She looks nervous

“Mr. P!” Alison's voice rises almost to a squeak. “You want me to be your sex-****?” Without waiting for my answer she drops the books onto the bed and pushes it away. “I don't think I could do that.”

“Do what, Angel?” After the fantasies we just acted out, I expected to see a little more excitement from my young tenant; this looks more like apprehension bordering on outright fear.

“You could do anything to me...” Her hushed voice is low and throaty.

“That's right.” I love the way her naked body is squirming on the bed. Her eyes are fixed on the hands clenched together on her lap and her eyes are lowered so all I can see are her lashes.

“Owning another being is a sin.” Alison looks up shyly, meeting my calm gaze for just a fraction of a second before returning to focus on her trembling hands. Her cheeks blush fiercely, and I see the color starting to tint the tops of her pale tits.

“Is it?” I ask conversationally, “The bible talks about it all the time. The enslavement of pretty young women like you used to be quite common all over the world. Especially during the Roman Empire. It decreased in some parts of the Western world by the 17th century, but I'm sure you learned about the Ottoman Empire and the Far East that had a very different view on the matter until only a little more than a hundred years ago. Not to mention the Southern States right here in America”

“Yes, I know, Sir.” Alison's voice trembles as she replies, “and it still happens today, Mr. P. Young girls like me are snatched from the streets and **** into sex-work, but that doesn't make it right.”

“That may be true in our reality,” I concede, “but imagine a world in which slavery is commonplace, and where public auctions are always in need of more pretty young female bodies to sell.” Her head lifts again and her doe-eyes widen as she shakes her head slowly. In spite of her reservations, I see a tremor travel down her arms and the tightening of her nipples. Knowing what I do about Alison, I have no doubt that she has had thoughts like these on her own, but for me to spell them out seems to be even more stimulating so I continue my descriptions,

“A world where when wars are fought, the most beautiful young women of defeated countries are routinely taken as tribute by the victors; or where a father who falls into debt might be **** to sell off his own daughters to pay off his creditors.” Alison's soft moan tells me all I need to know. “In this alternative reality girl-hunters prowl both city streets and country villages in search of beautiful young females to abduct to feed the insatiable demand of the **** markets.” Alison's hands creep up protectively over her breasts as she tries to imagine this kind of world, “and ruthless raiders swoop in to plunder poorly defended towns.”

“Oh my God, Mr. P, please.” Her legs are rocking together now in a slow steady rhythm and her breathing is becoming more ragged. “Please stop. Don't make me do this.” In spite of her protest, I have no doubt that this is exactly what my submissive young tenant both needs and wants. I continue without mercy pointing to the John Norman book lying face up on the bed.

“In that Gor world, these hunters have even found a way to come here to our Earth and extend their hunting grounds to the high schools, shopping malls and elite colleges teaming with ripe young prizes.” I chuckle cruelly, “a small college town like this would be a rich hunting ground indeed.” This last comment seems to break Alison's weakening resolve. This is after all not all that different from the fantasies she shared with me on this very bed.

“Not me though, those awful hunters would be looking for sophisticated Sorority members,” she whispers, “or maybe innocent young virgins from St. Claire's?” I smile at her wolfishly at the mention of our local Catholic schoolgirls in their plaid skirts and white blouses, and reach over to take her hands in mine as I answer her.

“I suspect the men of that counter-planet would have a wide variety of tastes, so no one would be safe from their hunters, certainly not someone as beautiful as you.” Her hands tighten around my fingers with a strength that I wasn't expecting from someone as slight as her.

“But would you really want a **** like that, Sir?” She stresses the word as she studies my face nervously, “You wouldn't hunt for an unsuspecting prize or **** a bankrupted rival to sign over his innocent young daughter for you to defile?” In spite of her obvious angst, I get the impression that this conflicted coed is struggling to keep her composure and I hesitate as I try to put together the right words.