Chapter 1

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 a gorgeous red hair. It wasn’t that bright red. It had an undertone of brown with the copper highlights making it softer. It tickled my fancy. The bloke had that true Caucasian 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 my age.

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 was pleasant. He was a cute bloke. He was nicely dressed, in black slacks and a polo shirt.

I watched him make his order and then 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 furthest from me. 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. 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 farm, didn’t seem to like him a lot. But 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 pretty cut-up 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 believe that he dosed me heavily the morning of the wedding because I don’t remember much about what happened 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 must have poked me about twenty times, grunted and then sighed. He 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.

He wasn’t a bad looking bloke, with suntanned skin and black hair. He was a couple of inches taller than I was at about five eight (173cm). He had 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. He 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 was, I still wasn’t sure how I had gotten to this point. Those three months after my father’s death were a haze of jumbled events. Now I was a married woman.

I soon got an idea of how things were going to be as Brad’s wife. He was close to ten years older than I was. He soon made 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.

Things turned to shit real fast. His attitude towards me also did a one-eighty. 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 was still asleep. He’d come in for lunch, push me across the table and fuck me from behind or he’d 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. If I gave him too much grief about how he was treating me, he would backhand 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 was wet enough. He would rarely kiss or fondle me first.

He would jam his little cock 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 either roll off 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 had become a living hell. Any argument was met with aggression. He stopped the kissing and cuddling. 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 six weeks when Brad came slamming into the house.

Chapter 2 »