‘Promise me you’ll wear something for me tonight when we dance,’ he told her. ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied quickly. ‘It’s not a dress or shoe...,’ he warned her. He slowly let her nipple come undone and his mouth went back to its lashings. Her jaw was pressed tight, fighting the pressure building between her legs. ‘I promise, sir. I don’t care what it is. I’ll do it, but please let me come, sir,’ she begged. His hands dropped to her jeans, quickly undoing her button and pulling them down just below. I’m not questioning your intentions, Mrs. Summers. I think they were very noble. Admirable, even. Maybe you just got in over your head and you thought you had no other, y’know, option. That’s what I think…’ Mrs. Summers is heard lighting another cigarette. Mrs. Summers: ‘Can’t say I know what that’s meant to mean. Sounds dramatic, though, whatever you and the writers are cooking-up about me. I’m sure it’ll work wonderfully for your show. I’d just prefer you left out all those… unmentionable. More

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