Alison needs my help

Over the next few minutes, the pretty coed brings herself right up to the edge of a climax again and again, but then something happens that kills her passion, and she has to start all over again. By the third time, Alison is close to weeping from frustration.

“I just can't Mr. P!” She gasps hoarsely. “I used to be able to, but I just can't do it anymore.”

“You're going to have to explain, Angel.”

“When I first started having these feelings, Sir, it was my little secret and I never told anyone.” I can easily picture a younger Alison secretly masturbating like this in her hometown bedroom. It is just as well she never told her parents what she was up to, I doubt they'd take it well. “I'd pretend that I was the princess from whatever story I was reading and the prince was molesting me, touching me where no man should touch a woman.” Her thighs tighten and relax in a steady rhythm, as she humps her hand. “I was too inexperienced to know what was happening, Mr. P, but as I imagined the princess' legs spread apart, I'd explode - and oh Lord it felt so good.” With her legs now spread open I could see her fingers working frantically at her pussy. and I am having trouble seeing what the problem is.

“I didn't even know that I was sinning, Mr. P.” I should have guessed the cause of this poor girl's torment. “It wasn’t until my senior year Christian Living and Morality class that I learned that what I thought was my own secret game, was called masturbation." She said the word like it was the most wicked thing a girl could do. “I had been regularly doing the work of the devil two or three times a week for more than two years.” She sniffs softly and turns away from me covering her face with her hands. “I tried, Mr. P. I prayed for the strength to stop, but my flesh is weak. Not that it matters anyway, even when I touch myself like this I can't ever finish.” Alison wipes the tears off her cheek with a grimace, “That is how God is punishing me.”

“It's not God, Alison.” I try to remain calm, so she doesn’t realize how horny this has made me. “I can help you if you trust me. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice is as hushed and serious as mine.

“Let’s go back to that fantasy you had, back when you first read about Sleeping Beauty being fondled by the horny prince.” I speak slowly, like a trainer working with a skittish filly, aware that anything I say could ruin the moment. “The princess could feel everything the prince did to her sleeping body?”

“Yes, but I couldn't protest - just had to lay there and let him do what he wanted.” I can see Alison’s hips start to move again as I take her back to the familiar memory.

“Tell me about the prince.” I murmur softly, “was he young like the teenaged boys you saw around town, or was he an old man like me?”

“You’re not old, Mr. P.” Alison protests weakly, “but the prince was no boy. He was a grown man, strong and powerful … and experienced.”

“So, you lay there in bed thinking about what he'd do. You said the princess couldn't stop him, right?” It is not hard to imagine what a sheltered teenager would fantasize about, but I want to hear her say the words out loud. “Was it like that with the other princesses too? Did you imagine the Beast ravaging Belle, or the woodsman taking advantage of Snow White's predicament to **** her to have sex with him?”

“Please, Mr. P.” Alison pleads, “it’s so embarrassing.”

“I know, Angel.” I reassure her, “but I’m a powerful, demanding man, so you have to do as I command.” The effect is exactly what I hoped for as she gasps loudly, and her legs clamp together.

“Yes! The harder the princess tried to fight, the better it felt for me.” Alison eyes are closed again, and both her hands are covering her mons as her hips buck under them. “The men in my fantasies were always bigger than me and so strong … holding me down, pinning me under them...” Alison rolls over so I can see clearly how her fingers are plunging into her sex and her voice becomes even more fevered. “I’d protest, but they'd just laugh … Oh God … I tell them that I was a virgin, that no man has ever been with me ... that only makes them more excited.” Her legs are clenched tightly together, and I can see her hands working at her sex hard and fast as ever.

Finally, I move to her bed and place my hand over hers pushing her fingers firmly against her sex. Technically I told my trusting tenant that I wasn't going to touch her, but I could leave her hanging like this.

“This is no longer your choice, Alison. I am the one in charge.” My firm touch and deep voice seem to be the added ingredient she needs, I think she is ready to move to the next phase.

“Oh yes!” Alison gasps weakly, “I try to stop him, but the demanding prince is too strong.” Her body writhes violently as her legs open wide. “My legs are spread open … until he can see my holy-of-holies.” Alison's whole body is quivering, and I can feel the frantic pace of her fingers as she jills her pussy. “He pulls me open like I'm just a doll and takes my pure, untouched body.”

“Tell me exactly what he does,” I growl deep in my throat, “I want to hear every nasty detail.” With a whimper Alison’s legs spread even more and her back arches, lifting her torso all the way off the mattress.

“His penis forces its way into my tight vagina,” Alison moans when she feels my fingers pushing hers even harder into her tight passage, “yes just like that. … it tears me open … it hurts, but he doesn't stop, he keeps pushing into me until he fills me ... oh forgive me Lord! It hurts so good.”

“Does he cum?” I ask knowing what she is going to say but wanting to hear it from her own lips. “Does he fill your fertile womb with his potent semen?”

“Yes! I can't stop him; he plants his seed in my ripe waiting womb - aaaiiighhh!” Apparently, Alison's greatest fear is also her greatest sexual fantasy because the thought of being knocked up is what finally puts her over the edge.

It takes a few minutes for her body to stop jerking, but when she finally comes down from the orgasmic high her eyes search out mine **** for approval.

“Oh wow!” She pants, still out of breath. “I forgot how good that feels, Mr. P.” As she says the words, I can see the internal struggle start once again. “Anything that feels that good must be the work of Satan.”

“What?” I tease her easily. “Are you saying an all-powerful God can't make His gifts pleasurable?” I see her searching for words but in the end she just sighs.

“I can't even think right now, Mr. P.” Her face brightens as she remembers what she let you see her do and say. “You must think I'm the nastiest skank ever ... what kind of woman gets excited by something like that?”