The year was 1850, and somewhere in the vast expanse of Colorado there was a small homestead. Working under the hot, dry sun, "Sweet Mary Jane," as her friends called her, stopped mending the wire fence and looked up as she heard the sound of an approaching horse. She wiped her brow and watched the rider, a large, scruffy-looking man, and paused for a moment to consider if she should pick up her rifle. She decided against it though, confident in her abilities, and instead called out a greeting. The rider stopped at the unexpected sound, looking around until his eyes finally focused on the figure in the distance. His horse moved closer, and Mary could see that there was something definitely wrong with the rider as he seemed to sway in his saddle as the horse moved. Although one arm drifted back toward his gun, it was apparent he was no shape to fight. Once again, the horse stopped moving, and this time the man rocked forward and fell to the ground. Rushing to his side Mary checked on the man, and found that although unconscious, he was still alive, but just barely.
Days later the man awoke, eyes slow to focus on the clapboard ceiling, yet mind racing with all the possibilities. Instinctively, he reached to his side for his weapon but found it had been removed, and in a dazed panic, he sat up to survey the situation. He was in a bedroom plain by any standards except for the walnut-carved four-poster bed. Beside him on a nightstand was a basin filled with water and a damp cloth, and there was a definite trail of water droplets from the basin to the bed. Even more notable, though, is his gun, hanging neatly from one of the bedposts.
Suddenly the door opened and the silhouette of a slim figure is standing there, holding something at waist level. Instinctively the man turned to retrieve his gun.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," called out a voice, and as though hit by a brick, the man froze. He wasn't exactly sure what it was in that voice that made him stop, but his gaze turned back to the figure moving toward him. As the fleeting light climbed the figure, it became apparent this was no man, but was, in fact, a woman. A woman carrying a tray. Unsure what to do, the man studied her, and in a hoarse voice asked, "Where am I?"
"Quiet now," came the response, "you're in no shape to ask questions. First you'll eat a bit, rest, and then in the morning, we can talk." The man opened his mouth to speak again but thought better of it, and instead cast his eyes down at the tray. A large glass of water and a steaming bowl of soup. The smell was wonderful, especially considering what he had eaten over the past two weeks—that is, when he could find food and wasn't too sick to eat. He took the tray and hoarsely thanked her, then sat back and began to eat. The food was indeed tasty; however, with the first swallow came pain and recollection of the snakebite. Instinctively, the man reached up to feel his neck, finding only the stubble of a days' old beard.
"How long?" he managed to get out.
"Six days," came the reply. "You're lucky to be alive. For the first few days I was sure you wouldn't make it, but after the fever broke, you steadily got better." She smiled. "I'm Mary, by the way, and like I said, we'll chat more tomorrow." With that she smiled, turned, and left.
As the next few days passed, the man, who Mary learned was Philip, steadily regained his strength, and they learned each other's stories. Philip, it seems, was traveling from Boston to California with a supply convoy as a guide when the convoy was attacked by outlaws. The bulk of the convoy was destroyed, as were the outlaws, but with the few surviving members of the convoy they were unable to proceed. Philip rode to the nearest town, obtained new horses and volunteers, and then returned. Then, on a scouting mission, his horse stumbled, and when he hit the ground, a rattler bit him just below the right jaw. The next thing he remembered was waking in Mary's home.
As for Mary, well, she moved west with the homesteaders about four years ago. As a safety precaution, she always told people it was with her husband, Jacob, who was a trapper, but the actual fact was that she was alone. She always found that when people thought she had a husband, they always underestimated her, and so she developed the story of a trapper husband, who naturally was away for long periods of time. As the days past and Philip's strength returned, he became more insistent on repaying Mary for her kindness. She wouldn't accept any form of payment, however, saying that it was what anyone else would have done, and so Philip had to sneak about doing odd jobs that he felt could in some way compensate, but it never did feel like enough.
As for Mary—well, truth be told, she liked having this man around. He was charming in his own gruff sort of way and did have a nice tendency to get under her skin, even if the jobs he did to repay her usually required redoing.
Thinking back, the real trouble probably started on the last day Philip was to stay. He decided that of all the jobs he could do, the one Mary might appreciate the most, would be to cut wood. Slipping out of the house as the sun rose, he began the task of cutting and stacking a few cords of wood, only to awaken Mary with the rhythmic sound of the ax hitting the logs. At first, she was mildly curious as to the cause of the sound and had to smile when she looked out the window to see him working there. Then, as the day progressed, she found herself going out of her way to watch him more and more frequently. It began with brief looks that gradually got longer, until after almost three hours after he had begun she found herself back inside the cabin once again, looking out the window.
Philip was now stacking the chopped pieces and she couldn't help but admire his form. Each time he bent to pile the pieces her eyes trailed over his arms and down his torso settling at last to watch the way his pants stretched across his tight butt. She absently began tracing the collar of her shirt as she watched, and as her fingers came to the first button, they opened it. Again and again, Philip bent, piled, and stacked the cut pieces as she continued to trace the collar with her fingers.
A second button was opened absently, and then a third, and finally her fingertips were tracing the swell of her soft, sexy breasts. Philip began removing his shirt, and this time Mary's fingers brushed the now hard nipple, causing a soft moan to escape her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment as the nipple scraped along the work-roughened fingertips until her hand went farther, cupping the swollen breast and trapping the nipple with her the thumb and forefinger. Another, deeper moan escaped her lips, and again she closed her eyes, imagining that it was his hands teasing her now hot skin.
As her eyes fluttered open, Mary saw that Philip had moved to the well and was cranking up the bucket. His back muscles rippled with each crank, and her other hand began to gather the material of her skirt. Picking up the bucket, Philip poured the contents over his head, and within the cabin Mary's fingers glided over the soft hair of her pussy. A shiver raced through her body as both the sight of this rugged man sweating and wet combined with the excitement of her manipulations, and so she again closed her eyes. This time she slipped a finger deep inside the folds of her pussy, in and out, in and out. It seemed to be just seconds later when she was snapped back to reality by the sound of the door opening, forced to stop just as she was on the brink of an orgasm.
Turning the corner, Philip came in and asked if there was a towel handy, but as he got the words out his gaze fell on Mary's open shirt. God, she was beautiful. The mere sight of her shirt showing off the inner swells of her sweet breasts as they rose and fell with her labored breathing mesmerized him, but somewhere inside he managed to ask if everything was OK. Still recovering from her previous state, she was unable to answer for a moment, then stammered a shaky yes. She turned, retrieved the towel, and then handed it to him, noting as she did so that he had turned away. Odd, she thought, but at least this way she could see his sweet muscular form up close. Her gaze trailed down from his shoulders along the wide expanse of his back, glimpsing in that instant her own shirt, which gaped wide, exposing the inner curves of her bosom. Oh, God, she thought, and then in an inspiration voiced it out loud.
"Oh, God!" The words trailed off as she fell to the floor in a feigned faint, being sure to fall into Philip. As her body dropped to the floor, her skirt rode up her legs, exposing them to the knee. As expected, Philip turned at the sound, just in time to cushion the fall. Bending to her side, Philip called out her name several times and tried lightly slapping her face to awaken her, but this did no good. Thinking quickly, he gathered Mary in his arms and carried her carefully to the bed. Then he went to the washstand, filled the basin with water, and brought it back to her side, where he applied the wet compress to her brow. When this failed to awaken her, he leaned in and placed his ear to her chest, hoping she was still alive. Indeed, her heart was racing and her body covered in a hot sweat, so he feared she had caught some kind of fever.
Again he dipped the compress and wiped her brow, but this time instead of leaving it there, he returned it to the basin. On the next soaking, he placed the compress between those sweet breasts, hoping that in cooling her body he would be able to revive her. The contact of the washcloth between Mary's breasts was unexpected, and she gasped upon its touch. Philip again called out her name, and she decided that with his last reaction she had best answer. In her groggiest voice, Mary replied, "Huh?"
"Mary," came the worried words, "are you OK? You fainted."
Raising an arm to her brow, Mary said, "I don't know; I suddenly felt flush and weak."
"That's OK," came the reassuring response, "I'm here, and I'll stay 'til you're better."
Now confident that Mary was at least not in imminent danger of dying, Philip let his gaze travel over her prone body. It was better than he could ever have imagined: sweet, soft, and utterly beautiful. With her arm up on her brow, she had inadvertently flared the collar of her shirt, completely exposing one breast. The nipple was hard and the aureola was dark, he assumed from her condition, but still it looked so inviting. In his effort to get her to the bed quickly, he had not paid much attention, but now he noted that her skirt had ridden high as well, exposing the smooth, soft thighs. God, it had been ages since he had been with a woman, and now all those desires raged, but he managed to return his gaze to that of hers and said, "Please, just rest here and call me if you need anything."
Smiling inside, Mary said, "OK," then shifted her position to hug Philip's body against hers.
"Thank you," she whispered, holding him close and thrilling as her nipples danced through the fur of his chest.
"You're welcome," he replied, but in his mind he was saying, Oh no, thank you! as he felt her nipples slide through his chest, exciting him beyond belief.
For an entire day Mary tried everything she could think of to get Philip to make love to her, but each time she exposed herself, touched him, or had him touch her, she was disappointed. It almost seemed as though he was not interested, but just before she was going to give up, she noticed the bulge in his slacks. Mary knew he was interested, but the question was how to get him to act, and so for the next few hours she worked out a new plan. She now knew that the only way to get this man into her bed was to seduce him, but it had to seem as though it was his idea, and thus would require some intense teasing on her part. First she had to get him used to touching her body, and this would be accomplished by having him aid in cooling her fevered skin with the damp cloth as before. Then she would have him aid her in changing from her day clothes into her nightdress.
As suspected, the first part was not overly difficult. Mary started by complaining she was so hot, and pulled her skirt higher up her thighs. She also left her shirt open, knowing the tantalizing effect it would have. Next, she asked Philip if he could try cooling her with the damp cloth as before, and soon he was diligently wiping her brow. Complaining that it was not enough, she asked if he could try cooling a greater area as he had done earlier, and thus the cloth moved from her brow to her chest. She noted with satisfaction how the cooling became softer, slower, and seemed to cover every inch of the open shirt, consistently lingering briefly along the side swells of her breasts. It was so difficult to maintain control though, for with this cooling came the fires of desire. Her nipples, aching for attention, would brush ever so lightly along the shirt as he moved the cloth, and a few times she would sigh from the intensity.
After several of these sighs Philip asked if everything was OK, but Mary merely complained that it was still not enough. He then offered to fill the bath for her to soak in, but she worried that would allow him relief, and so thinking quickly said she didn't think it was a good idea. Mary told him she did not feel strong enough to stay there alone for fear she'd drown, thus forcing him to stay with her, but instead he offered to use the damp cloth on her legs as well. It was better than nothing, Mary supposed, but as it turned out it was better than she could have imagined. If she had gotten into the tub, his caresses would have stopped; this way, his hands remained on her skin. How sweet were the caresses, for she noted that now his fingers did not stay entirely upon the cloth but trailed along her skin as they wiped. This was both satisfying and torturous, as his strokes were slow with the slightest of pressure and were driving her wild.
Now alternating between cooling her brow, chest, and legs, Philip was close to going slightly mad. His cock had swollen painfully within his buckskin slacks, and his mind raced with desire for this sweet, prone lady. With each stroke of the cloth he concentrated on her soft skin, allowing two fingers to trail off the cloth and along the skin itself. He thrilled at the touch of her skin, occasionally pushing the material of the shirt or skirt to see more, and a few times was treated to the sight of the hard buds of her nipples. Oh, how he wanted to suck them into his mouth, slide his fingers up her skirt and brush through her soft fur, but the lady was sick, innocent, and, yes, married too. And so Philip strained and struggled with his raging desires, allowing himself only these mild touches of her sweet skin. Later, when he had a moment, he knew he would fantasize about being with her.
After several minutes of "cooling," Mary asked Philip if he could help her change into her nightdress as she wanted to sleep. Although he hesitated, he did finally agree. Now, as he stood to retrieve the nightdress, she noted the large bulge that seemed to spasm within his slacks. Oh, he was ready now, and so too was she. Her body ached for more than the sweet caresses; it was wet between her legs, and this was not caused by the cool cloth. Her nipples too desperately needed some attention, for they were hard and on fire, but this still would not come too easily.
Oh, God! thought Philip. How much more can I take? Her body seemed alive with desire but he knew it was merely due to her fever. Her nipples stood out and he thought he detected the sweet aroma of desire, but he knew it was merely his imagination, spurred by his own desire. Why, oh why did he have to be attracted to this lady, whose body seemed to beg for attention? Oh, to have a few hours of pleasure with her! But no, he must be strong. He knew though that the ultimate test would come now, for she asked him to help her change, which meant her body would be even closer to his and for a brief time at least it would be nude. Just this minor thought caused his cock to jump in his pants. He needed relief soon or he feared he'd explode. And so, once she was asleep, he planned to go and pour more of the cold well water over himself and try desperately to get some relief.
As Philip returned to the bed with the nightdress, he tried to hand it to Mary, but she said, "I'm not sure I can manage. I feel so weak like a kitten! Can you help me?" Oh, God! Philip thought to himself, I don't know if I can do this! But he leaned in and helped her sit on the edge of the bed. He then slowly opened the last few remaining buttons on Mary's shirt, taking his time as he thrilled at her beauty. As he slid the shirt off, he made sure to brush one of those sweet nipples. Instantly her body shivered in response, but Philip mistook this as a spasm caused by her fever. God, it was sweet; so hard and inviting, especially within the fading light of the day. Next, Philip took the nightdress and helped Mary put it over her head. He slid the material down her body, and his cock jumped as her hand fell upon it, brushing over its length.
Philip helped Mary to lie down again, and as she did, he noted how her nipples pushed seductively through the material. He could no longer take his eyes off Mary as his lust ran away from him, but still he slid the nightdress down and then reached up under it to remove her skirt. As his fingers found the waist, he gently slid his hands under her tight round butt, but either with a will of their own or perhaps subconsciously, they glided firmly across the sweet soft surface before gently pulling up to aid her in lifting them off the bed. Guiding the skirt down Mary's thighs, he allowed his fingers to trail over her sweet skin. As his fingers found the sensitive joint between her butt and legs, her body again shook, but this time he was sure it was due to his sensitive touch, and he hoped in her current state she wouldn't notice. Not wanting to let go, he allowed his fingers to trail off along the sweet skin of her legs, enjoying the silkiness the sweat provided, until at last the skirt came completely free.
Mary's body was now constantly being rocked by waves of desire, beginning when Philip used his strong warm hands to lift her into a sitting position and lasting through when he brushed her nipple while removing her shirt. This last action caused her body to spasm, and she was surprised when he didn't follow it up with more of the same. When he placed the nightdress over her head, she decided to be more direct, so she dropped her hand onto his rock-hard cock and let it slide along the entire length, knowing this would drive him wild. As she did this, she felt it twitch, begging for more, but until he took her, it would not come.
Instead of ravaging her then and there, though, Philip helped her lie down. At this point she just wanted to scream, "Take me!!!" But then Mary noticed his eyes, filled with lust, locked onto her body. Even as his hands pulled her nightdress down and over her thighs, she watched his lusty eyes with desire and fascination. They seemed to be mesmerized by her body, but that did nothing to stop his hands. They slid seductively up under her skirt and grasped the waist, then slide under her hips to squeeze her soft cheeks. The hands lightly pulled upward and she lifted her hips; then began to pull away the skirt. The action was smooth, slow, and extremely tantalizing, but all the while she watched his eyes.
Philip's fingers trailed after the skirt, contacting the soft flesh of her ass. Perhaps, if one were to judge these things, a bit too deeply, but for her, it was truly seductive. As his hands reached the joint between her ass and legs Mary shuddered again, for now they were but mere inches from her pussy, and were sure to feel the sweet fluid that had already escaped. A moan passed Mary's lips, but Philip didn't even seem to notice; then, as the waves of pleasure washed over her, his fingers trailed down her legs, and she bit into the pillow.