A little disapointed

“It would be too risky...” The way Alison says the words almost make them sound like a question. “I'm such a sinner, Mr. P.” Her hand rests on my shoulder as her eyes search mine for some sign of understanding. “I'm so worked up now, I don't think I'll ever get to sleep.”

“You will, Angel,” I assure her with a teasing smile, “First, you might have to get yourself off though, right?” Alison's doe eyes grow even bigger when she hears me talk about masturbation like it is no big deal.

“I can't, Mr. P.” Her voice is so low I can just barely hear the words, but considering her repressive upbringing, I guess I should have expected something like this. “It's sinful, only bad girls do that.” Alison doesn't seem overly troubled by the inherent contradiction of letting a man, first Dick and now hopefully me fuck her, but still believing that touching herself is out of bounds.

“Trust me, Sweetheart,” I try to correct her, “everyone does it. Probably even your Mom.” That last bit was a step too far and my pretty tenant pushes herself away shaking her head doubtfully.

I decide that this is something that I can teach the poor girl. “Let's go to your rooms, Honey.” I offer her my hand, letting her make the decision. The last thing I want to do is rush this and fuck up the arrangement before it even starts.

“But ... you don't have protection.” Even as she protests, she puts her small hand in mine, and I find her trust in me as sexy as her naked body. As worked up as she is right now, I wonder if I could convince her to let me take her bareback. I bet I could talk her into letting me push in 'just for a bit' and once I was banging her I could do pretty much anything I wanted. I push that evil thought back into the dark corner of my brain and explain what I have in mind as I lead her up the steps to her bedroom.

“Don't worry,” I reassure her, “We're not going to have sex, in fact I'm not even going to touch you.” She hesitates mid step on the landing, clearly even more confused than before. “I'm going to watch you as you jill yourself off.”

“Mr. P, I don't think I can ...”

“I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to do it.” I put a little more **** behind the words and smile when I see her accept without any further argument that this is going to happen.

“Yes, Sir.” For the first week or so when Alison first moved in, she would call me 'Sir' but that was just her conservative Southern background, and she pretty quickly shifted to 'Mr. P.' This 'Sir' was different; it felt like a feminine surrender, a recognition of my power over her and a promise of things to come. In spite of my sincere belief in the equality of the genders, I have to admit there is something very sexy about hearing Alison express her submissive nature like this.

“Good.” I squeezed her small hand in mine firmly as if to lock in this agreement. Once in her room I had Alison climb onto her bed (I rented the rooms furnished, so this was our old queen not some tiny bed like in the dorms) and I settled in the chair by the window.

“Lay back and get comfortable, Angel.”

“Yes Sir.” There it is again, and it sounds as good or even better this time with her expressive eyes locked on mine.

“Run your hands up and down your body ... you don't have to touch anywhere that makes you feel uncomfortable but feel how soft and smooth your skin is.” I watch as her eyes close and mouth open as her hands stroke first her arms and belly but gradually get bolder until her fingers are brushing the sides of her pretty tits.

“Good,” I keep my voice low and calm like I'm calming a skittish horse, “now think of some sexy passage that you read in a trashy romance, or sex scene from a movie that got you excited.”

“Mr. P!” Alison protests softly even as her fingers find her nipples. “We didn't have books like that at Saint T's ... and my parents didn't let me go to the movies, not movies like that ...” It takes me a minute to remember what it was like for me as a boy growing up in this kind of environment. My porn as a kid was limited to the Intimate Apparel section of the Sears catalogue and old stained Cosmopolitan magazines passed around from one horny teen to another. “Right,” I concede before adjusting my words, “but you must have read some books that got you thinking about sex.”

Alison's small moan might be from the sensations of her fingers fluttering gently on her breasts, but I suspect that she is remembering something from her childhood that got her juices flowing.

“Tell me.” Once again, I make my tone as firm as possible. If I can get her to relate her sexual fantasies and rub her naked body while I watch, I'll be able to get her to do anything.