Mothers and Daughters Ch. 01

This series is based on a bit of a mash-up of characters from two prior stories I have posted, 'Thursday Afternoon on the Ranch,' and the series, 'A Week in Boise.' It's not strictly necessary that you have read them, but it might be helpful. I've tried to describe the remote Southeastern quarter of Oregon that this story is set in with reasonable accuracy, but the events, the characters and the various ranches described are totally fictional.

Jamie Robinson met Melissa McTavitt at a coffee house in Eugene where they were students. He thought she was an outrageous flirt but very attractive. Melissa was tall, with thick, unruly blonde hair that stopped just of her shoulders. She wore a snug t-shirt that did little to hide her large round breasts. Her ass was a bit broader than what she would have liked, but most men thought it looked great, especially in the short, tight, cutoff jeans she wore to work. Jamie thought she had great legs that went on forever. They weren't a fashion model's legs. They were shapely but heavier with muscle than a runway model. The shorts and the T-shirt were her work uniform. She had learned that a barista's tips were much better if you paid attention to your appearance, or more to the point, if the customers paid attention to your appearance.

For Jamie, the effect was perfect. Whenever she turned away from the counter Jamie would lean just a bit forward over the counter. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to give him a good look at her nice round ass, barely covered by the shorts she wore, and her sexy long legs beneath. Needless to say he developed a need for a lot more coffee that spring, especially during her shifts, which he quickly learned.

Melissa was entranced by her sexy customer. Jamie was just a bit over six feet with broad shoulders. He had a mop of dark hair, as thick, long, and unruly as hers. What really got to her were his brown eyes. When he looked at her she just wanted to jump over the counter and wrap him up. She would learn later, when they became lovers, that his body was strong, his muscles chiseled from the strength training he had pursued in high school athletics.

By the end of the spring quarter they had taken a sublet on an apartment near the campus and moved in together for the summer. It would not be fair to say they were in love, but they were certainly in lust—deep, serious lust that involved as much sex as they could find time, energy, and creativity for. Sometimes lust gets in the way of getting to know people well enough to really fall in love. Neither of them we're particularly worried about it.

Melissa, had grown up on a cattle ranch in Eastern, Oregon which is not a liberal place, politically, socially, sexually, or any other way you could measure it. But three years at the University of Oregon had changed her outlook completely. She had no patience with her father's definition of women's role in society, the current President, or Republicans in general. And she certainly couldn't see any reason to defer sex until marriage. Her sex life had been quite active since she arrived at the University.

Jamie had grown up in Southern California. His family was conservative in just about every way you could measure it, but like Melissa, he had grown beyond his family's conservative upbringing. He was a bit shy, so his sex life for the three years he had been there had been much more limited than hers. But he was a quick learner.

In other words they were a perfect match—a pair of horny twenty year-olds who had escaped from conservative upbringings and become wild eyed liberals (or worse) in their parents eyes.

They were about half done unpacking their belongings (interrupted by an impromptu session of screwing on the kitchen table) when Melissa broke the news to Jamie.

"Jamie, when does your summer job start?"

"Not for another week. Why?"

"Oh good, you can go with me."

"Go with you? Where?"

"Home. I have to make a visit home before I start my summer work. My father's insisting on it. Mom just told me about it on the phone last night. I guess he wants to make sure his little girl hasn't become a wild eyed liberal or something." As she talked she was massaging Jamie's still slippery cock in an effort to get it up for a second round.

"You know if you keep that up," he said, "we'll never get things unpacked."

"Not sure I care," she said as she dropped to her knees and inhaled his cock.

"I told you nude unpacking was not going to be productive," he said.

Melissa pulled back from his cock and looked up at him as she stroked his now fully erect prick with both hands. "Depends on what you want to produce," she said. "I think we're being very productive, and I have every intention of producing as much cum out of this cock this afternoon as I can." Then she went back to sucking and jacking his cock, while using one hand to massage his balls.

Jamie responded with a gasp—and no objection.

They spent the next half hour fucking in every room of their little apartment, winding up in the living room with Jamie plowing Melissa from behind as she leaned over the back of an aging couch. It had come with the apartment and was, by anyone's standards, pretty worn and ugly. But it was functioning just fine for the use it was being put to just then.

"Oh yeah, that's it. That's it. Ahhhhh. So fucking good. Oh god, yes. I'm close. Harder. Fuck me harder Jamie."

Jamie pulled back and up on her hips so he had them almost off the couch and then began pounding her as hard and fast as he could. "Is this what you want you horny slut? Is this big cock what you want? It is, isn't it? Tell me." He knew she loved it when he talked dirty.

"Yes. Oh god yes. Just don't stop. I'm so close."

"Just think about that internet porn we were watching last night. Remember that? Remember the woman that was being gang banged? You told me watching those guys have their way with her made you so horny--watching those three studs bury their big hard cocks in her cunt and then pound her until she screamed for mercy. Do you remember that?"

"Oh fuck yes," she growled. "Now pound me just like that. Pound me with that big cock of yours. Pound me like you're the third guy."

Jamie kept pounding her. The sweat was streaming off his brow and down onto her back. Melissa was groaning and crying.

He reached under her with one hand and pinched her clit. That set Melissa off. She screamed as she climaxed, her cunt doing its best to crush Jamie's rigid cock. Jamie felt the cum rising up his shaft. He pulled her hips up tight against him and rammed his cock as deeply into her as he could. Then he stood holding her ass against his hips while his cock pumped streams of cum into her spasming cunt.

They collapsed to the floor gasping, lying there spent and satisfied. When her breathing returned to normal, Melissa returned to the subject of the trip home.

"Really Jamie, I need you to go home with me. I can't take spending four days with my conservative parents, especially my father. He will rant and rave about the Democrats in Salem and in Washington and the general degeneration of morals in youth, and then he'll lecture me on what a fine fellow Donald Trump is. I need to have you there so I can escape and have someone to talk sensibly with. We'll take a pair of horses and ride up the ridge to escape from them."

"Really? Trump?"

"Well, maybe not Trump. Even my father has limits."

"Can we fuck while we are up there on the ridge?"

She slapped at his shoulder and said, "You have a one track mind."

"Yes and that track is a filthy one. That's what you like about me. That's what you have been teaching me."

"Mmmm. And this," she said, as she began to stroke his cock again.

They may not have been in love, but they were certainly in lust.

Twenty-four hours later they were in Jamie's aging VW microbus (the "Meatloaf" as he called it, or the "Shag Wagon" as Melissa called it) skirting through the outskirts of Bend, Oregon and setting out across the high desert of central Oregon.

"What about your Mother," he asked. "Is she as conservative as your Father?"

"That's hard to say," Melissa responded. "She's pretty quiet and never contradicts my Father. He sets the rules around the house and no one questions them."

It was quiet for a while. There is a lot of quiet as you grind your way east across the high desert that makes up two-thirds of Oregon.

"There was one time," Melissa said with a smile. "But Dad never knew about it."

"What? She voted for Obama?"

"No," she giggled. "As soon as I was old enough to have babies she took me over to a clinic in Ontario and got me on the pill."

"Canada?" Jamie asked. His Eastern Oregon geography was a little weak.

"No silly. Ontario, Oregon. It's the only real town in our part of the state."

"Oh yeah, sure. I knew that."

"She told me that she wasn't giving me a license to start fooling around, but just in case anything happened, she didn't want me to wind up pregnant and marrying some two bit cowboy who would drag me off to a ranch in the middle of nowhere like had happened to her. I didn't point out to her that growing up where we lived, there wasn't much of anyone around that wasn't a two-bit cowboy."

Melissa's Mother, Lisa, had grown up in Virginia, a city girl, and had met and fallen in love with her father, Luke, in college. She had told Melissa that the culture shock of moving to Eastern Oregon from Virginia was pretty tough, but she was so busy helping Luke run the ranch, having babies, and looking after Luke's aging parents, that she never really had found time to feel sorry for herself.

"That doesn't sound so conservative," he said.

"Yeah. It's hard to tell about her. She keeps to herself and doesn't challenge Dad, but she doesn't lecture me like he does either."

Melissa yawned and curled up against the door to sleep. They had been to a party the night before and she had downed a bit more beer than she should have, so she needed the sleep. Besides you can't get lost driving across eastern Oregon. Melissa's instructions as they left the town of Bend were, "Go east until you get to Burns. That's about two hours. Turn southeast on Oregon 78 at Burns. The intersection is right in the center of town. You can't miss it. Keep driving until you hit US 95 at a place called Burns Junction. That's another two and a half hours. Stop there and wake me. That will be about five hours from now. Oh, and be sure to gas up in Burns. We'll never make it home if you don't. This Shag Wagon doesn't have much range. We'll be about out when we get to the ranch, but we have our own gas tank there."

She was right. It was impossible to get lost. Jamie found staying awake a little more challenging, but he managed. She was right about the gas too. Fortunately he had followed her instructions about gassing up in Burns. She slept right through the stop. There was a gas station at Burns Junction, but it was out of business. It looked like it had been out of business for years, maybe decades. In fact that was all there was at Burns Junction. So really Burns Junction was just that, a place where two roads came together. Oregon 78 dead ended on one of the few curves on the north-south US 95. You could turn left and go to Boise over in Idaho or turn right and go to Winnemucca down in Nevada. Simple choice.

Jamie stopped at the defunct gas station to stretch his legs and wake Melissa. The air was hot and dry, the sun bright. He hadn't seen anything green for so many miles he was beginning to forget what the color was. As far as Jamie could see there was the grey green sage (more grey than green) and yellow tufts of bunch grass and cheat grass. Summer had come early to Eastern Oregon this year, so it's brief spate of green had come and passed on quickly. There were mountains to the east and to the southwest, but they likewise lacked any green growth, sage covered at their base and rock for the most part above the sage foothills. They were far enough away so that they assumed an almost purple color—a grey shade of purple at that.

Melissa stepped out of the van and stretched, blinking her eyes. "Oh wow, I really crashed. We're at Burns Junction. Almost home." She took a deep breath as she stretched. "Oh feel the air," she said. "It's so clean and dry. God, I love it."

"Where to from here?" Jamie asked.

"We'll drive south for about 30 miles from here, she said, gesturing at US 95, and then we'll turn off on a gravel road that heads east towards Idaho. The ranch is on one of the forks of Antelope creek. It drains into the Owyhee, over in Idaho I think. This is our old home ranch. Daddy's Great-Great-Grandfather homesteaded it in the 19^th Century. We just use it to run cattle in the summer anymore. In the winter my folks move down to another ranch they own near Vale. The upper end of Antelope creek is not a good place for cattle or people in the winter."

"Vale?"

"It's a little town near Ontario. I am going to have to give you an Eastern Oregon geography lesson, aren't I?"

"Is there anything to learn?"

She punched him on the shoulder and said, "You better let me drive. The road up the ridge to get us over to the Antelope Creek drainage can be a little rough if you didn't grow up driving it. I know every damned rock and pothole on that road."

"You're a little vague about the location," he said. "Sure you know how to find it?"

"I could find it with my eyes closed. It's just the border with Idaho I'm a little vague about. We never paid much attention to which state we were in while I was growing up. It didn't matter that much whether the cows were in Oregon or Idaho, so long as we could find them and herd them back to the home ranch in the fall."

Jamie laughed and started to climb into the passenger seat.

"Wait," she said. "I have to change clothes." She stripped off her t-shirt and the short jeans she was wearing and was leaning into the back of the van wearing nothing but her skimpy, blue panties as she dug around in a bag. Just then a semi hauling hay bound for California slowed for the curve in US 95. It was the first vehicle Jamie had seen since leaving Burns and it was almost the last curve that driver would see until he reached Winnemucca in three hours. As the driver approached, he honked the truck's horn at Melissa's barely clad rear end protruding from the meatloaf. Melissa pulled out of the van, turned and flipped the vanishing trucker the bird, yelling, "Asshole!"

He responded with another blast from the horn.

Jamie was laughing. "I would have honked at that ass too," he said as he slapped her butt cheek. "But, just out of curiosity, why are you stripping down here on the side of the highway?"

"I need a bra and longer pants," she explained. "I don't want to start my visit home with a lecture about my trashy clothes."

"I like them just fine," Jamie said.

"Yeah, but my folks won't."

A few minutes later they heading down US 95, the old VW sounding like an over revved sewing machine at 65 miles an hour. Jamie felt like they were headed for end of the world, if they weren't already there. Thirty minutes later Melissa pulled up at a mail box on the left. It wasn't like any mail box Jamie had ever seen growing up in Southern California. It was a repurposed oil drum that was painted white and hung from a metal frame by a couple of chains. The words "AA Ranch" were stenciled in black on both sides of the barrel. Apparently mail delivery systems had to have extra-large capacity if you lived out here.

A gravel road stretched out across the sage flat towards a ridge five or ten miles to the east. A rickety looking series of old power poles followed it, a power line to nowhere, Jaime thought.

Jamie thought Melissa was right about the road into the ranch. It was terrible. Just a nasty washboard at first, but when it began to climb the ridge to the east of the highway it deteriorated into a boulder strewn minefield that wanted to tear the bottom off the van. The funny part was that once they got to the top of the ridge, Melissa said, "Wow that was a lot better. Dad must have spent some money to fix it up." I guess a bad road depends on what you are accustomed to, thought Jamie.

From the top of the ridge the road veered northeast and there was a long run across a sage flat before it turned back to the east again. Back to a bad washboard, but passable, Jamie thought. Eventually they came to the brink of a steep hill where Melissa pulled up for a moment. They were looking down at a piece of bottom land, green with irrigated pasture. There was a farm pond just above the meadow and a small creek flowing from the pond down one side of the pasture. On a low bench rising sharply above one end of the pasture there was a rambling two story house with a tin roof, surrounded by a broad covered porch on three sides, a big barn, and a collection of various sized outbuildings. The house itself showed signs of a series of haphazard additions. Nothing looked like it had seen paint in decades, or ever. There was a small lawn behind the house and another before the house running down to the barn. A line of old cottonwoods grew along the west side of the house and the lawn, providing protection from the prevailing winds and shade from the hot sun late in the day.

"There it is, home sweet home."

"You grew up here?"

"Yes."

"Where did you go to school?"

"Home schooled, until I was 13. Then we began spending the winters at our ranch near Vale and I went to high school there. Vale High School. Home of the Vikings."

"Were you a cheerleader?"

"Yes, but don't tell anyone we know in Eugene. I was also a rodeo queen, but don't tell them that either."

"What rodeo?"

She laughed. It's in Jordan Valley, a little town over that way about 40 miles." She pointed vaguely north and a little east. "The rodeo is called 'Big Loop,' and no I don't know why. I think it has something to do with calf roping."

"So you were the Queen of the Big Loop," Jaime said, trying not to laugh.

"Don't you dare tell anyone or I'll . . ."

Jamie held up his hands and said, "No problem. I won't tell a soul. Let's go met your parents."

He was still mumbling about the Queen of the Big Loop as they walked back to the Meatloaf.

It took them a good 15 minutes to pick their way down the hill, across a rickety looking bridge, through a muddy road across the irrigated bottom land and up to the house. The Meatloaf wasn't built for such roads.

There didn't seem to be anyone around. "That's odd," Melissa said. "I told them I was coming today." She leaned on the horn which made the pathetic little beep of a VW. "Maybe they're down in the barn doing chores."

A moment or two later Lisa stepped out onto the front porch. There was no question about her being Melissa's mother. They were dead ringers, beyond the effect of having born two children and an additional 25 years or so of living an outdoors life. She was tall and trim, with the same strong, long legs as Melissa, which Jamie immediately noticed were barely covered by a pair of cutoff jeans shorter than the ones Melissa had changed out of; the same thick mop of blonde hair that came down to her shoulders but no further; the same twinkling blue eyes; and the same ample breasts, which Jamie noticed as she walked down the steps did not seem to be constrained by a bra. The extra years had given them a bit more jiggle than Melissa's, which he found attractive. Her hair was a bit mussed and the low neck on her T-shirt failed to conceal a flush on her upper chest. It reminded Jamie of the flush Melissa got when they were having sex.

The two women ran to each other and squealed in delight as they hugged. "Oh god honey, I'm so glad to see you home. But we didn't expect you today. I thought you were coming tomorrow." Jamie could detect the faint traces of the Virginia drawl Lisa had grown up with.