After takeoff the next morning Bill and Missy settled into their seats for the long flight from Bangkok to Los Angeles, then on to New York. Bill had several quirks, and one was that he liked to dress up when he travelled. And he liked to fly Business Class. Today he wore one of his best suits, custom made in London by his tailor on Saville Row. His shirt had French cuffs and cuff links, he sported a red tie with an expensive diamond tie tack, matching red cravat and Italian shoes. When he wanted to, Bill could look very handsome, substantial and important, and it was beyond Missy's wildest dreams to be with this kind of man, on an expensive plane trip, all paid for by him. If it meant wearing a skimpy outfit, so be it.
She knew she was very pretty and had a nice body, though in the past when she wore what few skimpy clothes she had, she got too much attention from men, who were always approaching her and trying to touch her. After a while she gave up on wearing those clothes. Now with Bill she was safe from the advances of other men, and this was a great comfort to her.
And indeed, Missy didn't have much of a choice in her travel clothes today. All the bottoms were short skirts, all the tops were tank, tube or spaghetti-strap styles, and the only pair of shoes were the 4" black stilettos with straps he had given her as an extra present. There were no panties, just a colorful selection of tiny thongs, so she chose the blue one to go with a light blue cheerleader skirt and midriff tank sweater in powder blue cashmere.
"Sir," she had asked Bill the night before, "May I ask a question?"
"You may, little one."
"I looked through all the bags and I don't see any bras. You took all my old ones. Sir, I always wear a bra. Did I miss a package?"
Bill smiled to himself. This was another important moment, as he began training her body.
"Missy," he said sweetly, "your breasts are beautiful, honey, just the nicest shape they can possibly be. But they are a little bit small. They are so firm, so young and healthy, that you will not need to wear a bra with those new tops I bought you. Your breasts don't need the support. I would like to see you without a bra tomorrow, and we'll see how it goes, okay? Then if you want, we can talk about it later."
"But Sir, I will feel naked under my top, and my, my..." she couldn't quite say to him that her nipples would always be rubbing against the material of the little blue sweater she had chosen.
"Missy, I said let's try it and see."
"But Sir, ..."
Bill decided to put a little edge into his voice for the first time. He came close to her, looked directly into her eyes, raised his voice and said: "Now missy-girl, I will hear no more about this from you! You will not wear a bra tomorrow, and that's the end of it. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" He looked very hard and stern, standing above her and almost overpowering her.
Missy had been shocked by his tone -- he almost seemed angry. Quickly she replied:
"Yes Sir."
But now as she sat in her big business class seat, Missy barely remembered that bit of tension from the night before. Bill had been very loving this morning, and had handled all the travel details so that all Missy had to carry was a small purse with her makeup, perfume and the silk scarf he had given her and asked her to bring along. Otherwise, she hadn't had to do a thing except follow where he led. She was excited about being on a plane, her first time, and it was wonderful when they brought drinks and then food.
Once the drink and meal service were over the plane settled in for the long stretch and night fell. The cabin lights were lowered and many of the people fell asleep. They were in the very front of the business class section so there were no neighbors in front, and Bill saw that the people on the side and behind them were asleep. Missy was starting to close her eyes, but Bill had other ideas. He snuggled up next to her and whispered in her ear:
"Little one, I want you to do was I say now, okay? It will be easy."
"Yes, Sir, I will do as you say."
"Go into the bathroom, brush your hair down in front of your shoulders and put on some more perfume. Check your lipstick, then take off your little thong and bring it back and hand it to me."
Missy teetered down the darkened aisle in her heels and got into the bathroom. Thought most people were asleep, one big man on the aisle leered at her as she went by, and she saw him turn and felt his eyes on her ass as she struggled on the stilettos back to the bathroom. Although it was awkward, she was able to get her thong off and perfume on, and went back to join Bill, who had moved to the aisle to give her the window seat.
"Well, ...?" he asked.
Sheepishly she held out her hand with the thong balled up in it, and dropped it into his hand.
"Now we will begin your training. Sit here. Good. Now, since we are sitting here, we will begin with how you sit. Normally you will be just as you are, in heels and a short skirt with no panties. You will keep your knees tightly together like a good girl, and under NO circumstances are you allowed to cross your legs. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," said Missy, though she wondered if this was just for now, or would this be a more permanent rule. As if reading her mind, Big Bill said:
"From now on, you will not cross your legs, either in my presence or when alone. You notice that I threw away all your pants, and you are also forbidden to wear pants any more. You can choose from the clothes I buy you, okay sweetie?"
Missy started to realize that Bill was controlling her too much and giving her rules. He was so different from Jintau, who just roughly had his way! Bill was more careful and purposeful, and was very particular about what Missy wore and how she moved. If she let this continue, where would it end? Summoning up her courage, she said:
"Sir, I am not sure that this is right. I am used to choosing my own clothes, and I often cross my legs when I sit down. And I like wearing pants! So please ..."
Bill did not give her a change to finish, but reached over and grabbed her throat, lightly choking her and looking her deeply in the eyes.
"Little one, I am in charge now and these are my decisions. You are no longer in a position to decide these things." His hand took a firmer grip on her throat, he moved closer and his eyes bored into hers. Still quiet, he intensified his voice:
"I am not your husband yet and you are not my wife, but you know that if this does not work out, I will send you back to your fathers' house. Is that what you want?"
"No, oh no Sir!" Missy whimpered as memories of that last night with her father jumbled into her head.
"Please, don't send me back!"
"If you disobey me or disrespect me, or if you are in any way less than pleasing to me, I will send you back to your father. The choice is yours."
Poor Missy! Pinned to her seat with a strong hand on her throat, Bill looming above her, strong and confident, she felt small and became lost in her feelings of submission and acceptance.
"Yes Sir," she said meekly, "I will do my best to please you and make you happy."
"You did not make me happy with what you just said about choosing your own clothes. There will be consequences for your actions. Get out the blanket and cover yourself," and she immediately did as she was told, unfolding the airline blanket and putting it over her body.
"Now take off your shoes and skirt." Missy squirmed awkwardly in the seat but managed to do both things without calling attention to herself.
"Give me the skirt!"
Now Bill had both skirt and thong, which he casually zipped into his carry-on bag under the seat. Missy felt naked -- although covered by the airline blanket, she had only the little blue midriff sweater on!
"Okay honey, you're doing fine now. Just don't speak unless I ask you a question, and if I give you a suggestion, request or order, you will do as you're told."
"Yes, Sir!"
Bill arranged the blanket around her shoulders.
"Now you will take off your sweater and give it to me."
Missy struggled and squirmed, moving this way and that before she was finally able to take off the sweater and hand it to him. Again he zipped it into his carry-on bag.
