She runs with it

Alison disappears for the rest of the evening and she doesn't eat breakfast with me either so I find myself a little curious when she uses the outer stairway to get to her apartment. Is she avoiding me? Maybe I went a little too far last night.

When I hear her coming slowly down the steps to the living room, I am already figuring out how to get back on track. As soon as I see what she is wearing, I realize that far from turning Alison off I have struck a chord that resonates deeply within her. The burlap sackcloth that I gave her last night has been cut and stitched into a crude **** tunic. As I stand there admiring the way she looks in the short tunic, she kneels at my feet submissively.

“I came as soon as I could from my lessons, Master.” She looks up shyly, “How may this unworthy **** serve your needs?” Looking down from this position I see right into the gaping neckline and see one round breast with its peaked nipple. Just as tempting are Alison's bare legs that are barely covered by the short, ragged hem of the rough cloth.

“And what did your trainers teach you today, Girl?” Her cheeks blush sweetly and her eyes lower shyly to her hands rest on her widely spread thighs. “Did they show you how to make this tunic?”

“No, Master. I did this myself last night. Are you displeased?”

“I don't care, if I want to see your naked body, a little rag like this will hardly stop me.” I consider her kneeling at my feet and repeat my question. “So, what did you learn?” Her blush intensifies and I see where her fingertips dig into the soft flesh on her legs, but she answers my question softly.

“How to be pleasing to men, Master.” When I remain silent, she looks up nervously with her doe-eyes, “Do you find me pleasing, Sir?” She asks softly. “I know I lack the experience to satisfy you properly... I beg you to be patient with your humble servant.” Who would have thought that this conservative Christian teenager would be so eager to play the role of a captured slavegirl?

“Stand up, ****.” I order, and am pleased by how quickly she jumps to her feet. Turn around and put your hands on the wall. With a gasp of excitement, she obeys again placing her palms on the wall and spreading her legs wide without even being told. It is the position you see on cop shows when the bad-guys are caught. Perhaps inspired by this imagery, I step behind her and use my hands to search her barely clothed body thoroughly. It seems that I am just as excited by this as Alison is because by the time my hands slip into the V-neck of her tunic to cup her breasts my cock is already stiff and throbbing.

“Your body at least is pleasing enough,” I grunt, “It is your skills that need refining, but I'm willing to work with you on this if you keep trying your best.” As I speak, I lower my hand to the hem of her rough tunic and slide up under to feel her sex stopping suddenly at what I find down there.