At a Price
Copyright© 2016 by Kris Me
Chapter 1: The Beginning
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Beginning - Martian was sent to negotiate the mining rights on Mary's Cattle Property. He didn't enjoy doing old ladies out of their property, as it always came at a price. The last thing he expected was to fall in love with a woman three times his age. However, Mary wasn't your typical old lady next door.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Magic Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Slow
The screen door banged shut loudly, as it always did when left to close itself.
Mary Anne May placed the insulated container and a glass on the side table. She then eased down, gracefully into the rocking chair. She poured a drink, making sure some of the ice ended up in the glass. She sat back into the rocking chair, wiggling her butt back a bit more to so her back was supported.
To the inattentive eye, it was an ordinary rocking chair. The long slim fingers of her left hand slid under the arm and found the controls that she had installed there. The first toggle button, when pushed to the front, raised the footrest until her feet were at the desired height. To the back lowered it.
The small dial was used to start the rocker rocking. To the right increased the speed to the left decreased speed. You simply had to put your finger on the side and move it in small degrees until happy with the speed. Mary selected a slow rocking action.
As it rocked back, she grabbed her drink in passing and happily settled in for an hour of peace on her front veranda. She loved watching the waves roll in as the sunset behind her, on the back of her old Queenslander style home. The rays of sunlight lit up the modest-sized island that was barely two klicks offshore. Not many people knew she owned May Island.
She sniffed the air. It had been hot and dry for a week, but that was changing. She could just see the large black storm being pushed down from the north-east. The soft breeze from the south-west had warned her that the cyclone that had been sucking the hot, dry air off the land. It was using it to collect a mass of water from the warmed sea as is built up its might.
The cyclone had been weaving her way down the coast for the past week, but she still hadn’t crossed land. The wind had turned more to the south in the last hour, and Mary could now smell the moisture in the air. She suspected that Cyclone Pam would come closer to the coast when she decided to move again.
Mary hoped Pam would pass by in the next couple of days and hit land in an uninhabited area further down the coast. Then again, one never could tell with cyclones. They could be contrary, and so far, Pam had been true to her nature. It worried her that Pam had slowed again.
Mary’s home was set 120cm off the ground. It was above the half-buried basement that was set up as a cyclone shelter and guest rooms. The height lifted the ground floor of the house high enough so that people could see over the foreshore.
The house was set back from the road by about 35m, and a low metal fence separated them. The land on the other side of the 4m wide strip of tar dropped down about 7m over the next 30m to get to the white coral sands. It was another drop of about 2m and 15m of sand to the high tide mark.
The short wooden wharf on cement pylons and the attached boatshed were off to her left on a small point, so that it didn’t impede her view of the sea and the island. The stretch of land in front of the house had few large trees to obstruct her view. She kept it mowed so that new trees couldn’t grow, and she liked it like that.
The land curved around on either side of the little sandy cove in low rocky tree-studded outcrops. The bay was close to 400m at its widest and about a quarter of that across the mouth. It was surprisingly deep, so her small motor-assisted yacht had little trouble entering the bay on any tide.
The rest of the foreshore was covered in eucalyptus trees, wattles, palm trees and other natives of varying heights and varieties. They formed a typical sub-tropical rain forest that the Central Queensland coast was famous for having.
If she followed the car tracks, that started on the other side of the narrow-tarred road and to her left, she would be standing on the high tide mark in less than a five-minute walk. Legally she didn’t own the beach or the bay anymore.
However, her property ran for about five klicks to either side of her house along the western side of the one lane of bitumen road. The road had graded edges, and no one could build on the foreshore. So not many people had a reason to make use of her beach.
The home paddock was ten klicks wide on this side and stretched back about another six clicks behind her. The National Highway and a railway track then separated her from her other block of land. It was about fifty klicks wide and forty deep. By Australian standards, it was a small Cattle Property, but she was happy with what she owned.
The nearest towns were about forty klicks to the north and a hundred and sixty-odd klicks to the south: this also suited Mary just fine. The bitumen road that ran in front of her house bumped its way to the south to the corner of her house paddock. It then ran to her nearest neighbours, the Bentley’s, in the south. A side road ran along her southern fence line back to the highway to her west.
To the north, the lane provided a back road into Coral Cove. Not a lot of people ventured down her road from Coral Cove. Mostly it was the mailman, who would also deliver her some groceries if she asked, the Bentleys who would do it too if they took that road to town, and the odd tourist.
