Author's note: the following story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The author wishes to express his gratitude to Copperbutterfly for her editing to make this a better story.
I was in my third year of trying to make a living at running my uncle's ranch — my dead uncle. I had been his sole heir and found myself in the less-than-enviable position of owning a ranch in south Texas.
My folks owned and operated a farm on the high plains up north and I was well-versed in the skills it took to run such a place. But the south plains of Texas were a far cry from the farm I knew and loved. Instead of fertile sandy soil like the farm, the ranch was parched and dry. It grew cactus and mesquite and sage brush, all inhospitable to humans. There was little water to be found and what there was had to be nourished and treated like gold.
When I was going to A&M, I had learned about ranches that supported several head of cattle for every acre of land, how they grew their own hay for winter feeding so that they never ran out of their own product.
But that is not the kind of land I inherited from my uncle. I was the owner of 5,763 acres of land, and on average it took three acres per cow to keep them going. That's how sparse the vegetation was. I had two hands — also inherited from my late uncle — both of Mexican descent who lived in line houses around the ranch and whose primary function was to tend to the few water holes and to burn the spines off of cactus so the cattle could eat the meat of the plant. Actually they got more water from the plants than they did from the water holes.
Still it was a living. My uncle had cleared and planted a sizeable garden plot near the main house, keeping it irrigated against the hot Texas summer, and managed to raise enough vegetables to keep himself reasonably well-fed throughout the year, along with the occasional beef that he butchered and put up in the freezer. I kept the garden tradition going and had no complaints about my own sustenance.
It was a lonely life. The ranch was forty miles due west of San Antonio, through the town of Hondo, and then another thirteen miles along a winding dirt road (which was graded once every decade whether it needed it or not) to the southwest. The neighbors were pretty scattered, although they were always friendly when you met them. I made trips to San Antone any time I needed major purchases but it was not like being able to run down to the corner store. So most of my time was spent on the ranch.
Even so, it was not as remote as one might think. Illegals were often desperate to escape the miserable lives they were forced to lead in Mexico. Although they were not generally punished in their home land as in some middle eastern countries, they had atrocious living conditions, little food, and precious few prospects of things getting better. Unless you've been in the place and seen the conditions, it is hard to imagine what many Mexican people had to live with.
Thus they were willing to undergo extreme hardships to try to better themselves. Getting into the U.S. is not a problem. Along the Texas border, the Rio Grande River is more often a trickle than anything resembling the Mississippi. Often it can be waded without getting wet higher than the knees and then only if you kick it up on yourself. There is the possibility of being caught but the penalty is being deported back to Mexico, where they just try again. And getting caught doesn't happen often. There are just too many miles of border for the few officers to effectively patrol it constantly.
Once across the border, you would think it would get much easier but not so. The south Texas terrain is not very hospitable for man nor beast and the closer to the border that the illegals expose themselves, the more likely they are to be turned in and deported. Thus they will often set out on long treks by foot through the barren land to find a place further from the border to try to find work, food, and lodging.
My uncle used to tell tales of illegals who would walk up to his ranch house looking for work. Being a man of compassion, he usually offered them food and water but he could not hire them. Even if it had not been illegal to hire one of them, there just was not that much work that the ranch would support. I know that, from time to time, he did take on an illegal by not asking too many questions about their right to be in the country. It was hard to see how gaunt those people were and not offer some help.
In my time on the ranch, I had been approached by any number of people, sometimes in ones or twos, sometimes in groups and families that I suspected were illegal. Following my uncle's tradition, I fed them but did not hire any.
Until one day when everything changed. I had come in from a day of working on the range cleaning out another of the watering holes and was in the process of fixing my dinner when I heard a timid knock on the side door. When I went to the door, I found three women of obvious Mexican descent standing on the patio, all three looking up at me like little lost puppies. They all started clamoring at once in rapid-fire Spanish, something my high school classes had never prepared me for. I held up my hands and asked if they spoke English. They all did but the tallest one seemed to know it best so she took a step forward.
"Sir, my mother and my sister and I are hungry and thirsty. Can we get water from your tank?" She pointed to the big galvanized tub beneath the slow-turning windmill, used to supply cattle when they were in the area.
I pushed the screen open and shook my head no, then beckoned them into the house. Without waiting to see if they would follow, I headed back to the kitchen. I knew from the soft footfalls that they were behind me.
I pointed to the long wooden dining table. I had set a single place for myself. Now I reached for three big glasses and began to fill them from the refrigerated water outlet, setting each one in turn on the table to be grabbed by one of the women. I noticed that the two younger ones deferred to the older one first.
When the water glasses were done, I pulled out three more place settings and put on the table near my own. I would have had leftovers from the food I was fixing so there was enough to go around, although I did supplement it with some recent leftovers from the fridge, microwaved to like-new freshness — that's a joke! I brought a pitcher of sweet tea over and poured my glass full, offering to fill their now-empty water glasses. Three glasses were thrust at me.
"Please help yourselves," I said, and the women hungrily dug into the food.
Nothing else was said until everyone was full and pushed away from the table. I had been studying the women while I ate and made the assumption that they were related. One woman appeared to be about forty but might be more or less. The younger ones appeared to be perhaps 25 and 20 so I wondered if they were daughters of the older woman.
Again the tall one addressed me. "Senor, we are interested in finding work. We are strong and healthy and are willing to do any kind of work that you have. We will work for food and a place to stay and whatever you feel you could afford to pay. If you can use us, you will not be sorry, senor."
"Por favor," the older woman said, "we will do anything. Anything!"
"Si, senor," the younger one chimed in. "We will do anything. Any kind of work or... anything else..." The thought was left hanging.
"Anything?" I asked.
"Si, anything," they all said in unison.
"What do you mean by anything?" I asked. "I don't want to... take advantage of anyone."
"We cook, we clean, we do laundry," the younger one said.
The tall one stood and slid over beside me. Bending so that I could see down her blouse to her very shapely and unfettered tits, she put a hand on my thigh and began to run it up my leg. Her dark brown eyes bored into mine.
"Anything, senor," she said, sensuously. There could be no doubt about her meaning when the palm of her hand stopped over my growing erection. "If you can help us, senor, the three of us will make sure that you have no needs unsatisfied."
The older woman materialized by my other side. As I turned to look at her, the top of her dress was falling to her waist, leaving her big heavy breasts uncovered just inches from my face.
"Do you like my mother's titties, senior?" the tall one asked.
I could only nod and open my mouth as her mother pressed one of her big globes into my mouth. Her dark brown nipple was already erect and I began to suck. The hand on my crotch worked up and down, fondling my cock through my jeans. I felt another pair of hands behind my head, massaging my temples and my shoulders as the younger woman got into the action. How could a guy not love such attention.
I put an arm around each of the women to my sides, letting my hands roam downward until I had a handful of shapely bottom in each. I knew then that someway I would make a place for these three on my ranch.
In the next few minutes, I found out that they were indeed a mother-daughters combination. Mom was 38 year old Lupe, the tall one was 23 year old Nita, and the younger one was 21 year old Galena. It took me a few more hours to find out that they really meant what they said — that they would do anything for me if I would let them stay.
.... There is more of this story ...