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channels into the flesh on the tops of her thighs.
    Normally she would lay like this, spread-eagled across the bed, for a long time, savouring every feeling, teasing herself by rolling her hips from side to side very slowly so the base of the dildo rubbed against her clit, bringing herself closer and closer to the brink of orgasm but never over it.
    But tonight was different. Tonight Charles Darrington Hawksworth was standing by the side of the bed looking down at her, his eyes unblinking, his expression varying between indulgence and stark disapproval. Tonight she was rolling her hips wildly, rocking the whole bed, her clitoris responding with sharp tweaks of exquisite pleasure. She clenched her vagina around the phallus, feeling the juices that were running over it.
    Those deep blue eyes burnt into her. She could see him examining her tits. She thrust them up towards him.
    â€˜Do they please you, master?’
    The phantom said nothing. His eyes moved to her belly. Andrea tried to spread her legs further apart. Then she felt her vagina convulse reflexively around the dildo. It did it twice in quick succession and she whimpered. She pushed her buttocks up clear of the bed. She was coming now and she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to stop herself.
    She opened her mouth, arched her head back against the pillow until it was almost at right angles to her spine.
    â€˜Master!’ she screamed as she came, her orgasm locking every sinew and muscle in her body.
    It was a long time before she opened her eyes again. When she did Charles Darrington Hawksworth had gone.
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Chapter Two
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    â€˜Ms Hamilton?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜This is for you.’
    Andrea had opened the door of her flat three days later to a tall, extremely broad, blond-haired man in a grey chauffeur’s uniform. He was holding a white envelope in his hand.
    â€˜For me? I don’t understand.’
    â€˜I’m to wait for a reply.’
    â€˜Oh. You’d better come in.’
    Andrea was wearing a tracksuit. It was seven o’clock and she was just thinking about what she was going to wear tonight on her dinner date with Greg Anders, her current boyfriend.
    â€˜Thank you, Ms,’ the chauffeur said. He took off his cap, tucked it under his arm and stepped inside.
    Andrea was puzzled. She didn’t know anyone who had a chauffeur. She tore open the envelope and took out a white deckled edged card. The writing was neat and italicised.
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    Dear Ms Hamilton,
    I hope you will not think of this as an impertinence, but I wondered if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night. I think you know why. If you do not, merely return this invitation to George. If you do, as I suspect, then he will return for you at seven on Saturday night.
    Whatever your decision I will always remain yours faithfully,
    Charles Hawksworth.
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    Andrea stared at the note. She read it again. She felt herself blush. She hadn’t the faintest idea that Charles Hawksworth had any interest in her. Of course she remembered how he had paused at the door and indicated her to Edward Highfield, but she’d convinced herself that incident was just her over-vivid imagination and the effect of those almost hypnotic eyes. He could have been pointing out one of a hundred people, or noting something entirely different. Now it appeared that her first instinct had been right.
    â€˜You work for Mr Hawksworth.’
    â€˜As I understand it we both do, Ms.’
    She smiled. ‘Yes. That’s right, we do. But I’ve only been working for him since Tuesday.’
    â€˜So I understand. May I ask for your reply, Ms?’
    Andrea caught her breath. She didn’t think that an hour had gone by since last Tuesday when she hadn’t thought of Hawksworth, hadn’t seen his face, and what’s more, hadn’t had some wild sexual fantasy about what he would do to her. She hadn’t the faintest idea why the