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“I have complete control over my bowels, thank you. I am just a little…unsure about this beast.”
“Nah, not Winnie the Moo. She’s so friendly. You can pet her.”
Jasper gulps behind me and I reach back, cupping his hip and pulling him to stand at my side. If my hand slips a little and paws at his ass, it’s not my fault. It’s human nature.
“Stop touching my ass,” he hisses, and I let out a chuckle as the cow moves so close that she rests her chin on my shoulder.
Jasper gasps, now face-to-face with Winnie.
“Go on. Pet her. She’s nice. They don’t bite. Usually.”
He huffs. Winnie huffs, and then I see Jasper’s hand reach out and touch her head.
The cow blinks at him, and Jasper recoils, melting into my back once more.
“I did it. I’m done,” he says, and I let out a chuckle as I push Winnie back, giving us some space. “She’s actually quite soft.”
“She’ll meander out when she’s done looking around.”
I turn around and see Jasper staring down at his hand in surprise.
“This hand touched a cow,” he tells me, and I bite down on my bottom lip.
“Yeah.”
“And it wasn’t steak. It was breathing through its nose holes.”
“She will never be steak. We use her for milk. Wanna milk her? I can totally show you how to do that.”
“Hell no,” he grumps. “I am not touching her titties.”
A laugh erupts out of me, and he glowers. “Why are you laughing?”
“It’s an udder. Not titties. God, you’re ridiculous.”
He folds his arms across his chest, and I want to uncross them, want to hold them against his sides as I slide to my knees and take his cock into my mouth.
But I don’t.
Last night was a fluke, a miracle some would say. I can’t imagine we will be doing that again.
God, I hope we do that again.
“Come on, let’s go feed the chickens and collect some eggs.”
He eyes me warily.
“Will there be poop on the eggs?” he asks. “Because I swear that’s not what I’m used to, Bennet. My eggs come washed and in a container.”
“I know what you’re used to.”
He eyes me but follows me to the coop. He’s clutching his nose with his fingers, shutting it tight as he breathes through his mouth. “Oh my gods. It smells in here too. Is this what farm life is? Just shit everywhere?”
I chuckle at that because…yeah, sort of.
Cluck Norris is inside the cage, having been put there last night, and he cockadoodles loudly at us. He crows at all times throughout the day. It’s not just the morning like people think. That fucker will crow at midnight. He does what he wants.
The chickens are clucking happily, probably hoping for some food, and I oblige, opening the cage door and tossing them some seed. They noisily peck at it, and I bite back a laugh when one ignores the feed and comes up to Jasper, pecking at his pant leg.
