Flying Without Fear

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?"

"Yes Sir."

"But you will only speak when spoken to."

"Of course Sir."

He could already feel his power over her growing and this caused his cock to stiffen further. She kept looking straight into his eyes and began to feel intoxicated by his power. She had never imagined that her submission would come so easily or feel so normal. If this was to be the state of affairs from now on she considered that she would be more than happy to live with it.

He lifted his shoes off of her hands and barked at her; each time he spoke he became less tender and more authoritarian.

"Stand and return your gaze to the floor!"

She did so willingly and felt yet again the way she had felt that day on the plane. Standing up himself he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and brought out a white satin choker.

"You did well not to accessorise yourself girl. Later I will have you paint your nails in a colour of my choosing. For now you will wear this as a symbol of your submission to me."

As he gently fastened the choker around her neck he leant in to whisper into her ear.

"You are beautiful, and you will ensure that you always look beautiful for me."

"Yes Sir."

With one finger he gently traced the line of the choker around her neck. She suddenly realised that if he wanted he could strangle her, here and now. She felt normal fear and her normal fear responses kicked in. She knew that the sensible thing to do now was to run. But she stood her ground, determined to overcome this fear, and waited for his next move.

"Now go and stand face to the wall, legs and arms stretched like a star."

She complied, holding her arms above her head and placing her palms on the cold paint of the wall. Once she had spread her legs he commanded her to stick her arse out. He bent over and began to run his hands around and up her legs under her dress, firmly and roughly inspecting her flesh. As he reached the tops of the insides of her thighs she thought he was going to go for her snatch. But he was determined to make her wait. Pushing up her dress he ran her hands over her pert arse and up her sides, reaching round to grasp her small, firm breasts. Pressed against her he could smell how clean she was, clearly freshly showered and emanating the lingering smell of talc. Clean and pure, just as he had hoped. Gently at first, but with increasing viciousness he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, eventually tweaking them both, painfully, causing her to yelp.

"Silence girl." he ordered.

He then turned his attention to her smooth, toned arse. First, he massaged her cheeks, then pulled them apart to better examine her back passage. With two fingers he explored her sphincter and it was all she could do to not make a sound. Soon she realised he would be exploring her shaved pussy and he would find it incredibly moist. Would this excite him into taking her, hard, now?

Yes and no. As his fingers became covered in her juices he was certainly excited. His penis was straining hard now against his trousers and his underpants would certainly be spotted with precum. But he had long been an expert in the fine art of self-denial, and was determined that his girl would also learn the art.

He withdrew his hands from her and, rather unfairly, berated her for being wet.

"Did I order you to get sexually excited girl?"

"No Sir. Sorry Sir."

"Stand up straight and turn round."

She did so and as she turned he slapped her hard across the face. She reeled so hard she almost fell. She felt angry and reared up to confront him, but as she did so she recognised a genuine look of tenderness and affection in his eyes and found she couldn't be angry with him. He was her Master and he had a right to slap her if she had displeased him.

"There now." he said kindly, putting her arms around her, "There will be no more pain today. Just some work."

With his arm around her he led her into the kitchen. Offering her a pair of rubber gloves he ordered her to clean it.

"But Sir, "she protested, "it's already spotless."

"Then make it spotless again."

Puzzled but obedient she put on the gloves and began to wipe the surfaces.

"I want all the crockery and cutlery cleaned and dried and put back where they came from. I want the floor scrubbed, the oven cleaned and the freezer defrosted."

"Yes Sir."

As she worked she wondered how he could be so brutal one second yet so kind the next. She wondered why he was making her clean an already clean kitchen. What was it that caused him to be so capricious? While this puzzled her she also knew that she shouldn't be asking these questions. She had made the decision to cede control to him, to experience again and possibly for ever the feeling of powerlessness that had so unexpectedly intrigued and excited her when she was on the plane. He was her Master and she should obey him unquestioningly.

Once she had finished cleaning the kitchen he made her do it again. And again. And again. All the while he stood in the doorway, watching approvingly, feeling his cock struggle against his underpants, especially during the moments when she was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with a wire brush.

She continued to consider her situation, wondering how long it would be before he allowed her sexual release, or indeed if he ever would. Cleaning the kitchen over and over was hardly the most erotic thing she had ever done, but knowing she was doing it on his command and knowing that he was watching her somehow made it pleasurable. After a few hours she stopped questioning and merely continued with her task, her thoughts becoming gradually less coherent until she seemed to stop thinking altogether. A few hours more and she was getting tired. It was now the middle of the night and she was very hungry. She began to falter on her feet, to sway woozily.

She nearly fainted as she was reaching for some plates in a high cupboard and he stepped in and caught her in strong arms.

"That's enough for now girl. You've had a long day. It's time for bed."

And he led her up the stairs to his bedroom. Should he take some pleasure now? Should he allow her some pleasure? Or should he increase the tension and make them both wait for the next day, or the day after, or the day after that? He concluded that he would make that decision after they had both undressed.

His bedroom, like the rest of the house, was sparse and masculine. Just a double bed, a bedside table and a walk-in wardrobe. Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered thinking earlier that the house could do with a feminine influence. For a second or so her tired mind maybe even imagined some cushions scattered around the room. But these thoughts never really took hold. Emotionally she was drained.

He had her stand in the middle of the room and again gently ran his finger around her satin choker. This time she felt no fear, just a gentle joy that she was his to adore and to do with as he wished. He tugged gently at the yellow ribbon in her hair and the bow came undone, allowing her hair to cascade down her back. Then he slipped the straps of her dress over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Step out of it." he ordered, and she did so.

Then he commanded her to undress him. Unsure at first where to start she hesitated.

"Well get on with it girl. I'd like to be in bed before dawn."

His sarcasm cut her deeply. Hadn't she done everything he had wished her to? But then she remembered that there was no room for pride when you were a servant girl and tried to see it from his position. He had issued a command and she hadn't immediately jumped to it. She was in the wrong.

So she took charge of her task. She unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and released his tie. She unlaced his shoes, removed his belt and helped him step out of his trousers. She started to try to tidy the clothes from the floor but he stopped her, grabbing a clutch of her hair with his hand.

"Leave them. That can be a job for you in the morning."

He sat on the edge of the bed and commanded her to look at him. His body was firm and muscular, with a wiry mat of hair on his chest. From between his legs his cock stood to attention. Thick, substantial and with a purple, circumcised head. Her pussy began to ache for its attention.

Meanwhile he observed her in the dim light of the bedroom, tracing the curves of her naked body with his eyes and staring hungrily at her erect nipples. Cursing himself inwardly for his sudden lack of willpower he commanded her to kneel and eat.

As she knelt in front of him she felt a wave of love wash over her. She wanted him to be happy and now he was giving her the opportunity to make him so.

"Thank you Sir." she murmured as she slipped her lips around his penis. He was so startled by the feel of her lips around him that he forgot to admonish her for speaking out of turn.

At first she just sucked on his cock like it was a lollipop, but as she relaxed into her task she began to get more imaginative, using her tongue to stroke him up and down from the base to the tip, and giving daring little nibbles with her teeth (very daring considering the circumstances – fortunately for her he approved!). Then, without thinking she allowed one of her hands to wander towards her groin. Eagle-eyed, he spotted this instantly.

"Hands behind your back now girl!"

She complied and continued to tease his cock with her mouth, the exquisite pain of not being able to touch herself causing her to moan and gyrate her hips as if trying to find some release that way. In her state of arousal she had overcome her extreme tiredness and was able to focus on his cock in her mouth and the pleasure it gave to both of them. As her moans got louder he began to join in with the noises, thrusting his pelvis harder and harder, pushing his cock further back in her mouth towards her throat until, seemingly all at once, there was a series of explosions against her tonsils.

"Swallow!" he cried out, "Swallow!"

And so she did, drinking all of his semen down and licking the tip of his penis clean, all the while gyrating her hips, desperate to find some release of her own.

He withdrew from her mouth and looked down at her kindly,

"My good girl," he said, "I am very pleased with you. But it will not be good for you if I allow you pleasure tonight. You must learn to be patient. So please be still."

She obeyed, although with some difficulty, and stared at him, pleading with her beautiful blue eyes. The sight of her desperation almost broke his heart. He was utterly in love with her now. But he was her Master and he had to be strong for her. She needed to be denied for longer so that she would adore him ever more deeply with each passing moment, to ensure that she would adore him as passionately as he already adored her.

Perhaps he hadn't realised it yet, but she already did adore him. As they lay together on the bed, with his body wrapped around hers and his stiffening cock pressing into the small of her back, he held her hands in his to stop her exploring herself in her sleep. As she felt his breath grow heavier on her neck she drifted off into sleep herself, with a burning in her pussy and an ache in her heart for the Master that she loved.