Locked out_(0)

The apartment building in which I lived was comprised of lots of Escheresque stairways and corridors, all seemingly interconnected and absolutely none leading to where you actually expected to end up. I had lived there since it was opened and loved the place as any architect would love their own creation. It had myriads of internal public open spaces and over fifty apartments all serviced through an entourage of paid retainers, which kept the clientelle to a chosen minimum level of wealth and means, thereby mitigating the criminal commoners that would deface my own little Xanadu. For it was in the serviceways and backroom passageways that I plied my voyeuristic trade, spying on my well to do residents and their lives.

Most of my residents were selected to be single parents, wealthy and widowed if possible, devoted to the children and satisfying their own sexual tensions alone in the privacy of their homes. I had only ten couples, selected on the basis of their mostly absentee male partners and the good looks of their wives and children, again mostly female and early pubescent.

So it was that early one Friday evening, a young lady called Abi called in on me with a plea for help. She had returned home from a friends early and had lost her key, her mother being out at work until eight that evening. As I opened my door, there was Abi, in the hallway her knees together, doing a little jig from the hips. She was a desperate young thing; desperate for the toilet, so I decided to make the most of the situation.

“Hi Abi. What’s happening?” I asked standing in my doorway.

“Mr Jons, I am sorry to botther you”, shimmy, “but I have come home from Shel’s early”, another shimmy, “and I lost my key. Mom’s not home til eight” double shimmy, “and I need to get in.” Double desperate shimmy.

“You know the rules about my letting you in Abi, I will need to call your mom, and I know she will be on the plane right now, so can’t talk. So…”

“Please Mr Jons, you know me.” Hand drifting down to crotch of short skirt. “Can’t you just please issue one of the spare keys, please” Fingers pressing into crotch in time with the shimmying…

“Are you OK Abi? You look a bit flushed there.”

“ Noooo. I am really desperate Mr Jons” fingers and hand disappear beneath hem of skirt “ I need to get in the apartment nowwww. Pleeeease.”

“Ah, you need the toilet.”

“Yesss. Oh my god nooooo.” A small stagger and squeezing of the knees together. “Noooo.” Light sobbing.
“You don’t need the toilet then? You could use mine.”

“Ahhh, erm,” a look of panic now. “Yes please, but i think…”

Stepping across my threshold, I guided Abi to the left and pointed her down the corridor to the bathroom. As she began to walk down the black marble floor, I looked down to see the reflection of her pretty little white cotton panties with her finger firmly pressing her gusset deep between her labia, but all to no avail.
The first few slow steps towards sanctuary were enough to start an unstoppable flow of urine, a flow which her wet pants could not stop and neither could her hand. Her legs caught some of it as it streamed down them and onto her sandles, the remainder just hitting the black marble where she had stopped in shock.