The Country Girl - Part 2
by Jon
Sarah impresses.


Part 1 of this story is here:-

http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/1misc17/sarah01.txt

"Time to get up," Sarah jogged my shoulder. "It's past five thirty."

I looked up and saw the tall, rawboned twenty-eight year-old who ran this
isolated farm. She'd given me shelter the previous night when my car had
broken down - in return I was to lend a hand with the chores..

"Whuh?" My eyes were bleary. I wasn't used to being awake at this hour. "You
said you'd take me to town today."

"No I didn't," She shook her head. Tousled blonde hair came down to her
shoulders. "I said that when I rode into town I'd get Abe to come out and tow
your car in. Now get up. You can help with some more chores."

She was dressed in jeans and a blue sleeveless top that left her rugged
shoulders bare, and exposed her dense, tanned abdominals beneath. She was the
same height as me, six feet tall, but thin and rangy where I was more heavily
built at 200 pounds. Her long, good looking face was tanned by the sun and
topped with a shock of tousled hair.

"It's too early!" I said, turning over in bed.

"It's just the right time," she said. I suddenly felt two arms burrowing
beneath my body, forcing their way between me and the mattress. Before I knew
what was happening, I felt my whole body being lifted off the bed, complete
with bedclothes, as the two steely arms scooped me up. I struggled to free
myself, but found myself cradled with a mass of sheets and blankets five feet
off the ground in the tall young woman's arms. Her arms felt so solid beneath
me, I didn't feel in any danger of falling. She was very strong.

"This is the time we get up in this house!" she said firmly. "And I want you
to do as we do." Disorientated, I just lay there, sprawled out in her arms as
she carried me down the corridor, then out onto the landing.

"Hey. Mommy. What are you doing with Mr Landon?" Again I saw her two small
kids staring up at me with amusement. I struggled to free myself, but couldn't
get out of the tangled mass of sheets and blankets in her arms. This was
really humiliating.

"Just getting him out of bed," the young woman said. "City folks like him
don't usually get up till nearer noon."

"Noon?" said the five year old Dottie.

"That's right. But we're going to show him different, aren't we?" With that,
her arms relaxed beneath me, and I fell heavily to the wooden floor, the
impact cushioned by the mass of bedding.

I disentangled myself from the mass of blankets, went back to pull on my
clothes, then followed her downstairs to the kitchen.

"Look." I said. "I need to be at a meeting at company head office tomorrow. I
can't afford to waste any more time here.."

"Then the sooner we get the animals fed, the sooner I can fetch you some
help," she said, handing me a coffee.

The two kids went out to feed the chickens as Sarah led me across to a large
barn with penned hogs and sheep. Running free inside was a single ram that had
broken out of its pen. Sarah strode across to it, reached out one of her long
arms, and grabbed it by a curved horn. Her arm went rigid, the dense muscles
defining and setting firm as she held the creature still. I could see the
eighty pound ram twisting and writhing as it struggled to free itself, but
nothing it could do could break the tall twenty-eight year-old's steely grip.
It tried to tear its head and neck free, its whole body wrenching from side to
side. But Sarah's arm didn't move an inch until its struggles eased. Then she
dragged the imprisoned ram toward the pen, holding it still with her long arm
as she used the other to refasten the gate.

"Now we better feed the hogs." She handed me a small penknife and pointed to
some sacks of feed in a pile nearby. She bent, picked up a 100 pound sack in
her lanky arms as if it weighed next to nothing, and strode over to the
hogpens as I watched. I was impressed by how easily her arms tossed around the
heavy weight. The long biceps swelled into chunky boulders as her arms flexed.
I could see the big, squared abdominals ripple sexily as they emerged from the
waistline of her faded jeans.

I bent to pick up a bag of feed. It really surprised me how heavy it was. The
hundred pounds was bulky dead weight, and hard to hold. How did this girl
carry it so easy? She was 150 pounds, and I was 200, but I found it a real
struggle to keep up with her. She was aready at the far feed trough. Her rangy
arms raised the big sack smoothly to shoulder height, swinging it out over the
pen until it was directly above the trough. Gripping one corner of the 100
pound sack in her right hand, she let go with her left, holding the whole sack
suspended from just her right hand. Her left then slit the sack open, letting
feed spill into the trough.

I copied her, but raising the hundred pound sack to shoulder height took an
incredible effort. I got it to just about chest height, but my arms were
burning and wanting to give up. It was a real struggle to force the heavy,
bulky sack any higher. I had to use my legs to provide the final push. By then
I was sweating all over. And when I tried to support the feed sack from just
one hand, my arm gave way. The heavy sack tore itself out of my hands and
crashed into the feed trough.

"What are you doing?" Sarah strode across to me, another hundred pound sack
supported in her lanky arms.

"It slipped," I said.

Without a word, she reached in with her left hand, and hauled out the damaged
sack with just that one arm, balancing it on top of the railing. "You don't
have to do it like I do," she looked at me. "You can rest the sacks on top of
the barrier while you cut them open."

I managed like that for two more bags - as she managed four in the same
period. "That'll do," Sarah said as she saw me dripping with sweat. Indicating
that I should follow, she led the way to the next outbuilding where there were
several horses in large stalls.

"Can we see the baby, mommy?" Earl, her six year old, said as the two young
kids came in from the chicken house.

"Sure." Sarah walked to the large pen where a mare and her young colt were
standing. She placed one hand on the five foot top rail, and vaulted it
smoothly, her long body sweeping over the fence in one fluid movement. Her
booted feet crunched firmly on the sand and straw inside the stall as she
landed. Then she went over to the almost four foot tall colt standing next to
its mother, and just picked it up off the ground in her rangy arms. Her solid
biceps swelled and hardened as she cradled it, its long legs dangling free as
she carried it over to where the kids were waiting. She held the foal steady
to show to the two kids while they stroked it.

"Is it heavy?" Dottie asked.

"Not for me," Sarah said with a grin. "But your mommy has strong arms. I guess
the little fella must weigh about 120, 130 pounds." She hefted the colt in her
arms, raising it a few inches then letting it drop again, estimating its
weight. "Yes. I'd say just over 130 - about fifteen pounds less than your
uncle Pete. Check its hooves for me, will you?" She raised her arms again,
lifting the foal even higher until its body was nearly six feet up in the air,
and out of reach of the two children. Only its legs now hung down to where
they stood. "Do its hooves look okay?"

The children examined its feet one by one. "Yes," they nodded as Sarah's arms
lowered the foal back to waist height again. "Okay,"she said, " that's enough.
It has to go back to its momma now. " She carried it back to its mother. "Go
in and get ready for your breakfast, kids."

Sarah strode over to the far side of the barn, picked up one of the three foot
wide bales of hay stacked there, and tossed it right across the barn toward
me. It crashed to the floor in front of me and burst apart.

"You were supposed to catch that," she said. "Pick it up and put it in the
hopper."

"Okay." I picked it up. It was heavier than I thought. "How much do these
weigh?" I asked.

"Oh. Forty, fifty pounds," she shrugged. "Now catch!" She hurled another bale
toward me with those lanky arms of hers. It arced through the air. I stretched
out my arms to catch it, but it hit me so hard! My arm twisted backward, I
gave a cry of pain, and fell heavily to the floor.

"You're not much good at this sort of work, are you?" Sarah looked down at me.

"I'm not used to it.." I explained weakly.

"I have to do this every day," she frowned, stretching her lean-muscled arms
above her head. "Anyhow. You're not much help here. Go indoors and make the
kids some breakfast. I'll finish this."

I did as she said, going inside and cooking some ham. I'd just about finished
when she came in and helped me serve up.

Afterward, she strolled out on to the porch. The sun was getting up now, and
she had a heavy punchbag hanging from a chain at a corner of the porch. I gave
it a couple of playful punches that hardly moved it. Sarah walked up to it,
and unloaded three heavy punches that set it rocking wildly. Then she stepped
to one side and blasted in four more. All were impressively hard, denting the
hundred-pound bag deeply and setting it jolting on its chain, "This burns off
a little energy - and tension," she said, increasing the pace. "When I'm mad
or frustrated, I normally just take it out on this." Another ten big blows
went in, sending the heavy bag jerking and swinging across the porch. The
noise of the blows slamming in drowned out everything else as her corded arms
tore into it, even the noise from the barns, and the kitchen radio. She
stepped back and drew a breath, watching the bag jump and squeak on its heavy
chain.

"You like to try?" she said.

I shook my head. I was afraid of not being able to land such an impressive set
of punches. This girl could hit heavy.

"Hi, Ms Sarah," a voice came from behind me. I looked round to see a man of
about thirty. He was slightly chubby at five foot nine and around 160 pounds.
"I've got the irons ready."

"Good." Sarah nodded. "This is Joe. He lives with his uncle, up the valley
some. He helps out when I need it. We have the new colt I bought, to fix up
before I go to town."

Joe led the way to the corral where he had a brazier burning. Sarah set down
her mug of coffee, climbed on to the lowest rung of the six foot fence, then
vaulted it cleanly to land inside. Running around the corral, was a slender
colt nearly as tall as she was. She picked up a looped rope, and threw it
around its neck. Then, as Joe and I watched, she began to reel it in. The colt
resisted and tried to draw away, but Sarah held firm, leaning away from the
colt, her long legs braced as she fought it. I watched the long muscles snake
and ripple along her arms as she pulled. The colt tried to resist, tearing
against the rope, bucking, and trying to pull its body away. But Sarah never
gave it any slack. When the young horse tried to pull away, she braced herself
against it, not giving an inch, then, when it tired, and its struggles eased,
she would reel it in.

I watched the solid deltoids at her shoulders and the long, tanned muscles of
her arms flaring and rippling as the young horse was drawn steadily in toward
her. I was surprised how firmly she reeled it in. The colt was at least twice
her bodyweight, but that didn't help it at all. It was loose-limbed and
immature, where Sarah's hundred and fifty pounds was lean, hard-packed muscle.
The colt tried to resist, but her pulling force was amazing. The young horse
staggered and stumbled toward her.

Once the colt was within reach, Sarah dropped the rope and threw her arms
around its head and neck, linking then firmly about its muzzle. "I've got him
now," she called to the waiting Joe. Her arms hardened, tightening their grip
around the colt's head, so that it couldn't move. Then she began to twist with
her strong arms, forcing the colt's head up and around.

Again she braced her legs, throwing all of her bodyweight into the turning
pressure, wrenching the colt's nose upward and twisting its head around. The
young horse struggled fiercely to break free, but to my surprise, the tall
farm girl's arms were like steel. Once she'd set them rigid, the colt could
not budge them a fraction of an inch, however much it tried to tear its head
away. And Sarah continued to apply more pressure.

"You okay?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," Sarah grinned. "He's trying to fight me. He's quite strong, but he's
starting to tire." The colt's head was horizontal now. " I'm going to put on a
little more pressure.." At once the muscles on her arms defined even more
starkly. I saw the colt stagger sideways.This girl was really strong. It's
head was pointing upward now at close to 45 degrees. The colt stumbled again
as it sidestepped, trying to stay upright, its neck under severe pressure. The
tall blonde gave a soft grunt, applying another surge of force, and suddenly
the colt lost its balance completely, falling heavily to the ground with Sarah
on top of it.

The colt struggled to rise, but Sarah kept its head in a vice-tight grip,
maintaining the pressure on its neck that kept it pinned down. Keeping her
body away from its flailing legs, her corded arms continued to apply the
pressure. She held it flat on the ground as she moved her legs across its
body, clamping them across its front legs. Its back legs still thrashed
helplessly.

"Shall I do it now?" Joe asked.

"No. Wait till it stops fighting." Her arms tightened yet again, applying
still more pressure. The colt's struggles weakened immediately. "Hush," she
said, "calm down." But she maintained the fierce pressure until it gave up
struggling.

"Okay!" she yelled to to Joe.

He came forward with a long iron from the brazier, andapplied the brand. The
colt struggled briefly as the hot iron burnt the mark into its skin, but the
tall twenty eight year old held it in an iron grip. Sarah waited until it had
calmed somewhat, releasing its forelegs, then its neck, and stepped back.

The colt stumbled to its feet and ran off round the far side of the corral.

"You shouldn't have done that," I said as she swung herself back over the
fence. "You could have been injured."

"I wasn't in any danger," she shook out her blonde mass of hair. "I know what
I'm doing. The colt may be bigger than me, but its neck's a lot weaker than my
arms," She spread her long arms wide on either side of her. "If I'd really
needed to, I could have snapped its neck."

"You think so?" Joe had unstrapped a heavy leather pad from the side of the
corral and came toward us.

"You need another demonstration?" Sarah said. "Just 'cause you're hiding
behind that big bolster, doesn't mean you're safe," Her right hand closed into
a bony fist. "I can still wipe that smirk off your face."

"How?" Joe grinned, walking up to her, holding the bolster in front of him.
"I've got protection.."

"Yeah?" Sarah didn't draw her fist back more than six inches. She just moved
it sharply forward, hard into the thick leather bolster Joe was carrying.
There was a dull crump as it drove in.

"Ooooffff!" Joe groaned in surprise and pain as he was sent hurtling backward.
Staggering beneath the unexpected weight of the tall young woman's blow, he
let the bolster fall from his arms.

"Owww!" He gasped. "That hurts! - even through the bolster! Ouch!" He cried
again as he felt his stomach. "There's a great big bruise coming up! That's
not fair!"

"You can hit me back if you want," Sarah grinned, indicating her densely
muscled stomach with both hands. "Hard as you like..."

"Okay." I could see that Joe was angry, his eyes watering. He stepped forward,
drew back his fist, then drove it hard into her unprotected stomach.

There was a loud thwack as his fist stopped dead on impact, halted by the
dense wall of muscle. Sarah didn't wince. In fact she was still smiling, her
arms spread wide.

"Is that the best you can do?" She mocked gently. She was clearly enjoying
this. "Wanna try again, kid?"

He tried again, drawing back his fist even farther this time, and hitting
harder. But again, his fist just seemed to bounce off the brick wall of her
abs. "Owwww!" He cried, holding his twisted wrist as he backed away.

"Yay!" Both kids cheered Sarah's victory.

Irritated, Joe made a sudden lunge to grab her, but Sarah's right arm just
bent round his waist, then her two arms hoisted the 160 pound man off his feet
like a baby. With a broad grin on her face, Sarah lifted him up past her
shoulder, before dropping him over the corral fence, where he landed flat on
his back, on a pile of straw.

Angrily he clambered back over the fence.

"Want to go again?" Sarah grinned, her lanky arms open wide, hands beckoning
him forward.

He squinted, then ran at her. But Sarah just swept him up again like a doll.
Her rangy arms lifted him, turning his body until they held him upside down,
seeming with no effort at all. Joe was heavier than she was, but Sarah was
just so strong. He cried out, his legs kicking helplessly in the air as she
carried him back toward us,

"Put me down!"

"Okay." she said, but her arms raised him still higher, then she turned and
slammed him to the ground. The impact this time was far harder than when she'd
just let him fall. Again, he landed flat on his back on the hard-packed earth,
but this time he groaned out loud as all the wind was knocked out of him. He
lay there for a moment, half-dazed, before finally getting slowly back up.

"Are you cooled off yet?" Sarah asked.

With a roar, the goaded Joe charged at her.

"I guess not," she said as she stepped to one side. Now one long bare arm went
round his neck, and tightened. The large muscles of her right arm swelled as
it pulled him up and on to his toes. He tried to struggle, but he couldn't do
anything to free himself as her left arm stretched out to grab her mug of
coffee.

"Sometimes Joe gets a little over-excited," she said, taking a sip of the
coffee. "So I need to have ways to calm him down." As she spoke, her right arm
continued to tighten its hold round his neck. His face went deep red. His legs
began to kick and flail helplessly. He seemed to be gasping for air. His hands
clawed at her arm as she took another slug of coffee, but the arm that
imprisoned him was like stone, and he couldn't move it a single millimeter. I
watched as his flailing grew steadily weaker, his eyes rolled back and he went
still. He was out cold! Even so, Sarah kept up the pressure for a few moments
more as she took another long sip of coffee. Then, at last, her arm relaxed,
finally releasing him. He slumped to the ground.

I was amazed. She'd put Joe out with just one arm, and with what had seemed no
effort at all.

"Will he be okay?" I asked.

" He's not hurt bad." She bent and picked him up in her arms, his limp arms
and legs hanging loosely down, "Just a bit of play fighting. Anycase Joe knows
that I'm mistress on this farm, and nobody challenges that."

"What are you going to do with him, mommy?" The little girl said.

"We'll just leave him over there to wake up." She said, carrying him up across
the broad yard to the house, then laying him down on a chair on the porch.

She stood up and looked at him. He still showed no sign of coming round.

"What about me?" I asked. "I need to get to the city."

"Just stay there," she ordered, walking to the stable. Moments later she led a
large horse out of the barn and saddled it. I noticed a big rifle in the
saddle holster. "Joe should come round sometime in the next half hour," she
said, swinging herself up into the saddle. "But I'll go into town now. Don't
try to leave. These woods can be dangerous. You must promise to stay here and
mind the kids until I get back."

It seemed I didn't have any choice. "Okay," I nodded.

"Be sure you don't let me down," she said, turning the horse, and riding off
down the track.

continued...