as he left.
Chapter Eleven
Ten days had passed, and she was finally beginning to feel better. Maple had lost weight. Her clothes were too loose, and each day Mariela brought her rich broths, rice cooked in rendered fat, and guacamole to help her fill out again. Maple pecked at it, but her stomach was still on strike.
After the night J.B. had helped her move back to her room, Maple had seen very little of him. It crushed her, causing the anxiety monsters in her mind to swoop in, but it made sense; he hadn’t said anything. Not really. He was a boss, and she was an employee.
An employee that desperately wanted her boss, so much that it hurt to look at him.
She was having a harder time keeping the edge off her desire, too. In her bed each night she’d roll over and masturbate furiously, rubbing so hard it bruised sometimes to get off. Maple looked for things to fuck herself with. The smooth, rounded handle of an unused spade worked at one point. The cravings were tempered, but never sated. She’d come, she’d cry, and she’d sleep fitfully, dreaming of J.B.
Maple hadn’t left the house. Inside, she’d wander to the kitchen and eat with the men until it wore her out. She’d nap. Then she’d wander the house, looking at the dark paintings. J.B. gave her a stack of books, all thick classics, to read. She’d sit in the living room, the windows letting her pretend she was outside, out with her horses, while she tried to lose herself in the stories.
She could see her stable from there, off to the side and in the distance. Each day Raúl, Tim, and Jones did a quick clean before taking the horses. She knew they didn’t have time for it, and the guilt battered at her. The view meant she also saw J.B.
He went to the other stable, the forbidden one, each day. J.B. left in the morning just after the men rode out. She’d watch his figure grow smaller, disappearing into the stable that was so hard to see she had to strain her eyes. He wouldn’t return for hours at a time.
He didn’t just go in the morning, either. Sometimes it was late evening. Once in the dead of the night. Maple had only seen because she’d left her bedroom in frustration; hand cramping and pussy aching from a failed attempt at release.
The curiosity burned .
Now, though, she was sitting in the glass-walled living room, curled up with a book, when she saw something straight ahead. There was a car at the gate. She tracked its long approach. Just like home, she heard the gravel rumble beneath its tires.
J.B. walked in and paused when he saw her. He was in a suit. Maple had never seen him in a suit. It was tailored, light gray. His tanned skin stood in contrast to the crisp white of his shirt. The beard was gone, and his face was angular and handsome. When he turned to her, his lips were pressed into a thin, white, line.
“Maple--” he stopped, sounding frustrated. The air felt thick. Weird.
He wants me to leave. Whoever was arriving was someone she wasn’t meant to see. A flash of envy blinded her as she realized it might be a woman. She wondered if she should leave-- she didn’t think she could handle seeing another woman.
There wasn’t time for him to continue. The vehicle had parked. It was an SUV, black, with tinted windows. From the back seat stepped a suited man, designer shades hiding his eyes. He was trim, and the top buttons to his dress shirt were unbuttoned. J.B. went out the front door, avoiding her glance.
Maple watched with interest, and no small amount of relief, as they shook hands. J.B. was stiff, his shoulders pulled back and tight. The stranger was relaxed, making a joke, laughing. He clapped J.B. on the shoulder and drew him into an embrace.
They spoke some more and walked to the forbidden stable. J.B. never looked back.
The book lay on Maple’s lap, forgotten. Nothing changed on the ranch. Every day was the same. This was the first
Chapter Eleven
Ten days had passed, and she was finally beginning to feel better. Maple had lost weight. Her clothes were too loose, and each day Mariela brought her rich broths, rice cooked in rendered fat, and guacamole to help her fill out again. Maple pecked at it, but her stomach was still on strike.
After the night J.B. had helped her move back to her room, Maple had seen very little of him. It crushed her, causing the anxiety monsters in her mind to swoop in, but it made sense; he hadn’t said anything. Not really. He was a boss, and she was an employee.
An employee that desperately wanted her boss, so much that it hurt to look at him.
She was having a harder time keeping the edge off her desire, too. In her bed each night she’d roll over and masturbate furiously, rubbing so hard it bruised sometimes to get off. Maple looked for things to fuck herself with. The smooth, rounded handle of an unused spade worked at one point. The cravings were tempered, but never sated. She’d come, she’d cry, and she’d sleep fitfully, dreaming of J.B.
Maple hadn’t left the house. Inside, she’d wander to the kitchen and eat with the men until it wore her out. She’d nap. Then she’d wander the house, looking at the dark paintings. J.B. gave her a stack of books, all thick classics, to read. She’d sit in the living room, the windows letting her pretend she was outside, out with her horses, while she tried to lose herself in the stories.
She could see her stable from there, off to the side and in the distance. Each day Raúl, Tim, and Jones did a quick clean before taking the horses. She knew they didn’t have time for it, and the guilt battered at her. The view meant she also saw J.B.
He went to the other stable, the forbidden one, each day. J.B. left in the morning just after the men rode out. She’d watch his figure grow smaller, disappearing into the stable that was so hard to see she had to strain her eyes. He wouldn’t return for hours at a time.
He didn’t just go in the morning, either. Sometimes it was late evening. Once in the dead of the night. Maple had only seen because she’d left her bedroom in frustration; hand cramping and pussy aching from a failed attempt at release.
The curiosity burned .
Now, though, she was sitting in the glass-walled living room, curled up with a book, when she saw something straight ahead. There was a car at the gate. She tracked its long approach. Just like home, she heard the gravel rumble beneath its tires.
J.B. walked in and paused when he saw her. He was in a suit. Maple had never seen him in a suit. It was tailored, light gray. His tanned skin stood in contrast to the crisp white of his shirt. The beard was gone, and his face was angular and handsome. When he turned to her, his lips were pressed into a thin, white, line.
“Maple--” he stopped, sounding frustrated. The air felt thick. Weird.
He wants me to leave. Whoever was arriving was someone she wasn’t meant to see. A flash of envy blinded her as she realized it might be a woman. She wondered if she should leave-- she didn’t think she could handle seeing another woman.
There wasn’t time for him to continue. The vehicle had parked. It was an SUV, black, with tinted windows. From the back seat stepped a suited man, designer shades hiding his eyes. He was trim, and the top buttons to his dress shirt were unbuttoned. J.B. went out the front door, avoiding her glance.
Maple watched with interest, and no small amount of relief, as they shook hands. J.B. was stiff, his shoulders pulled back and tight. The stranger was relaxed, making a joke, laughing. He clapped J.B. on the shoulder and drew him into an embrace.
They spoke some more and walked to the forbidden stable. J.B. never looked back.
The book lay on Maple’s lap, forgotten. Nothing changed on the ranch. Every day was the same. This was the first
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