Something in Caroline changed when she was seven month's pregnant with her second child. Until that warm late-Spring day, she had been satisfied, content, peaceful, the perfect picture of suburban happiness. There was a moment on that day when she slipped outside of the reality she had always known, and since then she has never slipped back.

She had just put Amanda, her four year old daughter, down for her morning nap. Amanda was an energetic child, and a good napper, so Caroline looked forward to the peaceful hour to herself before her daughter awoke. The young mother padded barefoot through the house from her daughter's room to the kitchen, poured her last cup of coffee from the day's brew, and went off to the living room to get comfortable in the recliner to finish her latest romance novel.

As was often the case when she was alone with her daughter at home, the gorgeous strawberry-haired woman dressed as simply and comfortably as possible. Today she wore nothing more than one of her husband's old dress shirts and a maternity bra.

She had started the morning putting on a stretchy pair of maternity panties as well, but found that the bulge in her belly had outgrown the current pair and she shucked those in favor of decadent nakedness beneath the long hem of the oversized shirt.

Absently she reached down and stroked the curly flame-colored hair she had allowed to grow over her mound. It was really too much trouble to shave around her pregnant tummy, and anyway, she liked being hairy down there.

It's not like her husband's preferences for a shaven pussy really mattered. Maybe it was a visual thing. He just didn't like the look of her pubic hair.

They so rarely had sex ... neither of them seemed to enjoy it much, a few moments of him grunting and it was all over ... that his desire for her to stay hairless down there made no sense in any other way. He never went down on her, saying that men didn't do that kind of thing. And she never had any interest in going down on him either. Generally, Caroline had no idea what all fuss was about when it came to sex. She didn't understand why her girlfriends made such a big deal of a potentially messy, generally uninteresting activity.

The morning started out delightfully cool, in the mid 60's, so she shut off the thermostat and opened all the windows. The temperature had climbed to the low 70's and the breeze had died down, so Caroline thought she might close the windows and turn on the air, but figured that she'd be better wait until her daughter awoke.

Instead, she unbuttoned all but the lower two of shirt buttons, and let the mild air caress her near-naked, pale flesh. She looked down and noticed that the deep valley between her soft swollen breasts made quite a tempting sight in the opening of the shirt, cradled in the soft full cups of the maternity bra.

Of course, there was no one but her to see.

She had just set her coffee down on the table next to the baby monitor, and was about to settle into the comfort of the brown leather recliner when she startled to the sudden realization that the lawn service truck had pulled up in the front yard.

The crew was early! They weren't supposed to be here until the afternoon.

"Shit," Caroline mumbled under her breath, "they are going to wake Amanda when they start those mowers."

She moved as quickly as possible to the front door, throwing it open and silently gesturing toward the truck. She couldn't even see the back of the truck where the men were unloading the equipment; it was blocked by the screen of landscaping bushes.

She knew couldn't run down the driveway the way she was dressed, what would the neighbors think? Looking right and left she quickly figured that if she went out the side door, out of the master suite bathroom, maybe she could attract the workers' attention in time to save her daughter's nap.

Caroline dashed through the house ... well, in fact she waddled quickly through the house ... as pregnant as she was, pausing only a moment to grab the baby monitor. She stepped out onto the small flagstone patio on the side of the house and she was right, from there she could see the back of the trailer, and the two workers could see her, except they weren't looking.

Again she raised her arms silently and waved, and found that they were too distracted with their preparations to notice. She had to chance it, make a noise to attract their attention, and quickly, because one of the workers was leaning over the lawnmower ready to pull the starter cord.

"Yoo hoo!" She cried out while thinking to herself "Who says 'yoo hoo' anymore?" But she had been too quiet. The starter cord was pulled, but the engine didn't catch. She had one more chance, maybe.

"Hey!" she yelled loudly, waving both hands over her head and standing on tiptoe.

This time her cry caught the attention of both men, who looked up and caught her eyes. Then both immediately looked down below her waist.

Her gesturing had raised the hem of the shirt high on her belly, and the swell of her pregnancy had caught it and held it there, even after she lowered her arms. She didn't have to look down to notice that she was naked and completely exposed from bellybutton to toes. She could feel the breeze through her thatch of pubes, and the air on her puffy labia.

This was the moment where life simply, irrevocably, irredeemably, changed. In that instant she felt a 'click', and with the click a crackle of electricity ran up her spine and through the back of her brain.

The old Caroline would have blushed deeply, pulled the shirtwaist down and dashed into the house to sob and hide her shame.

This new Caroline beckoned toward the two strange men, her red-haired cunt still fully exposed to their rapt attention.

This new Caroline flushed with a strange warmth that she had never felt before, suffusing through her whole body, and driven by the lustful eyes of the sweaty workers openly starting at her.

This new Caroline only bothered to 'notice' her exposure after the men had gotten a good long look, and as they were responding to her call by putting down their tools and walking towards her across her lawn.

This new Caroline feigned coy embarrassment, but didn't feel it, as the two rough laborers stepped onto the flagstone patio, close enough to touch, close enough to smell.

This new Caroline could practically hear her heart pounding with excitement, with animal desire unlike anything she'd experienced.

This new Caroline felt the warm wetness between her puffy labia as her body prepared itself for acts that her mind dared not consciously consider.

This new Caroline eyed the two men like a lioness regards and antelope.

The man on her left, an unattractive, beer-bellied, olive skinned man of about thirty years with dark wiry curls on his head and three days black bristly growth on his chin, opened his mouth to speak.

"Shh!" she admonished while holding up the baby monitor in explanation. "My daughter is asleep." The valley between her plush breasts had started to glisten, whether from excitement or sunlight or both she couldn't be sure, but the crude onlookers had no compunctions about staring straight at her cleavage as they spoke. The name monogrammed on his sweat-, dirt-, and grass-stained shirt said "Bobby Joe."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the swarthy one whispered hoarsely. "We gotta mow your yard."

"And trim yer bushes," the other one added, his eyes tracing down past the baby bump to her barely concealed muff. His monogram read "Harold," and where Bobby Joe was merely terribly unattractive, Harold was plain ugly. His coal black skin looked like it was covered with a gray dust. His thick bottom lip drooped away from uneven, discolored teeth, and his eyes sagged as well, giving him the look of a cartoon basset hound. He was as skinny as Bobby Joe was portly, a gangly, gnarled stick of a man.

"Well, why are you here so early?" she demanded quietly. "You aren't usually here until afternoon."

Harold drawled. "Lost a job, I guess. Boss says we gotta do yours now."

"You'll wake up my daughter if you mow now ... can't you come back later?"

"It'll mess up the whole schedule," Bobby Joe said confrontationally. "We might not get back here for another week, maybe more."

"Could you do some quiet work for an hour while she sleeps?" she whispered.

"Not much we can do that's quiet," Harold said, leaning his craggy face forward in an intentional invasion of her personal space. She wondered if he could see her heart pounding in her chest, or the ragged deep breaths she was taking. "All our mowers and trimmers have loud engines."

She cast her eyes down, trying to think. The way she felt made no sense. These two were crude, awful, ruffians but still her head was exploding with lust, and the heat between her thighs was spreading rapidly up her spine. Before this day, she'd never really been all that interested in men at all, even the attractive ones, and now all she wanted was cock, and it didn't matter how ugly or smelly or rude the cock's owner was.

She had initially looked down trying to focus, trying to get control of her bizarre unmanageable feelings, but instead she ended up staring at the bulges in their crotches, Bobby-Joe in his canvas shorts, and Harold in his jeans. Neither seemed aroused yet, but in her new state of confused, overwhelming lust, she took that as a challenge rather than an insult. She wanted to make them hard, as hard as they had ever been.