The Farmers Wife Daughters ll
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The Farmer's DaughterChapter 3 free porn video
Klaus Hanslein Junior: Berks County Fair
“Hey Klaus, ain’t that your girlfriend?” Grainger Thomas asked.
“What? Where?” Was he talking about Rebecca Schmidt?
“Dude, your eyes suck.” Ronnie Thomas, Grainger’s older brother, pointed. “Right there in line at the pistol shooting booth.”
I saw her standing there. She looked perfect. She was still everything I wanted and hated. I remember the first time I saw her, walking from the school bus and the wind pushed her skirt up tight against her ass. Her perfect little heart-shaped ass. She dated that little ninth grade faggot until I wrecked him in gym class. Then, the next year, when she was in ninth grade, I caught her in the library; just like I caught the other sluts. Good times in the library for sure. Not Rebecca though, no fun with her. I caught her back in the corner and got a handful of her tits. Her eyes changed from deep warm blue pools into icy fields of pain. Then the pain exploding from where she kneed me. Damn it, I still want her to love me, the bitch.
Ronnie asked. “Who’s that dude she’s with?”
What? Yeah, it was that asshole from the grocery store. I was trying to get her alone. If she listened long enough, she had to see how much I loved her. Then that coward sucker punched me and did that faggot hand holding thing.
“That’s Kevin Butcher, Dad told me he’s a contractor. He works over at that new computer building and rents a room from the Schmidts.”
Ronnie leered at me and snickered. “Dude, from the way she’s hanging on to him, He’s renting more than the room.”
Rebecca looked at Butcher how I wanted her to look at me. What was wrong with her?
Grainger thumped my arm, “You see that, Junior, she’s cheating on you with that asshole.”
Without taking my eyes off Rebecca, I backhanded Grainger.
I watched as Butcher stepped up to the counter. He paid for a turn and the carny laid down one of their beat up .22 caliber pistols. Butcher raised the pistol one handed and shot five times. With each shot, the bullet hit the bulls-eye with a clang. Five shots, five bull’s-eyes, and he did it one handed, with a piece of shit carnival pistol!
“Holy shit,” Grainger said. “He may be an asshole, but he can shoot.”
The carny gestured at the far wall of the booth and Rebecca pointed. The carny handed Rebecca a huge teddy bear. Rebecca kissed Butcher on the cheek and the nearby people cheered her on.
Ronnie said, “Whoa, that dude is gonna get some pussy tonight for sure.”
I said, “Huh, maybe. But if he does, it’ll be sloppy seconds.”
Ronnie glanced at me. He had always been the smarter brother. Smarter and more supportive. Ronnie liked to talk and get Grainger and me wound up, but he ended up hanging back and never joined in on the fun. He preferred to watch us fuck shit up.
Ronnie grinned, “What do you have in mind, Klaus?”
“Let’s just follow along behind the happy couple. When we get a chance, we’ll offer sweet little Rebecca a ride. If her boyfriend has a problem with it, we’ll fuck him up.”
“Klaus?” Grainger asked. “How tall do you got to be to ride Rebecca?”
It was getting dark and the happy trio turned around and walked towards the dining pavilions. Rebecca held Kevin’s arm, and they never saw us behind them. Little Tommy acted like he and Kevin were best friends. They stopped at one of the bathroom buildings and entered their respective entrances.
I said, “Let’s get close, this might be our chance.” We closed the distance and stepped around to the shadowed side of the bathroom. This part of the building faced the carnival operator’s parking lot. The lot was full of campers and other tall vehicles.
Rebecca exited first, and she was alone. “Ronnie, Grainger, get ready to grab her arms and legs. I’ll pull her back here and then we’ll take her off through the parking lot.”
Sneaking up behind my little Rebecca, I covered her mouth with my hand and pulled her backwards. “Hey, Rebecca.” She kicked as I yanked her around the corner and back into the shade and I tripped. I fell backwards onto my ass but Ronnie and Grainger each grabbed one of her arms. They pulled her against the bathroom’s wall and I got back up.
I grabbed the front of her dress and waved my fist. “If you scream, or try and kick me, I will knock you out.” She continued to struggle and one of her sleeves tore.
“Klaus Junior, you better let me go.” She kicked to the side and tagged Ronnie.
Ronnie yelped, “Whore!” and her sleeve tore again.
From behind me, gravel crunched as someone came around the corner. A deep voice growled, “Hey, let the girl go.”
I turned, it was Rebecca’s new boyfriend. “Butcher, I’ve been waiting for this. I’m gonna fuck you up.” I gestured at Rebecca. “Then I’m gonna fuck your girlfriend.”
The first time we met, Butcher sucker punched me from behind. This time, he wouldn’t be sneaking. My father taught me to box and I’ve wrecked bigger chumps. I brought my hands up and pulled in my chin. Butcher took on one of those bullshit kung-fu poses. I will pummel this bastard. I will leave him bloody. Then I’ll make Rebecca pay. She’ll wish she stayed with me. When I was ready, just like my Daddy taught me, I unloaded a hay-maker on him.
Jesus Christ! Butcher is fast! His head moved like an inch and I missed. What? Fuck me, my arm— OUCH. My shoulder “popped” and the pain just blossomed. I couldn’t move my arm and then he punched me in the kidney and my knees let go for a second. He punched me a second time and my legs just collapsed. I turned my head and focused on Butcher. He stared at me like he was scraping a bug off his windshield. Then he let go of my wrist, and my face hit the gravel.
More gravel crunched and Butcher talked to someone but I hurt too much to care. Any second now, Ronnie and Grainger would deal with Butcher. Then someone, Butcher? kicked me in the side. My friends did nothing!
Ronnie and Grainger helped me get to my feet. As we stumbled towards the parked cars, Ronnie told Butcher, “This ain’t over.” It was over for me.
The drive to my house took forever. They helped me onto the porch and Ronnie opened the door. Dad was in the kitchen; he must have heard the door. “Junior? Get in here now!”
I shook off Grainger’s help and limped my way into the kitchen. Dad sat at the table with his lawyer. Glasses of dark brown whiskey sat on the table in front of them. They both stared at me, but Dad could see right through me.
Dad’s lawyer, Joseph Waters, spoke, but Dad shushed him with a gesture. Dad said “You look like shit, what happened.”
I shrugged, it hurt to shrug. “We ran into Rebecca Schmidt and her new boyfriend at the fair.”
Dad gestured for me to shut up. He turned to Grainger, “You, Grainger, come here.”
Grainger stopped in front of Dad. “Grainger, tell me what happened.” Grainger looked at his brother, but Dad used his hands to turn Grainger’s head back to him. Dad said, “Look at me.” Grainger, pale faced, stared at Dad like a rabbit stared at oncoming headlights. Dad let go of Grainger’s face and took a sip of his whiskey. “Good, now tell me what happened and,” poking Grainger in the chest, “leave nothing out.”
It took almost twenty minutes, but Grainger told him everything. When Dad and his lawyer finished questioning Grainger, they had the entire story.
Dad looked over at me. I could see him thinking, but I couldn’t tell what he thought, no one could. “Stupid boy, I told you to stay away from the Schmidt girl.”
“Fuck Da...”
Dad was out of his seat and he slapped me across my face before I could finish. He pulled me over to the sink and turned on the overhead light. “Take off your shirt and pants, I want to see what kind of marks you have.”
“What? Fu...” Another slap across my face.
“Do it now!”
I took my clothes off. My side hurt just moving my arms.
Dad stepped over to Ronnie, “Little Ronnie Thomas, you manipulative little weasel. You talked my son into doing stupid shit again.”
“No Mr. Hanslein, it wasn’t like that.”
“You lying little shit, take your worthless brother and go home.”
Ronnie and Grainger just about ran out of the house; the front door slammed shut as I hung my pants over the sink. Dad took me by the shoulders and turned me around. His touch was gentle, almost like he cared. I stood facing the sink, and he ran his hands over my right side and back.
Dad’s lawyer Mr. Waters spoke, “He’s marked up for sure.”
Dad said, “Yeah, shit. What happens if we send him to the hospital?”
“If the police are looking for him, they’ll arrest him. We’ll have a hard time keeping him out of jail for this. Assault, Aggravated Assault, Kidnapping, Stalking, hell, they’ll throw the book at him.”
“Can you beat it in court?”
“Doubtful, I can see getting some of the charges dismissed. But with his history, he will do time.”
“Shit, put your clothes on, boy, and go pack a bag. You are going away.”
I complained that I hurt too bad to do anything, but he didn’t care. He kept yelling at me to hurry. Upstairs, I took a handful of Tylenol to help with the pain. When I got downstairs with my bag, he hustled me out the door. One of Dad’s crew had a car waiting, and we headed out.
Kevin Butcher:
The Friday before the Labor Day weekend, the Schmidts and I discussed plans for the upcoming holiday weekend. I volunteered to smoke a Boston butt. Both Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt liked the idea. Mr. Schmidt mentioned that he hadn’t had real pulled pork in years. Mrs. Schmidt turned to her husband and said, “My slow oven roasted pork tenderloin isn’t ‘Real Pulled Pork?’”
Mr. Schmidt, blissfully unaware of the minefield he created, lectured us on the virtues of slow cooking with charcoal briquettes. With the parents distracted, I suggested that Rebecca and I drive to my house and return with my grill.
The parents stopped talking, their heads swiveled in unison, and their eyes locked on me. Mrs. Schmidt had a smile that said, “I see right through your plan.”
Mr. Schmidt looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “Is your grill something special?”
“No, sir, it’s just a regular Weber kettle grill.”
“Then why don’t you use mine?”
“You have a grill?”
“Mr. Butcher, with the time you’ve spent in my barn with my daughter, you should have seen my grill by now.”
With that one question, my dream of a naked Rebecca in my hot tub evaporated. I’ve seen a few things out in the barn, the view up Rebecca’s skirt was one I remembered often. But, I’ve never seen a grill. I couldn’t tell Mr. Schmidt what Rebecca and I did out in his barn, but I had to tell him something. Rebecca’s father watched me with a stern expression. I knew exactly what to say. “Um...”
The corners of his mouth twitched, then he chuckled. “Young man, I wish you could see yourself.” Mr. Schmidt looked across the table to his wife. “Rachel, I thought only Rebecca blushed like that.” He turned back to me, “When we’re done eating, I’ll show you the grill.”
While Rebecca and her mother cleaned up after dinner, Mr. Schmidt and I walked to the barn. Mr. Schmidt glanced at me twice before he stopped walking. I stopped with him. Mr. Schmidt turned. “Mr. Butcher, a moment please.”
“Sure, is there a problem? Something I can do?”
“Yes, Mr. Butcher, Kevin, there is. It is important that you resist your desire to protect Rebecca with violence. Our religious beliefs are firm; we do not resist violence. Please remember this while you are courting my daughter and while you live under my roof.”
“Mr. Schmidt, I don’t know what else I could do. I don’t have the ability to stand by.”
“Kevin, the ability you think you lack is strength and perhaps conviction. You have both in abundance.”
“I’ll try. That’s all I can do.”
“Kevin, we are all human. We try and sometimes succeed. Life is not meant to be easy. Now let’s go find the grill that has, somehow, escaped your notice.”
Mr. Schmidt had his grill back in a corner and covered with a canvas tarpaulin. We carried it out to the yard and Mr. Schmidt took the tarp off. The grill looked like a flattened Weber kettle, but it was old. Under a layer of dust, it was bare unpainted metal. I stepped back and examined it. The oddly flattened kettle sat in a red painted three-legged frame. Mr. Schmidt watched me with a curious expression, “Do you recognize this, Mr. Butcher?”
I’ve seen pictures of these before. “Is this an original Weber Kettle?”
“You do know something besides computers and cables. Yes, this dates back to 1952. I bought it at auction for $20.00.”
“Wow, I’ll clean it up and use it.”
Klaus Hanslein Junior: Hanslein Hunting Camp
Dad loves his hunting camp. He won it in a card game years ago. I remember the original owner used to come over and try to buy it back. Dad ended up punching the guy a lot and he stopped coming around. One of the reasons Dad likes this place is that it’s bordered on three sides by a state-owned hunting preserve. When I was a kid, Dad and I would walk out the back door, through the woods, and into one of Pennsylvania’s State Game Lands.
Now, I hated the place. I was so fucking bored. I stood at one of the back windows. Pellet rifle in hand. When they first dumped me here, I would see an occasional squirrel. But I’d used this old pellet rifle to shoot them all. Now, there wasn’t anything to kill.
In between shooting squirrels, I jerked off fantasizing about Rebecca. My favorite was fucking her while she cried. I jerked off so much that my dick had blisters. Yesterday morning, I looked through the medicine cabinet and found an old tube of analgesic ointment. If it worked for sore muscles, it had to be good for a sore dick. That had been a mistake. It felt good at first, kind of like thick hand lotion. It even warmed up, but it didn’t stop there, it started to burn. That shit didn’t scrub off easy and the only soap that dad had here was that gritty Lava soap. Now my dick burned and ached so much, it didn’t even feel like a dick. I went back to looking for squirrels, pellet rifle ready to kill something, anything.
A car roll up outside. I peeked through the shutters, Dad and a guy named Joey the Mule got out. Joey works for my dad and is a mean looking bastard. I glanced around, shit, last week I trashed the cabin and never cleaned it up.
Dad studied the mess and fixed his eyes on me. “You have thirty minutes to clean this shit up.” He and Joey stepped outside and sat on the porch.
One hour later, Dad worked me over for trashing his cabin. We left, and I sat in the back of Dad’s Cadillac Escalade. Joey drove, and Dad had shotgun.
Dad told me his lawyer called, the police weren’t looking for me and it was OK for me to come home. Now dad gave me the new rules: Stay on the property and keep away from Ronnie and Grainger. No going out to start shit, and no calling Rebecca. If I did anything stupid ever again, he would cut me off. Dad turned to Joey, said, “Tell him what happens to stupid people.” Joey looked at me in the mirror, “Stupid people get dead, kid, I’d hate to do it to ya.” I did my best to look scared, but dad wouldn’t do that.
The next morning, I called Ronnie and invited him and Grainger over. They brought a case of an off-brand energy drink. The drink tasted horrible, but the caffeine and sugar buzz rocked. Grainger swore when he drank enough, it made him see colors and shapes. I don’t know about, “colors and shapes” but it made me feel angry. Ronnie wanted to head out, but I told him that dad grounded me. He thought it sucked because he had an awesome idea. He wanted us to shadow Butcher and wait for a good time to pick a fight with him.
“Ronnie, maybe I haven’t drunk enough of this horse piss. But how is that a good idea?”
“Dude, sorry, you don’t know what we found out. Rebecca’s dad has been meeting with his pastor.” Ronnie turned to Grainger, “Get that journal out of my glove box.”
While Grainger fetched the journal, Ronnie told me what happened. On Sunday mornings if he and Grainger are up early enough, they’ll go to church parking lots during the services and look for unlocked cars. Sometimes they find a wallet stuffed between a seat and the center console. Sometimes purses. Last weekend, they got into the Schmidt’s van and found Mr. Schmidt’s journal.
Ronnie snatched the book out of Grainger’s hand and said, “Hang on while I find it.” He flipped through the book muttering. “Yeah, here. Listen to this: ‘This morning, Tommy described how Kevin defended Rebecca at the fair. Tommy said, “Kevin moved like a ninja and demolished Klaus Junior and it was awesome.” I reminded Tommy that God commanded us through Jesus to “ ... not set yourself against the one who is evil.” Tommy accepted this, but I remain concerned.’”
I asked, “How much of this shit do I have to listen to?” Grainger making karate chop and kicking motions didn’t help.
Ronnie held up his hand and said, “It gets better. He continued, “Here is another: ‘I have spoken with Pastor Luke again about Kevin. Pastor Luke is adamant that I dissolve Kevin and Rebecca’s courtship and evict Kevin. I am loath to do this as my daughter and Kevin truly love each other. It amuses Rachel and I to see them together and it reminds us of our courtship. I will talk with Kevin and express my concerns.’”
I shook my head, “So? How does this help me?”
“Dude, if Butcher starts another fight, if we get it on video, him giving someone a beat-down, Mr. Schmidt will break him and your girlfriend up and kick Butcher out of his house.”
I saw it, holy shit! Ronnie’s plan was perfect! Without Butcher telling Rebecca his lies, she’d have to come back to me. We’d be together again! “We’ll do it! My dad can go fuck himself.”
Kevin Butcher:
Labor Day weekend and Rebecca and I lounged on the glider. Rebecca sat sideways on my left, with her bare feet resting on my lap. We both had books, she read an old-school paperback and I read an e-book, displayed on my phone. I split my attention between reading my book and rubbing her feet. From time to time, my free hand found its way under her dress and up her legs. I could get away with it if I didn’t linger too long or go past her knees. If I lingered, or moved too far, she would swat my hand with her paperback. My protestations of just being a “Good Boyfriend,” fell on unappreciative ears.
My knuckles stinging from my most recent failed exploration, I consoled myself by massaging her feet. I looked down, “Sweetheart, I’m not into feet, but I would make an exception for yours.”
She looked up from her book, “What are you talking about?”
I sat my phone down and picked her left foot up with both hands. “There are guys who prefer a woman’s feet over anything else.”
Interested, she marked the page and closed her book. “I’ve never heard about that.”
“Doesn’t your posse know everything?” Since we started bundling, Rebecca had displayed a surprising amount of theoretical sexual knowledge. I teased her about it and she admitted her girlfriends were the source. Apparently, there are limits to the collective knowledge of her posse.
I continued, “Some guys are only interested in a woman’s feet. Those guys will focus all their affection on feet.”
Rebecca wiggled her toes, “What part of me are you focused on?”
“Sweetheart, I’m more of a generalist. I love each part of you.”
“You don’t have a favorite part?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I haven’t seen everything—yet. After I’ve had the time to make a detailed study, I’ll let you know.” I started to lift the hem of her dress and bent down for a peek.
Rebecca readied her paperback, and the screen door from the kitchen squeaked open. My fingers released the hem of her dress as her book connected with my battered knuckles.
Mrs. Schmidt stepped out onto the porch and her eyes took in the tableau. Rebecca sitting with her bare feet on my lap. The hem of her dress lifted to just above her knees. Me rubbing my battered knuckles and Rebecca holding her paperback as if it were a weapon. All Mrs. Schmidt said was, “Don’t you both look comfortable.”
Rebecca started to sit up but Mrs. Schmidt stopped her. “Don’t be silly, there isn’t anything wrong with what you’re doing. Although,” she paused, “you might not want to let your father catch you like this.”
Rebecca and I agreed. My knuckles stung! She hit me hard that time.
“I was wondering if you two might run to the ice cream shop. You could surprise your father with a milkshake.”
Thinking aloud, “Maybe I can get something cold for my knuckles?”
Mrs. Schmidt asked me, “Did you hurt your hand?”
Rebecca snickered.
Interlude: Schmidt Farm Back Porch
Mrs. Schmidt sat on the glider while Rebecca put her sneakers on. “I overheard Kevin telling you how some men prefer women’s feet.”
“He was trying to be funny, Momma.”
“He was also telling you the truth, and it’s not just feet. Your Uncle Frank? Well, your Aunt Ruth caught him being overly familiar with one of her shoes.”
“No!” Rebecca paused while tying her sneakers. “What did she do?”
“Well, it’s a rather harmless fixation. She told him to keep those shoes out in the barn and that he needed to stay away from the rest of her footwear.”
Kevin Butcher:
I remember reading about an ancient Chinese curse, “May you live in interesting times.” After we arrived at the ice cream store things became interesting.
The local ice cream and sandwich shop’s building started out as a Dairy Queen. Now it is a classic Mom and Pop business. Their menu listed eight different themed burgers. One burger had egg salad piled on top. Rebecca held my arm while we waited. We were the fourth customers in line and, before long, two families queued up behind us. As I looked around, I noticed two scruffy looking guys standing on this side of the parking lot. They looked familiar, and I stiffened as I recognized them. These are the two guys that held Rebecca’s arms at the fair. As I watched them, it became clear they also watched us. Rebecca must have noticed my stillness, because she turned and asked, “What’s wrong?”
I nodded at the two thugs, “Recognize those two?”
“Oh!” Rebecca stiffened. “The Thomas brothers, Klaus’s friends.”
“What the fu ... Sorry sweetheart. What are they doing here?”
“They could be here to buy ice cream? Just ignore them.”
The Thomas brothers kept their distance, and I kept my eye on them. Mr. Schmidt’s admonishment against violence conflicted with my desire to hurt these two men. How dare they show themselves!
The three cute Mennonite girls behind the counter were members of Rebecca’s posse. While they and Rebecca exchanged greetings, one of them, whose name tag read, “Rebecca2,” eyed me speculatively. She said, “How do you like bundling with Rebecca?” I grinned as Rebecca pulled me away from the counter.
I said, “Rebecca2?”
“It’s an old joke, when we met at school, we said that her parents named her Rebecca too. It stuck.”
While we stood off to the side waiting for our order. I noticed the Thomas brothers walking towards us. I placed myself between them and Rebecca. The taller one hung back, but the shorter one stopped just out of my reach. We studied each other, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. He spoke past me, “Hey, Rebecca, you’re looking fine today.”
Rebecca stepped to my side and replied, “Grainger Thomas, you should be ashamed.”
Grainger sidestepped maintaining his distance from me and put himself in front of Rebecca. I turned with him. “Rebecca Schmidt, I don’t have anything to be ashamed of; I’m not the one whoring around.”
Time seemed to slow. Rebecca gasped, Grainger leered, and I moved. My left hand locked around his throat and I brought my right hand up for an open palm strike to his face. Grainger’s facial expression changed from a leer to terror. I allowed myself a moment to savor his fear. Grainger squeezed his eyes shut, his hands raised as if in supplication. I focused my energy for this one perfect strike and Rebecca grabbed my arm.
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