0 comments/ 21644 views/ 3 favorites A Walk on the Wild Side Ch. 01 By: cowgirlblues Sam was the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on. He had thick, dark, wavy hair, iridescent, sea green eyes and broad cheekbones straight from Rembrandt's later depictions of Christ. He wore his suffering heavily like a condemned man, the pain of his stigmata eased only by the permanent halo of whisky and cigarette smoke which surrounded him. His body was boyishly lithe and muscular, as you would expect of a young man in his early twenties, and he moved with the grace of a lightly wounded gazelle. He was a man of few words and the first few times our paths crossed, he barely managed to make eye contact without retreating into some hidden corner of his being. I was instantly fascinated, immediately intrigued. Who was this man? What secrets did he harbour? What had happened in his past to make him appear almost a shadow of a man, albeit a very alluring one? I couldn't put my finger on it then, as I still cannot to this day, but he had an air of the mystical about him which was impossible to ignore. Over the course of several weeks and months, Sam and I spent an increasing amount of time together, two misfits whose paths had crossed at critical, but very different times of their lives. I was freshly out of a divorce, myself wounded but sufficiently anaesthetized so as not to be aware of the extent of my injuries. I had suddenly and unexpectedly found myself alone and adrift in middle-age without much of a clue of where I was heading, except towards a swiftly approaching precipice. I was propelled forward by my thirst for new experiences and adventure, things that had sadly been lacking in my very circumscribed adolescent years, without an adequate understanding of the dangers that befell vulnerable women in my years. As for Sam, well, it was clear that he had not escaped trauma himself in his young life. And now he found himself in a country that was not his own, living in a dank North London basement, making music and surviving on his wits and the ministrations of those around him. He barely slept, and when he did, it was usually curled up in a foetal position on a narrow, two-seater sofa in his kitchen at dawn or when the whisky ran out. It was a lifestyle so alien to me, a driven, successful, career woman, that I couldn't help but dip my toe into it, and eventually a whole lot more. At first my fascination was simply that: curiosity about a fellow human whose quiet company I somehow found solace in. We would sit at his makeshift kitchen table, often in semi-darkness, talking, smoking, drinking and listening to music. My initial feelings towards him seemed to me innocent in nature, the feelings of a childless, directionless woman for a lost boy yearning to be loved. It was a tender friendship which came as a surprise to me and contained no element of the lust I was accustomed to feeling for attractive men. I usually went for the aggressive alpha males who wasted no time in identifying me as their prey, homing in on me and going in for the kill, swiftly and mercilessly. Sam was different. We discovered that we shared a love of old-school American comedy and spent many evenings together, huddled around his ailing old laptop, watching our favourite episodes until the early hours. At first, on those nights, I would make my way home on the last bus, my echoing, empty flat a mere ten minute ride away, but as we became closer, I would often stay the night on the sofa bed in his studio/living room, which he made up for me, leaving a bottle of water by my side, while he curled up in the kitchen on the small two-seater, in a position that defied gravity. As the days and weeks floated by, my spirits buoyed by having found an unlikely companion to drink my nights away with, I suddenly found myself spending more and more time with Sam. I could hardly wait to get out of the office, go home to change and then make my way up to his studio, where he would cook me dinner, we would share a bottle or two of wine, head up to the local pub for a few pints and then back to his place again to listen to music. On one occasion, he cajoled me into playing a form of musical statues, where one person could only dance as soon as the other had stopped. That same evening ended, hilariously, with him demonstrating the art of "fake dancing", a cheat's version of breakdancing, where one person assists the "breakdancer" in that well-known manoeuvre, the backspin, by spinning him around on the floor whilst holding him by the legs. I could barely breathe, I laughed so much! Weren't 42 year old women supposed to spend their evenings listening to Radio 4 and darning their husband's socks? The realisation that I was beginning to feel something other than friendship for Sam sneaked up on me suddenly one evening when we were at a noisy bar together, listening to live music with a group of mutual friends. The friends gradually peeled away and I was left with Sam, leaning against the railings above the sunken dance floor/makeshift stage, listening to him talk about his best friend, a woman in her early 50's who had taught him how to play the guitar as a child. It dawned on me, at that moment, at around 3 o'clock in the morning, that I had become completely infatuated with this unusual young man, a man who chose to spend time with me, a divorced woman 20 years his senior, instead of raising hell with men and women of his own age. From that moment on, I was hooked. There was no going back. Everything about him had reeled me in: his personal tragedy, his masculine beauty, his wit, his astonishing command of the English language, his imagination, his scent of sweat, tobacco and Bulgari cologne, the complete absence of rules and boundaries in his life. It was an intoxicating, combustible mix which I didn't stand a chance against. We continued our routine into the spring, spending 3 or 4 evenings a week together, talking until the early hours of the morning, becoming comfortable in each other's company. Only now that I had woken up to reality, the pure joy of being around him and in his company was tinged with a gnawing longing for what seemed like the impossible. After we had spent the better part of 4 months in each other's company, I was beginning to give up hope of my nascent feelings for him being reciprocated. Perhaps this young man only saw me as a mother figure, someone who tended to his material needs and kept loneliness at bay, rather than as an object of desire. I had even begun to despair that, despite his physical beauty and charm, he lacked that essential erotic spark. He never showed any overt interest in me or any other women who crossed his path, as one would have expected for a man of his age and circumstances. Oh how wrong I turned out to be! By the time summer came around, I was on the verge of giving up, resigning myself to the fact that I had formed a close bond with another lost soul which would remain forever chaste, like the intense feelings fuelling a pre-pubescent romance. Having accepted that this was the more sensible course of action and one which would keep our special friendship intact, I continued to engineer excuses to see him and spend time in his company, with little hope that anything would ever happen. One Friday, I invited Sam around to my apartment for dinner. The pretext was that he had offered to install some blinds above my bedroom window, which meant that I would finally be able to sleep past sunrise and get rid of the dingy and utterly useless net curtains which hung there limply. He arrived promptly, with a power drill in tow and set about measuring and cutting the blinds. I watched admiringly as he climbed nimbly onto the window sill to take the relevant measurements, laid the blinds out on the living room floor and then kneeled down to cut them with my kitchen scissors. When he leaned forward, I saw the top of his blue and white striped boxer shorts peek out above the waistband of his jeans. I admonished myself for even looking and went into the kitchen to distract myself and to finish preparing his favourite dish, tagliatelle alla bolognese. By the time supper was ready, the drilling was done, the blind was installed and we sat down to eat at my awkwardly large dining room table, looking at each other somewhat uncomfortably. It was the first time he had been to my apartment and was visibly nervous. After he had finished a second helping and we had polished off the bottle of generic Italian red, he suggested going out to the local wine bar which had become a favourite haunt of ours. He packed up the power drill into his over-the-shoulder bag and we set off up the hill. We stayed in the wine bar until closing time, although I have no recollection at all of what we talked about that night. After being turfed out of there, he suggested moving to the underground club next door. How he managed to explain the power drill to the bouncer on the door is beyond me, but we charmed our way in and stayed there drinking in a distant corner of the basement until around 4 in the morning. I remember very clearly coming out of the club and anxiously thinking about the fact that I was going to be turning right and making my own way down the hill to my apartment, while he was going to take a right turn and walk up towards his studio. At that moment, he grabbed my arm unexpectedly and shepherded me safely past a group of people standing outside the club and started walking up the hill. "Just avoiding some trouble there," he said, or words to that effect, thereby expertly bypassing the painful moment when we would have had no excuse but to go our separate ways. We walked the 15 or so minutes to his studio in near silence, stopping only to light cigarettes along the way. When we arrived, he unlocked the wrought iron outer gate and then the front door to the basement flat and we both went in, stumbling slightly in the dark. The light was just beginning to turn, but it was not quite yet the hour of dawn. I sat at the kitchen table while he examined the contents of his dubious-looking fridge to see what there might be left to drink. As luck would have it, there was a bottle of champagne I had left there some weeks ago, having retrieved it from a former boyfriend's apartment after an unexpected and messy break-up. If the bastard was dispatching me from his life, he damned well wasn't going to keep my bottle of Pol Roger! Sam swiftly dispatched the cork and poured the champagne into two coffee mugs. We clinked mugs and I flinched imperceptibly at the thought of Winston Churchill's favourite champagne being drunk out of a chipped Ikea mug. We drank and smoked in the unveiling new light, the sound of Stan Getz's saxophone piercing the thick, smoky air around us. Like a vampire fearing the inevitable, he looked anxiously at the emerging light outside and suggested going into the windowless back room, where darkness would be guaranteed. We took our mugs into the room crammed with musical instruments and recording paraphernalia and he shut the heavy sound-proof door behind him. We sat smoking in the dark for a while, listening to some Ella Fitzgerald, before he announced, suddenly and presumably out of sense of propriety, that he was going to take off his jeans and get into the double sofa bed occupying the middle of the room. He gave me a cream sweatshirt to change into and, turning my back to him, I removed all my clothes except for my panties, put on the sweatshirt and slipped under the black quilted cover on my side of the bed. He was lying under a cream duvet and remarked on the fact that we looked like a chess board. I lay back as we listened to the music and thought that if I didn't seize the moment now, I was a prize idiot who should be ashamed of herself. But rather than feeling like the experienced, older woman that I clearly was, I felt 16 again, lying next to the boy I had a huge crush on and unable to do anything about it. The subsequent events of that night are something of a blur, but a number of words and images weave their way in and out of my memory. He asked me if there was anything that I really wanted to happen. Despite the amount of alcohol I had drunk that night, I just couldn't bring myself to answer that question truthfully. I put my arm over my face in shame and protested that I couldn't. The next thing I recall is him propped up on his elbow, leaning over to kiss me. As soon as words became redundant, I had no hesitation in giving in to the intensity of the moment, a moment I had tried, but failed, to picture in my head a thousand times. We kissed passionately, our bodies pressing into each other, for what seemed like minutes, but were probably only seconds, allowing months of pent up frustration to evaporate into the darkness. "I kinda like you," he said spontaneously. "You're fun!" Not exactly Lord Byron, but it was all my inner sixteen year-old needed to hear. I could feel myself beaming inside. I somehow managed, amid all that fumbling, to unbutton his blue and white checked shirt and he to slip off my sweatshirt. I also remember sliding off his boxer shorts with my foot, a deft manoeuvre which caused him some obvious amusement, as he assisted in their removal by tugging the waistband over his now obvious obstruction. He removed my panties with a single sweep of his hand and lowered himself to the end of the bed. As soon as I felt his lips and mouth on me, I knew that this was no ordinary young man. Either he knew exactly what he was doing, or he was possessed of an instinct that only a man who had survived on his wits for years could have known. In either case, I gave myself up completely to the ecstasy of my long delayed gratification. Once my satisfaction had been assured, he manoeuvred our bodies skilfully into a series of unlikely positions: from legs and arms entwined as if in an adult version of Twister to him lying on his back, his surprisingly muscular arms behind his head, looking up at me as we settled into position without ever coming apart. "You're lovely!" I recall him saying. "I find you beautiful." Words that any forty-something woman would be delighted to hear from the twenty-something man with whom she had slowly become infatuated. I rocked my hips gently backwards and forwards, stroking his chest and bending down to kiss him on the mouth as he played with my breasts. It seemed as if we were moving as one, a perfect fit. It wasn't supposed to be this good, the first time you were with someone. Isn't that what they said? I couldn't imagine it being any better. When the unexpectedly athletic piece of elaborate performance art finally came to an end, he collapsed with his head on my chest and we smiled at each other. I could feel his heart pounding against me as I lay there in disbelief, hoping that I wasn't going to wake up the following morning to find out it had all been but a blissful dream. A Walk on the Wild Side Ch. 02 When Eva finally got off the ladder her excitement and humiliation were enough to make her run for the locker room. She was shocked and she could feel her blood pressure send her into a boil. Two weeks after the fateful event at the Wizard, Eva had determined that she could not work in the bar any longer. Her search for work continued, and with the accumulating bills there was considerable pressure to locate a new job. On Tuesday morning Eva crawled out of bed at 6 AM, unable to sleep due to the stirring of her small dog. He had jumped up on her bed and was ready to play. Eva tussled his head and ears with her hand and he continued to play and growl, anxious to have her get up. Eva crawled out of bed, put on the coffee and showered. Drying her body, she spent a minute feeling good about the fact that she had kept herself in shape. Her petite frame was strong from her daily exercise and she particularly admired her firm 34B breasts and pink nipples, framed in the center of large areola. Her short dark hair looked very sexy when it was wet and she turned her back to the full length mirror looking over her shoulder, assessing her sexy backside. She knew she could attract men; if only she would allow herself to be more relaxed and inviting. Her beauty generated plenty of approaches of men desirous of her attention but her guarded temperament put them off time and time again. This contradiction forced Eva to channel her sexual life to exist, primarily in the form of fantasy. Eva had high standards for her appearance and behavior and always went to an interview well prepared and professionally dressed. She had found a listing for a small marketing firm that was seeking an entry level staff person. Eva put on an expensive white silk blouse with a sheer bra underneath. She examined herself in the mirror to make sure her nipples did not show through the blouse. She put on a black thong and a gorgeous full-length black silk skirt. She pondered the expense of the outfit, knowing that she would be paying off her credit card for the next couple months. Eva lived in a neighborhood with older style houses, fairly close together. She had regretted moving there because as it gained popularity many of the neighbors were having renovations done to their houses. She looked out the window and noticed the activity beginning to stir in the neighborhood; workmen arriving to start the daily commotion of landscaping and building. Eva had her second cup of coffee and realized that she had not gotten the mail from yesterday; expecting some communication from a previous job interview. Anxious to hear the results, Eva headed for the door and out on the porch; fully focused on retrieving the mail. She found the letter she wanted but the early morning light was still too dim for her to read. Turning back toward the door, she reached for the doorknob and suddenly realized that she had locked herself out. Turning the knob a couple times, unsuccessfully; Eva realized that she would need to find another way into the house. Walking to the side of the house she tried the side entrance, fully believing that she had locked the door the previous night. Her attempts to open this door confirmed her assumption. As Eva considered her situation she remembered that next to her adjoining garage door there was a very small window that allowed access for her dog. She had placed a wooden box next to the window so that the dog could jump up and out, gaining access through the garage to the main part of the house, as needed. Eva stepped up onto the wooden box and stared into the small open window. The light was peeking up over the horizon and she could see a little better. Eva realized that the opening was so small that she needed to place both hands and arms through the narrow opening first, before attempting to pull the rest of her body through. Unfortunately, her frame was slightly big for the window and before getting to the snuggest part of the passageway, Eva was concerned about snagging her new silk blouse or getting it stained. She carefully backed herself out of the window opening and looked around. Eva looked around at the other nearby houses. From this angle, she could not see any of the windows or doors at other houses, from which neighbors might be able to observe her next action. Eva carefully unbuttoned and slipped off her blouse and laid it on the nearby porch railing. Then once again, she stepped up on the box and like a swimmer preparing for a dive, Eva put her hands together and pointed them through the small window frame and started to slide her body through the opening. Eva found it getting snug as her shoulders and underarms started to pass through the frame of the window. She pushed with her legs but the box was tenuous and she could not get any leverage. Unfortunately there was nothing she could grab inside to pull herself through. Even her petite frame was too big for the small window. She tried her best to jam her body forward. As she did she inched forward a bit but the box under her feet wiggled and she nearly lost her balance. She struggled and wiggled and started to feel the panic rise as she realized she was caught in a very awkward predicament. The window was on the back corner of the garage so no one could see her from other houses, but anyone passing from the street might catch a glimpse of her legs. She hated the feeling of being trapped. She hollered and then realized what a mistake she had made. Anyone coming to help would see her without her top. She had hollered several times before realizing her mistake. Within moments, a worker arriving to work on the house next door had heard her pleas for help. He came running to the house to determine the cause of the noise. Running up her driveway he could see part of her body, even before he rounded the corner. Her beautiful skirt was waving slightly back and forth as she struggled. He was momentarily confused by what he saw, almost laughing at the absurdity of seeing a body tightly packed into the small window. He thought his eyes were deceiving him. Here was a woman standing on a wooden box, bent forward at 90 degrees, with her head and shoulders jammed into a small window. He noticed that she was not wearing a top, only a bra. Her sensual breasts were covered by the bra, but they still swayed a bit with each shifting of her body. If his observation was correct, he could have sworn that he saw her nipples through the material. He asked if she was okay and she responded, "Please help! This is so embarrassing. I can't get out." He asked if she could move forward and she told him how difficult it was to maintain her balance and get any leverage while standing on the box. He examined the opening and advised her that her upper body was tight against the window frame. He asked her to push forward but as she did the box nearly slipped out from under her. He grabbed for her body and couldn't help but make contact by wrapping his hands around her mid section. She gasped at the touch of his large rough hands, and he steadied her body and then relaxed his grip, momentary thinking about how soft and cool her skin felt. He suggested that he try and push her through. She paused, but agreed to have him try. The only way for him to push was to lean slightly against her ass, which was jutting out prominently. As he started to touch her she asked that he be careful of her skirt. He smiled and said, "I'll do my best." The workman put his hands on Eva's ass and pushed gently. He did this several times but each time the smooth Italian silk slid and he had a hard time keeping his grip. He said he could try and pull her out and she agreed that it might work better. Plus her arms and shoulders were aching, her back hurt and she was desperate to get out of this uncomfortable position. The workman said, "Maam, I will have to wrap my arms around you in order to pull. I hope you don't mind." Eva agreed that it was the only way that he could help pull her out. She encouraged him to do whatever he needed. He was wearing a clean t-shirt and standing by her side, he wrapped his big arms and hands around her back and waist. She could feel his arms slide against her stomach and the underside of her breasts. The touch of his skin to hers was oddly reassuring and suddenly she felt him trying to tug. She wouldn't budge. After several attempts he said that it was too hard to get much leverage while standing at her side and that he would try again from behind. He went around behind observing her nice ass shielded in the black silk dress. Fortunately, Eva's ass was elevated as a result of standing on the wooden box. Her ass was level with his belly and he took his burly hands and arms and wrapped them around her upper thighs, pulling her bottom into his torso. He readjusted his position a couple of times sliding his hands and arms up and down her legs, trying to position himself for the best leverage. Again he was unsuccessful. Eva was frustrated and embarrassed. The workman introduced himself as Joe. He then said that he would be right back, and before Eva could respond he had disappeared. In minutes he had returned with two co-workers. Eva was mortified. It was bad enough that one person had seen her in a sheer bra, with her ass sticking out, but three was more than she could bear. The men couldn't help but smile and laugh a little at the sight, and one looked at Joe, and lifted his eyebrows, and gave him the thumbs-up, signaling his admiration for Eva's body. They got down on their knees on either side of Eva and studied the situation to explore possible options. One man took his finger and tried to feel around her upper chest to see if there was any room. She squirmed as the man's rough hand took liberties with her body. The upper part of her body was squeezed tight and it exaggerated the look of her breasts as they bulged from being squeezed by the window frame. Her breasts hung down in the sheer white bra. The workman couldn't help admire her sensual body, and could see her nipples clearly from this vantage point. In any other circumstance he would have wanted his hands on Eva, but he knew how unfair it would be. Given the issues of the wooden box the men suggested that they lift Eva off the box and hold her body horizontally, her front facing the ground. Once they had her elevated her lower body, they would try and pull her out. Placing hands under her stomach and legs, the three men carefully lifted her upward. Joe kicked the wooden box out of the way with his heavy steel-toed work boots. Once they were well positioned on either side of her, the three men counted to three and pulled. They thought her body moved a bit and Eva winced in pain as her body was stretched. Once again they asked her if she was ready and she agreed. They moved as quickly as they could due to her discomfort and this time tugged harder. The pressure of pulling her body caused her to let out a small yell of pain, and suddenly two of the buttons on the side of Eva's skirt pop off and the momentum sent two of the men falling clumsily to the ground accidentally stripping the skirt from her body. Joe was still standing and struggled to retain his balance and hold on to Eva. As the others regained their footing, their eyes got big realizing that Joe was holding a nearly naked woman; her ass at almost face-level, and legs fully extended and flailing. Eva let out a small scream and actually thought that her body had moved a bit before realizing that she was still fully lodged against the window frame. Eva became aware that she could feel the bare skin of her legs against the arms of one of her rescuers. All three men examined her, not saying a word to the other. Each could feel himself stir with lust as they continued to look over her bare legs, thighs and ass cheeks. One of the workmen quickly regained his position and helped Joe lift Eva, while the other started to consider other options for getting her free. Considering the awkwardness of the situation, no one spoke about her skirt. Eva could feel her blood pressure rise as her embarrassment grew. The men grew tired as they held Eva, frequently repositioning themselves. Their hands had to slide over her stomach and legs multiple times in order to readjust their grip. At one point when they had tugged a bit, one of the men's hands had slid down her belly and into her thong all the way to the top of her mound. She squirmed as he struggled to quickly pull his hand back. As she wiggled she felt her mound grind against his hand, sending an electric sensation through her body. She couldn't believe that she could have such thoughts at this time. Having spent most of their time trying to pull Eva out of the garage window, Joe suggested that maybe trying to push Eva forward would be more successful. Joe theorized that if they could lubricate her upper body with vegetable oil, they might be able to help slide her forward. They agreed on this approach and Joe said it might take him a few minutes to run to corner store to get a bottle of vegetable oil. The other two workmen said they would hold on, and smiled at one another as Joe left to search for oil. In Joe's absence Eva could hear the other two men whispering to one another. They were laughing a little and she felt them jockeying her body about and then realized that only one man was holding her up. She heard a little laughter and the heard a noise that sounded familiar. Zzzzp, Zzzzp, Zzzzzp. Eva was trying to imagine what the faint noise was when suddenly realizing that they were using a cell phone to take pictures of her. With each click, the aperture made its familiar whirring sound. Eva was mortified. Were they photographing her? She could tell by the shuffling and noises that one of the men had moved around her body from all angles. He was taking pictures while the other one posed for his opportunity to have her sensual body photographed in his arms, to be shared with friends later. The men traded positions and the other man held Eva as his friend returned the opportunity to be photographed. They seemed to experiment with different angles. Her thong did little to cover her ass and with just one man holding her body, her legs hung down and were spread a bit. The photographer stood behind her and took several shots. Eva squeezed her legs together trying to hide her body and her embarrassment. She could tell that the man with the camera knelt down underneath her and took several more shots of her dangling breasts covered only by the sheer bra. She was hopeful that her nipples did not show too much. Within 15 minutes Joe returned and saw what the guys were doing. Eva heard him laugh and say, "Give me back my phone." The other guys groaned and said, "Joe you better share that phone." All laughed and returned their attention to the task at hand. As they assessed the situation Eva was grateful that the men seemed to revert back to a slightly more professional approach. They talk things over with Eva, as she shouted out her agreement to what was being proposed. She begged them to hurry as she was feeling weak and in agony from being squeezed by the window frame and from being jostled about. They had agreed to try and lubricate Eva's upper body and push her into the garage and then pull back. The alternating motion would allow the lubricant to work its way between her skin and the wooden widow frame. Joe said he would apply the oil. The other two men stood on either side of Eva as Joe poured the vegetable oil into his large rough hands and then rubbed it all over her upper back and around the shoulders. He then kneeled and poured the lubricant in his hand and rubbed it over her upper chest. He felt himself stir as his hands rubbed over the fleshy part of her upper breasts. He pushed his oily fingers up around her throat and neck and rubbed it all over her underarms as best he could. The sensation felt wonderful to Eva as he worked his strong hands and fingers into her tired muscles. The men then tugged on Eva working her forward and then back. A slight movement could be detected. As they pushed forward and then quickly back Eva's breasts shook. They did this several times with Eva moaning in pain as they worked on extracting her body. The residual oil on Joe's hands was being rubbed all over her legs and body as he continually repositioned himself. Joe suggested adding more oil to her upper body and applied it again to her back. In the morning sun he could see her pale skin shimmering in the light, reflecting the light coating of oil. The other two men ogled her body and the fleshy cheeks of her ass. The men complained that her body was hard to hold because of the oil and they struggled to find an area of her body without lubricant. The men positioned themselves on either side of Eva, with two of them wrapping their arms and hands around her upper thigh, spreading her legs to get a better grip. Their fingers pressed against the warm soft skin near her pussy. With each move, their fingers shifted, flicking against her thong and feeling the heat of pussy. As Joe leaned forward to rub the oil around Eva's chest, he did not look at what he was touching. He applied the thick oil, his hands accidentally rubbing over Eva's breasts. He immediately slowed his hand realizing that one of her breasts must have been shaken out of her bra. The nipple responded to the oil and his rough hands. It grew erect and Eva was again mortified that she had been touched. He quickly withdrew his hand but not before rubbing the nipple several more times, coating it with the thick clear oil. Joe mumbled a couple of words of apology to Eva. Once more the men pushed Eva forward and back and then with one big tug backward; she came slipping out the window frame. Eva's arms were unbearably stiff and painful, having held them straight out for over an hour. Her back hurt and the men gently seated her on the wooden box. With all attempts at vanity set aside, and in order to contend with the wracking ache in her body, they seated Eva on the nearby wooden box. The men stood back and admired her; those beautiful breasts with large pink nipples both of which had popped out of her bra. She sat there, eyes closed, legs slightly apart, and thong tightly outlining the lips of her pussy. In the morning light the remnants of the oil ran down her chest and Joe noticed that on her right breasts the oil dripped off the tip of her erect nipple, one drip at a time. Her tight stomach heaved in and out as she recovered her breath. She carefully lowered her arms as she tried to get them the cramps to subside. Joe realized her predicament and gently took one arm and then the other lowering them gently rubbing her shoulders as he moved them back to a normal position. Joe suggested that one of the workmen would break a window into the house and get her inside so that she could recover. They would be back later to help make repairs. One man went off to break the window and get the door open. The other stood and stared at Eva admiring her sensual body. Once her arms were lowered she had recovered enough to open her eyes and suddenly realize that she was fully exposed. Eva looked up at the worker and realized that he was staring between her legs. Her thong was still in place and pulled tight over her mound. There was a large wet spot created by how they had touched her body. She could see the lips budging, outlined under the tight fabric. Even in her recovering state Eva's face flushed red with embarrassment and she quickly clamped her legs shut and asked to get inside the house. The other man came through the door having broken the window. He came out with a light summer coat and wrapped it around Eva's shoulders. They helped her into the house. (Author's note:Chapter three will be done within a week)