Alison asks about me

It is a good five or ten minutes later that Alison props herself up on an elbow and studies me with a knowing smile on her face. The sheet that had been covering us has slipped down until it just barely covers her breasts.

“You liked that didn't you.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and then touches my cheek carefully, “I could feel you start to lose it when I was talking about the innocent young heroines having to let the older man do whatever he wanted.” It's true, that last bit is exactly what pushed me over the edge. “And all these books, in each one the older man has almost complete control over the girl.” So, even just reading the synopses on the first couple pages, Alison picked up on the common theme.

“Do you believe me now when I tell you that your fantasies are not that unusual?” I ask her, watching closely as she grapples with a new world of sexuality. I can't help but wonder how she would have reacted if I had assigned for her homework her some books from my collection of slavegirl erotica stashed away in the basement.

“I guess. It seems so wicked though.” She traces the line of my stubble covered chin. “Is that why you gave me those books to read, Mr. P?” Her eyes search mine for any clue about my own erotic desires. “Do you fantasize about having some innocent young women fall into your hands? Maybe the pampered daughter of a hated rival, or his bride-to-be taken by your men the night before her nuptials?” The sheet has slipped from her breasts, and I do my best not to stare at the beautiful orbs I had been sucking on just minutes ago.

“That's certainly part of it,” I shrug casually lifting my gaze to meet her eyes. I'm a little uncomfortable at how this whole thing has turned on its head and try to alter course to a more comfortable heading, “but the main reason was for you to see that you are not any different from most women out there.” Alison however is not put off by my attempt to put this all back on her.

“What would you do if you had an innocent girl completely in your power?” She seems to notice the way that the sheet has slipped off her torso and modestly pulls it back into place, even managing to look bashful as she tucks it under her arm so it will stay in place. “Would you seduce her slowly until she submits to your desires with a whimper of surrender,” she licks her lips almost in anticipation, “or would you be more demanding? Taking out your **** on her trembling body as she begs for mercy?”

“Maybe we could talk about something else?” I can't believe how quickly I've lost control of this conversation. “How's school going?” Even to me it sounds lame.

“Oh no, Mr. P.” Her laughter keeps the tone light, but she is not letting me change the topic.

“This is your idea remember? I've shared my deepest fantasies with you, now I want to know what excites you.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, but her big expressive eyes never leave mine. I stall for time by rolling onto my back and fluffing up a pillow, but Alison is merciless in her interrogation and reaches for the Harlequins I gave her holding them right in front of my face. “This heroine seems resigned to the inevitable, allowing herself to be bathed and rubbed with scented oils and dressed in silks for the Imir's bed.” That's the book I was looking at earlier, but if Alison is reminded of our first time together it doesn't slow down her full-court-press. She reaches for next book in the stack, “in this other one though, it sounds like the billionaire boss ignores his virgin secretary's protests and holds her down taking what he wants as she struggles beneath him.”

“I want to know, Mr. P, do these books excite you too?” I've never really thought about supermarket romances as being particularly risqué, but to someone like Alison who was raised on a diet of classic literature and PG movies, those extracts inside the first couple pages must read like triple-x erotica. Alison looks at me with barely concealed excitement. “As a man, would you rather have someone resigned to her fate who submits to your wicked demands, or one struggling like a wildcat even though she knows her situation is hopeless?” Her shallow breathing is the only sign of how tense this young woman really is as she follows up again. “Come on, Mr. Patterson, this is a 'no judgement' house. Answer the question. What would you do to a woman if you could have her any way you wanted?”