CLEANER: Chapter Seven - Part Five

DAHLIA

By the time I finished tidying the shed it looked a hundred times better.

It reminded me of the wonderful scene in the old film Calamity Jane where they sing A Woman’s Touch while sprucing up Calamity’s log cabin. It was so satisfying to come to something in such mess and disorder and put it straight: neatly stacked tools, clean floor and even polished windows.

That man, the gardener, had left it looking like a torture chamber. Now it was pristine. I’d even hammered little nails into the walls to hang smaller tools on, even if it had taken most of the morning.

I closed the door on it feeling happy and proud then checked the cheap watch I’d bought to replace the diamond-encrusted one I normally wore and hurried inside to make lunch for Melissa.

I couldn’t find her to ask what she wanted. I checked the pool room and the lounge, the study, the master bedroom. She was nowhere to be seen. Then I noticed that she’d been through the bags I’d bought yesterday and found the empty wrapper for a swimming costume in her size.

Since she hadn’t been in the pool room that only left one place.

I went down to the other side of the house where the gym and other recreation rooms were. Next door to the gym was a wet room with an inset sauna and a built in hot tub. Melissa was in the hot tub, bubbles all around her, looking caught out and embarrassed, though very relaxed. She still had the contacts in and the wig on, though she’d clipped the hair back.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry,” she said, “I’d been dying to try this out.”

We both stared at one another, unsure about the etiquette of this strange reversal. I could see the thoughts ticking through her mind just as she must have been able to see mine. Then she straightened and cleared her throat. “I’m hungry. Bring my lunch through here will you, along with that little shelf that fits on the edge of the tub.”

For a brief moment there was a sudden bottleneck of tension as the part of me that objected to being talked down to, especially by an employee of mine, stepped back to allow the delightfully submissive side of me that I hadn’t known existed step forward.

“Yes miss,” I said. “I apologise for being late. I was finishing off the shed.”

“I can see that,” replied Melissa. “Your uniform is filthy.”

I looked down, realised she was right and blushed brightly. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Do you have a spare uniform?”

“Yes.” 

“Well perhaps you had better change... before you make my food please, not after.”

“Yes. Of course.” I stood, enjoying the crackling moments and then said, “What would you like me to make for you?”

“Er...” She settled back and looked up to her right.

“Something...” I cleared my throat. “Something slimming?”

She stared back at me in surprise edged with disapproval, then those emotions melted away and she said simply, “Yes. Please.”

I bobbed my head and went out, feeling thoroughly energised and lit up.

I could never have expected to feel as good as this for such an extended period. It wasn’t just the sexual titillation of the transformation or this new delightful submission. It was the stepping outside of reality – the charm of play acting and improvisation. It was like playing a game of pretend as a child but taking it to a far higher level of intensity and being able to gain these sparks of arousal at the same time.

It was the best thing I’d ever done.