Holiday in the Hills

Ever got just what you wanted and then had to watch the whole thing turn sour on you? If you ever pick up a magic bottle and a genie pops out wanting to give you three wishes, trust me, you just put the cork back in the bottle and throw it away. You really don't want those wishes coming true.

I'd landed myself a dream job. Actually, I'd landed myself two jobs. The first job was in IT, my chosen career, and it was a good one. The catch was that the company was in the throes of relocating their head office, and didn't actually require me to start for two months, so I had an unexpected two month holiday with no income.

This wasn't really a major inconvenience as I could manage on what scant savings I did have and could always pick up odd jobs with Computer Repair places. I'd worked for a number of them that way in the past and found it a useful way of earning a few bucks. If the worst came to the worst I could always get temporary work at a fast food place.

None of these useful little ploys had to be brought into play as I found my second job via a friend of a friend. The friend of a friend, Mike by name, had a broken leg. It meant he needed someone reliable to replace him in his job for a couple of months, and what with one thing and another, I was the lucky man who got nominated.

My friend, George, knew that I was interested in a short term job, which meant that I wouldn't cause difficulties when my time was up. He also knew that I was intelligent, fit and healthy, good with my hands and liked camping.

The job was to take care of some guy's wilderness retreat for six weeks while Mike was recuperating. All I had to do was go to this guy's house, way up in the mountains, and stay there for six weeks. I could fish, hunt, hike, do whatever I wanted to do, just as long as I made sure that the place was kept in good condition.

The owner rarely came around, I was told, but if he did decide to come I'd get a call from his secretary telling me the size of the party and how long they'd be staying. Then it was my job to order the required stores, but that was no hassle. There was a manual telling me what to order and where to order it. I would just have to make a phone call and then put the stuff away when it was delivered.

Mike suggested that the first week I was there I should take a number of long hikes, familiarising myself with the area. He let me have a number of maps showing the best places to hike and fish, telling me that if the owner did come to stay my duties would include acting as guide.

Apart from acting as guide, if required, I wouldn't actually have any interaction with the owner and his guests. I should just keep out of their way.

So I headed off to my new job, light of heart. How many people get a chance to stay at a wilderness retreat for six weeks, and get paid for the privilege of doing so? For the first three weeks the job was a dream.

I hiked, familiarising myself with the area as requested, until I knew it well. I won't say I could find my way anywhere blindfolded, but as no-one was going to blindfold me I would be able to manage quite well, thank you. I got in some fishing and quickly learned the best spots. I also did a series of little maintenance chores around the place, making sure it was kept up to scratch.

Then I got the call from the owner's secretary. The owner was lending the place out to some friends for a fortnight, a family of four adults, and they'd be arriving in one week. Not a problem, I assured the secretary. There were standard orders for that sort of group and time. I did ask the secretary to check and see if there would be any variations to the standard order if this group had never been there before, but was assured they were repeaters, standard would be fine.

So I placed the order, received it a few days later and continued to relax and enjoy myself until the guests arrived.

Now the track up to the holiday hideaway was rather rough, but still drivable. I used a dirt-bike myself, but the guy who delivered the groceries used an old beat-up pickup. It seemed to make the trip with no problems.

So what sort of vehicle does our intrepid holiday maker use? A helicopter. Damn thing landed out front, the passengers disgorged, and then away it went into the wild blue yonder. So, I wondered, exactly how does mister intrepid expect to get around if he wants to go somewhere? The only vehicle on the place was my dirt-bike, and they weren't using that.

Not my problem, I decided. Maybe someone's delivering a vehicle for them.

I headed on over to introduce myself.

"Morning, sir," I said, smiling. "I'm Ron, the acting caretaker. The official caretaker, Mike, is laid up with a broken leg and I'm filling in for a couple of weeks. I'm afraid I don't know your names. I was just told a party of four."

"Are you Indian?" came the reply.

My natural talent for saying the wrong thing promptly rose to the fore but I hastily throttled it. I wanted to say do you mean Indian type Indian or American type Indian, and who really gives a shit, but contented myself with a "No, sir."

"Don't like Indians," he told me. "They killed Custer, you know?"

I had heard rumours to that effect, but bit my tongue and said nothing. It was easy to see I was dealing with a wealthy idiot. You have to watch them or they bite. He finally got around to introducing himself.

"I'm Hector Williams. That's my wife Eliza over there. The others are my son and daughter, James and Patricia."

I suppose I should give you a synopsis of the character judgements I made.

Hector I had marked down as rich, stupid, obnoxious and a bully if he could get away with it.

Eliza, a snob. I don't think she even saw me as a person. I was more like mobile furniture, but probably not as useful.

James was his father in miniature. About twenty and I had a feeling he would prove to be rather malicious.

Patricia was a grade one bitch. Same age as James, give or take a year. Not twins, I was sure. Mind you, she was very pretty and smart enough to make the best of herself. I'd put her down as the smartest of them all.

I escorted them over to the main house and let them in. I explained that there were supplies in the kitchen and that if there were any special items they required they could ring the store and they'd be delivered. If they needed me for anything I'd be in my cabin. Then I got the hell out of there.

It took thirty minutes for the first problem arose. Patricia (my name is Patricia, not Pat) came banging on my door. Nothing so polite as knocking. I answered it and she gave me a disgruntled look, apparently put out that she'd had to walk all the way from the main house to my cabin to speak to me.

"Mother wants to know when dinner will be ready?" she snapped.

"I have no idea," I responded. "I assume after it's been prepared."

I got the sort of look that was supposed to freeze me in my tracks.

"When are you preparing it?" she practically snarled at me.

"I'm not," I told her, smiling, "and if you've ever tasted my cooking you'd know what a silly question that is. Even I can barely stand to eat it."

"What do you mean, you're not? You're the servant. It's your job."

I hated to disillusion her at such a young age, but I sadly shook my head. "No. I'm the caretaker. I look after the buildings, do repairs generally and provide guide services if required. That's it. Think of me as the janitor. Would you really expect the janitor to cook your meals?"

"Then who's going to cook our meal?" Patricia demanded.

I looked pointedly at her. She went pale at the thought of doing any work and said something rude. Then she stormed off in search of her father.

As soon as she left I grabbed for my instruction booklet. I found a note there that said that, if required, I could make arrangements for a housekeeper through the store where I placed my orders. They'd be only too happy to send someone up.

I promptly rang the store and checked availability and cost. They had someone who could come up immediately, but they would want a small surcharge for the abrupt notice. I said that was fine by me, but I'd have to clear it with Mr. Willams. I'd call back and confirm very shortly, but I'd appreciate it if you'd give the housekeeper warning right away. They said they'd fix it up and I hung up just as Hector came pounding on the door.

"What's this nonsense about you not working in the house?" he demanded.

"I'm a caretaker," I explained, "and occasional guide. I am not a housekeeper. If you require a housekeeper I can arrange for one to come up, but for an immediate start there'd be a surcharge. If you'd told me in advance that one would be required it would already be arranged, but generally the people who come here do their own housekeeping."

I explained the rates to him, and how'd they be charged to the place at the store. It would be up to him to reimburse the owner for any extras.

Hector argued about it, preferring me to have a go at cooking, but I stuck by my guns. At last he gave grudging approval. I told him to just wait a moment and called the store back.

"Would he send the housekeeper up immediately, please?"

"She's already on her way," I was told. "I figured you'd want her and sent her on ahead. There is a five percent surcharge on top of her standard rate you know?"

"Twenty percent surcharge is ridiculous," I told him. "Mr. Williams won't authorise more than a ten percent surcharge."

Hector nodded approvingly at this.

"OK. Ten percent it is, but only because you're a good customer," came the reply. (I'd help the earpiece up so Hector could hear that bit.)

"Thank you for your assistance," I said and terminated the call.

"A housekeeper will be sent immediately," I told Hector. "I'm sure she will be happy to prepare a meal as soon as she arrives. If you don't want to wait, may I suggest that you tell Patricia to make some soup? It's easy to do and I'm sure she could manage it."

"A good idea that," Hector rumbled. "The girl might as well do something other than just sit around."

The next snag came as soon as the housekeeper arrived. It was patently obvious that she had her share of Indian heritage. Hector turned purple when he saw her.

I stepped in quickly before he tossed her out.

"I know. She's Indian and the Indians killed Custer, but I'm sure that she didn't personally take part in the fight. And if you send her away, who's going to cook?"

Patricia put in her two cents worth at that stage.

"If you send her back, Father," she stated, "I'll be in the truck next to her. I am not going to stay here cooking soup and doing other stuff like that. So smile and be nice to her, Father. Remember, she goes, for any reason, and I go."

Patricia gave me a very nasty look when she mentioned cooking soup. I suspect that Hector told her it was my idea.

Next morning Patricia came banging on my door again. I say morning, but it was so close to noon it didn't matter. The hot day had finally driven her out of bed and she wanted to go swimming. Not knowing where the pool was she'd come to me, the faithful guide.

Did I mention that she was wearing a bikini? One of those micro things that are designed to show everything you've got, and theoretically turn all men into slavering idiots. I could see her waiting for my reaction while she demanded to be shown the pool, but I wasn't having a bar of it. Even looking at her might get me accused of harassment.

I told her to follow me and headed of down the track. I suspect that Patricia was expecting a nice in-ground pool, possibly in an enclosed building. No such luck here. The owner liked roughing it, within reason, of course. The track led down to the river, where the owner had thoughtfully dredged out a deep pool. Part of my duties included making sure the pool stayed reasonably debris free.

So Patricia finished up with two disappointments. First, she didn't get a chance to walk in front of me, wriggling her effectively naked tush, and second, she was supposed to swim in wild water.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said, looking horrified at getting into a pool attached to the river.

"Sorry," I told her politely. "That's all we've got. There are some steps over there that let you walk in to the deeper parts. It's quite safe."

Patricia said something rude and stormed back up the house. Apparently she wasn't going to risk getting attacked by a wild trout. And I was able to appreciate her (effectively) naked tush as I followed her back up the track.

From that point on the whole family seemed to conspire to get at me. Things got broken and had to be repaired, only to promptly get broken again. Things got lost and I had to find them. Things went wrong and I had to explain why.

Adsila, the housekeeper, thought the whole thing was funny. They were good as gold around her, not wanting to lose their cook, but they seemed determined to make me quit. I couldn't, of course, for two reasons. First, it wasn't my job, but Mike's. Second, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

I had to take Hector and James fishing a couple of times and I have to say that, whatever his other failings, Hector was a keen and expert angler. James, on the other hand, seemed to go along just to keep his father happy.

Another time James wanted to go on a hike and coerced Patricia to come along. I took them on one of the easier hikes and Patricia bitched the whole way. I should have taken them on the hardest hike I could.

On their second last day, Hector decided that the whole family was going on a hike. I showed him maps of the various hikes available, rating them on their difficulty. I rated them honestly, too, as I figured he'd want the shortest hike and I'd be quite content to get it over with quickly.

This was also my last day as caretaker. When I got back I was mounting my dirt-bike and waving bye-bye. Mike had phoned and told me he was on his way and would be there that afternoon.

Hector suckered me. He actually opted for the hardest hike. It wasn't the longest, but it was the steepest. I pointed this out but he just shrugged. He wanted to get high up to take some photos of the area.

We headed of up the mountain. Hector and James were fit enough and had no problems. Patricia was fit enough but lazy and bitched. Her voice was a constant mutter in the background. Eliza found the whole thing hard going, but didn't bitch the way Patricia did. She maintained more of a constant whine.

I took the lead for most of the way, but had to keep dropping back to make sure Patricia and Eliza were keeping up. Patricia, especially, was a great one for lagging behind.

Eventually we got to the top and I have to admit there was an absolutely marvellous panorama. Hector ran around taking shots, including some of his happy smiling family. Tonto, his faithful guide, was overlooked in the photos, which didn't really surprise me.

Patricia had moved from bitching generally to being downright rude, making me the target of her ill humour whenever she could. For two weeks I'd being taking guff from this mob. They seemed to think that I was there just for them to abuse. I had the impression that Patricia thought I was just too spineless to object to their treatment of me. I don't think any of them suspected that I just didn't give a damn. They were just ill-mannered strangers who'd soon pass and be forgotten.

I won't say that I didn't want to respond at times, but I just practised deep breathing until the urge to punch James on the nose went away, or whatever my immediate wish was at the time.

Finally Hector was happy with his photography and we turned to head home. Everyone was delighted with this, me more than most as I wouldn't stop when we reached the house. I was already packed and I'd just step on my bike and keep going.

Going downhill wasn't significantly different to the hike up. Hector and James strode smartly along, Eliza followed, whining, and Patricia brought up the rear, bitching and saying rude things, paying particular attention to stupid guides who should know easier ways.

About half way back the trail went across this small ravine. At some stage someone had thoughtfully installed a short wooden bridge across it. I chose this spot to wait for Patricia to catch-up again. The others had crossed the bridge while I waited on the high side for Patricia.

She'd just come around the corner when I heard a loud crack from above and I got the hell away from there. I must have been ten yards higher up the hill when the widow-maker landed. It missed be by a long way, but it sure did a number on the bridge. I'm bloody glad I hadn't bolted across it.

Now I suppose having had a little bit of a shock made me slightly tense and just a little less willing to take any more of Patricia's nonsense. She came wandering up to me, stood looking at the remains of the bridge and her family safely ensconced on the other side and she started on me.

She was abusive, letting me know just what a total failure I was as a guide and caretaker. Why hadn't I done something about that tree so that the branch wouldn't fall?

Excuse me? I'm supposed to do a health check on every tree on the mountain to see if one of them wants to drop a branch on someone's undeserving head? I don't think so. And I'd had it with Miss Patricia right up to here and beyond.

I could hear Hector swearing on the other side of the ravine, but I ignored him. Well, not so much ignored, as dismissed him from my mind while making sure that what I was about to do would be plainly visible to him.

There were some nice big smooth rocks by the trail and I just grabbed Patricia's arm and sat on one. Then I pulled her across my knee, yanked her shorts and panties down (If she hadn't been wearing hip huggers they wouldn't have come off so easily. That'll teach her.) and spanked her.

When I put her across my knee, her bottom was pointing at her family, and when I spanked her they could see precisely what was going on. Hector was bellowing with rage, Eliza was wailing in shock and James was laughing his malicious little head off.

Oh, yes. Patricia was screaming like a banshee, because I wasn't giving her a token spank. I was letting her know just what I thought of her behaviour, and emphasising each point with a good wallop. Her bottom was glowing bright red in nothing flat.

It wasn't all that long before Patricia's screaming anger stopped to be replaced by genuinely remorseful tears. Not for her behaviour, but she was definitely sorry that she was being spanked.

This was the point when I sort of went a bit further that I'd initially intended. Once Patricia had stopped kicking her legs up and down and settled in for her spanking, she'd let her legs drift apart. I think it's instinctive female behaviour to lure the male into changing what he's doing.

It worked. I started dropping a few stinging slaps against some soft female flesh that was not exactly her bottom. Patricia gave a sort of gasp the first time I slapped my hand down over her pussy, but she didn't bother to close her legs. She just left herself open to whatever I wanted to do, and I did it.

Hector was dancing up and down, giving out with threats, but they didn't bother me. There wasn't really anything that he could do. I kept on giving Patricia her spanking, but paying increased attention to her pussy. Mind you, I don't think her family could see precisely how I was spanking her, or Hector would have been madder still.

I finally stood Patricia up, facing me. Her hands were hovering over her bottom, not quite daring to touch them. Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard and she was standing with her legs parted, knowing I could see everything, including the fact that she was aroused.

Her eyes flickered down at me and her breathing seemed to get even tighter as she realised that I was also aroused.