So, my ranch. I wanted to have a place with lots of space for several reasons. First, I've always loved the solitude. I am not much of a crowd and city person, but fishing, hunting, tramping through the woods and skiing, sign me up. Second, I wanted to minimize the possibilities of accidental contact with a normal. No more fiascos like Ms. Obesity or that Irish step dancer in the elevator (thankfully you can only see my back on the video posted to You Porn). Third, my wife loves animals and this gives her a chance to indulge in dogs, horses, and maintain the land for wildlife. We have a small pond, and a premier trout stream running through the land. I let the local guides bring customers onto the land to fish and they help me maintain the stream in return. I also let a select few hunt the elk, deer, pronghorn bear and upland birds on the land.
To run the company I need a few select staff people close at hand. Everyone else can work from home or remotely. My wife and I also hired some folks to help with the ranch.
My first full time hire was actually the ranch hand, Hector Chavez. Actually I pretty much hired the family. When we purchased the ranch I renamed it to Deamhan Saothraigh, the rough translation from Irish Gaelic being Devil's Ranch. I was trying to honor both my tradition of the Incubus as a demon and my own Irish heritage. Hector had a reputation in the local community as a man good with animals, horses in particular, so we had him come around a few times per week to help out with the two horses we had purchased. About a week before I hired him full time, he came to me about his son, Hector, Jr. Hector had been caught on my ranch with a bunch of his high school buddies lighting a campfire and drinking. The local sheriff had followed the light of the fire and arrested the bunch before I knew anything about it.
"Jefe. I have come to beg you to drop the charges against my son and to beg you for help" he began.
"No need Hector. It was just a bunch of harmless high school stuff. Neither Frank [our local prosecutor] or Janet [the local judge] want to hurt those kids and neither do I. they'll yell at them a bit, give 'em a conditional dismissal and if they are good -- and I know Hector is a good kid - it will all go away with no harm to anyone."
"Patrón, you.... You do not understand."
Just the fact he had addressed me as both jefe and patron meant something was up that was very serious.
"My son... that is ... all of us... except mi pequeña... my little girl Maria are illegal. Maria was born here. The rest of us came to this country when Hector was a little boy. He was three and has no memory of Jalisco... of Mexico."
"Sí su español es horrible" I replied. Little Hector's Spanish was not what I would have expected from someone born in Mexico. By the way, I use the term "little" only to denote the son here. "Little" Hector is 6 foot 3 inches tall and towers over his small father and his tiny mother.
Hector chuckled. "Si. It is bad."
Hector gave me the details of a life of crushing poverty in the Mexican state of Jalisco where he was raised on a farm; his long trek north and the expense of hiring a coyote to get him across the border and the dessert of New Mexico; of his building a life here in the mountains through hard work and his skill with horses. He explained how he faked his papers so he would appear legal and pay taxes; how he and his wife had both worked two jobs to provide for his family and how his son... his pride and joy... was an excellent student. He showed me a paper Little Hector had prepared for his math class. He was currently a junior taking both AP calculus and AP physics.
Now, I have an advanced degree in computer science, so I am no math moron. This kid's paper lost me after the first paragraph. The only thing I could glean from it was that it had something to do with Fermat's theorem.
I stared at Hector for a moment. "Your son is a fuckin' genius."
One of the nice thing about being well off and connected to a bunch of people who can seduce anyone and a group with an average lifespan of over 300 years is you can do favors for the deserving and little Hector deserved favors. We pulled strings and got the family green cards. I set them up in a small house on my ranch. We had stayed there while we built the main house and re-furnished some of the other buildings. To cement Hector and Maria's loyalty I introduced little Hector around. He is now at MIT on a full scholarship. Hector cares for the land and the animals and Maria takes care of the cleaning.
My house is my dream home. It is a large home constructed in the craftsman style with oak and natural finishes throughout. It merges with the landscape like the best of Frank Lloyd Wright. We converted one of the barns into an office where I run the companies with a small staff. We also have a barn with our own horses and some additional horses we board for folks in the area. It covers some of the expenses like hay, vets and farriers.
In a small mountain town it is said that it is no great loss to lose a job, because you always have two more to fall back on. There is a great deal of truth to that. We live close to a ski resort and most of the work is low wage tourist industry stuff. Most people string together 2 or more part time jobs to make ends meet. During the mud months (spring to you flatlanders) or late fall after the colors are gone but before the ski slopes open, there is almost no work at all.
I do not want folks to worry over every nickel so I pay people well. My first hire was my administrative assistant, Kate, a 30 something single mother. Like most people who live in the mountains she was very active and kept fit. In fact she was quite the hard body. She had very little body fat, as she spent lots of spare time on a mountain bike or cross country skis, depending on the season. She was not in any way surgically enhanced -- again common up here in the high country - but her B cup was very sexy on her short tight frame.
I let her brig her two kids around the ranch. In return for some minor chores like mucking out stalls, we let them ride the horses. Turns out that is good for everyone involved. I also have two policies people love. Three days a year you can call in "well" - just call and say "it is too nice out, I'm going to..." and do whatever you want, play golf, hike, ski, lay in the backyard and get drunk. I also have a powder day policy. If it snows less than 6 inches I close the office for ½ day and over 6 inches I close for the day. Mind you, we all have 4 wheel drive and live in the mountains, so we can drive in snow. We close the office so we can ski in fresh powder.
Obviously I do not want to be fighting off advances from my staff. It turns out that hand sanitizers neutralize the pheromones, so I wear long sleeve shirts and installed dispensers throughout the ranch. People just think I am a germ-phobic. Of course, there is still the problem of them inhaling pheromones, but that just causes non-directed horniness.
So long as no clients are around I do not care what people wear to work, within reason. Nevertheless I noticed that Kate would always wear skirts or dresses. Most women in the mountains prefer hiking boots to Morichetti (no idea who he is but my wife swears by his styles). After a few weeks I clued in.
I had stepped out for a few minutes to stroll and take my dogs for a walk. Normally this takes some time but I cut this walk off early. I entered my office using a back entrance, not making any particular efforts to be discreet and heard a low moan along with a low, electric hum.
"MMMMM Fuck!" I heard. It was definitely Kate.
I looked into the reception area through a crack in my office door. Kate, eyes closed, had both feet up on her desk with her dress hiked up and a rabbit style vibrator going in and out of her obviously wet pussy. AS I watched she pumped herself faster and faster, moaning softly and completely oblivious to my presence.
