This was not unusual. Some clients gave a name, especially if they lived in an apartment block, and others had left instructions how to find the entrance to discreet penthouses, with private lifts tucked away in basement car-parks, or office foyers. Once or twice she had received detailed instructions of what to wear, or how to behave on being admitted, but usually it was just an address and a time.A solid town house not far from the river, no name on the brightly polished doorbell, but obviously well maintained, and well funded. A male voice responded to her ring. “Take your clothes off at the top of the stairs, and wait.” The buzzer released the door, and she pushed it open and entered, to find herself in a hallway with an elaborately carved mahogany staircase directly in front of her. She ascended without haste, with the customary sensual traffic beginning to build on the erotic highway that linked her belly and breasts, her groin and her cortex. Already she was vibrating with terror and excitement, while her vagina contributed its own lubricious signals of arousal.
