. “She even locks me out of the bathroom, until she’s got her ‘face’ on,” he muttered.
“Huh?” Pamela asked. She had heard Trent say something, but she didn’t know what it was. She had been lost in the memories of her past and she hoped she hadn’t missed something important. Then she wondered, what they had been talking about in the first place.
“Oh nothing, I was just thinking out loud. This is good, by the way . . . really, everything was good,” he told her.
She smiled and thanked him. “I was happy to feed you. I haven’t really cooked for another since Will passed away. I guess, judging by the amount of food I cooked, I missed it.”
“Well, he was a lucky man if you fed him like that, even once a month.”
“Thanks, Trent. I was a lucky lady. He’d come in from milking and be all smelly and icky, but he still managed to get himself to the table clean as a whistle and as hungry as a horse. The earlier days in our marriage, my cooking was horrid. If it wasn’t burnt then it wasn’t cooked all the way. Once, I got so fed up, I opened a freezer bag of frozen beets, put it on the table and called him to dinner. We went out that night.”
Trent laughed. “Well I guess if I walk in and see frozen beets on the table, I better offer to take you to supper.”
Her laughter filled the air and she told him that would do just fine, but she hasn’t served frozen beets in years and she was quite handy in the kitchen now. He agreed she was and then stood up, taking her dish he headed back to the house. “I’ll clean up and you go do whatever it is you do.”
She followed him in and tried not to watch him walk, but she gave up and admired the view of denim covering a well-formed ass. “Jesus woman,” she said, quietly chastising herself.
“Huh?” he asked, stopping to look back at her.
“Nothing; I was just thinking out loud.”
“Well, stop . . . or we’ll both be going ‘huh?’ all summer,” he winked, turned back around and headed to the kitchens.
She watched him work, not feeling guilty at all for letting him wash off the crumbs of pie that littered their plates, or the dishes they’d eaten off of earlier. Will would do the same thing. She would cook; he would clean. It wasn’t something she expected, it was just something that happened, watching Trent brought back a sense of rightness she hadn’t known was missing. When he was finished, she thanked him and offered to spend some time with him in the other room watching TV if he chose to.
“I believe I’ll unpack the truck and ready my room.”
“Sounds good. I’m going to head to bed. Do you need me to wake you up or will have your alarm set?” she asked.
“I’ll set the alarm. Five a.m. right?” he asked.
She giggled, “No. Five is when you are supposed to be in the barn with me milking. I’ll wake you up at three.”
“Oh that’s right. Three a.m. mini meal and then round up cows, milk um and then your feeding the National Guard at seven,” he joked.
Pamela winked and spun on her heels. “Night Trent,” she said and waved goodbye.
“Night Misses Reins,” he answered back.
She stopped and poked her head back into the kitchen. “Pam or Pamela . . . Misses Reins adds another thirty or forty years to my life as well as a hump on my back and gray hair the color of a dirty patch of snow . . . not an attractive picture of my mother-in-law.” She shivered at the thought.
Trent laughed and promised it would be Pam or Pamela from now on.
“Thanks,” she winked and left him alone. The time was barely seven-thirty, but farming wasn’t easy work and it was time-consuming work, so she knew they both needed their sleep. She hoped Trent went to bed soon.
Pamela readied herself, pulling on a night dress and slipping under the quilt that had been pulled from her closet after Will’s death. She had taken all his things and those that she’d shared with him and donated most of it. Something told her to save just the truly special things and to let the rest become a memory for another person to enjoy. So she did. Now she lay in bed while a new man slept in a room that no other man had ever slept in, not even a child of theirs. They had never conceived, something that disappointed them both. In the end when Pamela did finally fall asleep it was with the thought of never having had a child to hold, something she always regretted.
Trent had his box of oddities on the bed and began arranging them on his dresser. There was a picture of Jill and one of his parents, both deceased. There was a black box full of his pastels and another box full of colored pencils. He took his watch off and tossed it on the dresser as well as his favorite paperweight, a gift from his brother. The little crystal hula dancer rarely held papers down, but she was nice to look at. Sometimes he’d imagine himself in Hawaii and he’d find himself lost in sketching chalk drawings of ocean beaches and sensuous waves of frothy water. He’d never been off the mainland of the USA, but he would . . . in time.
He put away his shaving supplies, toothbrush, paste as well as his colognes. He wondered if he had enough, not knowing if a simple shower would erase the smells of farming every night or not, but he hoped so. He looked at the time and quickly put his clothes away. When he climbed into bed, wearing his boxers, he thought of how odd it was to be sleeping in a stranger’s home and not have anyone you know around. The fact that it was now rolling to eight thirty wasn’t lost on him either. He was wide awake and knew he’d be in trouble if he didn’t fall asleep soon.
Trent picked up the phone and dialed Jill. She answered and squealed in his ear when she realized it was him.
“Hey lover,” he said quietly.
“Hey yourself,” she answered. “Are you all settled in? Ready to play a country boy?”
Trent laughed. “Yea, I’m ready, but I can’t sleep. I have to be up at three and-”
“Three in the freaking morning Trent. You better get some sleep.”
“Yea, I know. I just wanted to say hi and tell you goodnight. You’re still coming up here on Friday?” he asked, unsure if he could take her telling him no. He enjoyed having Jill in his life and if things continued on the path they were currently on, he hoped to have her in his life for a long time.
“Yea, wearing nothing but bells and a smile,” she said with a giggle following close behind.
“Oh that’ll go over with my boss.”
“The Widow? Heck, she’s probably so old and senile, she’d not notice.”
“She’d notice,” he told her. A feeling of anger over her callus comment filled him, but he said nothing. Jill would see Pamela and know she was anything but an old and senile woman. She was graceful, kind, and quite pretty. Her age didn’t show and he admitted to himself she was a nice shaped woman. His thoughts were interrupted by the loud beep on the phone. He growled out, but apologized to Jill. Whenever he got lost in thought while they were talking she’d push one of the numbers on the phone and the ringing pitch would always bring him back to reality.
“Well . . . I’m going to head out. Mac and Debbie are going clubbing and I’m tagging along. See you in four days, lover . . . don’t wear that meat out while your out there. I don’t want to see a rosy palm greet me when I see you again. Tell the old lady hi and I look forward to meeting her,” Jill said and then hung up.
“I will-” he started to say, but the words were drowned out by the sound of the phone and the telling noise it makes when one hangs up. He sighed and placed the phone back on the receiver. He looked at the picture of Jill and wondered what his weekend would bring him. As sleep overtook him, he thought of the woman above him and wondered how she looked fresh from a good night’s sleep.
Chapter Two
She sat there studying him. Her eyes full of a mixture of compassion, humor, and perhaps doubt. She woke up fifteen minutes before three and had walked downstairs to make hot coffee for Trent and hot tea for herself. She then headed back to upstairs to shower. When she reappeared, she had on a pair of jeans, a blue denim shirt and her hair was braided. She headed down the stairs and breathed in the thick aroma of coffee. Pamela loved the scent, but hated the taste, she knew though that Trent admitted liking it and so when she had gone shopping she’d picked up a fresh can of the hair growing confection and now another memory filled her senses. Will had enjoyed coffee too and had insisted on living off of it.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard a sound coming from Trent’s room. She stopped and listened, concentrating all her thoughts on the low hum. She smiled when she realized her city boy hadn’t woken up yet and his alarm was blaring.
She’d pounded on his door and eventually she conceded defeat and opened it. He was spread out, in his boxers, legs tangled in the covers and the dim light from the bathroom and the hall cascaded over him. She stared for a moment at his young body. A hard chest and thick hair accented broad shoulders and long legs. The noise of the alarm though would not allow her to concentrate on her employee and she silently cursed the offending sound, walked over and shut it off.
“Trent,” she called out and shoved his shoulder with her hand. He jerked slightly and pulled a pillow over his head. She laughed and yanked it off of him.
What happened next had been a shock to both of them; he rolled over grabbed her arm and pulled her down to him. She was on her back and him above her before she could catch her breath. His mouth was inches from hers, before he woke up and realized what was happening. She watched dawning cross his features and he jumped off her. His apology filled the air and he promised to be out of the house in ten minutes.
It took Pamela a moment to realize what he was saying and she pushed herself off the bed. “Trent, stop. I startled you, no big deal. I’m not hurt and you did nothing that warrants you leaving, so just get a quick shower and be in the kitchen in ten minutes for coffee and a fast bite.”
She didn’t want to admit that having him over her, had been very pleasing, nor did she want to draw notice to the morning wood that she’d felt pressed against her stomach. Instead she walked out of the room and shut the door behind her, then she reacted. She felt the heat of her skin increase tenfold and she bit back the giggle that threatened to escape her. “Jill is one lucky lady,” she muttered and headed to the kitchens.
Trent stared into his cup. He felt like an idiot. Oversleeping, assaulting Pamela, and then while he showered he’d jerked off to the memory of having her beneath him, a place he’d forced her to be after she’d been kind enough to wake him up. She’d interrupted a dream, a very hot and erotic dream of him and Jill going at it.
When he felt the touch of a woman’s hand he thought it was Jill and if he hadn’t felt the unfamiliar barrier of clothing between him and his “dream” he wouldn’t have woken up, but he had felt it. He opened his eyes and saw the prettiest green ones staring up at him in shock. He immediately apologized and released her, offered to quit and then was told to ignore it, that it was no big deal. When she left, he looked down at his swollen cock and thought, “Damn. No big deal? How big had her husband been?” Then he cursed himself for thinking she was talking about his hard on.
She coughed and pushed the coffee pot his way. “Stop Trent,” she said suddenly.
“Huh?”
“Stop thinking about it. I’ll just wake you up in a different way next time. Perhaps tug on your ankle or something.”
He laughed and poured another cup of coffee. “Thanks, Pam. I am sorry though. I didn’t mean to sleep in and I sure didn’t mean to attack you.” He shook his head and sighed.
“You didn’t attack me. As far as sleeping in goes, you were up late I assume. I’m sure this first night was hard. You aren’t used to going to bed so early. You’ll be fine tonight. I’ll work you so hard, you’ll be begging for the comfort of that bed.”
She stood up and placed their plates and her empty mug in the sink. The biscuits would tie them over while they brought the cows in and she’d help him with the first weeks milking, by the weekend he should be okay on his own and she could deal with other things around the farm.
“Thanks, again for not taking me up on my offer to leave.”
“You’re very welcome,” she answered back. “All set?” she asked.
“I do believe so.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. It was an old one that went with a pair of sweats he wore on his morning jogs, back on campus. It would serve to keep the morning chill off and he pulled it on over the long-sleeve flannel shirt he’d put on that morning. His jeans hugged his frame and a pair of boots kept his feet protected from the evidence of “farming” that he was sure was going to be there by the end of the morning.
They walked outside. The stars starting to disappear and the sun was a couple of hours away from shining. “Here,” she told him, handing him a flashlight. “You probably will need it the first couple of trips to the barn, but eventually you’ll know the paths by heart and follow them with your eyes closed.
“You have a lot of faith in this city slicker,” he laughed and aimed the beam toward the barn. They made their way there and she flicked on the lights to the parlor and the holding pen. She showed him the bulk tank and ran through the reason for having it, as well as what temperature it needed to maintain in order for the milk to remain safe for storage. She then explained that Evan Turner was the local dairy man that would come by and haul the milk away, a check would be in the following week for what they supplied him with, or what the herd did.
“Well let’s get started,” he said. He felt like a kid again, learning something for the first time. They walked back outside and the morning light was threatening to fill the day. The sun still was not up, but the dawn was awakening. The sounds of low mews filled the air and he looked toward them.
“Cool.”
“What?” Pamela asked, stepping up to his side.
“They’re coming in already.”
“Yea, they do that. They know what time it is. Their sore and tender, so they are more than ready to come in, but we still have to make a count of them and if we have any missing we have to find them.”
They walked between the herd shouting and swatting at the more stubborn ones. Eventually they had them pinned in the holding area and she stepped up on the fencing, counted the heads and then recounted twice. Trent counted too and when they agreed on the number, they headed back inside. By now the first peek of the sun was showing its brightness and it would be a couple of hours before they walked back into its rays.
Trent had managed to not get kicked and had quickly picked up on the rhythm of washing, milking, rinsing and dipping of the teat. By the time they had sprayed the concrete flooring of both the milk stalls as well as the holding pen, Pamela’s doubts were set aside. She knew he’d do well on his own. They washed up in the small sink and sprayed off their boots before heading back to the house.
“Need help?” he asked her, when she pulled out eggs and meat for breakfast.
“Sure,” she said, handed him a carton of eggs and then pulled milk from the refrigerator. They again found themselves working together like a well-oiled machine. He cooked up two omelettes while she pulled more biscuits from the oven and cut up fruit for them to enjoy. Before long they sat in her kitchen eating and ignoring the odor of anything but breakfast.
“So?” she asked.
He grinned. “I love it,” he told her.
She laughed. “Wait till you’ve done it for as many years as I have.”
“How long has that been?” Trent asked her.
“I taught school first. Elementary Education, until I met Will. That was,” she thought a moment, “twenty-five years ago. I was twenty-eight. I’d taught school since college, completed the training in a couple of years, because I doubled up and sometimes tripled up my classes. Once I met Will though I was determined to be a wife and mother.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I quit teaching and tried to do just that, but no kids came from our union.”
“Sorry about that. I have a feeling you’d have liked to have had one or two little William boys running around and I’m sure he’d have enjoyed a lovely daughter or two.”
She smiled and added, “Yes, we would have, but it didn’t happen. William passed away five years ago. I could have sold the farm and the animals, gone back to teaching, but I decided that I was too in love with it and so I had to keep working on that bank payment. It felt nice to hand that loan officer the final one.”
“I’m sure it did.”
She grinned back. “Now you’re here and I find myself enjoying the company.”
“My pleasure. What’s next on the agenda?” he asked, rising and gathering their dishes. She walked with him to the sink and together they washed, dried and put away the plates, cups, and utensils
“Many, many things,” she said and looped her arm through his.
She looked up at him and promised not to run him into the ground his first day. He grinned, but felt something stirring inside as she walked beside him. When they separated to move through the door, he felt a loss that surprised him. It quickly dissolved when she took his arm again. Trent denied the meaning of what he felt, but enjoyed the rush of electricity that moved through him.
Pamela showed him many things that morning, even instructing him on how to operate some of the farm equipment. By the time she left him to wander about the farm on his own, she was feeling an attraction to the young man and hoped she hadn’t forced her feelings on him by accident.
Afternoon came and went, they met briefly for lunch, light sandwiches and lemonade. Then they worked together in her garden. They picked what needed to be picked and he learned a bit more about plants and the things one did to store them for winter. When evening milking came around he impressed her greatly with his what he’d managed to retain over the course of their day. That night at supper, the meal was a repeat of the night before, but this time the leftovers were finished and nothing was put away for later. Trent ate like a farmer, thus delighting his employer.
“Wine and pie?” Trent asked when he looked up at the patio door and saw his boss. He had cut them two pieces of pie and just like the night before, waited for her on the patio.
“To celebrate your first day, just one glass though, I wouldn’t want to have to wake you up from a drunken stupor,” she said and poured them each a glass.
“We wouldn’t want that. I attacked you once in a sleepy haze, a drunken stupor could get me fired” He rolled his eyes, then sipped at his wine.
She laughed and took a drink of her beverage. The night breeze caressed them both and she closed her eyes. The scent of his cologne filled the air. The aroma musky and erotic. She liked it, a lot, probably more than she should have. It was woodsy and smelled like Trent should smell. She wondered if Jill liked it. That thought made her think of Trent and his girlfriend. Jill would be coming up on Friday. She bit her lip, hoping they were quiet lovers and not loud ones.
Trent watched her face relax and then shift as whatever thoughts she had crossed her mind. His muscles were sore, but they were a good sore, the “I worked my ass off today and damn, it feels good” kinda sore. He couldn’t imagine the woman beside him doing this for the last five years by herself.
She’d shared with him the circumstances that led up to her husband’s death. He was much older than she and his heart had grown weak. She found him one morning in the barn, collapsed, he never woke from his coma and died two weeks later. Pamela also shared with him a bit more of herself. She and William married when she was twenty-three and William had been fifty-eight.
When she noticed his shock in their ages she only smiled and shrugged, telling him she loved her husband and that was all that mattered. He had quickly agreed, but inside he just couldn’t imagine loving someone thirty-five years older than him.
He’d now spent a night and a day with Pamela. He now knew why someone would toss age and convention to the wind and love the woman he was working for. For a brief moment he wondered what it would be like to love her. He was twenty-three and she was fifty-three, thirty years. “Yea,” he thought to himself, “I can see it . . . Will was a lucky man.”
He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he had. When he awoke, it was to the sight of Pamela tucking a throw blanket around him. He stared at her as she worked, not noticing he was awake. When she turned to leave, he stopped her. His hand wrapped around her wrist and he held her for a moment. He said nothing, just watched her turn to face him and stare down into his blue eyes. They both felt it. He’d stake his life on it. His cock started to rise and his lips parted. His tongue snaked out and moistened the twin petals of flesh.
Pamela stood there. An ember had been burning in her all day and as his fingers gripped her wrist she could feel the bead of heat growing brighter. She chewed her lower lip and took a deep breath, before pulling herself free of his grip.
She swallowed nervously and whispered, “Goodnight.”
Pam headed to her bedroom, the dirty dishes forgotten as she made her way up the steps. She needed to reach her sanctuary before she turned around and offered herself to the man downstairs. Once she was safely locked inside her bedroom, she went to the bathroom and hid in a steaming pile of bubbles and hot water. Her hands skimmed over her breasts and stomach.
She teased herself until the water was sloshing over the rim of the tub and her sex was throbbing against her seeking fingers. The primal grunt that left her throat echoed through the room and she shuddered in relief from the pent up passion of the day. It had been a long time since she’d toyed with herself. She’d done it a few times after her husband passed, but then it was no longer fulfilling, his memory had faded somewhat and the fantasy of making love to him had diminished. Now as she climaxed a second time, it was the face of Trent that she saw between her slick thighs. She went to bed that night hungry for more of him.
A sound reached her and she stopped breathing for a moment. She heard footsteps on the stairs. They came half way up and then stopped. She knew whose they were. She waited. Would he come to her? Would she let him in? Would she stop him from taking what only one man had ever taken? She didn’t have answers and when she heard the receding sounds of his footsteps she burrowed into her blankets, unsure if she was thankful or extremely disappointed. Extremely disappointed was what she was afraid her answer would be if she explored the feeling deeper.
Trent lay in bed; she was gone before he could pull her back and tell her he wanted to sleep with her. Was that a good thing? Right now with his swollen cock in his hand he was shouting “No” in his mind. He came all over his hand and stomach. The white pearls coated his balls and he groaned as the seeds flowed over him. He was in trouble and knew it. Three more nights and Jill would be there. That was what he needed a nice weekend fuck and then he’d be okay. He was just missing his girl. He was sure of it, or so he thought.
The following morning he was up as soon as his alarm rang. He washed off the dry come and met his employer in the kitchen. Their day started, each lost in thoughts, when lunch arrived she met him in the barn with a list in her hand. “I need a few things for canning. I thought I had it all, but I was wrong. Care to tag along?” she asked.
Trent wiped the sweat from his brow and then pushed his ball cap back on his head. “Sure,” he said. “I need to pick up a few things too. I’m running low on paper.”
“Paper?” she asked.
“Yea, I thought I’d dabble a bit tonight instead of filling up on pie and wine.” He immediately regretted what he’d said, the look on her face was enough to tell him she thought he’d regretted the electric shock that had run through them. He chose to let her think that. It was better that way he decided, though inside he only wanted to fill up on her and her scent. “I haven’t drawn since I got here and there are things around here that I’d like to capture.”
“Here?” she asked. “Like what? How much shit you get on your boots?” She laughed and tossed him the keys to his truck. I figured you being “the man” you’d want to drive.
He laughed. “You thought right, let me wash up a bit and I’ll meet you by the truck. By the way, did you know you have a couple cats in here?”
“Oh, did you see them?” she asked.
“Yea, two. There was a black one and a yellow one.”
Pamela smiled. “That’s them, don’t worry, they don’t bite . . . unless you try to catch them. They are the resident mousers and showed up a few months ago. Maybe they’ll bring me some kittens and eventually I’ll find them and pluck one up for a pet.”
Trent walked with her toward the house and continued conversing with her. “I meant to ask why no pets? I see a farm and think, dog, cats, goats?”
“Goats?”
“Well, something. Something you just bend down and love on a little.”
“I don’t know. I never thought of it really. Will didn’t care for dogs. The cats come and go, but never did I think to bring one into the house. We had a dog once, but we had to get rid of it. It killed some calves and we never got around to getting another.” She shrugged her shoulders and followed him into the house.
“No farm is complete without a dog, Pamela. I don’t even know if I’d consider this a farm.” He felt the sting of her slap on his arm and laughed his way to his bedroom.
Pamela grabbed her purse and headed to his truck, she climbed in and waited for him to appear. As she waited, she noticed the sun visor, pulled it down, hoping to find a mirror, instead a photo slipped to her lap and she picked it up, turned it over and blushed. “Oh my,” she whispered, quickly shoving the photo against the visor and slamming it against the roof. Her eyes focused on a rose that was blossoming in her flower bed and she tried to not think of the naked photo she’d seen of what she assumed was Jill.
By the time Trent was in the truck she’d calmed her nerves and was able to converse with him, giving him directions to the town’s local discount store and then they made a stop at the hobby store. There she watched him scan various art supplies and where he was lost on a farm, she was lost in the hobby store. She’d never had a hobby, after marrying Will, she pretty much was a farmer’s wife. Occasionally she would sew, but there wasn’t anything she loved doing to the point she’d spend money on it. She picked up a few things, studied them and then sat them down.
Trent, thinking she was bored, quickly made his selections and then watched her study what he had tossed haphazardly into his cart. “See something you like?” he asked.
“There are so many different colors,” she told him, picking up a box of pastels. “I never thought of chalk being a way to create pictures. I mean you think of paint or oils, but not chalk.”
He grinned and pulled a smaller pad of paper from the shelf. “I’ll show you what you can do with this ‘chalk’ tonight, okay?”
“Really?” she said. She was the teacher, wasn’t she? A smile spread across her face and she conceded. “Deal. Do you cook?” she suddenly asked.
“Are you looking to commit suicide?” he asked.
“Oh my, that bad, huh?”
“That bad. Jill won’t even eat my cooking. She once told me that if she were wanting to have someone put to death, she would make them eat my food.”
“Well, you teach me to draw and I’ll teach you to cook. One weekend while she’s visiting, perhaps you can cook for her. I’ll even take off and let you enjoy the night without the old widow hanging around.” She laughed at her own joke, but stopped when she looked at Trent. “What?” she asked.
“Don’t do that,” he told her.
“What?” she asked, trying to figure out what she’d done. She looked around, wondering if perhaps she’d dropped something, but she saw nothing wrong in her appearance or with the isle itself. She turned back to him and waited for his explanation. She felt chastised under his intense stare.
“Call yourself ‘the old widow’,” he demanded. “You are not old and you will not ever leave your home for me and my girlfriend. That is your home and I will not chase you out of it.” His voice was rising and he had gripped the cart tightly.
“I’m sorry. It was a joke. I mean, me being old. I wasn’t joking about you and Jill though. I would leave, but,” she held her hand up at his pending tirade, “I won’t though. I’ll stay.”
“Good,” he relaxed and took the pastels from her hand. His fingers grazed her skin and he felt the spark rise up once more.
She did too. “We better go. We have time to grab a bite if you’d like or we can just grab something at the house.”
The tension was gone and Trent was thankful for it. In its place though was a burning need to touch her again. He pushed the cart to the checkout and paid for his supplies. The growing aches to feel her consumed him and when they made it to the exit door he gave in. The automatic doors swished open and he pressed his hand against her back. He kept it there as they walked through the doors and to his truck. He only released the touch when he opened the truck door for her. She slid inside and he walked around the back of the truck, paused a split second to adjust his bulging cock and then climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Ice cream,” she said as soon as he shut the door.
“Ice cream?” he asked. “Sounds like the perfect thing for a hot day,” he answered and wondered if he dropped a scoop on his slacks if it would help his hard on go down.
He shifted gears and pulled into the ice cream parlor’s parking lot and helped Pamela out of the truck. A few people waved hello to her, and she introduced them to Trent.
He was surprised she didn’t add, my hired hand, or my summer help, or even the temp.; he was simply introduced as Trent. His name seemed to flow from her lips and he found himself wishing to hear it fall from her lips when she was lost in the heat of the moment. “Damn,” he muttered as his cock jerked again.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he answered.
“Thinking out loud again?” She giggled and ordered her ice cream, he did too, and then they found an empty outdoor table to sit at.
They devoured their cones, pointing out where the other needed to lick so cream didn’t cover fingers. Each one watched the other’s tongue slide across the cold confection. Both watched as lips pressed against sweet desserts and moved to capture falling sprinkles. Eventually when the treats were gone, both were hotter than they had been when they accepted their snacks.
“I think we need to go,” Pam said rather quietly.
“Sure,” Trent piped up and tossed their napkins in the trash. This time as they walked, he avoided touching her. It was hard. Everything in his body screamed for him to press her against the truck and kiss her senseless. He wanted to reheat her mouth to the temperature it should have been and suck the flavor of her ice cream from her tongue. He didn’t. He opened the truck door, shut it, adjusted his package again and then headed to his side of the truck. Once inside he drove silently to the farm and she bolted to the house before he could kill the engine.
Pamela once again ran to her bedroom and shut the door. She didn’t bother with a bubble bath. Her hands moved over tight nipples and she pulled her T-shirt off and then her boots. Her jeans and panties were pulled down in one swoop. She scooted down the door and began to take care of the fire that was burning between her slick folds. Her fingers drove deep and fast. Each impalement brought a welcoming shudder. “Trent,” she whispered as her other hand dipped into her bra and she pulled her breast out.
“God, oh God, Trent,” she muttered as she finger-fucked herself and twisted the hard tip of her breast.
She felt her pussy tighten. Her toes curled and her scent filled the room. Her lower lip shook as colors exploded behind her clenched lids. “Yes . . . oh fuck yes,” she cried as she slammed her head back, ignoring the pain and letting the climax explode inside her.
Trent had stopped walking when he heard her cry out. He had placed his foot on the top step and gauged it would take a matter of four strides to get him to her bedroom door. Once there he’d be lost. He knew from the sound of her voice, what she had done and a part of him was disappointed that he’d not been allowed to enjoy it. Another part of him was relieved that she was just as affected by him as he was her.
He could have jerked off and come for her, but he didn’t. He turned away and left the house. His sole purpose right now was to work on getting the hay stacked and stay away from the widow who was becoming the face in his fantasies.
“Two more days,” he muttered. “After today, just two more and I’ll be good to go and Pamela will not be an issue.” He repeated the phrase until his cock went down and then he focused on not thinking of the woman he knew was somewhere outside.
When evening chores came to a close he quickly headed to his bathroom and showered, not trusting himself to keep his hands off her while they walked back to the house after milking. They ate dinner in silence. Both were unsure of what to say. He tried to make conversation, but would get flustered as he watched her lips move. He could almost see them forming the words of “fuck me Trent” and “Oh God, yes.” He shifted in his seat and when she told him she hadn’t any pie he gave a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure if he could take watching her lick away the sticky juice from her fingers, fork, or lips.
“Trent,” she said, folding the dish towel up and placing it to the side. “I’m going to head to bed, early. We’ll save my drawing lesson for tomorrow okay?”
Trent felt terrible. He’d spent all afternoon thinking of ways to avoid her and in the process forgot his agreement to teach her simple techniques in creating art. He took a deep breath and asked, “Are you tired?”
“No, but it’s been a long day for you again, and I’m sure you are.”
“I’m fine. Besides if I show you how to draw with the pastels you will show me how to bake a pie for supper tomorrow. Right?” He let one brow lift as did his lips. “A deals a deal.”
Her eyes brighten and she nodded her head yes. The enthusiasm touched him and he reached out to push a tendril of her golden hair, behind her ear. The touch was simple, soft, and conveyed so much, but he pulled his hand back and shut it off as best he could.
“Meet me out back and I’ll be there in a minute. Bring the wine,” he told her and left the room.
Pamela hurt. She physically was in pain. The touch had been so welcoming that she had wanted to lean into it. When he removed his fingers from her skin, her heart seemed to catch in a vise that was still not releasing its hold. She took several deep breaths and moved as if in a trance toward the bottle of wine and the goblets. She made it to the patio and sat down, poured herself a glass of the red liquid and downed it quickly. Then she poured them both a glass. When Trent reappeared she was once again composed.
“We’ll have an hour, maybe two before we lose the natural light, but for now we’ll work outside,” he was saying as he laid out paper and an assortment of colors for her to work with.
He pointed out several things in her backyard she could draw and they settled on the birdbath. The color was gray; A single rose vine slid around the rim. The unknown artist had painted it the color of a red, Summer sunset. Trent placed his chair close to hers and though her scent filled his nostrils, the graceful flow of her fingers enraptured him. He showed her how hard or light to press the medium. His fingers laid over hers and the rush of heat would roll through him. He knew she was feeling it. Her breath was becoming more labored.
The snap of the red color brought him back to reality and he listened to her apologize for breaking the slim instrument of his trade. Her eyes showed her sincerity and he whispered, “You never have to apologize to me.”
He touched her cheek and slipped his palm down to cup her chin. He brought her head up and he lowered his. Their lips touched. He drew away and looked at the two pink strips of flesh. He could have pulled back if she’d not tasted her mouth with the tip of her tongue. The moment she did that, he felt his body respond and his hand slid to her neck and he pulled her to him. This time his tongue invaded hers and he lapped at her mouth with a hunger he’d never experienced before.
The wine mingled with the flavor of man and woman joining. Pamela whimpered and her body turned so she could slide her fingers into his thick brown curls. Her tongue matched his in hunger and when he scooted his chair back, she did hers, not wanting to lose the contact of lip upon lip.
“Pamela,” Trent whispered against her lips, now wet from his claiming of them. “I’ll leave if you tell me to.” He would die if she told him to.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered and pressed her mouth back to his.
He pulled her from the chair and left the warm haven he’d been drinking from. Once he had her on his lap he went back to feasting from her. His tongue explored every angle he could dip into. He let one hand run up and down her jean-covered hip and he massaged the skin under it. Eventually he abandoned her mouth and covered her neck with kisses. She dropped her head back and shivered as his teeth began to taste her skin. Her fingers curled in his hair, the other grabbed his shirt and twisted the material. Pam anchored herself to him as he devoured her.
The high-pitched sound of a telephone added to the moans and whimpers that Trent and Pamela were making. A growl erupted from the young man and he felt the woman in his arms shudder as she came down from the little peak he was going to make her climb. He knew in his head who was calling, but he didn’t want to admit it. He closed his eyes and cursed when Pamela pulled his arms from around her and on passion-filled legs went into the house. The phone by the back door was ringing and when it stopped he prayed that the caller had hung up before he could answer it. It was an unanswered prayer.
Pamela poked her head out and called for him. “Jill’s on the phone.” She placed it on the table by the door and went to her bedroom. Once there she stripped and climbed into bed. This time she chose not to come. The feeling of pleasure would have been there, but in the end, something told her it would have felt more empty than it ever had before.
Chapter Three
The storm had come on during the night, keeping Pamela from sleeping soundly. She emerged from her morning shower and headed downstairs to make coffee and tea. Both were already made and toast with jam and butter were arranged on plates. “Hey,” she said, yawned and then slid into her chair.
“Hey yourself,” Trent answered.
“Couldn’t sleep? Or just woke up early?” she asked, covering another big yawn.
He smirked. “A bit of both, You?”
“A bit of both.”
She watched him take a seat and she decided to get the ball rolling and asked, “How’s Jill?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “She’s good. She was calling to let me know a couple of friends of our split up. Mac and Debbie.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope both of them are okay.”
He smirked. “Yea, their okay, or at least Mac is. It seems he’s got another girl on the side.”
“Ouch.” She didn’t want to think about the kiss that had occurred between Trent and her. She was sure that was what had kept him up all night.
“Double ouch, seems Jill’s the other girl.” He downed his coffee and shook his head in disbelief. “She told me last night she’s been seeing him on the side for a while, and was just waiting till I was gone for the summer to tell me . . . something about being too scared to tell me in person. Shit, I’d have rather she do that then to listen to her on the phone. I swear he was fucking her while she was breaking up with me.”
“I’m sorry Trent,” she told him. What did you say to a man that had just lost a girlfriend, a man you had been kissing the night before, a man you had been fantasizing about and masturbating to? She was sorry. She was sure he was feeling mixed emotions. Confusion as to what last night meant as well as this realization that he was about to cheat on his girlfriend last night when she’d been cheating on him for some time.
“Yea. Me too, I’m sorry I took that phone call. I’m sorry I didn’t take you upstairs and make love to you. I’m sorry I let you leave my lap . . . but I’m not sorry she broke up with me. I mean, if I wanted to do all those things with you, then what kind of boyfriend am I . . . or was I?” He looked up at her and shook his head. “You know what? I still feel guilty, guilty for kissing you and still being attached to her, guilty of wanting to crawl into your bed and fuck you hard and fast after she dumped me, guilty of telling all of this right now and not giving you a chase to shut me up.”
He pulled her against him and thrust his tongue into her mouth. He drank the morning tea from her lips, suckled on her tongue and pulled her lower lip with his teeth. His hand pushed into hair, not yet in a ponytail. He held her to him, refusing to let her go, if she tried to leave him. When she made no move to do so he eased the pressure of his fingers and angled his head to taste her even deeper. His other hand gripped her upper arm and he stood up, pulled her with him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Again he held her, unwilling to let her free from his grasp. Again she showed no resistance.
Pamela felt his strong fingers in her hair; she relished the strength in his arms. Her body hummed with excitement as he plunged his tongue in and out of her mouth, swept it along the sides of her teeth and then dipped in to savor the lemon from her tea. When he pulled apart to take a breath, her hands came up and brought him back to her.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“For an older woman you ask a silly question,” he answered her and jerked her back to him. His fingers slid down her back and he covered her mouth with his. The kiss deepened and then receded, only to deepen again. “Pamela, you tell me right now to take you to the bedroom, or this is happening on your kitchen table.” His fingers were working already tugging the hem of her shirt out of her jeans.
His words fueled her desire and she pulled his shirt from his slacks. That was her answer and if he doubted it, she stepped back and lifted her flannel shirt from her body and quickly unclasped her bra.
Trent tore the offensive garment from her breast and wrapped her in his embrace again. His mouth devoured her right nipple and her fingers flew into his hair. “Yes,” she moaned and pressed him to her.
He used his teeth to pull the bud out and then he let it free. Her tit swayed and he licked it as it bounced. He opened his mouth and blanketed the entire areola, suckling it with firm pressure. His other hand came up and squeezed her other breast. He pushed it back into her and turned it just enough to hear her moan in ecstasy. Trent hooked his chair with his leg and pulled it to him. Never leaving her precious nipple he sat down and she moved between his legs.
Pamela watched as he pushed the other breast up against its partner and opened his mouth just enough to take both tips into his mouth. “My God,” she whispered. Her voice was thick with desire and want. “Trent.” She trembled and felt his legs tighten around her. She knew he sensed her need to collapse. Her hands reached for his shoulders and she grabbed his shirt. Holding on to him was her only goal as she felt him take her nipples on a ride of pure sin.
Her pussy was growing more slick with juice. Her panties were soaked; her jeans would soon show the evidence of her arousal. “Trent,” she whispered again.
“Hmm?” he asked through nipple-filled lips. He sucked harder. He knew what she was going to say. He could smell her sex. The heady perfume was rolling over him. His mouth refused to let up and he felt his cock jump when her scream erupted from her sex-craved body.
“Trent!” Pamela shouted. Her eyes rolled back; her fingers unclenched and spread out as her body stiffened. Her orgasm rolled through her and she shook violently several times. Her come covered her panties; she felt it slide between the seams of her jeans and knew it was on the outer layer of material. She didn’t care. The electrical waves that ran through her were mind-numbing and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be functional again when her orgasm was complete.
Trent smiled like a proud bull and nuzzled her breasts with his face, before sliding up and kissing her. When he released her, he growled into her ear. “Turn around and slid your pants down. I want you now, Pamela. I want to fuck you. Can I fuck you Pam?”
“Yes, Trent,” she groaned and did as he asked. With legs that felt like jell-O, she turned around and fumbled with her button and zipper. As she did, she could hear him pulling his jeans down. She felt his fingers wrap around her waistbands and he yanked the pants and underwear down in one swift jerk.
“Beautiful,” he said and ran his hand down her spine. He watched her tremble and pressed her forward. Her torso lay over the table; she cupped her breasts and squeezed them as she displayed her ass for him. Trent watched her wiggle and he gripped her cheeks. He bent his knees just enough to aim his cock head against her opening. “Pamela, baby, tell me what you want,” he demanded.
“Fuck me, Trent,” she pleaded. “Fuck me hard and fast.”
He plowed into her. The head of his sex rolled into her pussy and he moved his hands to her hips.
“Pam, squeeze my cock. I want you holding me tight.” He felt her respond and dragged his cock out of her. His head popped out and she begged for him to come back. He chuckled and slammed into her again. Once more she held him tight, once more he dragged himself out, this time though allowing her to hold the head of his dick deep inside her.
“Trent,” she whimpered and pressed back into him. His cock slid in. She growled. “Faster, damn it!” she shouted.
He began again. Harder. Faster. He fucked her as if it that was why he’d been hired in the first place. He drove his cock in deep, the head hit her G-spot and he rocked his hips; his dick rubbed back and forth over her hot home. The walls of her sex clamped around him and he felt his body tightening as he started to increase his speed once more. They were a blur. His cock impaling her and ass moving in sequence with his thrusts. His balls continued to snake up to his body until his come was boiling and erupting into her.
“Pam . . . oh fuck, Pam!”
“Trent,” she gasped as she felt his seeds coat her. Her climax collided with his and she felt her fingers grip her tits, squeeze them and pull on the warm flesh as he pounded another rope of seed into her slick home. Her face contorted in a mix of emotions and she felt herself tremble with mini climaxes that poured through her system.
He collapsed on her back. His mouth rested on her shoulder and he kissed the warm skin. His cock slipped from her and he shuddered at the feeling of loss. She turned in his arms and he stood up, pulling her to him.
Trent stared into her green eyes and ran his hand over her cheek. His mouth captured her lips and once more they kissed and explored this time the touch was slow, tender, seductive.
Pamela pulled away and slid her hands around him. She held him for several minutes; she was at a loss for words. In time they separated and he eased her panties up and then her jeans. He kissed her stomach before picking up her bra, which he tossed over a chair and then he helped her back into her shirt. “I may need to play with those while doing chores,” he said into her ear, before grasping her nipple with his finger and thumb.
She laughed and watched him release her, step back and get dressed. “See that you do,” she told him.
They both pulled on boots and jackets. The outraged mews of the herd were easily heard and Trent was amazed that the cows had all come up to the barn. Not a head was missing as he and his lover did the headcount. He made a comment to her about the herd being anxious and she countered, explaining that they were pissed off at being forced to wait. He chuckled, pulled her close and told her. “They’ll have to get used to it.”
She grinned and kissed him back. “Yep,” she agreed.
Another morning slipped by, this time though milking took longer. Kisses were passed back and forth as well as several grope, thus it was even later that the herd was released and allowed to go out to pasture. Lunch was spent cuddling and field work was also late. Pamela didn’t mind though, suddenly there was something else in her life and for the first time in five years she didn’t like farming. That evening Trent moved into her bedroom and her bed.
Chapter Four
Pamela rolled over and into the back of another. It took her a moment to remember she had invited Trent to sleep with her. They had loved into the wee hours of the morning and she wrapped her arms around him. He rolled over and hooked her legs with his. His arm encircled her and he nuzzled her neck. “Explain something to me, please.”
“Yes?” she asked. Her fingers trailed down his back and rested on his hip.
“How did you do it? How did you get up every morning and milk cows? Surely there were days you said, ‘fuck it’ and didn’t get up,” he laughed.
“Oh yes, there were times I said it, but we still got up and did chores. If there wasn’t a lot to do other than taking care of the animals, we came back to bed and passed out.”
“With you in my bed, I can’t imagine ever passing out . . . at least not from chores, but from sexual exhaustion,” he pretended to think for a moment, “I’d be willing to try that theory.”
She laughed and rolled him to his back, though if he’d resisted she would not have been able to topple him. “Lay still,” she demanded and slid her tongue over her lips. She winked and slipped down his body. Her eyes met his and then traveled to the erection that was becoming a welcoming distraction in her once normal, mundane life.
“I want to taste you,” she told him. She ran her tongue over the head of his cock.
“I want to drink you,” she whispered and ran it down the full length of him.
“I want to feel your hands in my hair, forcing me to fuck your cock with my mouth.” She lapped at his balls, lifting them with her firm stroke.
“Can I Trent? Can I have all those things?” she asked and then released a blanket of warm air over his crotch, covering his balls and his dick.
Trent’s cock throbbed and his words came out in a thick growl. “Yes, Pamela. You can have all that and more.” He pushed his fingers into her hair and watched her open her mouth. “Pam.”
She smiled and rolled his testicles with her tongue. Each one was pressed against the sides of her teeth, first the left then the right. She ran the warm muscle between them both and pushed them to the front of her lips and then to the back of her throat. As his fingers curled into her blonde locks, she moaned in pleasure. She loved feeling possessed by him. She released his balls and guided his cock to her lips. “Make me fuck you Trent,” she told him.
He did. He pushed her down on his cock. Every inch was swallowed up and when he felt her nose hit his dark pubic hairs he knew he’d bottomed out and she’d taken him deeper than any woman had before. “Fuck Pam,” he muttered and eased her up his cock again.
She had opened her throat so she could take him and she reveled in the feeling of pride that assailed her senses. She knew by the sound of his voice he had not only loved the sensation of being deep-throated, but something told her that he’d never experienced it before either. She was right.
Trent lay back and his mind melted as her mouth worked its magic on his erection. He pushed her down, almost fearful of hurting her, but soon she set the tempo and he understood he was to match it with his hips thrusting up and his hands pushing her down. His seed filled her and as he shot it down her sweet throat he shuddered over the violent reaction that was rolling through him. His body felt as if it were pounding into the mouth of an angel and he was the sinner that had claimed her as his. Her mouth received the warm fluid punishment of his come.
Pam climaxed without touching her pussy. Knowing she’d pleasured him was enough to give her pleasure. She drank every once of him and finally eased her lips from his cock. She swallowed the last bits and then slipped up his body. “It’s time to do another type of milking,” she said, winked, and giggled, before sliding off him and into the shower.
Trent watched her naked ass walk away and he growled low. He pulled the blanket back around him and told himself he was going to have to rethink this whole farm idea. Maybe milking cows at noon would work. He laughed out loud, knowing he was fooling himself. He pulled himself out of bed and headed to the downstairs shower; his old bathroom now served the basic of necessities. Normally he was in hers with her, but this morning they were running late.
Once he left the shower, the smell of their morning coffee and tea filled his senses and he briskly walked into the kitchen. “Still raining,” he stated. He walked up behind her and kissed her neck. “Cows still get milked in the rain don’t they?” he jokingly asked.
“Yes, you goof,” she answered back and handed him a mug. He drank his morning brew and headed out the door.
“I’m doing it alone,” he told her.
She smiled and waved goodbye. She watched him leave and then she headed back to her room to change clothes. When he returned, he was greeted with a hearty man’s breakfast and a woman wearing nothing but an apron.
“Awww hell, however do you expect me to eat?” he asked.
She grinned. “Do you see any fruit on the table?” she asked as she sat down.
Trent glanced briefly away from her tempting figure and answered, “No.”
“It’s in the bedroom, except for this one piece.” She lifted a napkin and slipped a bright, red strawberry under her apron skirt. He watched her face as she moved her fingers under the white linen. He saw her lips part as she did what he knew she was doing. When her hand reemerged it was empty, but a wicked grin lit up her features.
“Eat your breakfast, then you can have your fruit for the day.” She winked. He groaned. Eventually Trent ate his fruit and they made love until both were exhausted. They slept through the afternoon and when the clock she’d set rang again, it was time for the evening milking.
* * * * *
Pamela’s routines changed. She stayed up later, milked cows later, retired earlier, but not to sleep, but to make love to her young man. Her body would awaken in the middle of the night, hungry for him, his would awaken for her. A month passed and then the next. As the weeks of the summer began to rush by, both pushed away thoughts of what was to become of them, until it was no longer a date on the calendar to avoid, but was staring at them in the face.
Trent eyed his packed bags and stood at the foot of the bed. Pamela walked in and closed the distance between them. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she pressed against him. “You know I love you. Don’t you?” she asked.
He closed his eyes. “I know.” He turned around and kissed her lips. “I love you, Pam. Every weekend I can spare, I’ll be here.”
“I know.”
“Pam,” he pulled back, “if it gets too much, call me. I don’t mean missing me, though I expect you to call me then too, but I mean working. I don’t want to lose you.”
She ran a finger over his lips. “I promise you.”
“If you need me, you call me,” he demanded.
“I will,” she answered. She pulled him down to her level and they kissed deeply. She swept her tongue over his and they danced between bites and licks. Each one wanting more than the other, but wanting to give control, but also submit.
He pulled away and pressed his forehead to against hers. “I have to go,” he told her.
“I know.”
He kissed her again and left.
She closed her eyes and felt her world spin. She sank to the floor and felt the tears flow down her cheeks. He heard her cry, turned to go back and scoop her up, but stopped. If he walked back into the room, he’d never leave. He also was scared, scared he’d get stuck in the life of a farmer. He’d learned many things that summer, things that he’d never would have learned if he’d turned down the job. The city boy was a city boy with a bit of country in him, but not enough to live his life waking up at three a.m. and being worn to the bone by the time he went to bed.
Trent made his way to the University, his heart heavy and his face clenched in anguish as he fought back tears that he refused to let fall after the miles that separated them grew in number. He made his way to the small apartment he’d rented. The idea of returning to campus did not sit well on his shoulders. He needed the privacy that he could only find in something that was his and his alone. The only thing that would have made his small home better, was if the woman he’d left behind was with him.
Weeks went by and he made his weekend trips back to Pamela. In time though what he feared would happen did happen. He began to resent the farm and the time he spent working it with her and the time he lost when they left each others arms. They argued over little things, and soon his trips were every other weekend. When December came, he couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to spend the month working with shit and wet cows. He wanted Pamela, but he contemplated if wanting her was enough to get him through the years.
His answer came to him in the form of a letter.