EPISODE XV
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She sits on the edge of the bed and works her foot deep into the toe, pulling her boots up her beautiful, long legs. she pauses and looks down at the fine black leather rising, open, to the tops of her thighs.
In her lap she notices the tattoo of the rose thrusting out from under her skin.
Her hair hangs loose and thick over her shoulders and piles heavily on the upper swellings of her tits, one lone curl circling to frame her slack nipple.
She leans down and kisses that delightful nub, which swells beneath her lips.
She reaches down with the buttonhook, and resumes tightening the laces of her boots. As she works the hook, finishing off the long repetitive chore, her wrist saws across her pubic mound, rolling the stiffened clitoris, still deep within the moistening groove.
They had said it was going to be cold, so she selects the warm, quilted, down-filled, full-length coat from the closet and wraps it close around her as she steps out of the apartment and into the narrow hallway.
On the first landing she notices a tonka articulated-back hoe/grader, a beach condo barbie without a head and about a dozen legos kicked into one corner.
Several pieces of the red-and-black checkerboard tiles have been replaced with an absurd electric lime faux marble.
Her mailbox is stuffed to over-flowing and a large box wrapped in brown paper stands on the floor beneath. She makes a mental note to pick them up when she returns and steps out into the street.
They had been right about the cold.
Walking down the windy street, she pulls the thick fur collar of the long leather coat closer around her neck and, pressing it to her cheeks, nestles into the thick, soft fur.
Her bare legs are chilled by a sudden wind blowing up under her coat. She is naked underneath, her cunt unprotected from the icy blast.
She fears the passers-by will know of her nudity.
The man leaning in the door of the record shop follows her with his eyes and she is sure that he knows.
He smiles at her and winks, slowly, once. She lowers her dark lashes over her eyes, and tips her head to look at the sidewalk as she scurries by.
A knot of half-a-dozen scruffy men, kneeling to shoot dice against a brick wall, blocks the sidewalk. They look up to watch her as she passes, each smiling intimately with open faces.
The holes in their outer clothes reveal the layers beneath.
The wind lifts the lower edge of her short coat
And, as she brushes down the flapping tail, she is startled at how icy the skin between her knee boots and the bottom of her coat is.
Her pussy is so cold it burns, she is alarmed, worried that her juices might freeze. she is glad the walk is short, with only the thin, mid-thigh jacket to protect her from the wild, wintery wind.
the space between her tits, the skin over her breast-bone, is frigid.
Her tits spread the loose front of her robe and hold it open, exposing her pink flesh to the chilled air.
A woman sets down a pair of grocery bags to unlock a door to a walk-up, adjusts her babushka and turns to look hungrily at the beautiful exposed cleavage as she walks past.
She pulls the thin material of the dressing robe closer, trying to shield her nakedness from the woman whose intent she can only guess.
She wishes it was night, so that she could move quickly through the darkness, her nakedness unnoticed.
At a cross-alley, a tall, rail-thin whippet and a massive white sheep dog with short, tightly curled hair dig through the garbage spilled from the can they have knocked over. The two animals raise their heads to look at her as she steps off the curb.
She clutches the thin material to her throat, stretching it over her tightly compressed boobs.
a shudder races from her ankles to her tits, inflaming her pussy. She feels a small trickle of juice seep from her cunt and trace a narrow path down her thigh, until it freezes, a small marble on her pale blue skin.
She gathers her courage and moves away, head high and with a firm tread.
She pulls down hard, stretching the lower end of the robe, trying to cover her crotch, which is now exposed by the brief terry-cloth wraparound.
Two men in dark business suits look at her bare pussy with ill-veiled lust, their cock-tented trousers exposed behind their matched briefcases.
She bends at the waist, trying to stretch the fabric, thrusting her butt out from beneath the robe.
a quartet of teens on a double date notice her struggles, comment to each other, point and stare.
One of the girls hugs herself against her guy's arm, pressing her dense young tit against his shoulder.
The youngsters stroll on, laughing, in the rolling embrace of unembarrassed youth.
Snow has started spilling over the tops of her ankle-high boots, filling them and freezing her feet. Her socks and boots fill with icy water. glad to be nearly at work, she passes the window she is to dress, glancing in at the empty display. The decorations have been thrown in, merely piled in a tangled jumble and she is irritated that she will have to start from scratch.
Aas she enters the store, peeling off her galoshes and kicking them under a sale table laden with small gold-wrapped packages.
Her co-workers stare, shaking their heads in disbelief. she tries to be nonchalant as she passes the gaggle of whispering school-girls.
Mr. Lowell, the sour-faced manager who always presses himself against her in the elevator and tries to peep down the front of her shirt during performance reviews, glowers at her and taps his watch.
She remembers his idea of justifiable punishment and does not want to wind up strapped to the table in the employee lounge, her paddle-reddened butt the demonstration of his petty authority and the object of the lunch-time babble as the youngsters gather round to gawk and eat.
As she steps over the low wall to get into the window, her robe rides up and bunches around her waist, her ass fully exposed to the foolish sales girls and the lecherous manager.
She tries to clutch the flimsy cloth shut, sorry she has lost the belt. Her niece is smaller than she is and the thin material is incapable of protecting her from the weather, or the prying eyes of everyone: her co-workers, or the people watching from the sidewalk.
She sets about her job of decorating the special sale window. A banner she unfolds reads
"BARGAIN SALE, MANY ITEMS!
YOU MUST BE PLEASED!
FREE SAMPLES!
INQUIRE WITHIN.
ASK ABOUT OUR RIGID GUARANTEE!"
She hangs the banner on massive spikes driven into the thin walls at the back of the display.
A sono tube covered with rosco gold pebble foil lies in the angel hair piled thick on the floor. As she stands it on its end, she realizes that she is the display, she is the free sample, she the item offered.
Sshe notices that many people are watching through the window.
She steps onto the platform, sheds her thin shawl, and poses - offering herself to the watchers.
She does all she can to display her most pleasing attributes to their best advantage.
She is very eager to gain the attention, and the approval, of the shoppers, to please their senses of value, to attract buyers.
She wants to rouse their desire and appeal to their lust, to attract the kind of client that could take her away, take her far from Mr. Lowell and the whispering school-girls.
As she exposes her most intimate treasures, she is playing to the growing crowd on the sidewalk who watch her through the vast plate glass of the store-front window.
They press against the glass, some of their faces pressed to bloodlessness on the cold pane.
She notices that the young sales-clerks are also watching her from inside the store and she works to arouse their adolescent pleasure as well.
