Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Okay, Darcy, you’ve got this. Think of all those baby calves you’ve helped bring into the world! Nothing could be messier than that. What’s a little blood, anyways?
The man groans, shifting in the hay. As my gaze drifts along the length of his chiseled body, it occurs to me that maybe my hesitation isn’t so much the blood, but rather that I’m reluctant to remove his pants. Through the thick denim jeans, I can see the outline of powerful legs, formed from years of sport or hard labor or both. I shift my view a little higher, and blink at his private area. I blush as I notice his manhood outlined tight against the zipper, like an enormous eggplant. Oh my god, really? Or maybe a giant cucumber would be a better comparison. I feel my mouth go dry as I imagine what he’d look like naked.
The man grunts, a note of real pain in the sound.
Guess you’re going to find out, you absurd hussy, I berate myself for my ogling.
I pick up the shears and carefully cut into his jeans at the knee, slicing the thick fabric until I’ve exposed his entire leg and – much to my amazement – his massive, hardened cock.
Oh my god, he’s commando under his jeans!
Forgetting my resolve to stop dawdling, I can’t help but take a minute to allow myself to observe the huge, manly specimen in front of me.
His member is thick and powerful looking, with a rosy crown and massive veins running along the sides. It’s flaccid at the moment, yet the shaft reaches almost down to his knee, making my mouth go dry. I feel a strange tingling in the pit of my stomach and my breathing quickens. As I pant, my breasts start to heave. I can feel the tips of my suddenly taut nipples straining against my shirt, their perkiness poking against the thin material. My panties dampen, and I gape openly at the man as I imagine how he might feel deep inside my most womanly place. I let my eyes raze his body and back to his face, where I notice his eyelids flutter ever so slightly.
Crap, he might wake up! I realize. And just think how awful it’d be if he noticed you ogling him like this, I chastise myself. Stop it right this instant! This man is bleeding out, so your behavior is ridiculous.
The internal self-lecture chastens me, and I quickly cover the half-naked man with a worn horse blanket, glancing up to see if he’s opened his eyes or not. The lids remain tightly closed, and I feel relief that he didn’t catch me staring.
I tuck the old blanket tight around his waist in a band, careful to cover his cock but leaving his thigh exposed. It’s not the cleanest option, but at least his naked member is now covered, and I can focus on helping him. I look at the wound. It’s shallow, but a few inches long and in need of cleaning.
For the next several minutes, I remove bits of debris from the injury and clean it as best I can with the fresh water. The bits look to be some sort of wooden fragments, and I’m curious what could have happened to him. Fortunately, the wound seems recent, and appears quite clean.
Tearing off a piece of my own shirt, I bandage the gash and sit back to take in my work. The handsome stranger is unconscious now, which I hope is for the better. Tenderly, I touch his forehead, feeling for signs of a fever, but also wanting to know what his scruffy face would feel like under my hand. He’s cool to the touch with what seems to be a normal temperature, and I’m relieved and slightly unnerved by how nice it is to caress his face. No infection. I promptly remove my hand, determined to be professional about the whole situation.
I stand up and consider how to get the man in the house. Gingerly, I lift one of his arms, seeing if I can bear his weight.
A ton of bricks would be lighter!
I change position, attempting to lift him up from behind but nearly topple over him, my breasts rubbing against his stubbly face.
Dammit Darcy. Stop before you hurt him, or yourself, I tell myself, trying to ignore the fiery heat of his massive form.
Defeated, I pull his upper half until he’s half-sitting against the stall, and tuck another horse blanket behind his lower back. Satisfied that I’ve done everything I can for the strange man for now, I stand and let out a huge exhale.
Miss Bethy moos loudly, over-due for her milking and letting me know it.
“Shhh!” I call out to her. As quietly as possible, I grab the pail and relieve the old heifer of her milk. In between the spatters into the bucket, I strain my ears to listen for signs of the man stirring or any moans of pain.