She can't hide her excitement

“Mr. P?” Alison's doe-eyes widen and then drop to her to where her hands are clutching the books tightly. “You want me to be your -” she pauses long enough to take a deep breath that lifts her breasts dangerously against her tight bodice before the last three words come out in a hushed whisper, “your ****-girl?” I'm pretty sure this is something she has thought about when she's alone in the darkness, but I decide to play my cards close to my chest.

“Considering what you told me last night, I thought you should do a little reading on the topic.” Alison's expression changes to one of serious contemplation. She studies me carefully looking for some understanding in my neutral expression. Dressed as she is in her black evening gown she reminds me of one of the fine Imperial ladies plucked by slavers from their luxury starliner. Unlike the unfortunate souls in Sparrowhawk's space opera who were terrified to find themselves auctioned off to cold-hearted men eager to sample their firm young bodies, on at least some level, Alison must be excited by the idea.

“I'd have to let you do anything you wanted, wouldn't I?” Her breathing has deepened and the color in her cheeks has nothing to do with the glass of wine she had earlier. “Is that what you want, Mr. P? A hot young body to use for your pleasure?”

“That sounds good to me, but I want you to on-board with this.” I tell her before adding one note of caution about the books. “There are a good number of pretty sever lashings in those books, I'm not going to do anything like that.” Alison's eyes widen and then drop once again so all I see are the thick eyelashes that veil her eyes.

“But what if I need to be punished, Mr. P?” Her voice is so low I can barely make out the words, “What if I refuse to obey you like a good ****?” I am a little startled by her questions, did she want me to whip her? Instead of diving deeper into this dangerous path, I decide to punt.

“Well, I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when and if we get to it, won't we?”

“Yes, Sir.” She climbs to her feet and carefully stacks the empty dessert plates, “I'll clean up, you can go check out your football scores.” In all the times I've made her dinner this is the first time she has offered to clean up afterwards and I decide to take her up on her offer. After a few minutes I stroll back to the kitchen to make sure she's not making a mess of things. Alison has kicked off her heels and found an apron to protect her fancy black cocktail dress. She seems to be dancing to some internal soundtrack as she washes the dishes in the sudsy water, and carefully rinsing each one before placing it in the drying rack. 'Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen' pops into my head and with a rueful shake of my head I return to the living room and plop myself into my armchair.

“Mr. P?” It is about twenty minutes later when Alison finds me in the living room. She has removed the apron and her black heels are dangling from her hand as she stands before me. “The kitchen is all cleaned up.” She pauses as she shifts the gift bag into her free hand. “Is there anything else you need from me, Sir?”

The urge to have her join me in my armchair, or even kneel in front of me and give me a blowjob is no small temptation, and judging by Alison's flushed face and rapid breathing I can't help wonder if that's what she's hoping for as well.