Cain put the last two cannisters on the rack and turned to survey his work. It had been a long day, but the milking facility was spotless. The scent of chemicals lingered in the air and a few spots of the floor were still damp, but otherwise the entire place was immaculate. The pneumatic tubing system hissed and sputtered as the last bit of cleaning fluid passed through, sterilizing it and readying it for another five years of service. Not that constant cleaning wasn't always a priority, but the purge, as Eric Swanson liked to call it, really cleared the pipes. For about a week the whole facility would run like a Swiss watch. Then the clean scent would fade as the musk of cattle replaced it. The sweet smell of fresh milk and the slightly sour smell of stale milk lingering somewhere in the system would drown out the rest.
Cain walked over to the center of the room and wiped the sweat from his brow. It was quiet. Eric and the other Swansons had told him to go home for the day, but Cain wanted to finish up. They were up at the house having dinner by now, probably. Eric and his wife, Nancy, and their daughter, Emily, all sitting around the dinner table chattering about everything needed to bring the herd back. Like something out of a Rockwell painting. The workman's lip curled into a sneer as he shoved his handkerchief back into his pocket and shuffled toward the door. The lights shut off, their buzz reverberating for a few moments in the darkness, and Cain stepped into the evening air.
Unseasonably warm, he thought. The same thought he'd had every day for a week. The weather never went too terribly cold this far south, but usually a strong bite of cold tinged the early morning and late evenings. Not lately, though. Could just as well be mid-June. Cept there ain't no crickets or mosquitoes. Seems they've already moved on. He walked over to his truck and stripped to the waist, tossing the soiled work shirt into the passenger's seat. He grabbed a bag from the bed of the truck and pulled out a fresh pair of clothes from inside, letting them rest on the driver's seat as he enjoyed the warm night air on his skin. Kicking off his work boots, he threw them into the truck bed, and then unbuckled his pants, letting them drop off as well, leaving him standing in his boxer briefs wishing it was cooler. I need a shower. Grabbing his clothes bag, he headed back into the milking house.
The facility had a stall in the back corner normally intended for washing tools and other equipment, but in a pinch it could be used as a shower with some helpful rigging. Working on a dairy was rarely a clean experience and it was useful to wash off some of the muck from time to time, to the point where a bar of soap and some clean towels was kept on hand. Cain tossed his bag on the ground nearby, stripped out of his boxers and stepped under the nozzle. With a rattling hiss, icy water hit his skin and caused an invigorating rush of blood to clear his head a bit. Something's wrong, he realized. I'm being watched. He slowly turned around to look through the open room. He'd not turned on the big overheads, leaving large parts of the warehouse sized area in shadows. The running lights along the floor and ceiling did little more than add to his suspicions. He strained his senses to see if anything moved or made a sound, but he only heard the running water and the drip of the drain. Paranoid, he thought, but the feeling wasn't so easily dismissed.
It could be Nancy. The idea jumped into his mind, and not for the first time. Maybe she came down to invite me up to supper. She's done that before. Could have seen me in my underwear going into the milkhouse and decided to be a little sneaky. She could be watching me right now, looking at my dick and wondering what it would feel like in her mouth. Cain cock twitched as the fantasy played out in his mind. Nancy was the definition of a milf. Tall and toned body with tits that constantly seemed to be working their way out of her clothes, despite the fact that she spent most of her time working in the same much that Cain did. Sometimes it felt inevitable that she would walk up to Cain, pull off her shirt and present those milky jugs for him to do with as he pleased. Begging for it half the time, really. His hand took hold of his cock and gave it a soapy jerk as he leered into the shadows.
The water temperature dropped suddenly and shocked Cain out of his horny stupor. His hand dropped his cock and he leaned into the icy stream of water trying to subdue the strange mood that had taken him. Even this, though, would be giving Nancy a show. Leaning forward with his head under the water and his arms propped on the back wall would show off his back and ass to any would be voyeurs. Cain didn't think of himself as a handsome man, but he did consider himself fit. Hauling around farm equipment all day was enough to build a good bit of muscle, especially when he spent most of his free time in the gym. He couldn't make his protruding brow or his oversized nose any better, but he could at least have a good body. It didn't amount to much around Small Creek, but whenever he visited friends in Nashville, it made hooking up through dating apps a lot easier. Girls on there didn't care about his face so much as his abs, the size of his dick, and whether or not he was safe to be around in private. He only had control over one of those things and so he kept working at it.
It did put him in stark contrast to Nancy's husband though. The story of the two was old gossip in Small Creek. Even as an outsider, Cain felt like he knew it all as if he'd been there when it happened. Eric and Nancy fell madly in love with each other when Nancy was only sixteen, putting Eric in his late twenties. Nancy got pregnant and kicked out of the house, coming to live with Eric's family on the Swanson dairy farm. From that minute on, the rumors of Nancy's unhappiness spread. From the way the old folks down at the bar talked, Nancy and Eric spent the next eighteen years on the verge of divorce. If that was true, it had all been worked out by the time Cain took a job as a farmhand. It hadn't taken long for either of them to open up to him. Gotta talk about something while you work, after all, and the whole Swanson family was happy to share their life story. Seems not a lot of other folks enjoyed their company all that much. Eric and Nancy remained pariahs and even Emily had trouble making friends in school.
From their version, as Cain learned, they were a happy couple for years until things got worse on fronts they couldn't control. Eric's father died and left him the dairy, which was up to its gills in debt. Nancy's family kept their distance, disowning even their grand daughter, so they didn't have any way to climb out of the weeds other than hard work. That meant their daughter helping out with free labor and cutting short her dreams of a vibrant social life in the small town. The strain took a toll on their marriage, that was plain enough. Cain figured that the age difference came into play a little quicker than Nancy thought it would when she shacked up with Eric. Farm work was hard and took a heavy toll on anyone. Wasn't hard for Cain to see how it would take a lot of Eric's better virtues. The old man had put on a belly and drank a good bit more than most people would prefer. He was a nice boss and seemed to get along with his family decently enough, but Cain could see that it was more out of obligation than anything else. The barman at the Spanish Moss wouldn't hesitate to opine on the subject of obligation wearing a man down.
All of that left a pretty woman in her late thirties alone on a farm with no company other than her daughter, an old worn out husband, and a farmhand with a penchant for showing off his body. Their flirtations weren't unnoticed, of course. Eric knew, but he didn't seem to mind all that much. Cain wondered if he was the sort of fellow who would step aside so that his wife could have a little fun. But the job paid well and Cain wasn't exactly ready to move on yet. Bouncing from one town to the next had been easier when he was seventeen, but people seemed less interested in a twenty-seven year old high school drop out than a seventeen year old. One had a history of leaving things behind while the other still gave people hope, he supposed.
Frowning, Cain shut off the water and the silence rushed to surround him, interrupted only by the slow drip of the drain. No, the boss's wife isn't lusting after you. No, the boss's daughter isn't jealous that you might want to fuck her mom more than her. No, the boss himself isn't gonna magically stand aside and offer to let you fuck his wife. You're just a fuckup, same as you've ever been. Lucky to not be caught jerking it in the damn milking house and getting fired for it. Don't worry though, I'll find some way of screwing this up. Just like the last one and just like the next one.
