I slid my hands down her front. Feeling her firm breasts, not gently squeezing the nipples, seeing if she leaked and felt the weight of each, full, ye... but as I expected, not too big. But my fingers would not wait since her stomach was waiting. I slid my hands down, inspecting her skin, checking for discoloration and blemishes but also eager to explore her navel. Oh yes, she had children, that was for sure but they were sold away and she was strong and healthy and would bear more if bred. Even. It was a workshop; bright and clean, benches with tools mounted on boards on the wall, light from large glass panels in the roof. Cars; a Ford Zephyr from about 1960, a Lotus Seven, a VW Camper – all blocked up with the weight off the wheels. I parked Oscar and walked over to two motorbikes; a Norton from about 1948 and a BMW with a Watsonian sidecar – mid fifties by the registration.I realised my discourtesy and turned back to the woman as I removed my helmet.She was kneeling, with her head. More

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