The Daddy Dom

She felt nervous as she watched the taxi drive back down the long and winding driveway and disappear through the imposing, brass gate. She picked up her bags and turned to muster the house. It was large - the size of a small villa - with a brick facade and large white windows. The door was built of dark wood, a brass knocker nailed onto its middle. The garden surrounding it seemed immaculately kept and bore flowers in various shades of yellow which flanked the house walls. A plated stone path connected the driveway and parking area with the steps of the entrance. The entire property was shielded off from the outside by thick bushes, which could easily trump small trees in height.

She swallowed.

There was no turning back now. The arrangements had been made. The life she had known had been adjusted to accommodate her stay here, so far up in the countryside, so far away from the rest of the world.

Hesitantly she began to walk up the path; once in front of the door she took a deep breath. This was it. Two careful knocks. Then it began: