Who was I, pretending I belonged in this swanky looking lounge? But Mrs Hotter merely went over to the sideboard and poured. She’d said she’d been...watching a film, but the tele wasn’t on. Maybe she’d switched it off when the doorbell went.“Take a seat,” she said as she handed me the drink. I had no idea what it was, but it burned the back of my throat so bad I choked on the first mouthful. Clearly this was not something to be drunk like orange juice.Mrs Hotter, to her credit, pretended not to. 'No, you know what I mean.' I looked around again and my eyes grew together as I whispered into my phone, 'Do you want me to punish you and torture you a little?' 'Finally she got the point,' he pretended to be talking about me to someone else. 'Tonight would be fine.' And with that, he not only secured a date for that night effortlessly but also made sure that it will not be some vanilla missionary one. Not that vanilla missionary was ever going to be a threat to us. No wonder I was crazy. More

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