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“Sweet lord have mercy!” The familiar phrase slips out of my mouth before I can contain it because in the stall, lying in the dirt and hay and slop, is a man. Not just any man, but the most beautiful man I have ever seen.
A shock of pitch-black hair falls around his face, clean but disheveled. His sharp jaw looks like it could cut glass, while his aquiline nose sits above perfectly bowed lips. Beneath his blue flannel shirt, the man’s muscles bulge: strong, prominent and masculine. His shoulders are broad and daunting, while his defined arms indicate that he’s obviously known hard work throughout his life. His exposed skin appears to glisten with sweat, although I can’t tell if it’s from the stifling heat or something else.
When I finally recover from my shock, I take stock of the situation. From his drooping lids and slumped position against the stall door, I can tell something is wrong with him. Letting my gaze drift lower, I see a huge gash in his lower thigh. Oh shit! There’s blood all over his jeans, and as I watch, new blood continues to ooze from the wound. Immediately,I spring into action.
“I’ll be right back!” I tell the handsome stranger, but he merely groans again. Quickly, I run back to the front porch for the bucket of water I’d been intending to use for the garden. Holding it carefully so as not to spill its contents, I lug the heavy pail back to the barn. Once inside, I also grab a pair of shears and a clean horse blanket from the stack at the front. I dash back to the injured stranger.
My urgency is warranted though, because when I get back to the stall, a thick pool of dark blood is enlarging on the floor.
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.
Nothing.
As a result, I lead Miss Bethy out of the building and into her pasture. I decide to leave the barn door open, so I can check in on the man without have to wrench the squeaky doors open and disturb him.
Excuses. You just don’t want him to know you’re sneaking peeks at his prone form.
As if to prove to myself that I have better self-control than that, I head to the spigot, refill the bucket, and tend to the garden. But my resolve quickly begins to wane, and IswearI hear a sound coming from the barn. Plus, I need to get some tools for mending one of the fences.
It’s perfectly logical to check in on him while I’m in there. He’sinjured and could be bleeding out. It’s the responsible thing to do.I practically run back to the barn but tiptoe once I’m inside and head straight to the back. The man is still sleeping, a soft snore escaping from his nose every few breaths. I shake my head at the whole situation.How on earth did he get here?
