“O, pull up your skirt...”

“You shouldn't sit on your slip and skirt,” you tell O, getting into the role. “Pull them up behind you and sit directly on the seat.”

The seat is made of some sort of imitation leather, which is slippery and cold: you enjoy O's reaction as her naked buttocks and thighs come into contact with it.

She sits utterly still now, her hands at her sides, as if afraid to move.

“Here we are,” the driver says suddenly. Here we are: the taxi stops on a lovely avenue, beneath a tree - they are plane trees - in front of some sort of small private home which can be seen nestled between the courtyard and the garden, the type of small private dwelling one finds along the Faubourg Saint-Germain. The street lamps are some distance away, and it is still fairly dark inside the car. Outside it is raining.

From here you follow the script laid out for you by the prompter - now it's dictating what actions to perform as well. You go along, figuring you might as well see where the novel takes you.

“Don't move,” you say. “Sit perfectly still.”

You reach for the collar of O's blouse, untie the bow, then unbutton the blouse. She leans forward slightly, apparently thinking you want to fondle her breasts. No. You're merely groping for the shoulder straps of her brassiere, which you snip with a small penknife. Then you take it off. Now, beneath O's blouse, which you've buttoned back up, her breasts are naked and free, as is the rest of her body, from waist to knee.

“Listen,” you say. “Now you're ready. This is where I leave you. You're to get out and go ring the doorbell. Follow whoever opens the door for you, and do whatever you're told. If you hesitate about going in, they'll come and take you in. If you don't obey immediately, they'll **** you to. Your bag? No, you have no further need for your bag. You're merely the girl I'm furnishing. Yes, of course I'll be there. Now run along.”

And you gently but firmly push O out the door, leaving her at the doorstep of Roissy, and the taxi pulls away. You turn back to look at her - she's standing in the drizzle, hesitating...then she steps forward toward the door, and the shrubbery conceals her from your view.

The taxi turns right at the end of the lane, then doubles back down a back alley. A few minutes later, you're in the car bay of a carriage house.

This carriage house garage has two cars parked in it, a Rolls Royce and a Bentley and a single door to the west, opening into a back garden.