She rang the doorbell and waited patiently, eyes gazing downwards as she had been instructed. To steady her nerves she tried to erase all thoughts of what was to come and instead concentrated on the patterns of the scuff marks on the concrete doorstep. What was missing, she mused, were doorstep accoutrements; a doormat bearing the word 'Welcome', a bootscraper in the shape of a hedgehog, that sort of thing. She was about to conclude that it needed more of a feminine influence when she caught herself. It was not her place to think such thoughts.
Inside the house, John was standing in front of his mirror, making the final adjustments to his tie. He licked a finger and smoothed his eyebrows then bent down to give his brogues a final polish with his bootbrush. Soon, he thought, he will have someone to attend to these things for him.
He slowly made his way down the stairs, pleased with himself and pleased with the way he'd managed to turn himself out. The brown brogues, the brown single-breasted suit, the crisp white shirt and the charcoal-grey tie, fastened in a chunky Windsor knot. Short blonde hair, spiked with a bit of gel. He hoped that he looked irresistible.
He opened the front door and almost lost his composure over the sight that awaited him there. All his life he had searched for her. Now, on first sight, he was sure that he had found her. The one.
She was nearly half his age, early-twenties, and she stood on the doorstep head bowed. She was dressed as he had suggested in a sleeveless cotton summer dress, yellow with a floral pattern, long blonde hair scraped back and tied into a ponytail with a yellow ribbon, and light sandals with a chunky heel. With nails unpainted and unadorned with jewellery she had come to him pure.
As he studied her she began to shake; whether it was with anticipation or fear he couldn't tell. And neither could she. Yes she was afraid, but it was an unusual kind of afraid. She had only felt something similar once before, when she had been on a plane that had had to make an emergency landing. Fear is an important human emotion. Its purpose is to kickstart us into action when faced with a threat. It causes our adrenaline to start pumping so that our brain can work faster, so that we can make the crucial split-second decision whether to stay and fight or turn and take flight.
What she had realised, that day on the plane, was that there were certain threats that fear could not cope with. Strapped into her seat and assuming the brace position no amount of adrenalin could help her make the right decision, because there was no decision she could make. She couldn't 'fight' the wounded plane, even had she known how to fly one she wouldn't have been able to get into the cockpit. And she couldn't take flight because there was nowhere to run. She had felt the fear but been powerless to act on it.
Whether it was merely the result of the flood of relief she had felt when the plane landed safely, or whether the experience had awakened in her some deeper desire to experience a loss of control over her own circumstances she couldn't tell. But it was her desire to re-experience this very sensation of powerlessness, of lack of control, that that had led her, eventually, to John.
John stood in the doorway and watched her shiver. His heart swelled with pride that she would be his. But his heart also bled, bitterly. She was so beautiful, so vulnerable that he wanted just to sweep her up in his arms and hold her to him for eternity.
That would have to wait however.
"Don't fret." he said gently, "Come in."
He stood to one side to let her pass and motioned her through to his sitting room. The room was large and bare, just a TV/hi-fi combo against one wall, a black leather sofa against another and a glass-topped coffee table in the middle. She stood in the middle of the room, eyes still directed at the floor, arms hanging loosely by her side, utterly unsure of what she should be doing.
He closed the front door and trod gently into the room. Sitting on the leather sofa he commanded her.
"Kneel."
She did so, gingerly kneeling down at his feet, eyes fixed on his brown brogues. He lifted his feet of the floor slightly.
"Put your hands under my shoes, palms up."
Leaning forward to do so she had to extend her elbows outwards, giving her the appearance of a bird pecking at the ground for grubs. As she leant forward he could see down the front of her dress. No bra, he noted approvingly. He gently rested his shoes on her hands, taking care not to hurt her.
"You may look up at me." he said.
She raised her face to see his for the first time. His forehead had some worry lines but overall he looked remarkably young for his age. He was clean shaven with a long nose, and his brown eyes looked down at her, their expression a peculiar combination of sternness and kindness. As he cupped her chin in his hand she found herself momentarily short of breath.
For his part he stared longingly at her, drinking her face in. He knew right away that he was going to adore her. Stray wisps of hair had escaped from her ponytail and hung over her cheeks. She had a pretty face with a small nose and deep blue eyes that looked just a little scared. Feeling his cock surge inside his trousers he greedily lunged forward, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth. His kiss was strong and she began to feel herself getting damp below. When he withdrew his tongue she couldn't help but let out a little gasp.
He sat back and looked at her with a proprietorial eye.
"Tell me your name girl."
"Georgina."
"Very good Georgina, although at least for now I will just call you girl. Okay?"
"Yes."
"Yes Sir." he corrected.
"Yes Sir." she said, "Sorry Sir,"
"You will always call me Sir. Is that understood?"
