You get a surprise

That afternoon I finally get to the doctors office and I return home with a little bag from the pharmacy and a grin on my face. That smile fades quickly when I hear a weird scraping sound from upstairs. On Wednesdays Alison has her 4-8 class, but I'm pretty sure there is someone or something upstairs. I live in a pretty quiet neighborhood not far from the college but we do have the occasional break-ins. With 911 dialed on my phone and my thumb hovering over the send button, I quietly make my way up the steps ready to confront whoever it is muttering in Alison's room. Her door is open just enough for me to peek in and the source of the rhythmic scraping sound I could not place becomes clear.

Not only is my tenant playing hooky, she is laying half naked on her bed and playing with herself. The steady rise and fall of her hips is enough to keep her bed rocking, it is not the loud thumping I am familiar with but loud enough to be heard from downstairs. What I thought might be a muffled conversation between two burglars is instead the inarticulate grunts and whimpers that escape in gasps from her gaping mouth.

The source of Alison's arousal is not hard to divine. On the floor, discarded some time before is the Sparrowhawk book. Considering what I know already about my young tenant's fantasies I'm not surprised to see her reaction to the plight of the virgin heroine. Thankfully, Alison is well into her masturbatory play with her head is tilted back and eyes shut so she does not see me gawking at her like a pubescent teen.

With a grin, as I remember how close I had come to calling the police, I step silently back down the stairs. I doubt very much Alison would have forgiven me if I let a squad of police up to her room to discover her in that compromising position. Once safely downstairs I bang some pots and pans loudly enough to alert my tenant that she is no longer alone in the house. I could have let her finish, but I figure the more frustrated she gets this week, the hotter the sex will be on Saturday.

When Alison appears in the kitchen, red-faced and disheveled I do a pretty good job of acting surprised as I look up from the half-diced onions on the cutting board.

“I thought you had class?” I make the statement into a question.

“Yeah, but uh, well it just a review day, and I didn't get much sleep last night...” Alison stammers out, clearly not used to lying, “so I thought I'd stay home and help cook dinner.” I hide my smile as I recall the cooking that I saw my hot young tenant working on. Instead of teasing her though, I pass the onions to her and head for the pantry. Together we put together a curried lentil dish. It is surprisingly nice having the company in the kitchen.

“You want to talk about those books yet?” Clearly she is expecting me to bring up the topic but even so she has a hard time finding the right words.

“Mr. P, I didn't even know there were books like that that.” She stares at her fingers nervously as she tries to explain how she feels. “The things they describe, I mean I know that's what happened, well what still sometimes happens today, but it was so ... I don't know it was just too much.”

“Some of it is pretty ****,” I agree good naturedly, not wanting to push her too far or too fast, “I did warn you about the whipping.”

“It wasn't even so much that as ... well the sex scenes with those awful men and the poor innocent women who were powerless to stop it from happening...”

“Yeah, that's pretty much the point of the books, isn't it?” More than ever I'm glad that I didn't interrupt this young woman when I found her earlier gyrating on the bed so close to an orgasm. “Well by now you must have read a few of them, how did they make you feel?”