Even more the looks from the men whose eyes lingered on her fishnet stocking covered legs. She knew they saw her as a whore, but that wasn’t exactly...right. She hadn’t taken the money, so she wasn’t a whore. After four different men in four days, she wasn’t a whore, she was a slut.She couldn’t help it either, she found herself licking her lips thinking about the bodies of the construction workers sweating as they strained, and imagining them pounding her body. The thoughts weren’t coming clear. Madamoiselle Duclos said something to me in French that my dazed mind managed to translate into "Ah, you are a very beautiful young lady," or something like that. I mustered something resembling a smile for her, I think, and tried to relax, unclasping my hands and putting my arms at my sides. I took a deep breath, conscious of the movement of my ribs, the lift of my breasts as I did.God, I felt so exposed! I shot an anxious glance at Carl, and was warmed by the sympathy and pride and desire in. More

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