She wants more than these Harlequins

I watch her leaf through the three Harlequins for a few more minutes before I come to the conclusion that Alison is looking for something a little less mainstream than this. Or maybe I'm just hoping that that's what she wants.

“Wait here, Angel.” I pat her bare leg softly before climbing to my feet. “I think I have something you might like better.” Five minutes later I return to her bedroom with three books from the stash hidden in my basement. Some of these books, like the Raiders of Gor I've owned for over forty years, but I've gradually added to the collection of the years, so I have over twenty different books to choose from. I end up selecting a variety of new and old for Alison to look over, one from modern day earth, but the other two set in far-a-way worlds.

-- --

Alison is waiting for me with undisguised curiosity. She is now wearing a light nightgown that makes her look not unlike the young women featured in these books and set the books in front of her in high hopes. When she sees the three books I brought for her, I see the combination of fear and excitement in my young tenant's eyes. The color in her cheeks deepens and she licks her lips in anticipation as she reads the excerpts in the first few pages of each book. With a smile I ask what she thinks.

“Are these more like your fantasies?” Alison looks up when she hears me and nods shyly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I skip over the whipping parts, they get pretty brutal sometimes,” I warn her, “but other than that I think you're going to like these better than the Harlequins.” She pauses when she turns the worn dog-eared copy of the John Norman Gor book staring at the stained cover of the old book.

“These books are yours, Mr. P?” I nod with a wry grin and Alison grins back shyly. “Well, I guess we know what a man like you would want from a sweet innocent captive like me, then, don't we.”

“You don't have to if you think they're too much ...” I let the words tail off as I see her shaking her head.

“No. I want to read them. Really.” Her fingers come to rest on the kneeling girl pictured on the Sparrowhawk space opera, and with a smile she assumes the same cross-armed position. “Would you like to own a slavegirl like me, Mr. P?” Her question catches me a little by surprise, and when I don't answer right away, she lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Now that you're giving me a room to stay and the food I eat, I'm pretty much yours to do with as you want ... aren't I?”

Maybe it's just my overactive imagination, but the statement sounds quite a bit like an invitation to step up the nature of the relationship.