Tell her the truth

“There's one thing, Alison.” I decide I may as well come clean now, otherwise this could lead to all kinds of trouble. “In my fantasies about princesses, Angel, I'm not usually playing the role of the perfect prince. I'm more likely to be a villain like Gaston or Jafar than Prince Charming or Aladin.” I watch her closely for any reaction that might help guide this conversation.

“I get it, Mr. P.” Alison's carefully guarded expression slowly changes. “I don't know why, but that's how it is with me too.” She seems excited by my confession. “Like the man who finds Aurora sleeping in her tower. He might not be a prince at all, he could be an unprincipled rogue who stumbles across the find of a lifetime.”

My sigh of relief makes her giggle but then she turns her attention back to her earlier question. “OK, now we know what kind of man you want to be, but I still don't know what kind of princess you want?” Her gaze drops to her lap again where her fist is pressing against her sex. “In the classic tales, the princesses are all very young, innocent, and passive but in some of the newer versions they get older and pretty fierce.”

“I don't think I want fierce.” In spite of her Woman's Studies class at the University, I suspect Alison agrees with me about how a proper princess should act. “What about The Princess and the Pea?” I suggest. When I sense her confusion, I sketch out a few details. “All those mattresses must have been carried up to the tower room by castle servants and laborers, right?” When she nods carefully in agreement I grin mischievously, “What if one of those rough workers hides himself in the huge pile of bedding and waits for the princess to be locked in with him for the night.”

“That poor girl would be so scared when she realized she wasn't alone ...” Alison bites her lower lip for a second as she considers the implications. “She couldn't very well scream for help though. Her reputation would be ruined if she were found with a filthy commoner lying with her in her bed.” The fist in her lap that had been rocking gently was now pressing with quite a bit more ****. “That would explain why our fair maiden couldn't get any sleep that night, much more than some dumb old pea.”

“That's right,” I shouldn't be that surprised by Alison's willingness to go along with this darker storyline, it isn't all that different from Araura having to lie immobile on her bed while her 'savior' strips and gropes her naked body. “She might struggle and protest at first, but by the time I was done stretching out her untouched body, she'd be well and truly fucked and she'd know it.”

“That's so wicked, Mr. P.” I don't know what to say so we sit in silence for almost twenty seconds before she places her hand on my thigh. “Can we try it?” I have to put a stop to this now, or I'm going to break my promise on the very first night of our arrangement.

“Maybe later this week, Angel.” I gently lift her soft hand off my khakis. Remember I still have to get some rubbers.

“No.” I am surprised not only by what she is saying, but by the firmness of her tone. “You can't, Mr. P. A common worker in some fairy-tale castle isn't going to have birth-control. Besides, knocking up that the princess is probably part of the man's wicked plan.” The after-an-orgasm Alison is a very different creature than the practical tenant I am used to.

“When was your last period, Angel?” She looks at me in stunned confusion, shocked that a man would ask such an intimate question. I have to remind myself that this young woman's entire sex education curriculum probably consisted of: “Wait until you are married.” It kinda kills the mood, but I give Alison a quick rundown of the Rhythm Method and the peak periods of fertility. I am careful to add that it is at best only somewhat reliable, but Alison doesn't seem too worried.

“My last period just ended a few days ago. That means I'm safe, right?” I shrug my shoulders and nod, after all, it's not like rubbers have a stellar track record either. I really have to get this lovely young woman on the pill, but this is hardly the time to revisit that conversation.

“Please, Mr. P,” Alison gazes up at me in excitement, “I want to be your virgin princess. I want you to defile me and fill my empty womb with your seed!”