Chapter 3

Sandra threw her corduroy jacket over her shoulders and stepped out into the yard. There was a slight breeze which alleviated some of the premature heat of early May, and she began to amble towards the barns. She was glad the house was a short distance away from them - she didn't think she could stand it if the animals were milling about directly outside the front door. There was nobody about and Sandra was grateful for that. She didn't feel like talking to anyone this morning, and particularly not to Eve, who turned out to be a very talkative type, always anxious to engage herself or anyone else in conversation. Sandra had seen her several times talking to Sam in the yard, and she had caught several glimpses of Mike and Eve laughing intimately together.

Mike himself had been very incommunicative when she brought up the subject of the new dairy help and how she was working out. Of course, she reflected, after that dreadful fight they'd had, she couldn't expect him to confide in her. She wished now that she hadn't been so hasty in accusing him of being interested in Eve, that she had kept her suspicions to herself, but the damage was done, and now she couldn't help thinking that there was something going on between them. It was several days now since they'd had that fight and Mike usually tried to make up with her right away after such an argument, regardless of whose fault it was, but this time, he just didn't seem to care. That was the part that hurt, he didn't seem to care anymore what she thought or felt. She felt it was a stroke of luck that he'd gone into town early this morning and wouldn't be back until tomorrow. It would give her time to think, and maybe even plan some strategy for getting back in his good books. But if he is really interested in that girl, I don't know what I'll do, she worried, afraid she might have gone too far. She hated to admit it to herself, but there was no denying that Eve was really attractive, and she had a slow, sensual way about her that Sandra knew was exciting to men. She felt a twinge of jealousy stab at her, and tried to banish from her mind the nagging suggestion, almost a certainty, she feared, that like had become involved with the new dairy maid. No matter what happened, she didn't want to lose Mike. But should I just sit back and let him play around with that little blonde right under my nose? she argued. Almost painfully, she thought again of the cache of pornographic pictures she'd discovered, lewd filthy photographs of Mike in disgusting positions with different women. The shock of finding them still affected her, and her subsequent action of getting aroused by them shamed her through and through. She didn't even allow herself to think of that evening, when she had shamelessly fingered her own vagina and actually reached a climax, all from the sensations, evil, wicked sensations, aroused in her by the vile snapshots. Every time the thought came into her mind, when the memory tried to torment her, she had brushed them back into oblivion, waiting for time to erase the sharp-honed edge of her humiliation.

"Good morning, Mrs. Peters," a voice sang out suddenly behind her. It was Sam Maguire, and Sandra, turning around, saw that he was leading Jacob, the donkey stallion.

"Good morning, Sam," she replied, feigning cheerfulness, and immediately turning her attention to the animal. She hated having anything to do with the hired hand. She never knew what to say to him, always being afraid of sounding too familiar, or worse still, acting very haughty with him. She began to stroke the donkey's strong arched neck.

"Jacob seems to be in fine shape," she mused, running her eyes admiringly over the animal's sleek black and white body.

"All the exercise he gets keeps him trim," Sam smirked, and Sandra turned to look at him.

"I thought he's kept inside for the season..." Sandra puzzled. The donkeys were the only animals she was really interested in on the farm, and it was she who had encouraged Mike to keep them in the first place. They were becoming very popular everywhere, and top quality foals could fetch very high prices. They had ten mares, and just this one stallion.

"That's what I mean," Sam leered. "His mares keep him busy, and he sure knows how to rise that big rod of his. Yes sir," he went on, staring intently at her, "them she-donkeys sure seem to love that long prick of his shoved far up in their -"

"How-how dare you!" Sandra gasped, her face scarlet, mortified with embarrassment at the farm hand's lewd words. Who did he think she was, that he could talk to her like that, use such filthy language in her presence? Anger seethed inside her like bubbling oil, threatening to overflow and scald everything ithin distance. But she managed to control her feelings and said in a low, even voice, "Please watch your language, Sam. Mr. Peters does not tolerate obscenities, and I would hate to have to report your despicable behavior to him." Even to her own ears, her words sounded dictatorial and stuffy, but her shock was still electrically alive inside her, and she was incensed at the liberty the worker had taken with her. She had a good mind to tell Mike, and perhaps even have Sam fired for his insolence.

Sam looked the picture of the abject servant. He held his old cap in his hand, and his reddish-gray hair glinted in the morning sun. His head was slightly bent and Sandra saw with satisfaction that his face was suitably blanched with fear and consternation. Jacob stood by calmly, seemingly totally unaware of the minor drama his presence had caused.

Without another word, Sandra stalked away, leaving Sam glaring after her. Fucking bitch, he spat. Can't even take a joke. Well, she'll get her comeuppance one of these days; I'll see to that! In fact, tonight just might not be a bad time!

Sandra felt irked by the sound of the back doorbell. She had just settled down to watch TV, and was looking forward to relaxing for a few hours. She had spent most of the day in the garden, digging and transplanting the seedlings she had sown in the spring, and she felt tired and wind burned when she finally came into the house and fixed a cold supper for herself. The heavy physical work of gardening had taken her mind off her worries, and now she had been hoping that the television would do the same, and that she would feel sleepy after watching a few shows, as she usually did, and that she would then drop off easily to sleep.

With a sigh, she got up and went through the kitchen and opened the door. She experienced a flicker of distaste that coupled with her annoyance when she saw who was there.

"Good Evening, Sam," she said tonelessly, not bothering to hide her irritation.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," Sam muttered, fidgeting with his cap, his eyes downcast. "But the fuses went in the barn an' I can't see to do my work."

"Well, I think I've got some in the kitchen," Sandra said curiously relieved that he had a legitimate reason for calling on her so late in the evening. She found, somewhat to her surprise, that she had a new fear of the farm worker, a fear born from his distasteful remarks to her that morning. She sensed that there was an underlying hostility or arrogance in his attitude to her, and that his disrespect was a form of that aggression.

She noticed with displeasure that he had followed her into the kitchen, and willing herself to take no notice of him, began to look for the fuses. She wasn't quite sure where they were and rummaged around in the kitchen drawer. They weren't there and she knew that they must be on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, where she kept the electric light bulbs.

"I'll get them, ma'am," Sam suggested when she told him, but she declined. She couldn't stand the thought of his dirty, and she supposed, clumsy hands on her clean kitchen cupboard, and unable to suppress a sigh, pulled the kitchen steps over in position. Mounted on the third step, she noticed that Sam had moved even closer to her so that he was almost directly under her. Thank goodness I'm wearing slacks she thought as she groped around for the fuses. Relieved to find them easily, she began to descend, thinking maybe now he'll go away and leave me alone.

Suddenly, she stiffened. The blood pulsed wildly in her veins and a sudden wave of heat engulfed her and threatened to overcome her. She just couldn't believe what was happening. His hands were on her buttocks, feeling them, squeezing them - he was actually caressing her back there!

She didn't know what to do. Fear washed over her, followed quickly by revulsion, disgust, anger. She hesitated for a split second on the steps. Should she order him to stop, or should she just ignore it? If she got angry, perhaps she might intimidate him, but on the other hand, he was brazen enough to touch her like that, and he might get violent. But conversely, if she just ignored him, might he not interpret that as an invitation to continue? Oh God, what should I do, she wondered wildly. His work-coarsened hands continued their lewd manipulation of her softly yielding ass cheeks, kneading and clutching, and it seemed to the agonized woman that an eternity passed in those few seconds. Then, she could stand it no longer.

"Take your hands off me, you disgusting old man!" she shrieked, almost falling from the steps in her sudden angry horror. Relieved, she found herself on the ground once more, and gave vent to her feelings.

"How dare you? How dare you lay your hands on me? I'll see you're fired for this. Your impertinence today was enough, but you've gone too far this time!" She stood glaring at him, panting from her exasperated speech, her green eyes flashing like sparkling emeralds.

"No need for you to get on your high horse with me, lady," Sam leered, an arrogant sneer on his weather-beaten face, "'cause I know what you're really like!"

Sandra was thrown off balance by his unexpected retort. She had anticipated apologies, sullenness, even a denial, but she had not expected him to be so completely defiant.

"What do you mean?" she asked, striving to keep a condescending tone in her voice. Her eyes swept contemptuously over his stocky, overalled figure, and she imagined she saw him cringe under her proud stare.

"H'mm, guess not even your husband knows what you get up to when he's not around..." he said contemplatively, and Sandra's heart missed a beat. Just what did he mean? He was acting so strangely, not at all intimidated. She was beginning to feel worried. There was something menacing about this sudden change in their hired hand, and her pulse quickened in fear. She thought about screaming, but knew it was futile, because the other workers were in their quarters on the far side of the barns, and besides, the television in the lounge was blaring, and likely to drown out any cries for help she might make. Sam moved closer to her again, and she drew back suddenly from his insidiously searching hand which reached out and touched her hip.

"Get-get away from me!" she gasped, her terror mounting.

"C'mon now, honey, I happen to know you need a little lovin'!" Sam rasped, his eyes roaming freely over her trembling figure.

"I-I don't know what you mean!" she stammered. What was he hinting about?

"Don't play dumb with me, baby, 'cause ol' Sam knows more about you than you think!" There was a new ominous sound in his voice, an ugly, threatening note.

Sandra's heart raced with fear. He seemed to have something on his mind, something he was trying to threaten her with.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she said defiantly, hoping to inject her voice with courage.

"Let's put it this way!" he taunted, rubbing his hands together. "You had a real nice time cleaning out the office the other day, didn't ya?"

Sandra blanched, and suddenly her throat felt dry. She could only stare in horrified amazement at the triumphantly grinning figure of the workman. She just couldn't believe that she had heard him correctly, yet the enormity of the implication of his remark was slowly etching itself on her disbelieving brain.

"No... no!" she gasped, unable to stop herself.

"Oh yes!" Sam laughed, delighted at the effect of his bombshell on her. He was glad he'd waited to drop it on her, strung her out a little first, got her ready for the big one. "Yessirree," he went on, unable to relinquish his stunning victory over her, "cleanin' out the office was a real pleasure for you that day."

Sandra continued to stare in numbed silence at him. Did he know - had he seen her? Was that what he was hinting at, that he'd seen her looking at those pornographic pictures, seen her pushing her own panties down to her knees and fingering herself, seen her reach orgasm?