Page 87 of Tagging Bases

I grab the milking stool, the same one I used to perch on as a kid when this was my daily chore. Except now, my ass has gotten too big for the tiny wooden seat. I have to balance precariously as I hunker down next to Daisy’s swollen udder. She shuffles restlessly, clearly not thrilled about my sudden return.

“Easy girl,” I murmur, giving her flank a reassuring pat. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be, all right? I know I’ve been gone a while, but I still remember how to do this.”

Famous last words. As soon as I reach for her teat, Daisy lets out an ornery moo and stomps her hoof, nearly upending me andmy little stool. Milk splashes everywhere as I scramble to keep the pail from tipping.

I can’t help but chuckle as I regain my balance. Some things never change.

Once I settle in and find my rhythm, my mind wanders back to last night. The creaking bed, Harrison’s moans mixing with the absolute filth spewing from his mouth, my fingers working his cock. His body aching for more until he finally came with a howl that made my bones melt.

Fuck, just thinking about it has me half-hard in my jeans. I shift uncomfortably on the milking stool, trying to focus on the task at hand. But it’s no use. The memory of Harrison’s face as he came is branded into my brain. It was beautiful and nothing like my garish expression, I’m sure.

I don’t think I’ve ever had such a visceral reaction to ejaculating. My whole body felt like it was being electrocuted; I couldn’t think, I couldn’t see. All I could do was feel, my heart nearly splitting in two at the thought of who was making me react in such an over-the-top way.

I’m so lost in the memories of the best sex ever that I don’t hear the barn door creak open. It’s not until a large hand claps down on my shoulder that I’m jolted back to reality. “Jesus Christ!” I yelp, nearly leaping out of my skin.

My hand jerks involuntarily, tugging hard on Daisy’s teat. She lets out an indignant moo and jerks away from me, sending me pitching forward. I slam my face right into her udder, my open mouth getting a blast of fresh, warm milk.

Spluttering and coughing, I rear back, my face dripping. Over the sound of my father’s booming laughter, I can hear milk pattering onto the straw-covered floor.

“Shit, Dad!” I grumble, wiping my eyes. “Warn a guy next time, would ya?”

“Sorry, son,” he chuckles, handing me a worn towel. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You must have been pretty deep in thought there.”

My face flushes even redder than it already is, and I pray to every deity who might be listening that my dad doesn’t notice the rather obvious bulge in my jeans.

I focus intently on wiping the milk from my face, avoiding my dad’s amused gaze. “Yeah, I was thinking about all the chores that need doing,” I mumble.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s exactly what has you all hot and bothered.” His tone is knowing, and my blush deepens. Damn it, I should’ve known I couldn’t hide anything from him. The man’s got a sixth sense when it comes to his kids.

Desperate to change the subject, I toss the damp towel aside and gesture to the half-full milk pail. “Mind giving me a hand with the others? Daisy’s being her usual charming self this morning.”

Dad grabs a spare stool and plops his ass down. “Sure thing. You work on her; I’ll take Bessie. Between the two of us, we should be able to get these fine ladies milked before breakfast.”

I nod gratefully, turning back to Daisy. She eyes me balefully, as if daring me to try daydreaming again.

“Tractor’s acting up again,” Dad says after a few minutes of silence.

“Seriously? That thing’s older than I am. Do you think it’s finally time for an upgrade?”

Dad sighs. “It should be, but I’m not ready to part with it yet. Oh, and Mrs. Jenkins’s dog got into our coop last week.”

“What?! Did you lose any chickens?”

“A couple,” he admits, shaking his head. “Roy chased it off before it killed the whole coop.”

As my dad talks, I watch his hands move with practiced ease. He’s been doing this for years, day in and day out, never complaining and always finding something to joke about, even when things get tough. It’s hard not to admire that kind of dedication.

It makes me wonder if this’ll be Roy’s life one day. Tendingthe farm when Mom and Dad get too old to manage on their own. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Guilty, mostly.

“I still can’t believe she hasn’t put that dog down yet,” I say, trying to shake off the creeping sense of responsibility.

“You know how she is,” Dad chuckles. “Thinks every critter deserves a second chance.”

I’m quiet for a moment, watching him finish up with his cow while I pretend to check my phone for the time.

“You okay over there?” Dad asks, giving me a sideways glance that feels as if he’s X-raying my soul.

“Yeah.” I shove my phone back in my pocket and grab another bucket. “Just thinking about how much I’ve missed this place.” Which isn’t even close to a lie.

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