By: Kris Me
Pam wasn't in the habit of picking up random blokes, but she decided this one was an exception to the rule. Small towns don't offer a lot of options for romance, without commitment. She was only after a bit of relief; she wasn't looking for love.
Copyright © 2015 Kris Me - All rights are reserved
This story is the work of Kris Me. You must contact me before you copy more than one page or ten percent of the content, as per the Copyright Act 1968, Australia.
First Published by Storiesonline World Literature Company: 09/09/2015. https://storiesonline.net/home.php
Disclaimer and data:
This is an Erotica story, and it does contain swear-words, nudity, sex and adult content. It is not recommended for those people who are under the legal age to access such stories, depending on the country of origin of the reader and those who are offended by the type of content mentioned.
If you find any of my assumptions fictitious, I would like to remind you this is a fabrication and I have probably taken liberties with reality, as you know it. The people in this story are not based on anyone I know or have read about.
This story is my own work, and you must contact me before you copy more than one page or ten percent of the content, as per the copyright laws of Australia.
The story was written in Microsoft Word, and the book cover was designed by me in Microsoft Paint 3D.
Australian based dictionaries were used for reference, and Grammarly was used as part of the editing suite. If you find spelling, grammatical or homophone errors, they are not the fault of those people who did try to proofread my original version of this story.
However, I do tend to fiddle around after the fact, so all errors are my own.
Some Australian colloquial terms:
Bickies - or biscuits are called cookies in some countries
Drongo - is a term generally used to describe someone who doesn't think out their actions before acting and generally fucks things up
Gotta - 'got to' or have to do something.
Marge - margarine - vegetable oil-based spread used instead of butter
Stubbies - cans of beer, also a brand name for some shorts sold in Australia
Works burger – toasted bun with a minced meat patty, bacon, fried egg, lettuce, tomato, fried onions, beetroot and cheese. It may, or may not have cucumber or grated carrot, and you have a choice of barbeque or tomato sauce
Ranger – redhead
If any other colloquialisms need clarification, or you just wish to correspond, I'm more than happy to answer your emails if you send them to:
I hope that you enjoy the story.
I was sitting in a café, nursing a flat white coffee.
I was waiting for my 'Works burger' when this bloke walks in. I eyed him up and down. 'I'd fuck that,' I thought.
He had gorgeous red hair - a real ranger. It wasn't that bright red as it had an undertone of a light-brown with the copper highlights, making it softer. It tickled my fancy. The bloke had that true-blue ranger's skin. I reckoned the places the sun didn't shine on were as white, as white can be.
He had freckles and pelt like red hair on his arms. He had a rangy build and stood about five-ten (176cm) tall. I picked him as close to my own age of twenty-four, although he could be either side of that.
The face wasn't bad, either. He had a long face and darker coloured eyebrows. His cheekbones were high, and his chin was rounded. His nose didn't own his face, and the lips were thin but not unpleasantly so. The overall symmetry of his face was pleasant on the eye; he was a cute bloke.
He was nicely dressed, in black slacks and a polo shirt with back runners and socks. The clothes weren't worn or faded, but they had been washed once or twice before.
I admired the trim arse as I watched him make his order and then as he turned to find a seat. His eyes glanced over me as he took in that the only table with less than one person seated at it was mine. I noticed a tiny shrug, and he approached the other side of the table.
He sat down in the chair that was furthest from me. He pulled a tablet out of his messenger bag, and after turning it on, he started reading. I could see the earphone leads, heading to a pocket in his pants.
I didn't remember seeing him around here before. I wondered if he was staying in one of the Mine Camps or not, and what he did for a crust. I then found myself wondering if he was interested in a bit of fun or not.
It had been about fourteen months since my useless husband had died.
My dad had left me the farm when he passed away.
I was only twenty-two at the time. It was a lot of responsibility to take on, and I had only been home from College for about six weeks when he died.
I had been surprised to find that Brad, our foreman, had moved into the house after my previous visit home three months before. He seemed to have a lot of influence on my dad at the time.
I had also noticed that Bobby and Mark, who also lived on the property, but in their own houses, didn't seem to like Brad all that much. Even so, they wouldn't talk to me about him when I quizzed them.
I was still nursing my heart from a big break up with the bloke I had been going out with for the previous two years. He had wanted me to stay in Brisbane with him after I graduated. He couldn't or wouldn't understand that I had responsibilities back home, and he refused to come with me.
Finding out during one of our many arguments that he had been sleeping with a girlfriend of mine for the previous six months of our relationship, didn't help either. I was still pretty cut-up about his infidelity when I got home.
Brad had been my dad's foreman for a couple of years and had been chasing me since the day that he started working for us. When dad had his massive hearty, Brad pretty much took over. In my grief, he was a shoulder to lean on.
It wasn't until he stuck his cock in me on our wedding night that I realised I had seriously fucked up. I'd stopped taking the antidepressants a couple of days before the wedding.
I had even tried to call off the wedding, but Brad had put on the charm and got me down the aisle. I now believe that he dosed me heavily on the morning of the wedding because I don't remember much about what happened that day, until that night.
Admittedly, he was drunk at the time. He had carried me to the bed and tossed me on it. He lifted the skirt of the dress, got my knickers off of me. He stuffed a couple of fingers in me to see if I was wet enough. He stripped himself and then climbed on me.
Despite my protests, he held me down and stuck his cock in me. He didn't even kiss me. He must have poked me about twenty times, grunted and then sighed. He then rolled off me and went to sleep.
I was just glad I wasn't a virgin because it sure wasn't the most romantic fuck I'd ever had. It was a precursor as to what was to come.
Brad wasn't a bad looking bloke, with suntanned skin and black hair that was layered to down past his collar. He was a couple of inches taller than I was at about five-eight (173cm).
His build was stocky, but he was starting to run to fat since he already developed a notable beer-gut. I also didn't realise just how much beer the sneaky, bastard, actually drank until after the wedding.
He hadn't fucked me before the wedding, and now I knew why. I thought he hadn't pushed the issue because of my grief and because he was a bit old-fashioned, being close to ten years older than I was.
Before the wedding, Brad would mostly cuddle and kiss me and tell me everything was going to get better. If I'd had known he was such a lousy fuck, there wasn't any way in hell, even doped up as he had me, that I would have married him.
As it is, I am still not sure how I had gotten to this point of now being a married woman. The three months after my father's death were a haze of jumbled events in my mind.
I soon got an idea of how things were going to be as Brad's wife. He was quick to make me aware that he wasn't keen on my University-educated ideas for the farm, so my input wasn't required.
He'd pat my arm and tell me not to worry my pretty head about such things. My job was running the house, fucking him and having his kids. Despite this being the twenty-first century, people in the country still tend to have antiquated views on the roles of women.
My life turned to shit real fast. The honeymoon was over within a week. His attitude towards me did a one-eighty, and the charming man turned into a complete arsehole. He wanted to fuck me at least three times a day, whether I was in the mood or not.
When he woke in the morning, he would spread my legs and climb on even if I were still asleep. He'd come in for lunch, push me across the table and fuck me from behind or he'd sit in a chair and demand a head job.
Then he'd bitch if I had burnt his lunch while he was getting his fix. Every night I was supposed to submit. Not that it was a real chore, he wasn't exactly pushing the boundary of being well hung. Even being average was pushing the believable.
If I gave him too much grief about how he was treating me, he would backhand or slap me and tell me to act like a married woman. I was his wife, and he would fuck me whenever he wanted to.
I have no problem with getting fucked three times a day. It just would have been nice if the foreplay included a little more than, him sticking his fingers in to see if I were wet enough. He would rarely kiss or fondle me first.
He would jam his little prick in, pump about twenty times and come. I actually used to count the number of times he humped into me it was so exciting. Then he would roll-off and either go to sleep or continue on his way.
He never even asked me once if I enjoyed it, or what I wanted. I had never been more thankful for my menstrual period in my life. Apparently, he didn't like to touch me when I was bleeding. It was a shame that I had ten-day periods, or at least that is what I told him.
My life became a living hell. Any argument from me was met with aggression. He stopped kissing and cuddling me. He would demand whatever he wanted and expect me to jump to his every command. Every day I had a new bruise or two.
I wasn't even allowed to help on the farm.
We had been married for just over seven weeks when Brad came slamming into the house.
I was vacuuming near the front door. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. He snarled his beer-ladened breath into my face, "So when were you going to tell me about the trust, bitch?"
I had no bloody idea what he was talking about at the time. I started crying as he was hurting me. I felt blood trickling down my leg, from where it had scraped across a sharp edge of the cabinet beside me when he had hauled me against the wall.
My head also hurt from where he slammed it into the wall. He slapped me hard with his other hand. My head hit the wall again with a thud. I now had blood in my mouth from biting my tongue, my face was stinging, and my head was thumping.
"The fuckin old bastard, he tied it all up so that I couldn't touch anything without your say so," he spat at me. "You will sign the papers so I can sell the back grazing paddock to Don. We need the money to get us out of debt," he growled at me as he shook me.
"What debts?" I asked through my tears and the pain. I wasn't thinking to clearly to have back answered him.
"Just sign the fucking papers you stupid fucking bitch," he snarled again.
He pulled a wad of papers from his back pocket and shook them in my face. Then he slapped me with them to get his point across.
"Get fucked," I screamed at him.
It probably wasn't the smartest thing to say to an enraged drunk. But I didn't appreciate being smacked against a wall or being slapped, either. I was seriously regretting this marriage.
Brad was a wife bashing fucking arsehole. He was also history as far as I was concerned. This time, I had enough bruises to get a restraining order, and I wasn't under the influences of drugs anymore.
I wasn't putting up with this shit any longer.
"Yes, you fuckin' will, or I will make you, you stupid cunt," he screamed at me covering me in spittle.
He still held me by the throat. He squeezed harder, cutting off my airway. I struggled to breathe and thrashed around, trying to get free. Somehow, I poked him hard in an eye. He released me and then staggered back clutching his face.
He started screaming and stumbling around, "You stupid, fucking cunt. You've fucking blinded me."
I didn't care. I was too busy getting air back down my painful throat. I heard a crash and then his scream as he fell. The friggin idiot had stepped on the vacuum cleaners' hose, got his feet tangled and tripped. He fell into the corner of the open doorway.
He then ricocheted out through the doorway. He stumbled across the short landing, hit the rail and fell backwards then rolled down the half flight of stairs to land on the middle landing.
I slowly got my breath back, more worried about my pain than his. I heard him groan once and he was dragging in ragged breaths. I staggered out the door to see what he had done to himself.
Brad was half lying across the bottom three steps and the middle landing, and he wasn't moving. I ran down the steps and yelled at him to ask if he was all right because he wasn't making any noise now.
His eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving. I picked up his hand, and his arm was just loose. This really scared me, and I knew he was in a bad way. I ran back up the stairs and rang the ambulance.
I soon learnt that it would have to come from Emerald to get to our place, about forty minutes away. I grabbed the blanket off the old lounge and rushed back out to him.
I then sat on the steps with Bobby, one of our hands, for two hours waiting for the ambulance. Emerald's two ambulances were busy, so they had to send me the one from Tieri.
Brad came in and out of consciousness several times, but he couldn't speak or move. There wasn't anything we could do as we weren't game to move him. The cops turned up in the first hour to keep us company.
I explained that we had an argument and he tripped over the vacuum cleaner. Bobby has seen him trip out the door and roll down the stairs. The hose of the vacuum was still up on the landing.
I'd gone to school with the younger cop. We had even dated at high school. He was really pissed when he saw the bruises on me and even asked me to show him my neck.
Bobby's story backed up mine that I was nowhere near Brad when he fell. So, no charges were ever laid against me. The cops didn't move Brad either, but they stayed with us until the ambulance finally turned up.
It was a nerve-racking time for us all.
Brad ended up in the hospital for the rest of his miserable life.
He had cracked a vertebra in his neck, and it had crushed his nervous system. He was paralysed from the neck down. He had also managed to damage a kidney that he lost. He had cracked several ribs and had a skull fracture.
We didn't realise he was bleeding internally or that he had a serious head injury. He lived in intensive care for two months. He regained consciousness several times in the first couple of days, but each time he went under, it was for longer than the last.
I don't think he liked the idea of being paralysed after the doctor told him the first time he came around. His brain swelling from the depressed skull fracture didn't help either.
After four and a half months of marriage, I was a widow and this time, I had to arrange the funeral.
While he was in the hospital, I had learned from my lawyer, and the cops of the debt's Brad had been talking about.
Unbeknown to dad and me, Brad had a gambling addiction, and he was in serious debt when he married me. I also learnt that the bastard had swapped the anti-depression medications the doctor had given me after my dad died for sedatives.
The doctor suspected that he had also changed my dad's medications, as well. The prick had even paid for the wedding out of the farm accounts. This didn't make us popular with the tax department. They did a full audit on the farm.