Chapter 25
by 
Abdulalahazred
What's next?
Pull up your skirt
The seat is made of some sort of imitation leather, which is slippery and cold: it's quite an extraordinary sensation to feel it sticking to your thighs.
The taxi is still moving along at a good clip, and you don't dare ask why René just sits there without moving or saying another word, nor can you guess what all this means to him - having you here motionless, silent, so stripped and exposed, so thoroughly gloved, in a black car going God knows where. He hasn't told you what to do or what not to do, but you're afraid either to cross your legs or press them together. You sit with gloved hands braced on either side of your seat.