My name is Chloe Phillips. Up until a few months ago, I lived here on a good sized horse ranch in the middle of nowhere, East Texas. I had inherited the ranch from my Father and lived here along with Anna the cook/housekeeper and Jamison the ranch manager. Jamison had been my father's good friend and ranch foreman for as long as I could remember. Though at least fifteen years my Father's junior, when I was a little girl, it had always been my Father and Jamison, they were like brothers. While my Father was warm, loving, and generous to a fault, Jamison often seemed his direct opposite. Tall, barrel-chested with deeply tanned skin from his hours working outdoors, Jamison was an attractive man, not what I would have called handsome, but he had a rugged attractiveness and strength that women seemed to like.
It was soon after my eighteenth birthday that my Father died unexpectedly. It was Jamison who was there to comfort and reassure me that he'd be there to help me. I remember how after my Father's funeral, when the people paying their respects had left, I was crying when Jamison encircled me in his arms, pulled me to him and kissed me gently on the mouth, slipping his tongue between my quivering lips. I felt myself momentarily succumb to the warmth and pleasant sensations, but gathering my wits I pushed him away, surprised by his kiss and ashamed of my response. In all the time I had known him, Jamison had never done or said anything inappropriate toward me.
Though not what I would call beautiful, I knew I was a pretty girl that men found appealing; small stature, full perky breasts with wide, dark areolas accentuated by long, thick nipples; long reddish brown hair, big blue eyes, flat belly, and a slim waist. I think from the time I was about eighteen and becoming more and more aware of men and their "needs," I had sensed Jamison's attraction to me. Not surprised by my rebuff, and I'm sure not wanting to frighten me Jamison stood silently looking at me . . . a strange almost hungry look in his eyes.
Clearing his throat he took a deep breath and said, "Everything will be okay, Chloe. Remember, I'll be here with you."
Jamison stayed on taking care of the ranch for me just as he always had for my Father and though we never talked about the kiss, I never forgot it.
*****
I first met Frank Pendleton, a strait-laced, religious man, years ago, when I was a student and away at school. I was a young, impressionable girl, open to meeting new people and eager for new experiences. Frank was the English professor, quite a bit older than me and in a lot of ways reminded me of my Father. Surprisingly, since graduating school, we had stayed in touch through letters and over the next year, or so I had fancied myself in love with him. I married Frank six months ago.
Frank was a writer and spent most of his time in the small bungalow behind the house writing and researching articles for newspapers throughout the country. Soon after our marriage, I found out that Frank was an invariant gambler and though this fact was disconcerting, I loved him and my life was settling into a comfortable routine with Frank. I looked forward to spending the rest of my life with him.
Frank was the only man I had been with sexually, and I naively thought what he did, how he did it and how often he did it was the way it was supposed to be between a man and his wife. Not really knowing any difference, I naturally accepted the sexual intimacy between us; Frank would roll on top of me, and I would spread my legs for him. He would shove his often semi-hard cock into me and quickly ejaculate, leaving me feeling sad, frustrated, unsatisfied, and not quite knowing why.
Our marriage proved to be uneventful and predictable, the typical marital relationship for that time; Missionary sex once a week, quiet, quick lovemaking, him making all of the decisions, and my wifely acquiescence to his wishes expected.
Those dreams for our future together came crashing down when late one afternoon, Frank went for a ride on a horse he had recently acquired and didn't return. That evening, his horse came back riderless. A small group of men searched most of the night to no avail, but when they resumed the search early the next morning, they found Frank's body perhaps a mile or two from the house, his horse had apparently been spooked and thrown Frank, breaking his neck. I was barely twenty years old and already a widow.
As the year drew to its end, the pain over Frank's dead began to soften, but at unexpected times the hurt and loneliness would surface and plunge me into fits of crying and sadness. Friends urged me to move away, to even move back East where an uncle and aunt resided. After thinking it over for a while, I decided to stay here, on my ranch. Having been raised here on the ranch since I'd been born, the ranch was all I knew. The only time I had been away was when my father sent me away to Mrs. Pritchard's School for Young Ladies. I felt safe, and knowing Jamison would be here with me made me comfortable and reasonably confident in my decision to stay.
*****
That spring, Jamison received a wire from his sister telling him that his brother was very ill and had been asking for him to come for what could be the last visit. Jamison hadn't seen his brother in well over five years and was torn between making the trip and leaving me alone. I didn't want Jamison to miss what could be his last opportunity to see his brother and finally convinced him that I would be fine. He estimated he would be gone perhaps two months and wanted to hire a farm hand to help out though. I was convinced that this wasn't necessary and that I could handle things myself but reluctantly agreed to hire someone to help out in Jamison's absence.
Jamison would lay in all the supplies and the additional animal feed I would need, do a good maintenance check around the ranch to make sure nothing would go array in his absence, and he would be sure and let the Sheriff know that I was out here alone and that he would be gone for a while.
Jake Singletary a long time trouble maker and malcontent had been in town the day Jamison boarded the train to begin his journey to see his brother. Jake, a man who never lacked for enemies, had gotten into a bar brawl the night before and thrown into jail. As fate would have it, he had just been released, when he overheard Jamison talking with the Sheriff, explaining that he would be gone for a while and that I would be at the ranch alone. Jamison and the Sheriff were old friends, and Jamison asked the sheriff as a favor to stop by and check up on me while he was gone. That bit of information, coupled with some old gambling debts that had been owed him by my husband, apparently set Jake on his course of collecting what he felt was owed to him.
A few days after Jamison's departure, I was in the front room dusting when a loud knocking at the door startled me. Because I was alone and isolated out here, Jamison had always cautioned me to have a shotgun within reach and adding for emphasis, "You never know what kind of varmint you might run into."
With his cautionary words of wisdom ringing in my head, I picked up the shotgun that sat next to the front door and opened it.
Trying to look and sound as formidable as I could (which was difficult to do since I was not physically very intimidating, hell . . . still more a girl than a woman) confronted the stranger, "who are you . . . what do you want?" I asked, holding the gun out in front of me. For some reason, the stranger seemed fleetingly familiar, but I let the thought go bye.
"Hey, hey . . . be careful where you point that thing, Mrs. Pendleton," he said. Wanting to make a good first impression and secure her trust, Jake smiled broadly and introduced himself.
"My name is Jake Singletary, and I have a small cattle ranch near the county line, he lied. I'm back and forth between my place and town once sometimes twice a week, and Jamison asked me if I could maybe stop by and check on you if I had the time," he lied again.
"You know Jamison? He's never mentioned you." I said, my suspicion peaked.
"Can't say that surprises me. Even though Jamison and I have known each other for a while, we don't get to talk much, what with him being out here most of the time working on your ranch."
I stood silently watching him . . .
"Oh, by the way, he quickly added, I noticed when I rode up that the gate around the hog pen was swinging open, probably a sprung closure. Saw three of your hogs were running free. If it's ok, I'll take a look at that gate and round up those hogs before I leave," he said.
"No, no . . . you don't have to do that," I protested.
"My pleasure, after all I promised Jamison I'd look out for you. Now I don't want to hear any more about it," he said with an infectious grin playing across his face, which made me feel more comfortable with him being here.
Over the next two weeks, Jake stopped by two, three more times. Always friendly, concerned and helpful, I unwisely let my guard down and welcomed his visits and his attention. Looking back now, if I had even suspected his plans for me and my ranch, maybe the future would have been different.
*****
Growing confident, it wasn't long, before Jake showed his true self.
Very early one morning, claiming he was on his way into town, he had stopped by to see how things were going. Peeking through the kitchen window, I saw it was Jake and though only wearing my nightgown without hesitating, I went to let him in. No sooner had I opened the front door, when he roughly, suddenly pushed me back into the house and slammed the door closed. Before it registered what was happening, Jake had me pinned against the wall as he hurriedly lifted my nightgown, spread my legs apart with his knee and forcefully pushed himself inside me.
My eyes went as big as saucers and I began to scream.
Jake covered my mouth. "Stop screaming! I don't want to hurt you Chloe, but I will if you scream again." The look on his face, the sound of his voice I was terrified and willed myself to be silent. I hadn't had sex since my husband's death, and Jake's cock as he grew bigger and thrust deeper into my small tight pussy was uncomfortable, quickly reducing me to tears. Seeing the tears, he paused and stopped thrusting.
