She leans forward slightly, thinking he wants to fondle her breasts. His hand reaches for the collar of her blouse, unties the bow, then unbuttons the blouse. The street lamps are some distance away, and it is still fairly dark inside the car. 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.

She sits with gloved hands braced on either side of her seat. He hasn't told her what to do or what not to do, but she's afraid either to cross her legs or press them together. The taxi is still moving along at a good clip, and she doesn't dare ask why Rene just sits there without moving or saying another word, nor can she guess what all this means to him-having her there motionless, silent, so stripped and exposed, so thoroughly gloved, in a black car going God knows where. 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. Pull them up behind you and sit directly on the seat.' 'You shouldn't sit on your slip and skirt. He takes the garter belt and panties from her, opens her bag and puts them in, then says: That's easy enough, all she has to do is slip her hands behind her back and raise herself slightly.

'Unfasten your garter belt,' he says, 'and take off your panties.' Besides, the loose garter-belt suspenders are slipping back and forth. Finally, though, the stockings are rolled down, and she's embarrassed to feel her legs naked and free beneath her silk slip. Here are some garters.'īy now the taxi has picked up speed, and she has some trouble managing it she's also afraid the driver may turn around. Unfasten your stockings and roll them down to above your knees. She has taken off her gloves, thinking he wants to kiss her or that he wants her to caress him. But he pulls down the shades of the windows on both sides of the car, and the shade on the back window. The taxi moves off slowly, the man still not having said a word to the driver. But long gloves which come up over the sleeves of her jacket, and in her leather handbag she has her identification papers, her compact, and her lipstick. She is dressed as she always is: high heels, a suit with a pleated skirt, a silk blouse, and no hat. After they have taken a stroll in the park and have sat together side by side on the edge of a lawn, they notice, at one corner of the park, at an intersection where there are never any taxis, a car which, because of its meter, resembles a taxi. Her lover one day takes O for a walk in a section of the city where they never go-the Montsouris Park, the Monceau Park.

Story of o by pauline réage