The Wild Dominion Boy
Copyright© 2026 by Publandlady
Chapter 1
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Uprooted from rural Dorset as a child, Jack Barnesfield is given a second chance when he is taken in by a farming family in Ontario. As he grows to manhood, war, love and old grievances shape his life. From the trenches of the Great War to the quiet fields of Canada, Jack journeys in search of justice, only to learn that the things of the past are sometimes best left in the past.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Farming Historical Military War Cheating Cuckold Pregnancy Voyeurism
Spring 1919.
Lytchett Matravers was all of a shockle. The Dorset village men were returning from the war. Well most were; by this time it was obvious that thirty-one had been lost. Later, their families would receive ‘The Death Penny’, and the names of the fallen would be etched on the war memorial that would be erected on the corner of High Street and Lime Kiln Road. Some comfort for their loved ones, I suppose.
Others came back alive, but they bore the scars of war, both physical and mental. Fortunately, what none of them returned with was the influenza. The village welcomed them with open arms. They expected to hear no more about their experiences than that the men would choose to share.
In addition to this roll call of the lost, the damaged, and the lucky, Lytchett gained one more war hero. Jack McMurray was staying at the Rose & Crown.
Within a few days of his arrival, word spread about ‘the Yank’. Initially, Jack had tried to explain that he was in fact Canadian. He soon discovered that it was easier to simply go along with it. In response to ‘Why Lytchett Matravers?’, Jack consistently replied that there was a family tradition that his mother’s people were from around there somewhere, so he thought he would see some of the area before he went back to Ontario.
He never strayed far from the village. Jack was just happy to talk to the locals; in the pub or on the street. That way he soon found out who was who and what was what.
Without actually asking the direct question, he soon learned the life story of the Leader of the Parish Council, the village schoolmaster Mr Martin Hurley.
Mr Hurley was fifty-eight years old, had lived in Lytchett Matravers all of his life and was married to Agnes, a woman twenty years his junior. She was the village schoolmistress in charge of the younger children.
Jack made it his business to bump into Mr & Mrs Hurley as they walked home from their work one day.
“You have done a superb job, Lytchett Matravers is a beautiful place!” he remarked as the couple passed by.
Martin replied, “I beg your pardon?”
“You are Mr Hurley, the Council Leader, are you not?”
“Well yes, but I don’t quite follow!”
Jack explained, “Well everyone agrees that everything that is grand about the place is all down to your dedication.”
A little flummoxed by the unaccustomed flattery, Hurley pondered the man’s motivation a while before answering, “Thank you. You’re American, aren’t you?”
“Canadian, actually.”
“Ah, I’ve heard that your countrymen are quite ingenuous and forthright,” the schoolmaster said, believing that this could explain the unsolicited praise.
He went on, “Forgive me, this is my wife Agnes, Mr...”
“McMurray, Jack McMurray,” replied Jack, shaking hands with both of them in turn.
The three walked along together while the Canadian recited, for the umpteenth time, his reasons for being in Dorset. He interspersed this with lavish compliments regarding the orderliness of the village along with remarks regarding the stunning beauty of Mrs Hurley’s attire. Before the war, the mid-calf skirt would have been considered shocking, but now it had become fairly normal to have a little stocking showing. Martin wasn’t entirely sure if Jack’s forwardness was the result of his youth or because Mr McMurray was a colonial. Not wishing to appear old fashioned, he let it pass.
Eventually, they arrived at the Hurley’s front door. Agnes tapped with her parasol handle, and the maid opened it.
“It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Martin Hurley.
Jack McMurray replied, “The pleasure has been all mine.”
Agnes Hurley was about to step over the threshold when she turned back, and said, “You must come to dinner tomorrow evening, Mr McMurray.”
“Yes, you must,” added Mr Hurley, not entirely convinced that the man necessarily must.
“That would be tremendous; thank you,” responded Jack.
As he made his way back to the Rose & Crown, the young man concluded to himself that things couldn’t have gone much better.
Charming! That was the only way to describe the effect that Jack McMurray had on the Hurleys. He seemed to strike up an instant rapport with Christian, the couple’s seventeen-year-old son.
Jack had none of the reserve that they would have expected from English people. He wasn’t rude, but he appeared to be unaware of the subtle barriers that existed between the social classes. Or, that was the impression he gave.
Subsequently, Agnes Hurley felt able to laugh freely at his little anecdotes of life on an Ontario farm as well as tales from the General Staff of the Canadian Militia, Intelligence Branch (evidently Jack had been seconded to them because he spoke fluent German). At first her husband gave her a look of reproach, but very soon he was laughing just as loudly as his wife and son.
When it was time for him to leave, Jack thanked them profusely and emphasised again how much he had enjoyed the meal.
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