The thought came unbidden; a crystal clear image of me choking Andy on the skanky, shit-covered rubber until he was sick. It would serve him right for sending me on the grotty fucking errand in the first place.
It was the perfect moment for him to make an appearance, and I couldn’t help but smile. He propped himself against the doorway like Little Lord Fauntleroy, careful not to dirty his brogues on the piss-wet floor tiles.
“I knew you were a dirty cow, Faye, but even I didn’t imagine I’d find you smiling over a wet room blockage.” He pulled a face. “Jesus wept, what the fuck is that?”
I waggled it in the air like a trophy, fighting the urge to retch. “A shit-covered condom matted with pubic hair. If I didn’t know better I’d think you put it down there, just to be a sadistic asshole.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Even I have my limits, Faye. That is seriously disgusting.” He toed the drain cover back into position with a scowl. “Fuck knows how it even got down there. It’s usually just hair and soap scum. Despite its reputation, people do generally use the place for regular showers. I’d have handled it myself if I’d have known, I’m not that much of a cunt.”
“You, on all fours, in rubber gloves, fishing about in someone else’s shit? Now that I would love to see.” I dropped the offending item in the bin and the gloves along with them. “Way to go for installing a wet room.” I rinsed my hands under the nearest faucet, flicking the drips in his direction.
“Actually, if I recall, the wet room was your idea, I merely implemented it. A regular shower block would have been my choice.”
“I clearly didn’t think through the practicalities.”
“No holds barred,” he mimicked. “The ultimate playroom experience… we go bigger, better, dirtier, Andy, not just a couple of flogging benches and some cages. We have the works, everything, even a wet room…”
I smiled. “I remember that conversation.”
He slapped the wall with some kind of perverse pride. “And here you have it. The princess gets her piss play. She also gets shit-smeared condoms along with it, call it a value-added extra.”
“I’ll survive.” I leaned back against a cleanish looking piece of tiling. “Never fancied it? In here, I mean.”
“I’m hardly Masque, Faye. I do have some limits.”
“Limits are there to be pushed,” I said. “That’s where the fun is.”
“If you say so.”
“I know so.” The thought of kneeling at his feet in the filth gave me tingles. The thought of him kneeling at mine gave me more. “You used to be pretty dirty, Andy. Some of your scenes are emblazoned on my memory for all time. It’s one of the things I liked best about you.”
“Liked best? Don’t write me off quite yet, Miss Kink. I’m dormant, not fucking extinct.”
Heat. You could feel it between us. A flame smouldering without oxygen, waiting to explode. A clack of heels broke the tension, Topaz with keys in her hand.
“We’re all done,” she said. “See you in the morning, Faye…” she looked from Andy’s feet to his face and back again, “Goodnight, Mr Morgan.”
“Goodnight, Topaz,” he said.
I waved her goodbye, then readied myself for leaving. Bed was calling, loud. Blissful bed for aching feet. Fucking heels. “Time for a cab, Mr Morgan,” I said. “I’m absolutely pooped.”
I could’ve smacked him across the mouth for the cheek in his smirk. “Not quite,” he said. “Playroom three’s flogging bench needs washing down before tomorrow. Someone forgot club etiquette; it’s rather sticky, apparently. You’d better grab another pair of gloves.”
My eyes widened. “You are shitting me?”
“Afraid not,” he said. “This is club life, Faye, you wanted in, you can pull your weight.”
“This isn’t about pulling my weight,” I snapped. “It’s about you proving a stupid point.”
“Think what you want, but that bench isn’t going to clean itself. Gloves. Bench. Then taxi. And don’t be late in the morning.” He walked away without so much as a backwards glance, leaving me to simmer in the wet room with a temper fit to burst.
I stomped through the club to the supply room, gathering up antibacterial spray, and steriliser, and gloves, and wipes and bleach and a commiseration glass of vodka Coke before tracking back through to playroom three.
I flicked the lights back on, slamming the door behind me and downing my drink in one. The room was immaculate, the fresh smell of pine steriliser still ripe in the air. I approached the flogging bench with confusion; it was perfectly fucking clean. I cursed under my breath that the asshole had sent me on a fool’s errand, when the door creaked behind me.