Read One Week in the Private House for Free Online Page A

toilet. Smiling ironically as she refolded the bundle of banknotes that Gerald had insisted she should take she refilled her handbag and stood up to place both bags on top of the cistern. A nice surprise gift for the next lucky lady to use this loo, Julia thought. I just hope Gerald has no cause to ransack my writing-desk while I'm away: he'll get dreadfully excited if he finds I've gone without my credit cards and cheque book.
    One last check, Julia said to herself. Shoes: I think the heels are high enough. Stockings: black, that's always a safe bet, very sheer and with seams - which are straight. Suspender belt to match stockings, and I think the lace trim will be permitted. Skirt: full, pleated, light cotton. Blouse: matches the skirt, unbuttons at the front, cap sleeves. No bra. No jewellery - Almost forgot! I'm still wearing my wedding ring! Change it to the other hand, hope they let me keep it. Hair tied back with a red ribbon, matching lipstick and nail varnish. I hope they appreciate that touch. More makeup than I usually use - more blusher, mascara and eye-liner - but that's the way they like it, even though I think it makes me look a bit like a Parisian tart. Perfume in my armpits, between my breasts, between my legs, between my buttocks; they say that applying perfume should always sting, and this morning I shrieked so much I almost woke Gerald. Anything else? Nothing. No possessions, no identity. Just one final adjustment, in case something happens straight away. They'll want me to be ready, so . .. Two hands under the skirt; one at the front, one at the back. That perfume's almost overpowering. Not too fast: just touch the pubic hair, tease it a little, and meanwhile push forward from the back, thumbnail against arsehole, fingers into the warmth and softness. I'm already wet, I can't believe it, just from thinking about what they'll do to me. Oh, that's nice, fingers from the back pushing in and out, fingers from the front going back and forth, and there's my little clitoris, peeking out, asking to be fiddled with - No, I must stop. They won't like it if it's obvious I've been enjoying myself. Wipe fingers on a piece of toilet tissue. Can't get rid of the perfume smell, it's all over my hands. Never mind; time to go.
    Julia emerged from the Ladies and saw a young man in old-fashioned chauffeur's livery. He hadn't been in the lounge when she had walked through it earlier. Her eyes met his and he raised a questioning eyebrow; she nodded. He turned and made for the glass doors, holding one of them open as she approached. She stopped in the doorway, and looked up into his grey eyes; she ran a fingernail along his square jaw.
    The car is just outside, madam,' he said, placing a gloved hand on her waist and pulling her towards him. She placed her hands against his tunic and then, amazed at her own bravado, she reached beneath it to find, as she expected, that the front panel of his stiff trousers consisted of only a sort of codpiece of thin material through which she could feel every contour of his swelling prick. 'Steady on, madam,' the chauffeur whispered, 'we're not at the Private House yet.'
    'Silly!' she replied, giving him a peck on the cheek. 'One is never really away.' There were several cars on the tarmac outside the airport buildings, but only one of them was a vintage Rolls Royce; Julia walked towards it, followed by the chauffeur.
    They had driven through leafy country lanes for about half an hour before Julia decided to speak to the chauffeur again. 'Are we going straight to the House?' she said, i can't wait. It's odd, but I'm quite looking forward to it.'
    'That was anticipated, madam,' the chauffeur replied in a level voice, 'and therefore the answer is, of course, no. I have been told to make a stop en route . In the woods.'
    'And what are we to do in the woods?' Julia was excited and nervous at the same time, but did her best to replicate the chauffeur's measured tones.
    'I have been told to make you