Who could resist?

I enter Alison's room with no real plan, but the moment I see the curtain ties that hang from the window drapes I know exactly what I'm going to do. This would not be the first time these soft cotton ties would be used for something other than holding back window treatments. It must have been about a dozen years ago that Fran had brought me up to what was then our guest bedroom, placed the cords in my hands before crossing her wrists and wishing me 'Happy Birthday.'

Alison is nowhere near that accommodating when she sees my dark silhouette framed by the dim light from the stairway. Her squeak of fear turns to an embarrassed protest as she pulls up a sheet to cover herself.

“Mr. P?” Her breath comes out in ragged gasps, “What are you doing?” In the dim light it is hard to see her clearly, but the smell of sex fills the room and I have to wonder how long she's been writhing in her bed on the edge of that elusive climax. I move swiftly to the windows and pull the cords free with a hard jerk before turning to where she is cowering under the sheet.

“The real question is what are you doing, Miss Miller?” I use my best 'teacher voice' and Alison's indignation evaporates like raindrops on an August afternoon.

“Please, Mr. P.” Her voice quakes as her beautiful eyes search my face for mercy. “You're not supposed to be here.” I grin wolfishly at her weak protest.

“And you, Miss Miller, are not supposed to be masturbating on your bed like a randy bitch in heat.”

“I'm sorry, Sir.” Alison moans softly, “I couldn't help mysel - wait ... what are you doing!?” Her confusion is understandable, as she reacts to me pulling her arm up and looping the soft cord securely around her slender wrist several times before tying it securely to the bedframe above her head.

“Apparently, we can't leave your sinful hands free at night, can we?” The poor young woman is still recovering from her inability to reach a climax; that frustration combined with her embarrassment at being caught has her confused enough that I can secure her wrist to the bar of her bed without a struggle. “Give me your other hand.” I order, her pretty doe-eyes flicker and after a long silence she hesitantly extends her hand upwards. I grin with satisfaction at her act of submission and her left hand is fastened with the second cord to the bed frame like the other.

When I pull back to examine my handiwork, she tugs experimentally to test the knots; I left enough slack in the ties so she could move her hands freely for about a foot until the cord tightens. As she assesses her situation, I see the emotions run across her face like the credits of a late-night movie, too fast to read but still visible enough to get the gist. It is a combination of fear, shame, excitement and lust, and when I rest my hand on the thin layer of cotton that covers her abdomen her whole body jerks and she lets out a soft whimper.

“There, that's much better.” I sooth her reassuringly, even as my hand presses firmly against her belly feeling the warmth of her core through the thin sheet. I reach down to pick up the John Norman book that lies discarded by the side of her bed. “I see you've been doing your reading.” Alison refuses to meet my questioning gaze, although I do feel a quiver run through her core when she sees the book in my hand, and she pulls at the bindings that encircle her wrists.

“What are you going to do to me, Sir?” She doesn't look too alarmed at just how helpless she is at the moment, and I wonder if she is excited by being tied up like this. I grin wickedly even as I feel my member swell painfully against my pants. Even more than fucking this lovely teen though, I want to know what makes her tick.

“What part of the book got you so worked up.” Even in the dim light I can see her eyes widen in alarm; apparently Alison too senses where this is going. It is one thing to have a man climb between her legs, it is another matter to have one climb into her mind. “Tell me what you were imagining as you tried to get off.”

“Oh, I couldn't!”

“You don't seem to have much of a choice, Honey.” I let my fingers slide downward to the lower curve of her belly and am rewarded by a low moan. “If you want me to help you, I need to know what got you so excited.” She looks at me pleadingly and I shift a little on the bed. “I could just leave you here, tied up and unsatisfied...”

“No!” Her silence is broken with a hoarse protest, that turns into a mew of desperation “Please...”

“You know what you have to do, Angel.” I caress her just above her mons through the sheet, “I want to know.” The combination of my hand on her and the soothing tone seems to break whatever final reserve Alison may have had.

“I'm sorry, Sir, I'll tell you.” She takes a deep breath and then relates a scene I only vaguely remember about how the heroine of the book falls into the hands of her old college rival from Earth who has somehow immigrated to this cruel world and assumed a position of power and wealth. “Mr. P, that free woman arranged to have the heroine kidnapped and brought to her so she could humiliate her. She summoned two of her male slaves and had them use the new slavegirl just to prove what a slut she was.”

“And that got you so hot and bothered?” Alison nods helplessly and I see a tear sparkling in the corner of her eye. “I see. When you were rubbing yourself, did you imagine you were the cruel mistress, or the helpless ****?” Once again, I see her hesitate and I lift my hand from her abdomen in a silent threat.