“What floor?” I asked as I looked down from the scaffolding high above Magdelene Street while
answering my cell phone.
“The lounge floor,” a woman with a plummy accent insisted, “It’s staining the ceiling downstairs it really is not good enough!”
“And where is this?” I asked, she told me, it didn’t register.
“London!” she said.
“That was weeks ago!” I explained.
“Well it’s not good enough, either you rectify it at no cost or I shall sue.”
“OK, text me the address,” I agreed, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I want rather more than a vague promise,” she said, “You finish at five, I shall expect you at seven this evening, that should give you time for shower and a cheese burger.”
“That’s rush hour!” I protested.
“Leaving London darling, not coming in, seven o’clock or I sue.”
I didn’t have much choice really, so I thew my tools in the old transit at knocking off time and headed round mums for a bite to eat and a shower before hitting the M40 East bound.
The traffic wasn’t bad, not my way, westbound was like a car park but I went well until past the M25 where it got a bit sticky.
I got round her place around ten to seven, an old fashioned town house with a few steps up to the front door and a few down to the basement, probably 1880 ish, bath stone faced to first floor level then render, a red brick structure basically thrown up on the cheap.
“You’re early,” she said censoriously as she opened the front door.
“We aim to please,” I quipped.
“Well improve your aim,” she said as she stepped back to allow me into the hallway. She looked late thirties acted like ninety, snotty bitch.
The kitchen door opened, “Mistress,” a girl’s voice trilled.
“Not now kitten,” the woman insisted.
“But Mistress, I have to be, oops!” she said.
I stared, she was wearing a maids outfit about four sizes too small, her breasts swelled over the top and it barely reached below her navel which must have been chilly as she wasn’t wearing any knickers.
“Sorry mistress.” she said.
“Well close the door, and put your eyeballs back in, they’re on stalks!” the ‘Mistress.’ insisted, “You simply can’t get the staff.”
“But!” I said stupidly.
“Oh wake up and smell the coffee,” she insisted, “Really the small mindedness of the typical British worker never fails to astonish me.”
“None of my business Madam.” I agreed, “Or is that Mistress.”
“Don’t push it.” she said as she locked the outside door behind me, “But we are not here to discuss my sexual preferences, nor yours for that matter.”
She led me through to the lounge, strangely the floor was as I left it, sealed tongue and groove stripped pine, it looked fine.
“What’s the problem?” I asked as I noticed a strong smell of disinfectant.
“It leaks,” she said, “It is staining the basement ceiling.”
“What leaks?” I asked.
“The floor,” she said, “Leaks, you were instructed to seal it.”
“Not against water leaks,” I explained, “But the occasional spillage should be fine.”
“That is not what we agreed,” she insisted.
“I suppose I could give it another coat,” I offered, “Why does it smell of disinfectant?”
“You had better see the basement,” she said, and she swept past me and led me down the stairs from the spacious modern kitchen to the old cramped kitchen below and through to the store room formerly servants hall beneath the lounge.
The ceiling was stained brown.
“Crikey, that’s not water,” I said, and I rubbed my finger against the low ceiling and tasted it, “That’s, yuck, where does the plumbing go.”
“Can you seal it?” she asked.
“No, this is the foul drainage, nothing to do with me,” I said.
“You said seal, come upstairs again Mr Allington,” she said, “Let me demonstrate.”
She went back to the lounge, “Pippa!” she said, “Show our guest the problem.”
“Mistress?” she queried, “But he’s a man Mistress?”
“Very nearly Pippa,” she said, “But show him how you show contrition.”
“I can’t madam.” she said firmly.
“I’ll get the cat in a minute,” the ‘Mistress,’ threatened.
My mind boggled, she had done her best but her tits still bulged from her top and at least the bottom couple of inches of her pussy were clearly displayed below the hem of her skirt.
“No please Mistress,” she pleaded.
“So do it you stupid child,” she insisted.
I had no idea what was about to happen when quite improbably she squatted down and started to do a wee on the polished floor.
“Bleedin’ hell!” I swore, “No damned wonder it leaks and stinks, haven’t you ever heard of lavatories, Thomas Crapper, Armitage Ware and all that?”
“And in your small minded world have you no knowledge of water sports?” she asked.
“Certainly have,” I said, “Surfing at Newquay, Jet Skis, water skiing, but not pissing on the living room floor.”
“And it had no effect on you at all?” she asked.
“No,” I lied for my old man had come to life quite painfully if I was honest, stuck down my trouser leg when he needed some space,
“Come Mr Allingon,” she said, “You have an erection which wouldn’t disgrace a full grown rabbit.”
“Hey?” I queried, “What do you mean Rabbit?”
“Precisely,” she explained, “I am afraid I much prefer a nice rigid forearm to the transitory stiffness of the male member, have I shocked you Mr Allington?”
She certainly had, “No,” I lied, “Well pissing on the floor is a bit of a gob smack if I’m honest.”
“She’s very, dear to me, so I keep her on a short rein,” the ‘Mistress’ explained, ” She has a delightfully tiny fist.”
Pippa was smiling coyly at me, “But she does like cock,” the Mistress said sadly.
“What exactly as this to do with sealing floors?” I asked.
“Your erection young man,” she explained, “I fear you have designs on my companion.”
“Of course I got a hard on!” I said, “Who wouldn’t?”
“Ninety seven percent of the adult population,” she replied, “Watersports is a minority fetish Mr Allington.”
“Right,” I agreed, “Well given the choice I would prefer the old Thomas Crapper urinal to the living room floor any day.”
“But, given the choice of her mouth, my mouth, in my hair, in her hair, Mr Allington?” she asked.
“I, I never gave it a thought,” I admitted.
“The freedom to go when the mood takes you,” she queried.
“They used to keep chamber pots under the bed when my grand dad was a boy,” I agreed.
“Not quite my point Mr Allington,” she conceded, “But you didn’t answer, doesn’t the thought of your urine arcing through the air to soak my dress, my brassiere, my breasts, does that not excite you?”
“I,” I said.
“Your lips are silent yet your cock speaks volumes,” she said delightedly.
“You don’t like cocks,” I reminded her.
“No, but Pippa does,” she admitted, “Poor girl she is so delightful yet I cannot quite reciprocate, I am not heartless Mr Allington, but neither am I stupid, which is why I keep Pippa on a short leash, from her revealing clothing to.”
“She’s a prisoner?” I asked.
“To all intents and purposes,” she conceded, “I treat her like a dog.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“I take her for walks in the park,” she said, “Have I shocked you, after dark you understand, with the poop scoop.”
“Right?” I said.
“She is not allowed to use the lavatory, ever, she just mops up afterwards,” she explained, “Like a dog, a bitch.”
“And that turns you on?” I asked incredulously.
“Absolutely, and I see I am not alone!” she laughed.
I had my hand down my jeans, my cock was twisted up with my underpants and it was agony.
“Mr Allington!” she said, “Please!”
“Look, it’s not what it looks like,” I said.
“Masturbating,” she said, “Is a rather individualistic activity not readily mistaken for any other.”
“I’m just uncomfortable that’s all,” I protested.
“Which is clearly why you are masturbating,” she declared.
“Look,” I said, “You need coats and coats of varnish, yacht varnish or something seriously waterproof,” I explained, “Not just sealing, you should have explained what you had in mind when you had the place done, I just subbed on the floors.”
“Subbed?” she said, “You are hardly a sub Mr Allington.”
“Sub contract, strictly Harrisons are liable,” I explained.
“No, I paid you directly Mr Allington,” she explained.
“That was just a technicality,” I explained.
“Which never the less makes you liable.” she pointed out.
“So. I’ll do the sealing again,” I said.
“Which you admit will not cure the problem?” she said.
“No it needs proper waterproofing,” I told her.
“How much?” she asked.
“Maybe ten coats,” I said, “twenty four hours to dry between, its ridiculous!”
“I’ll pay for materials,” she said.
“Great,” I said, “There’s travelling and.”
“I’ll pay for petrol,” she said.
“No way,” I insisted.
“Think about pissing in Pippa’s mouth,” she said, “Or mine.”
“What?” I demanded.
“I think you understand exactly what I am offering.”
I stared, you know, a stuck up, upper middle class bitch, who wouldn’t want to piss in her face? but Pippa, well, to be honest I just wanted to ram my straining cock deep in her sweet pink pussy.
“I don’t know,” I said, “It will be a lot of work.”
“And a lot of fun,” she added, “And Pippa hasn’t had any cock for ages have you sweetie?”
“No Mistress,” Pippa agreed.
“And you do like cock don’t you?” the ‘Mistress’ asked.
“I like you fingers and my toys Mistress,” Pippa replied.
“But she prefers cock,” the ‘Mistress’ confirmed, “I too have a soft spot for it but as I mentioned a rigid forearm beats a flexible cock on every single level.
“If we do this, like we need the whole room bare, no furniture, it will be about a week after the last coat before you can risk using it again, twelve hours before you dare even walk on it.”
“Oh,” she said, “I see.”
“But why don’t you have a wet room in the basement, tile the floor like a shower, tile the walls a bit too, not white but maybe slate grey or something, then you can play there,” I suggested.
“Yes, why not indeed, as a temporary measure and for those awful wet nights,” she enthused, “How much?”
I did a bit of mental, “Well to make a job we really need to take out the existing, stick in a membrane.”
“How much?” she demanded. I gave her a ball park, “Really? and how long?”
“Two days, then you’ll need a plumber to do the shower heads or sprinklers,” I suggested.
“When can you start.” she asked.
“Monday week if I can get the tiles, if you’re not fussed colour wise it should be easy enough.”
“Excellent,” she agreed, “Email me the final quotation and I am sure we have a deal. Can I get you a glass of something before you go?” she asked.
I looked longingly at Pippa as she gently fingered her exposed cunt while she looked longingly at the bulge in my jeans.
“No, thanks, breathaliser and all that,” I said apologetically.
“Good, then I’ll see you out, thank you.” she said.
“Good, yes,” I said as I stood up, “Goodbye Pippa, nice to see you,” I said and she blushed crimson, it wasn’t what I meant so I expect I blushed as well.
I went through the hallway and the ‘Mistress’ showed me out through the front door, “The Tradesman’s entrance is down the steps to the right,” she explained, “Goodbye Mr Allington.” the ‘Mistress’ said as I went outside.
“Good night,” I said, I nearly said ‘Mistress,’ but I didn’t and I went back to the Transit with a big smile on my face, I just turned a complaint into two days paid work.
Now that’s a result,
Oh you wanted to hear about the other stuff, now hang on, I’m a builder not a bloody pervert!
To be continued