Sam walked up the long flight of stairs to the attic and opened the door. It was just as she left it. Her finished paintings were either on easels or ...tacked against the wall on one side, her canvasses were leaning against the other, waiting to be used. Her paints were in their many draws, tubes of acrylics, water paints and pastels. Her brushes were laying in a row on the table where Sam planned her paintings. Tonight though, Sam just wanted to paint. She didn’t know what she was going to. What a treat to see, natural, flabby tits after years of Amy's impossibly full, high chest. Oh god I wanna fuck her brains out.His mind crashed to earth as she sat down on the couch beside him, the squeak of the springs registering her weight, grunting as she squeezed water from her wet hair, that went halfway down her back. Her raised arms and spread knees made her presence so near to him almost overwhelming. The wet cloth of the bra showed stiff nipples pushing hard against the thin cotton.. “So a man of action are we.” was his opening gambit.I just groaned.Rory continued to just look at me, after shoveling a fork full of his meat into his mouth.He looked at me expectantly, finally admitting defeat, I explained what had happened on Monday.“Really, the rumors around here have it a lot more physical a confrontation than that. Plus well I guess I should warn you; there are a couple of the other varsity football players on the lookout for you, to give you some payback.”“Payback for. Then after we had eaten all four of us set off for the coach operator’s depot in Essex. Liz apparently having already called Marsha who acted as secretary to both of us and told her to handle or reschedule anything that came up that morning. The driver was a nice guy and — as I suspected he would — he told us that Vivian had been fascinated by Venice. So much so that she was late back to the coach to return to Jeselo, having missed — like some of the other passengers – the waterbus she should.