A few miles from our house there was a smallriver with a little motel, catering mostly to hunters in the fall. Inthe spring it was quiet, so us k**s g...ot to play there. The owner, whoeveryone called Uncle Owen even if they weren't related, looked andtalked something like Clint Eastwood in a Dirty Harry movie exceptthat he had a beard. He often wore a pistol in a hip holster, usuallyunloaded but it still fit the image of a frontier sheriff or somethinglike that. He even called himself the Sheriff. She primped each morning carefully as if each passing day she would go to a soirée; she was beautiful and I would tell her so, each time I praised her beauty or the clothes she was wearing or an special meal she has prepared as if she were a young girl she would blush deeply.Near Christmas, inspired, I remembered a Christmas fifteen years ago with my grandparents and I went to the storeroom in the back of the house and brought up an old Christmas tree that we had first used when I came on. Actually, their muscles looked as if they had muscles of their own.As I settled down beside Jethro, the frigidly cold air from the window air conditioner flowed under my blouse. Its icy fingertips caressing my big nipples making them grow rigid. Our hips and thighs touched as I settled down beside him. Jethro tried to give me more room but I didn't want more room. The touch of his muscular thighs was making my little clit tingle. As we started to eat, I spread my legs apart, pressing my thigh. She starts screaming. He throws her onto a dirty old mattress in the corner of the room. "Shut up bitch!" he yells at her.She is scared and lays there crying. She is starting to figure out what is going on. "Where are we? What are doing to me?" she cries."You'll see, now shut up!" Dave demands as he straddles her body and sits on her abdomen and pins her shoulders back with his big, strong hands. She starts to panic and screams. He raises a hand and slaps her face roughly. "I said shut up!.