Continuing my "Farmers Daughter" series....love to hear your..

Continuing my "Farmers Daughter" series....love to hear your thoughts.

Chapter 4

What the hell am I doing? Shit. I have no plan. I haven’t interacted with Frank since the day I was mowing, and my brain’s unsure now if what happened that day even happened. I’m only a few feet away from him now. Say something, Fiona. Say ANYTHING.
“That was quite the spill you took down there,” Frank spoke first. Thank God.
“Yeah, not one of my finest moments,” I reply with an embarrassed giggle.
He looks me up and down and I can feel his eyes focusing on my nipples showing through my wet, white, cropped tee before moving down to my soaked leggings and I wonder if he can tell I’m not wearing panties under them.
“Are ya cold? I might have an extra shirt or something in the truck over there.” He gestures over to his truck, parked backwards where the dirt road ends at the barnlot. He must have unloaded something when he got here, to have chosen to back it in.
His offer makes me suddenly wonder if my appearance offends him. Or is he just being polite? As if on autopilot, my eyes wander down and catch a glimpse of his package forming a mountain under the fabric as if two tectonic plates just collided in full force. Only, it’s me who feels the shudder. So, I didn’t imagine it.
With that, an idea just came to me.
I quickly look back up at him. “Um, sure. Are you sure? I mean, if you have one. That’d be great,” I say through a shy smile.
He looks surprised that I took him up on his offer, followed by what seemed like a flash of disappointment. I don't think he wants me to change out of my wet shirt. But I have a test for him, which may help prove to myself that I’m not going insane.
He walks over to his truck and I follow a few steps behind. He opens the passenger door and reaches into the cab, shuffling around whatever’s in there, and comes back out holding an old flannel shirt with dirt and hay stuck to it. He whips it against the side of the truck a couple of times, but maybe only 2 pieces of hay shake off. At least he tried.
“I’m sorry, all I got’s this one. It ain’t been worn, but it’s been tossed around in the truck for a while, so it don’t look the greatest.” He holds it out for me and I step up and take it from him, trying not to look disgusted.
“That’s totally fine, thank you.” I give him a smile of appreciation and look around for a place to change. There’s the livestock barn that the cows aren’t currently in, since they’re all out in the pasture. I could go in there, but that’s not really ideal for my little test here.
“You can change in my truck, if you’d like,” he said, as if reading my mind.
“Ok, perfect. Thanks.” I walk over to the driver’s side, so that the truck is now between me and him and place my fingers on the door handle. I could just change in the cab, like he said. I’m starting to doubt the idea that I was so bold about two seconds ago. I look around at my surroundings again. Besides the two of us standing here in the barnlot, there’s nothing or no one else around but cows in the distance, random birds flying in and out of the barn and the sound of the wind blowing through the short cornfield bordering the dirt road. Fuck it. I’m gonna do it here.
While staying on the driver’s side, I turn my back to the barn, hang his shirt on the side rearview mirror and start removing my wet t-shirt. I feel the sun hit my breasts, instantly warming them which relaxes my nipples for a second, but then the breeze grazes across them, and that, combined with the residual moisture on my skin from my shirt, feels cool and they’re suddenly back at attention. What a rush! I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and soak in the heady feeling of being topless outside. I go to reach for the flannel shirt, replacing it on the mirror with my wet one, and I pause for a split second as I let out a small gasp. In the rearview mirror, I can see Frank standing back at the barn, but he’s turned right toward me, watching me change. Gotcha! I knew it! He’s totally perving on me!
I grab the shirt and lower my head as I work through opening the buttons. Why is an unworn shirt already buttoned? Keeping my head down, I peer up into the mirror, as slyly as I can, and watch him watching me. He’s got the thumb of one hand tucked into his waistband and the other hand — the other hand, looks like it’s playing with his zipper. It reminds me of the dream I had when he looked like he was about to pull his cock out, while watching me almost fuck another guy. Holy shit. He either can’t tell that I see him looking…or he doesn’t care. The latter thought sends a small chill down my spine. But I keep my resolve. I open the shirt and as I swoop it behind me like I’m putting on a jacket, the motion heaves my breasts a little higher and I turn a little to my right, towards the truck door to use the window as a larger mirror. He probably caught some side-boob view there. It’s not my fault he moved to stand back there. Or that he’s turned towards me. Or that he’s watching. My whole body is reeling with adrenaline.
I finish buttoning the shirt, which is quite large on me, but this isn’t exactly a fashion show situation, so I don't care. But it is something of a situation.
I turn to walk back towards the barn and Frank quickly turns also, seemingly pretending like he wasn’t just watching me the whole time.
“Thanks again.” I say to him as I walk to where he had been standing and quickly steal a glance back to where I had been, just to see what he could see. Yep, it’s a pretty good view from here. I look a little to the left and spot two hay bales on the ground, laying by the hay trough in the middle of the dirt corral in front of the barn. Ah, he must have brought that hay. That’s why the truck is backed in. “So…what are you working on, up here?”
He looks at me like I have two heads. I don't think he expected any further conversation with me.
“Oh, I was just about to throw a couple of them hay bales in the feed trough for the cows before goin’ home for lunch.”
“Oh yeah, it IS about that time. Can I help? Since I’ve distracted you from your work? I’m sure you’re hungry and want to get going. It’s the least I could do, for the shirt.”
He looks uncomfortable with my offer. Either that or the fact that the python from last time is fully back, trying to pop the zipper out from his work pants and that’s making him uncomfortable. The zipper he was just playing with. I feel like I may be poking a bear, but I can’t seem to stop myself right now. I’m extremely intrigued by the effect I seem to have on this old man. Besides, he seems harmless enough. What’s the worst that could happen? He gets a little turned on and I get a little thrill out of it? Sounds like a win-win for both of us.
“Alright, yeah. I could use the help. You’re right,” — then in a deeper voice — “I am pretty hungry.”
His eyes flash something quickly as he says it and it sends a tingle all throughout my body, like the kind you get when something jumpscares you and your limbs go numb for a second. Only, I didn’t visibly jump. Instead, I felt frozen. I saw the hunger he’s talking about in that flash. A darker need that I don’t think I truly saw before. I take a deep breath. Proceed with caution, Fiona.
“Ok, great.” I flash him a look back, not too dissimilar from the one he just gave me. Another prod at the bear. “What can I do?”
“Ya ever picked up one of these square bales?” he asks. He turns and points at where the bales are, and his thick bulge also points with him. I can’t stop looking at it. I wonder if it’s all him, or if he stuffs something down there. It’s a dumb thought, but I really can’t believe what I think I’m seeing.
“Ummm…I think I’ve tried before, when dad was stacking some in the other barn, but that was a long time ago and I wasn’t strong enough to lift it. I’m probably still not. Don’t you take the baling wire off to put it in the trough? So the cows don’t eat it?”
“Yeah, but not ‘till after you toss it in, so it doesn’t fall apart before ya get it in there. Here…take my work gloves…you’ll need’em to grip the wire. It can cut through yer hand pretty easy.”
He takes his gloves off and approaches me to hand them over, and his trouser snake looks extra excited to be within striking distance. I slip my hands into each glove. They’re warm from his hands and for some reason it strikes me how personal it feels to put a man’s gloves on that he was just wearing. It’s like I can feel his hands on mine. My face flushes at the thought.
“Ok, all set. Which bale first?” It’s obvious which bales are going in the trough, since they’re sitting right beside it, but I still want him to lead the way.
He walks over to the first bale and silently gestures for me to come grab it. I walk over and get both sets of my fingers around the wire, which fit pretty tight against the bale, and try to lift it. To my surprise, I can get it off the ground but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it high enough to toss it in the trough. It’s about 3-4 feet high and 8 feet in diameter, and these suckers are heavy. The trough looks like a ring-shaped cage, of sorts, and the cows eat the hay through the wide-spaced bars that make up the sides of the ring. That’s probably the size of cock-ring Frank would need. STOP IT FIONA. I need to get it over the top of the ring and Frank can tell I’m going to need help, so he moves in behind me, once again, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope he would. Some teeny-tiny part of me wants to feel his massive cock against my ass again. What the hell is wrong with me? That’s so twisted, Fiona.
He reaches around me like he’s giving me a backwards bear-hug (oh, there’s that bear I’m poking) and grabs the baling wire on either side of my hands to help me lift it up. I can only assume his hands are used to the wire, so he’s not worried about not having his gloves. I instinctively squat a little bit to get better leverage and to try to get my left thigh under it to help hoist it, and when I do, I practically sit my ass right into his lap. Holy fuck. If we weren’t wearing pants, he would’ve impaled me from behind, right there.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” I can’t help but apologize for totally ass-ramming his dick, and suddenly I’m super embarrassed that I just acknowledged what happened out loud.
“Naw, it’s alright – don’t stop or you’ll drop it,” he responds, as if nothing even happened.
That’s weird. Maybe it IS fake and he didn’t feel that.
He props his left foot up onto the bottom bar of the trough cage, for balance – or maybe leverage – and the movement makes me stumble back into him again, causing the weight of the hay bale to fall against my chest and now my whole back and ass is pressed up against his front. I feel his heat down my whole backside and I swear it seems as if he’s grinding against me. His rigid cock, through his pants, is sliding up and down my ass crack and the material of my leggings is so thin, plus they’re still damp, that I can feel his bulge against me clearly, as if I were naked from the waist down. Oh my fuck. It’s definitely all him down there. Rock solid, old man boner. Eww, old man boner. Why did I think I wanted this touching me? We’re both breathing heavily from the exertion and I’m losing my grip on the bale, because I’m losing my focus at the same time. I attempt to reset my grip with the bale in mid-air, which only rocks me against him even more.
“Almost there!” he grunts. “Don’t stop, Fiona!”
I can’t do this. I’m freaking out inside. I need this to stop. NOW. I open my fingers to drop the bale, but he’s still hanging onto it, keeping me trapped between it and him. I panic.
“I’m out! I’m done! LET GO!” I shout.
He immediately lets go and the hay drops to the ground in front of me with a heavy thud and I try to move away from him so quickly that I trip and tumble right over the bale.
“Oh shit, are you ok?” he asks, as he takes a step towards me, hand outreached to help me up.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I try to get to my feet as fast as possible, by myself. “I got it.”
My shirt is covered in more hay, my right arm hurts from landing on it and my pride is all but shattered.
His shirt. His shirt is covered in hay.
I forgot I’m wearing Frank’s shirt and suddenly the events of the last 15 minutes sink in and I feel disoriented.
“Sorry, I gotta go. I forgot mom wanted my help with lunch,” I lie. I start walking away, but I also feel bad for leaving so abruptly that all I can do is turn around and say “thanks for the dry shirt.”
“Yer welcome.” He doesn’t say anything more, as he stands there looking at me. He doesn’t even move. I turn back around and keep walking down the dirt road that leads back to the house.