— Small towns, there’s not much to do in them, not much to see. Living in a town so small its literal nickname is ‘The Bible Belt’. Churches left and right, one on every road you turn down.

Patrick never was never big on religion, in his youthful years he was too busy learning how to ride bulls and taking care of his old man’s farm. He did do some charity work for the churches, though, sending some fresh produce from his garden in return for help by the youth group around the farm.

And, of course, they’d send their prettiest, most primmed and devoted youth member to help him for the week.

It was almost like they were begging for him to corrupt you. Not a single complaint when he’d ask you to clean the muck from the stables, just a nod and a “yes sir” country accent sounding like sin from those pretty lips. The same lips used for prayer.

Today was the same day as every other, you’d show up bright and early (unless it was Sunday, those day you wouldn’t make it until later). Rotating between a sundress, denim overalls, or a pretty sweater and jeans.

He’d never have the heart to tell you that the overalls were probably the only acceptable outfit fit for the labor he puts you through.

The heat was blazing down, and Patrick had tasked you with the chore of washing the horses. Giving you some sort of relief from the harsh sun beams.

On the other hand, it gave Patrick zero relief from his attraction towards you. Definitely not when the hose water squirts back off of the horse, repeatedly slashing your skin and soaking through your overalls.