Farm Life

Yep, ive started a new story, and hopefuly, this one will actually be finished XD
Lots of reviews please, i wanna see what you guys want!
Feather.

Sun, blazing sun husked its smothered breath across the golden corn cobs, smoldering through the elongated sweep of the protective green leaves coddling them, like a bar of gold, crisping beneath the maternal touch of a loving banker. Shimmering waves of pure heat rose from their heads, limp and lifeless with the lack of wind gifted. It was as if time had halted, in that baking midday sun; nothing moved, nothing stirred; one could almost hear the dry earth flake and crack as every last vestige of water was sucked from its bosom.
Nobody ever ventured out here. There was never any need for outsiders to embark on an unwelcome adventure to the Western frontiers. Colonization had ceased forming since the mid-seventeen hundreds, and warring had petered out since the signing of the latest treaties between the French and the English, whilst the Dutch had remained rooted to the East coast where they had landed two centuries ago. No. Nobody ever ventured out here anymore. In this remote, rural town, situated several leagues away from the nearest emblem of civilization in any one direction, the only future was in the expansion of the area, which proved cumbersome and slow owing to the agricultural life the majority of the population were forced to lead in order to survive the harsh winters.
On the furthermost edge of New Mercia, lay the only key to transport of the era. Appropriately positioned to accommodate the substantial wealth of newly tamed horses from the dusty prairies, it was the only source of external revenue for the establishment. Every year, in the springtime, the proprietors would embark on a month long journey to the nearest American or British Canadian outpost with the young stallions and mares, ready to ship to every corner of the country; this year, marked a substantial change in the system. Someone was coming to town.

Those dusty roads were not the forte of most horse breeders. Their eloquent homes and pristine white arches were not to be marred with such dirty, unpaved roads. But those who were buying no longer wished to come all the way to suburban areas just to purchase horses, no matter how fine. They only wished for the cheapest and the strongest in any case.
The thought made the young horse breeders daughter cringe even more the the stifling heat, her breath hot against her face, as her oriental, and undoubtedly expensive fan was replaced with a rough cotton rag, of which her face had never touched before, to keep the ever blustering dust on the dry roads from entering her lungs, which it did none the less, from the movement of the carriage.
Finally though from what seemed like hours, the sight of a farmhouse, with its massive red silo came into view, and she breathed a sigh of thanks. Finally, they were there. She glanced behind her to the mares and stallions which were tied to the carriage, clomping along the dirt roads as well. She felt pity sting her heart for the beautiful beasts, having to stay in this terrible place, no more luxury, all hard work and no play. She shuddered at the thought, glancing up to her father. She would have to stay here with him for the week or so of sales, his main work hand had fallen ill, and did not trust any of his other workers to assist him, so she offered to keep him company. He had been resistant, but could never say no to his little girl.
An eternity or so later the carriage finally pulled to a stop, and her father, with a strong hand took her dainty white gloved one into his hand, and helped her down onto the hard packed drive of the towns most well off farmers, not nearly as well off as her family, but enough to keep the children fed and clothed with some left over for horse trading, as the farm also belonged to one of her fathers oldest friends. This was where she would be spending the long and no doubt painfully hot week.
Without a moment to spare the white cotton cloth was replaced with the lovely oriental fan, fluttering just under her eyes to keep her cool and displaying the intricate painting of geisha serving tea on the rice paper innards.
She stood next to her father silently, long black lacquered eyelashes hung downwards as she kept her eyes low, like a proper lady would, a silken bonnet of pale yellow atop her head, with long espresso curls in a loose but intricate looking bun visible on her pale, slim neckline. The dress she wore was of simple quality to her, but surely appeared luxurious to her new housemates. Agreeable to the bonnet her dress also bore a yellow color, with light lace along the neckline, revealing her soft white shoulders and the rise of her breasts pushed high from the bodice, along with pulling her waistline almost unbearably small, she felt it, coupled with the heat, making her feel faint.
“Can we go inside please father, I’m feeling terribly faint in this hot weather…” She whined, to which he raised a silent hand, and she huffed, in a spoilt manner, watching him walk to the front porch and bang on the door, calling the name of his old friend with a laugh, while she fanned herself as much as possible while no one was watching her unladylike actions.


Several minutes evaporated into the stifling noon atmosphere, drawing out in that lazy, almost hellishly slothlike preponderance. For the young lady, the temperature must have been an unwelcome novelty of gigantic proportions, and the beads of perspiration on her brow betrayed the unaccustomed nature of her upbringing when dealing with climate alterations. By and by, the thick oak door, which was still slewed on its hinges from when it had been installed, providing an ill-tempered draught during the latter stages of the year, swung open, revealing a portly silhouette filling the entirety of the seven foot doorway. With a bellow of joy which could only have been compared to the low of a bull elephant in heat, the beast lumbered forwards, wrapping her father in the immensity of his embrace, nearly lifting the poor fellow off his toes. Boisterous back slapping and rowdy man-talk followed, to which the lady in waiting could only turn her nose up for its chauvinistic value. An enormous bush of dark curls sprouted from the man’s facial regions, exploding in an unruly heap onto his full chest, resting upon the round belly of middle age. Dust coated the tanned leather of his trousers, his boots, identical in colour from the red powder used to mitigate the steeds hooves, seasoning them for their first horse-shoes. A tartan shirt clad the breadth of his gargantuan upper body, opened at the neck, so that it was impossible to identify the frontier separating the whiskers of his chin to the brush of hair sprouting from his chest.
“James! James!” the great man cried out, finally releasing the father from his mighty bear-hug. “Ten long years at this range, and only now when business calls do you find the balls in you to come and visit your old pal!” There was a charismatic presence about this man, a cheeky twinkle in his aging green eyes which indicated that in his heyday, he had probably been the darling of many a lady…and their virginities. “And who is this ravishing young damsel you have sprung from your hideous genes? She is obviously no relation of yours, for she is as beautiful as you are repulsive!” the two males burst into unified laughter, before James responded, introducing his daughter. “James, I would like you to meet my daughter…” but before he could continue with the overture, a shrill whinny ripped through the midday heat, interrupting the conversation and drawing all eyes towards the ranch.
“Perhaps we should continue this conversation indoors, where I can keep an eye on my nephew. Little bugger has a magical touch with the animals…but this one stallion, leader of the pack, has refused to bend to our taming for over a week. And Dirk’s just as stubborn…hasn’t slept for the past four days…become obsessed he has.” He boomed once again, before ushering James into the immense interior of the farmhouse, waving with surprising elegance for such a large individual towards the damsel who stood fanning herself haughtily at the end of the patio. “And you sweet’art” he added, waiting politely for her to enter the cooler kiss of the indoors once more.


The female obviously was not accustomed to such talk, and was shocked to hear them speak so freely in the presence of a woman. She huffed a bit when the door was not automatically opened for her first before her father, but chalked it up to mere bad upbringing. Cant expect roses in a field of weeds… she covered a sly smile on her lips before becoming the china doll once again, and folding her delicate fan before tucking it away in the small purse on her arm. Finally her bright hazel eyes rose to look about the household, bending to tie a corner of her skirt upwards, revealing the white layer underneath and providing a small gap for the cool air to greet her feet.
The interior of the household was somewhat more impressive than the outside; with waxed hardwood floors… from the outside she would have expected maybe dirt. Scattered about the foveae were treasures from all over the world, she could see hints of Asia, Egypt, India… she guessed one of the man’s sons was a sailor or fisherman of some sort, sending home gifts and trinkets from afar.
“Lilly..” She heard her name being called, and in those few moments of being in her own little world, her father had abandoned her side and called from what she supposed to be the kitchen. Walking in that direction, the warm sent of cinnamon and rich, farm fresh cream greeted her nose, making her stomach growl as if on cue, though muffled beneath her corset.
“Look, real home baked sweets. You’ll love them!” Her father said, though Lilly’s nose scrunched up at the sight of the sticky mess they called cinnamon buns. She smiled sweetly, parting her deep red lipstick coated lips to reveal a white smile, shaking her head with a death glare only her father could see. “Ah, young lady must watch her figure.” He said with a chuckle, the motherly figure giving the ok for the young children to take what they liked. And in a flash they were gone, being devoured buy young mouths. She could feel her stomach turn over at the sight…. How do people live like this? She asked herself silently, no napkins, no utensils! It was barbarian, yet her father seemed to be drinking it in by the gallon full.



Primitive was the only term suitable to describe the primordial manner in which the children attacked the freshly baked wheat. Savage mouths, varying from the ages of four and upwards tore and snarfed greedily at the native white meat of nature, devouring every last morsel before Lilly was able to change her mind had she wanted to. Nobody had bothered to coax or sway her decision as was customary and polite, nobody had even offered her a chair to rest her weary legs from the atrociously bumpy ride across the feral country. Her caring father was not even deigning to support her indignant expression, ripping a hunk of bread in half, and chomping loudly in the delights of the homely culture. He appeared to meld perfectly into the animated mass of screaming, wild children; alarming perhaps from Lilly’s point of view who discovered she was all the more alone in this primeval environment than she had primarily anticipated.
Lilly’s laments of potential abandonment were interrupted as she felt a tug on her priceless, oriental robe. A grubby little hand clung to the luxurious fabric, attached to a tiny little girl, wiggling her chubby index finger over her button nose, with her thumb stuffed between her cherub lips. A light spattering of crumbs coated her rosy cheeks, sticking snugly to the veneer of saliva glistening from them. Green eyes seemed to be a regularity in the household, and the youngling was no exception. Enormous, emerald expanses blinked shyly up at her, worming her body from side to side in her frilly white dress, which it had to be said, looked as if it were polka-dotted with the slop which had been spilt upon it. “I’m…I’m…Yvonne” the toddler muffled bashfully from behind her tiny fist. Yvonne’s attempted connection with the alien life form failed as her dumpy figure was hoisted into the air by her equally dumpy mother.
“I am sorry, the child never learns she shouldn’t be touching nowt with those filthy mitts of ‘ers.” Strong, callused hands wiped Yvonne’s squealing face off with a soiled napkin, the young girl desperately clawing in Lilly’s general direction, indignant at the unwonted intervention. As the kid was bundled away, the high-classed lady was able to see the family once more. There must have been at least a dozen of them, mostly skinny, raucous lads under the age of twelve, pattering around shirtless, displaying their scrawny, sunburned skin; exposure new to Lilly due to her classy upbringing. Rarely had she been divulged to male figures underneath the thick, elegant garments in which they were habitually clad.
As the younger males scampered noisily through the backdoor into the backyard, along with their preteen female counterparts, they left room for their elders. Five teenage males stropped about the kitchen, the youngest fourteen, the two eldest, probably nineteen and twenty, both a rich brown, auburn in hair colour; all topless, their builds in stark contrast to the stick figures the boys had exhibited. Sinuous muscle swathed their frames, natural and burnt as brown as the very earth they trod in. The remaining two youths rested in the sixteen to eighteen region, and bore such similar traits to one another, they were possibly twins. Long, dark hair, curled majestically from their crowns, thick and unkempt, and coupled with their uncharacteristic grey, almost silver hues, donned them with a barbarous appearance. The broad spread of their shoulders and the developed volume of their muscular structure indicated that they were older than they actually were, but, as she was to discover at a later time, the twins were only going on seventeen.
The giant of a father who had sired the fifteen children family tossed a hunk of fresh bread to the eldest son, a lankier, but nonetheless robustly built individual ordering. “Take this out to Dirk. Bugger will be whining by the time he breaks in that filly.” He boomed. The lad nodded with a white-toothed grin, before disappearing beyond the open backdoor into the yard, where further irritated huffs and snorts of a somnolent beast could be overheard.

Poor Lilly, who had never witnessed such a display of people, uncovered and dirty all stalking about as if they had never seen a shirt before. But Lilly couldn’t contemplate her displacement as something tugged at her fine dress, she looked down to see a dirty hand grasping at the fine linen, while another was stuffed in her mouth, something her mother had taught her very early on never to do. Lilly could not utter a word, merely froze up like a violent animal was in her presence, and she wished not to provoke it any more. As the little child spoke, Lilly smiled, but could still not manage to part her glistening white teeth; for she feared screamed obscenities would surely flow out at the small, grubby child.
Thankfully, the child was lifted away, leaving behind a small dirty patch on the once pristine cleanliness. She whined almost silently to herself, nodding to the mother as she spoke but not uttering a word. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take, but finally saw an opportunity to leave the presence of all these people, even if it was to go outside into the blistering heat.
“I shall accompany him… to greet all of the family.” She said quietly to her father, who grinned down to her and nodded, knowing how out of place she must have felt at that moment. He nodded, pointing to the door of which the eldest son had just escaped through. She scurried off then, stepping outside and breathing in the fresh air, feeling so much less trapped as she watched the rows of corn, without a sway beneath them. She didn’t know how anyone could do anything in such a terrible heat.
Her eyes caught up the eldest son, who was running off toward the fenced field. She guessed this must be where the infamous “Dirk” Must be hiding to. She trotted off after him, but her eyes were glued to his bare upper body, watching his muscled back move beneath the tanned flesh. Surely none of the boys back home who had ever shown and interest in her looked anything like…. That, beneath all their frills and gold. She bit her bottom lip then, not sure if she wanted to continue on an meet Dirk, but sheer curiosity got the better of her. Once they reached the fence, she cleared her throat in a very ladylike fashion, pulling out her fan to ward off any sweat on her skin, awaiting acknowledgement.


As the daughter of a wealthy horse-breeder, the scene that was playing out in front of them came as no surprise to her. Caged in an extroverted pen, with a brace of logs providing ample height and sturdiness against any panicking steed should it attempt to escape, a man and a horse were making passes at one another, steamy dust rising from where their feet and hooves clattered dully upon. The billowing sand produced a surreal filn over the proceedings, as if the arena belonged to a hazy dream; and indeed, it might as well have been. A beast of a horse was cantering stormily around the compound, sweat flowing freely from its glossy flanks, its nostrils flaring angrily in extreme wild beauty. Powerful, square teeth seethed in harmony with the baritone blasts of the stallion’s lungs, clicking together tauntingly every so often. Supple muscle bunched with each lunge forwards, rotating and grinding in the nightmare black of the steed’s shoulders, and those eyes…those intelligent, irate eyes rolled furiously in its head, glaring towards the figure who occupied the central arena. Like the rest of the family, the lad was topless, the perspiration varnished upon the slabs of muscle conjuring instant comparisons with the creature with whom he was sharing the enclosure. Brawny arms flexed and contracted every time he tossed a coil of rope towards the beast, caressing the rich ebony of the stallion’s flank, habituating it to human touch without forcing it into submission. There were two ways of handling newly caught animals; the first, taming the creature through fear, the second, and presently employed method on this particular farm, was through trust, a longer, but more effective routine in the long run. Attached to those full, masculine arms, was a body reminiscent of the sculptures of Michaelangelo Lilly had studied during her visits to Rome and Milan in far-off Italy. Golden hair swayed with every movement, untouched by the non-existant wind, yet seeming to float with each twist and measured step of his almost angelic body. Dirk was a tall man, much like his uncle, yet slighter in build, as if less voluminous than his twin cousins, yet more prominently honed in shape. And when he swiveled in his duty, the concentration and intent could be read in those deep blue eyes, so profoundly so, they were almost indigo; but this might have been an impression through the blurry miasma of dust swelling around him. He had not noticed them, clicking to the horse every few seconds; fatigue evident in his face, caked in dirt. But there was such resolve, such brutal resolve in those eyes, as if he would never secede from his goal until it had been fulfilled. It reminded one of the very eyes he was attempting to tame in that horse, trotting arrogantly around that arena, shaking its ebony mane haughtily at the onlookers in passing by.