This I have to see

As I expected, the door to Alison's room is closed, but I can hear her clearly.

“You can't!” She is clearly deep within one of her fantasies, but it is unclear which one. “I'm promised to another man.” I don't remember any reference to a fiancé in the Harlequin, but Alison seems to be caught up in the same book I found her reading the other night. “I know the resume was padded, but that doesn't mean you can touch me like this.” The banging of the bed isn't as loud as it was before, but I can still hear the steady rocking from the other side of the door.

“No! Not there, not even Roger's touched me like that!” For the next minute or so, as I wonder who the Hell Roger is, Alison's monolog has either ended or become so quiet that I can no longer hear her. Then, just when I think the show is over, I hear her again this time her voice is raspy and filled with need.

“Please Sir, I'll do whatever you want, but not that ... anything but that.” I fully expect the door to her bedroom to be locked, but the door cracks open silently and I see my young tenant stretched out on the covers of her bed squirming in the soft light from her bedside lamp. She is gleaming with perspiration, and her hair is a tangled mess from what seems like hours of thrashing against the bedding.

“No ... please don't do this!” Her eyes are tightly closed as her hands roam over her belly and down between her thighs. “Stop it you beast ... Please, I'm begging you!” It is pretty clear from the way her fingers are jilling her pussy that in her imagining of the encounter that the poor secretary's demanding boss is not listening to her protests. After what I learned about her earliest sexual fantasies last week, it doesn't surprise me that out of all three books I gave her she chose the one where the young heroine is taken by her ruthless boss as she pleads for mercy.

“Please, Sir... what will I tell Roger?” Then as I watch from the shadows I see her back arch up and she cries out softly. “Ooww, not so hard, Sir! Be gentle with me. You're too big ... it hurts ... oh Lord forgive me it feels so good!” I fully expect to hear her cry out like she did when I took her last week, but she seems to be struggling just on the edge of a climax. It is only then that I recall what she told me about her inability to satisfy herself. Her gyrations become more and more frantic and the bed starts to bang again in that familiar rhythm, but her moans and gasps are from frustration, not because of her imagined fucking.

It is pretty clear that Alison is badly in need of a man's special touch, but how can I just walk in on her without seeming like the creepy old man that I'm starting to think maybe I am.