‘You’re going to meet Catherine Dawes? Wow!’
Gary’s sharp intake of breath showed his friend Dave what he thought of the idea. Dave had been accepted for Catherine’s programme, the Spring Clean where, to put it crudely, slobs who lived in squalor were taught the virtues of being clean and house proud. Catherine Dawes was a star of cable television and an object of fantasy for men like Gary.
‘The thing is’ said Dave, ’I used to hate being nagged by Janet but since she left the place has become such a tip. I need a woman to tell me what to do.’
‘Catherine Dawes is hot. Those skirt suits, the way she wears her hair on screen, all scraped back with the pony tail. Dominatrix chic I call it. Do as you’re told or else!’
They both laughed and Dave said
‘I’ll get the beers in. What are you having?’
Catherine Dawes and her film crew arrived at Dave’s house at ten o’clock the following morning. She was dressed in a grey skirt suit and black patent courts, just as Dave had expected. Her hair was scraped back from her face with its high cheek bones and minimalist make–up, and gathered into a pony tail. She looked both classy and intimidating. Dave felt a chill of anxiety as he looked at her. She was brisk and businesslike, not smiling as she offered her hand,
‘Catherine Dawes. Pleased to meet you. You’ve seen the programme? Then you’ll know that you call me Miss Dawes on camera.’
She went on a tour of inspection on the house followed by Dave who was squirming with embarrassment and by the cameraman.
‘The place is filthy. I will write out a task list and you will have four hours to get the place clean to my standards. Then I’ll do my tour of inspection.’
Dave set to work with the list and the rather inadequate supply of cleaning materials he kept under the sink. He found the cameraman’s presence a little distracting but the four hours passed quickly. As Catherine entered the house he felt himself shaking.
‘I’ll start with the bathroom.’
Dave followed her up the stairs gazing with awe at her legs, the seams of her stockings, the gleaming shoes. Was there no end to the perfection of Catherine Dawes?
He followed her into the bathroom where she lifted the kid on the toilet and sniffed, before pulling a face.
‘Is this clean? Well, is it?’
Dave hesitated and mumbled
‘Well it could be better I suppose.’
‘You’re going to clean this toilet again.’
‘Yes Miss Dawes.’
‘Take your clothes off and place them in a neat pile in the corner.’
Dave was so surprised that he complied without question. He watched as Catherine picked up his underpants and inspected them with a look of distaste. He grabbed the toilet brush and began to clean.
‘Did I say use a brush?’
‘No Miss Dawes but I thought’
‘You’re not here to think you’re here to do as I tell you. Use your tongue.’
Dave kneeled and placed his head inside the stinking bowl. He pretended to lick at first but suddenly felt the close presence of Catherine Dawes. She grabbed his head and pushed it deep into the bowl where he felt the water against his nose. He dipped his tongue in the water and began to lick the porcelain.
‘Do it properly’ ordered Catherine and when he had worked his way back up to the top of the bowl she pushed his head back down and pressed the button to flush it. He lifted his head top see Catherine offering him a towel and the cameraman smirking at his humiliation.
‘Now to the bedroom.’
Dave stood naked with damp hair and watched anxiously as Catherine pulled back the duvet to reveal a pile of used tissues. She picked one up, sniffed it and said
‘I can smell that you have been playing with yourself. Masturbating.’
She said the word slowly and deliberately, to emphasise her disgust.
‘Masturbation is a loathsome and disgusting practice. I’m going to punish you. Lie face down on the bed.’
Dave complied and heard Catherine put on a latex glove. She began to finger his back passage.
‘Not very clean are you?
‘No Miss Dawes.’
‘Didn’t Mummy teach you how to wipe your bottom?’
‘No Miss Dawes.’
‘Then I’m going to teach you. On camera. Your friends will enjoy seeing that won’t they?’
Dave said nothing but felt himself going red with shame.
Catherine took out a tawse from her bag and said
‘One hundred strokes. You will count and thank me after each stroke. Is that clear?’
‘Yes Miss Dawes.’
Dave winced as the first stroke landed and said
‘One, thank you Miss Dawes’
He thought he could take the strokes but as they accumulated he began to feel agonise he had never imagined possible. By the fiftieth stroke he had had enough.
‘Fifty thank you Miss Dawes’ he cried out and began to sob
‘Please stop, please have mercy.’
‘No mercy for dirty little wankers. No mercy….’
Catherine Dawes began to laugh a long, contemptuous laugh.’
Dave looked at the clock. It was seven o’clock. He had woken up with a huge erection. He took the TV listings magazine with the feature on Catherine Dawes and found a picture of her in action, with the famed white gloves with which she tested the dusting. He began to wank, he imagined Catherine Dawes scolding him, Catherine Dawes humiliating him, Catherine Dawes, cold and commanding, Catherine Dawes the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He worked his huge shaft hard with his left hand, holding the magazine in the right, then, raching his back, he cried out
and came, sending his thick creamy come spilling out over his hand. He took a tissue and cleaned himself up.
‘Put it in the bin’ he told himself. Catherine Dawes was coming to see him in just three hours time. He must not disappoint her.