Look at his face Juliet, said Bud Martin’s voice again, very gentle, and then he’ll give you what you want. This wasn’t part of the routine, part of the service, she didn’t want to look at his face, even as she strained upwards towards his hands, please please, she cried hoarsely, urgent now as her swollen breasts ached and her legs opened wide, oh please please please give it to me, give it to me. Still the strong hands on the nipples and the oil.

You must look at him, said Bud Martin.

In desperation she opened her eyes, saw that the man had curly brown hair and brown eyes and that he too was excited, that he was looking at her, that he strained back as he massaged her nipples still, that his penis was swollen, that there was a condom on it. She screamed at once, tried to move from under him: no no no no, I can’t, let me go, let me go, I can’t do that! but in the quiet shrouded hotel rooms in Los Angeles many screams go unanswered.

I can’t I can’t I can’t, she cried in horror, in terror. And her arms, a moment ago so sensuous, so soft, flailed at him, hit him, I can’t I can’t let me go let me go.

The man pushed her back urgently now and yet still gently, ran his hands from her breasts downwards to her dark dank hair, smoothing and smoothing over and over again, calming her, calming her, his fingers just touching her clitoris with each strong, gentle stroke.

She opened her mouth to scream again as the man touched her again and then her body decided for her: opened, took him in, this man above her who she did not know, moved with him, rocked with him faster and faster on the bed in the hotel room in Los Angeles until she hardly knew where she was at all, cried out in wild abandon, there in a room she did not know with a man she did not know Juliet Lyall cried out, oh my God, she cried, oh my God oh my God, and tears poured down her cheeks, oh my God, oh my God and she climaxed over and over again with a man she did not know in a hotel room in Los Angeles.

Finally she lay on the bed exhausted, racked by terrible shaking sobs of misery and pain and shame. And memory.

The man got up off the bed, got dressed, and after speaking very quietly to Bud Martin left the room.

Bud Martin waited. He waited for a long long time. At last the sobbing subsided.

‘Well doll,’ he said, and his voice was back to its old mocking tone, ‘think you can remember some of that for later?’