CLEANER: Chapter Five - Part Four

DAHLIA

I had allowed the house to get as messy as I could in the two days since Melisa had been here last so I had my work cut out for me.

I started in the kitchen, clearing up the cooking mess and washing the dishes by hand. I got the water piping hot then used my marigolds again. The floor was made of ceramic tiles. I got the mop and bucket and set to work, giving it a really good clean. It took a lot longer than I thought it would, especially because I was trying to do it to a high degree of fastidiousness. I was determined to be the best cleaner I could be and that involved getting down on my hands and knees and reaching under the cupboards with a dustpan and brush, scooping out the crumbs and bits that had fallen under there over time.

It was clear that Melissa had never done this and that gave me a warm feeling, knowing I was working even harder than she did.

It was hard doing it wearing the glasses but I persevered. Seeing the room in this distorted way made me really feel as though I'd stepped into a different life. It made my eyes ache somewhat and threatened to give me a headache, but I didn’t take them off.

When I was done on the floor I got a cloth and some more hot water and some Jif and set to work on the cupboard fronts. They were carved in enough detail to catch a lot of dust. It was difficult to get it really clean. Again I didn’t shirk. I worked carefully round the room, not leaving one door panel until I was sure I’d got it fully clean; no smears.

Getting the whole room spick and span took a surprisingly long time. It was getting on a bit when I finally stood back to look at my handiwork, the backs of my hands resting vertically on my hips. It was a pose I seldom used – I'd always thought it was a bit of an ignoble way to stand – and the unfamiliarity gave me a little buzz. There was no point putting on airs, after all, if I was only a humble cleaner.

Thinking that gave me another buzz, accompanied by a warmth of titillation in my nether regions that made me focus more on the way I was standing; what I had just been doing; what I was wearing: the dress, the pinny, the glasses, the wig. Focusing on them drew out the pleasure and I stood basking in it for a good long while.

But I was thirsty. I went to the fridge and took out a bottle of fruit smoothie, reaching for a glass. I got as far as curling my fingers round the glass before I stopped and pulled back.

I was supposed to be the cleaner. I couldn’t help myself to my boss’s expensive drinks, nor sip from her crystal glasses. There was a kettle in the cleaning cupboard that was meant for me.

I tutted, enjoying being put out in that way and started to put the smoothie bottle back in the fridge, but I paused again. Sometimes, during the day, Melissa would bring me a drink out to where I was sitting. It was rare – she probably didn’t think to do it very often – but it seemed like a reasonable part of my duties if I was the cleaner.

My lips curled up at the edges. Then I set the smoothie bottle back on the kitchen side and took down the glass. I poured a full glass and picked it up; thought better of it and rooted out a little circular tray and a paper doily. The doily had been left over from a party the year before but it looked perfect on the tray with the glass in its centre.

Being careful to keep it level, I left the kitchen and walked toward the back of the house, feeling increasingly nervous but also quite highly titillated.

I wasn’t sure where Melissa had ended up. I'd been working so hard, I hadn’t noticed. I checked the lounge, but in the doorway I caught sight of her to my left in the pool room, lying back on a sun lounger, a magazine resting on her knees.

She looked like she really owned the place. It was incredible. She seemed completely relaxed but also very much at home in that environment, especially with the clothes, hair and make-up. I wished she looked even more the part. And that I did. How magical would it have been to actually be Melissa, serving the beautiful Dahlia? I craved that impossible dream passionately.

Nerves jangled in the moments before she noticed me. Bringing her a drink was a new kink. Cleaning was one thing. Acting like a proper servant was... something else. I liked it. It gave me chills.

Taking a breath, I stepped into the pool room, holding the tray before me. Melissa saw me in her peripheral vision and looked up. The astonishment on her face turned immediately to pleasure, especially when I said, "I thought you might like a drink."

"Oh. Thank you. That's... lovely."

I smiled politely and presented the tray. Melissa took the drink and sipped, smiling contentedly. My smoothies were of the highest quality; sourced locally with fresh fruit. Melissa looked delighted.

I stood watching her until she noticed me. There was a long moment of searching eye contact; neither one of us being quite sure how this was supposed to play out; then I gave another little smile and backed away, heading for the door.

The moment I broke contact I got a surge of regret - not that I'd played this little charade, but that I'd enhanced it further. I wished that I'd called her Dahlia. The desire to do that was like a pinch in my larynx. But the further I walked away, the more I knew I'd missed my chance.

Maybe next time.

But no, damn it. I stopped. I looked back. Melissa was still watching my retreat. In a moment in which it seemed that the earth stopped revolving, I opened my lips and said, "Will that be all Dahlia?"