She whimpers incoherently

Instead of answering me, Alison shakes her head and lets out a soft whimper.

“Angel?” I try softly to get through to her, but her eyes are still clenched shut, and I get no response. “Alison!” I try again this time with a much sharper tone. Other than a little twitch and another muffled whimper there is still no reaction, and I start to get concerned. “Alison!” In spite of my promise not to touch her, I move to the bed and take her quivering body in my arms. “Are you OK, Angel?”

“I’m sorry.” The whispered apology is a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. “That’s what happens when I start to feel good.” She explains with a sad sigh, “not always, but the better I feel the more likely it is.” I don’t even know what to say, so I hold her tight as we sit on her bed in silence with Alison’s naked body wrapped in my arms until the last bit of tension eases.

“I’m so stupid, I just can’t do anything right.” Alison breaks the silence, and I am quick to defend her.

“Angel, you’re not stupid, why would you even say that?”

“Oh yeah?” She pulls away so she is facing me, “Mr. P, I masturbated regularly for over two years and didn’t even know what I was doing. How's that for stupid?”

“You’re going to have to explain that a little bit better.” I smile as I run my hand down her bare arm, pleased to see her body slowly relaxing.

“You asked earlier about the books that got me excited, Mr. P?” She takes a deep breath and when I nod, she begins again with a little more confidence. “It's not like I had a lot of choice. Our school library was strictly PG, Mr. P” she explains, “no young adult romances and certainly nothing with any sex,” her voice is hushed bit the words are clear enough as she tries to explain. “but I found a book on the lives of saints.” She continues, “have you ever heard of St. Ursula?” When I shake my head (Adventists pretty much see worship of Saints as akin to idolatry) she tells me about how over 1,000 years ago a Saxon Princess was on a pilgrimage to Rome with an escort of 111 virgins when she somehow ended up in the besieged city of Cologne surrounded by Huns.

“When the city fell, Mr. P,” Alison continues, “the pagan leader demanded that Ursula surrender her pure body to him, but she refused.” Alison catches my hand and pulls it to her lips, “The book said the barbarian king thrust Ursula through with his lance, killing her and making her a martyr to the faith.” She smiles shyly, “Even as young and sheltered as I was it was impossible for me not to understand what ‘thrust through with a lance’ must have meant back in those dark times.” As sheltered as this girl’s upbringing was, picking up on the double entendre, showed she was pretty bright despite her education.

“I'd lie in bed late at night obsessing about the fate of Ursula and all the other poor Christian maidens in the fallen city.” Alison rolls over onto her belly, crosses her legs and pushes her hand between the sheets and her body cupping her mound with her hands.

“In the dark when all my family was asleep, I pressed my legs together, and protected my holy of holies with my hands like this.” She covers her sex with her hands, pressing her fingers firmly between her clenched thighs, and I smile broadly at her as she goes on.

“Each night in the privacy of my room, Sir, I'd fight to preserve my sacred chastity from a merciless Hun.” Her thighs tighten and relax in a steady rhythm, as she humps her hand. It is harder to understand her with her face pressed into the pillow, but I can still make out what she is saying. “I could feel the holiness building inside me, the harder I fought the better it felt. Eventually, I could no longer fight off my assailant and my legs were pulled apart and that's when the magic would happen.” With her legs now spread open I could see her fingers working frantically at her pussy. I guess I don't have much to teach Alison after all.

I was expecting to see my sexy tenant climax at any moment but after a few minutes of this frenzied fingering, just as suddenly as before, Alison stops abruptly and slaps the pillow in frustration. She lies beside me panting from the exertion of reliving those nighttime fantasies, and when I rest my hand on her soft shoulder, she takes a deep breath and smiles wryly up at me.

“You see how stupid I was, Mr. P?” She asks sadly. “It wasn’t until my senior year Christian Living and Morality class that I learned that what I thought was striving towards a holy state, was instead the work of the devil. I had been regularly committing a carnal sin two or three times a week for the past two years.” She sniffs softly and turns away from me covering her face with her hands.

“No, Honey.” I correct her, “I think your first interpretation was closer to the truth than your teacher’s.” I climb slowly to my feet and settle back on the chair so I can watch. “Try again, Angel, just do what I say and don't think about it too much.”