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"Now, now calm down!" she told herself. "Think, Barbara, think!" Suddenly her face lit up, and she slipped a filthy finger inside her still oozing sex, moving it in and out, until it was liberally coated with cum. She smeared the sticky mixture over the rusted bolt and tried it again. "Still no luck!" she grunted to herself, re-inserting her finger in her vagina, in search of more lubrication.
She smeared it over the rusted surface and tried again. With a loud squeak, the bolt gave a little.
"What was that?" growled one of the thugs below, glancing around, suspiciously.
"Aw, nothin'," retorted his companion, "ya know how these old buildings creak and groan as they settle?"
"Hmm?" Apparently satisfied with this explanation, the man settled back, and glanced at his hand of cards. "I'll bet five bucks!"
Barbara heaved a sigh of relief, and gradually eased the bolt back all the way. She eased open the maintenance hatch, and peered out onto a small factory yard, enclosed on three sides, with a tall ironwork gate set in high wall, giving access to a back street, on the remaining side. She slipped quietly through the hatchway, and hauled herself up onto the sloping, corrugated steel roof just above it, then made her way over to a metal inspection ladder attached to the brick wall, some twenty feet away, that led down into the yard.
She swiftly descended the ladder and made for the gate, which had conveniently been left slightly ajar, by Bigun's Scottish crony. "Thank heaven for a cloudy, almost moonless night!" Barbara murmured, as the naked, filth smeared heroine slipped out through the gates, and jogged down the street.
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