Stephen's journey was not as bad as he thought it would be.
He waited in the garden of Anne-Marie and Victoria for ten minutes until the acrid piss on the front of his leotard had mostly dried. The advantage of the lightweight material was that it wicked away sweat and did not retain moisture, and in the balmy evening, the foul liquid evaporated quickly.
Then, he took a similar route home to what he had done on a previous evening. He ran past the pubs and places where there were people congregating, and most of the drunken revellers, enjoying a warm Saturday night out, didn't pay too much attention to him.
He smelt the pungent nastiness of Victoria's piss as he ran and was relieved when he got home without incident. He stepped into the shower to wash the revolting stink from his pores and sate his overwhelming lust.
The following day, while the dirty clothes were in the washing machine, he took a walk to the upmarket supermarket and bought the ingredients for shortbread and loose-leaf tea. A search on the Internet had suggested that this was easiest biscuit to make, and he found his mother's proper teapot, a gift from an elderly relative, and gave it a thorough clean.
The baked shortbread were haphazardly shaped, but the all-butter biscuit crumbled in his mouth when he tried one. Ten minutes before Victoria was due to arrive, he arranged four of them on a small plate and measured the loose leaves into a teapot.
She was on time to the dot and swept into his house with a backpack the moment he answered the door. "These are yours," she said and pushed his clothes from the previous day into his chest. "You can't really like Blink 182?" She asked and gestured with her hands at the T-shirt with the band's name on it. He nodded, and she sat down on the sofa. "Where's my tea and biscuits, numbnuts?"
"I'll get them," he promised.
She grunted and opened her backpack. She took out a small bag of economy frozen peas and threw them at him. "Put them in your freezer." He said nothing, and a few moments later returned with the plate and the teapot. "Shortbread and freshly made tea."
"Do I look Scottish?" She snapped and turned the biscuit in her hand, inspecting it. The first bite made her smile. "It's nice though. Pleasantly crumbly. Better at baking than me, anyway."
"Thanks."
The tea received similar approval, and she spread out on his sofa, sipping the drink. "My aunt couldn't believe how much curry we left. She came in at two in the morning and raided the fridge. How was your walk home?"
"Horrible," he lied.
"Oh, that makes my pussy tingle," she replied, smirking. "Say that again."
"You tortured me. It was so embarrassing and degrading. I hated it."
"Oh, you rotter," she teased. "You'll get me all hot and bothered. I'll want sex and everything."
"Oh, good!" Stephen retorted.
"Or maybe I'll want to do it all again. I know you came home and wanked your little cock. Probably in the shower. You were so erect in my garden. You were desperate for me to touch it and jerk you off." He blushed as she spoke and sipped her tea while looking at him with raised eyebrows over the rim of the cup. "Am I right?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. Which is why, I had decided that you need better control! Better self-control. And I can help."
"How?"
"You'll see." She looked at her watch and then back at the squirming man. "Oh, and get naked. You don't need or deserve to wear clothes."
"Why?"
She put her cup on the table and poured some more tea. "I don't like being challenged. You have ten seconds to do as I have commanded."
"OK, can I draw the curtains? Someone might see me naked."
"No," she hissed. "Absolutely not." Stephen scowled and undressed; he folded his clothes on to the armchair under the beady eye of the assertive woman. She smiled as he stood in front of her, helpless and exposed, and she took a picture of him on her phone. "Turn around."