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Sherry, The Storyteller

By: peacekeeper25



A modern telling of Scheherazade

My sister snored and night after night I'd lay in bed, wide awake, wishing I could have my own room, something that was impossible in our small house. In the room next to ours, my dad also snored and I have no idea how my mom could sleep, but she did. Even with the doors closed and the pillow and covers over my head, the snoring through our thin walls kept me awake. My sister and dad denied they snored. "No we don't!" they both said, even when Mom and I said they did, so it became part of my every night ordeal until I decided to use the night to work on the stories I had been writing.

Ever since I was a kid, I had notebooks filled with stories about talking animals, ghosts and monsters, then, pirates, and, as I got older, stories about getting kidnapped and being saved by a handsome man, and they became love stories, some, by the time I was sixteen, so erotic I couldn't help but play with myself. Before my night routine, I wrote when I came home from school, or on Saturdays when no one was home, but sitting in our kitchen in the middle of the night, drinking coffee, writing in the glare of my laptop and the dim light above me became something I looked forward to. It became my own world, where, with the kitchen door shut, I couldn't hear the snoring.

After dinner, I'd do a little homework, then sleep while they watched TV. When my mom and sister went to bed around ten, and my dad after the eleven o'clock news, I'd go downstairs, make coffee, and write 'till I got tired around three or four, then sleep, curled up on the small green couch in the living room, my head on the pillow and under the quilt I kept behind the couch, the snoring from the rooms above me, not nearly as loud.

My parents and sister thought I was weird because of when I slept, and when I told them I can't sleep with all the snoring, they just humphed and shook their heads at me and just said, "Sherry, why do you have to be so difficult?" And I'd say, "I'm not being difficult. I'm a writer and I like writing in the middle of the night. What's wrong with that?"

Abby, my sister, was going to the community college and was studying to be a medical technician. She had read there was always a need for medical technicians. Abby was really a great older sister, except for the snoring, and I learned a lot about relationships from her because she was three years older and always had a boyfriend, once, for a whole school year, but usually a few months, then there'd be someone new and she'd be in love again. She'd look in the mirror when she was getting dressed for a date and put something on, then something else, turn from side to side and look at herself in the long mirror we had on the back of our bedroom door and say, "I wish I had bigger boobs." I don't know why she thought that because they seemed pretty big to me, especially compared to mine.

Usually, she just wore her tight, skinny jeans and a tank top, or T-shirt, but always had a scarf around her neck and dangling earrings. Sometimes, when she wore her black knee-high boots, she looked really sexy, like the women in one of the magazines my dad had. Mom would snort and squirm when he showed her a sexy picture and he'd laugh. Why he showed them to her I'll never know, but that's what he did; maybe he liked teasing her, but it was also mean because she was kind of plump and nothing like the sexy women. Abby liked those magazines and would sneak them into our room and we'd look at the pictures. Mom had her romance books and they had pretty sexy covers too—men with bare chests kissing a woman with long hair and her breasts showing.

Sex was always an undercurrent in our house, and except for the kiss when he came home, I never saw Dad hold my mom's hand or hug, but his showing her sexy pictures and teasing, and her romance books, and Abby telling me about her dates and me writing love stories, sex was always in the air. I wondered if they ever made love, but thought his snoring must have really turned her off. So, for the last year or so, before graduating, I'd come down for dinner, eat and listen to whatever conversation there was, then go back to my room, nap until it was my time to write and escape the snoring.

I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and I remember reading somewhere--maybe it was online--"it's more important to know what you don't want to do and be open to what presents itself." Well, I knew I didn't want to be an accountant, or a receptionist, or a medical technician. They sounded too much like jobs. Somehow, I knew I had to do what I loved and that was writing, making up stories and hope I'd get published.

"So you want to be a starving writer," Dad said.

Mom said, "Sherry, if you think some prince charming is going to come along like in Cinderella, you better face reality."

After Abby graduated, she was seldom home and spent most of her time at her boyfriend's apartment, but she'd say, "Get out of the house. Go to community college after you graduate. You'll never meet a guy writing stories. Get real, Sherry."

School was a drag and I couldn't wait to be free of boring assignments when all I wanted to do was write and read books that were relevant to my life. I had a few friends I'd hang out with like Emily and Alisha and we'd get high and talk about guys at school and the bitch girls who thought they were better than everyone else, and the old teachers who thought they were cool, even when they weren't, though a few of the younger teachers were okay, fresh out of college and just a few years older than us, but then Emily and Alisha got boyfriends and were better students than I was and went away to college. I was tempted to apply, even though I had a C average, but knew I didn't want to be so busy I wouldn't have time to write, and also didn't want to have a huge debt like I read so many graduating students had. Sometimes, I got an email from Emily, never from Alisha, and I didn't want to have anything to do with facebook. What a distraction it was and more and more I just wanted to write.

It's not that I didn't like boys. I did and was conscious of my appearance and liked how they looked at me, even though I dressed differently than the other girls: more bohemian, but sexy in an innocent and also exotic way. I had long, curly auburn hair, almost red, that I'd braid into pigtails or one long braid that came halfway down my back, but sometimes just loose and wild. My smooth olive skin and high cheek bones gave me an exotic look which I liked. People always commented on my green eyes and the dimples when I smiled. Though I was small, a little over five feet, my breasts became grapefruit size. I'd wear short, peasant skirts with flowers or Indian prints and different colored T-shirts with a leather vest I found in the thrift store where most of my clothes came from. Also, lots of necklaces and dangling earrings that made me feel like a gypsy. I had an old pair of jeans I loved and even though I had outgrown them and they were tight and had rips in the knees, I couldn't part with them and have to admit, I liked how guys looked at me. I knew I looked good, but I was too shy to flirt, or know what to say when Pete Johnson asked if he could drive me home or would I like to go for a ride, or Mike, who sent me notes in English asking if we could study together, then watch a movie. I knew what they wanted, but I always chickened out and said I had stuff to do—which was true—my writing.

"You can't just stay home and write. You have to get a job," Dad said after I graduated.

I knew they were right and so I got a job as a waitress downtown in a pretty swanky and cool restaurant called, "Rosie's Bistro" that served Mediterranean food. It was perfect because I made good tips and could write during the day, and then go to work at four and be home after my parents were in bed. I still couldn't sleep in my room because of the snoring, and so I'd make some coffee and write for a few hours, then sleep on the couch, and then, when everyone was gone, write until it was time to go to work. Perfect.

As my stories became more erotic, letting me fantasize various scenarios, I started publishing on an online site for erotic stories and they were well received, and I started getting messages from other writers and readers and it became enticing. It inspired me to keep writing stories that I knew would get readers aroused and, I confess, me. It became so exciting to see responses, especially from men and getting private messages that were increasingly seductive and tempting. I can't believe how hot it was to flirt and tease but know that's as far as it would go. It was a game, except for one guy, Frank, who was really persistent and persuasive. His words just got to me, and I was so on the edge of giving in to his words that I slammed shut my laptop and masturbated in the dark, screaming his name, then when I came down, wondered why I did that. Why didn't I just go all the way with him?

I admit it was tantalizing and writing erotic stories helped me explore my own sexuality, my desires, what kind of man I wanted, did I want to be married, or did I want to stay single and be independent, a free spirit, not bound to anyone, have lovers with no strings—that was appealing, but then I'd think would I ever want to be a mother and settle down in a sweet little house in the country, or a swanky condo with a doorman. I often fantasized about having a farm with a barn and a horse and having sex in the hayloft. I also found myself writing poetry where I could just explore my feelings without telling the whole story, get to the essence of what I was experiencing, what I was thinking and feeling. I wanted to go deeper. I remember reading about a poet who said, "See deeply," and that's what I knew I had to do if I was going to write anything really important. I wanted to write literature, the great American novel, something substantial, and remember reading something D. H. Lawrence said about how important it was to write explicitly about sex if you wanted to write authentically about the human condition. I knew writing about sex and relationships was important and of great interest to readers, but I had no real experience except for what I read online. I watched some porn, but after awhile it got boring because they're wasn't a story or a real relationship. Just fucking.

My erotic stories were really getting popular and I decided to see if I could find a publisher and have a real book, something that would be in bookstores or downloaded. I had a lot of stories and I knew they were hot, but I also knew they had substance and intriguing plots. It wasn't just the sex I was interested in exploring, but I loved telling a good story with believable characters. My poetry was really sensual and the responses I got from my readers overwhelmed me with their appreciation. I was getting more messages from both guys and women who wanted a relationship, but at eighteen, almost nineteen, I was still a virgin, even though my fingers got a lot of action.

I was making good tips as a waitress and really enjoyed giving good service. It was like performing, and I liked being friendly with my customers.

There was this guy, Angelo, who came in three or four nights a week, always with a different woman. He usually wore a dark suit, sometimes with a tie, but usually with just an open collar. His dates were always young, much younger than he was. Sometimes he'd come in with the same woman and I got to recognize them—there were a few like that, but then he'd come in with someone I'd never seen before. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with long dark, curly hair down to his shoulders, a little gray and a stubble beard, that was kind of sexy. His suits looked expensive and he was always immaculate and seemed classy in a unique way that made me wonder what he did, how he lived, how he could afford to eat in an expensive restaurant so often. Everyone said hello to him when he walked in. He always hugged Rosie, who liked to greet customers and he'd kiss her cheek, then the hostess would escort Angelo and his date to my table in the dark booth which he reserved.

He'd smile and say, "Hello, Sherry" and look up and down my body in an almost predatory way that sent a little tingle when our gazes met, but then he'd quickly turn to his date and take her hand. We didn't wear uniforms but could wear our own clothes with the understanding they'd be clean and professional, though a few of the waitresses wore tight skirts, or slacks with nice blouses or sweaters and said it helped their tips, which, by the way, we pooled. After the place closed, the staff could have a meal and share a bottle of wine and we'd talk about stuff—how slow the kitchen was, how we hated when people would call us over and ask for something with food in their mouths. We'd laugh and gossip and listen to one of the waiters tell a stupid joke, but one night, Mindy, one of the older waitresses, said I should watch out for Angelo. "I see how he looks at you, Sherry. He's dangerous."

"What do you mean, he's dangerous?"

"Can't you see he has a harem of women. Three or four nights a week he's here with another woman, but he always asks for your table. Listen to me, watch out. He has a reputation of wanting women he can dominate. You see the young women he comes in here with—some pretty slutty, if you ask me, others like virgins he wants to seduce and become his slaves. He also has some older women, who take him with them on trips. He's a gigolo who gives these rich, bored women what they're missing at home."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I know. Believe me, I know. I've worked here a long time and there was a time I was his regular server and almost in his harem, then he started asking for this new young waitress named Renee, and she told me the whole story. She learned the hard way and stopped working here after coming in with bruises and told me all about Angelo. His name may be Angelo, but he's no angel, mark my words. So watch out."

What Mindy said intrigued me and I wondered by the way he looked at me whether he was interested in me. What did she mean he's dangerous? Why did Renee come in with bruises then quit and move away? Why did he always come in with so many different women around my age or not much older? When I came to his table he'd always say, "Hello Sherry. How are you, tonight?" while looking me up and down, then he'd take his date's hand and introduce me, (I'm not sure why). I'd say "pleased to meet you," then turn to Angelo and ask, "Would you like your usual bottle of wine?" He'd say yes or ask for something different, but when the busboy came over with water, bread and olive oil, and I walked away to get the wine and glasses, I could feel his eyes on me. Then one night, I don't know what came over me, but I turned around and our eyes met and I narrowed my eyes, letting him know I knew he was checking me out and saw him chuckle. When I brought over the bottle of wine, he looked me up and down again and said, "You look so nice tonight," then he reached for his date's hand again and say, "and so do you."

What game is he playing? I wondered when I opened the wine.

After that, I went to my other tables and then took Angelo and his date's order and, though he paused and smiled when I brought their meals, he was focused on seducing his date, but, then, after an after-dinner drink, he said, "Goodnight, Sherry, Thank you for such good service," and left a generous tip. But the way he gazed into my eyes with those dark eyes and devilish smile made me remember Mindy's words, "Watch out!"

The night after I caught him checking me out and smiled back at him, Angelo came in just before we were closing and asked if I'd like to have a drink with him. I had just finished cleaning up my station and so I joined him while the others were gathered at the big table just outside of the kitchen, eating, drinking and laughing. Well, I love Martinis and decided, why not since I can't afford them and he was treating. Rosie served us since the others were done for the night. I wondered why she didn't mind Angelo being there after we had closed, but could tell they had a special relationship-- maybe he was an investor or something.

"Thank you for letting me have a drink with Sherry," Angelo said when she brought us our Martinis.

"Anything for you, Angelo. Enjoy." She smiled at me but didn't say anything, but I could tell she knew I was going to be another conquest. I glanced back at the others, who acted as if they weren't paying attention. Everyone knew Angelo was a fiend for young women and knew why he wanted to have a drink with me after hours, but, while they were eating and talking, Mindy glanced over at me and warned me with her eyes to watch out.

When we clicked glasses and took sips, he looked at me over the rim of his glass and I could see he was enjoying looking at me, which I liked, but also knew he was being seductive and remembered him doing the same thing with all of his dates. The writer part of me was always watching what was going on, observing, somewhat detached, almost like a movie camera recording scenes I might use in a story, but I was also engaged, wanting to experience Angelo's charm and enjoy the ride. If he was dangerous, I wanted the danger and felt confident, I'd be able to handle whatever happened. Even if I didn't know what other young women experienced, I did know that Renee showed up bruised and quit working there. Be careful, Sherry went through my mind.

I have to admit his dark eyes were captivating, and he was definitely handsome with the shadow of a beard, a slight, playful smile; he seemed really fit, not muscular but tight with broad shoulders and curly dark hair showing where his white shirt was half unbuttoned. His hands were immaculate, obviously manicured with one large, beautiful ruby ring on his ring finger--the hands of a business man, or a musician rather than a laborer.

"So, why did you want to have a drink with me?" I asked when I put my glass down.

"You know why, Sherry." He smiled with a devilish gleam in his eyes, his head cocked to the side.

I didn't answer, but took another sip of my Martini and nodded with a slight grin, letting him know I knew.

"I find you attractive and liked how you turned around last night and knew I was checking out your ass and gave me that look."

"Yes, I saw you, but I also see you're in here with a different woman almost every night. Do you want me to be part of your harem, another woman you can fuck and toss away like trash."

"Maybe." His eyes widened at my boldness, then he smiled and sipped his drink.

I surprised myself by saying that, but his surprised eyes and smile emboldened me and I thought, what the hell, I'm going to show him I'm not one of his bimbos. I took the olive from the glass and rolled it around my mouth before swallowing, then licked my lips, moving my tongue slowly, my eyes fixed on his.

We had some small talk--did I like working here, what music did I like, what did I want to do with my life. He acted interested, nodding, smiling, asking probing questions. I told him I was a writer and had published some stories online.

What kind of stories?" he asked.

I hesitated a moment before telling him."Erotica."

"Really. I'm delighted to hear that."

"You're the first person I have ever told what I write."

"I enjoy good erotic stories. Did you see the movie 50 Shades of Grey?"

"Of course and I read the book."

"I'd love to read some of your stories. By the way, I know some publishers of erotica. Maybe I could get you a deal if I like your stories."

"Well, maybe that could be arranged. I'd love to read them to you."

"I'd like that. To be read erotic stories by a beautiful author would be unique. Very interesting."


Sherry, The Storyteller



I finished my Martini and smiled, happy to hear his response, then, surprising myself, pushed my glass towards him. "Buy me another drink."

I didn't quite understand it at the time, but not only did I want to show him what a good writer I was, I didn't want to be his little toy. I wanted to show him two can play his game. Maybe I wanted an adventure, something that one day I would write about.

He rubbed his chin, glanced at the glass, then looked at me with knowing eyes that told me he liked that I ordered him to buy me a drink, just like he enjoyed my smiling back at him and giving him the evil eye when he checked out my ass. I knew he liked being in charge and having power over the young, sexy women he seduced, but I could see he liked a challenge. I don't know if I was asking for trouble or not, but went with my intuition, my gut, my heart, my imagination, as well as with my curiosity to see if I could handle the danger, but also wondered, Am I nuts? Why am I doing this?

"Why don't we have that drink at my place. My apartment is just around the corner."

"Sure, why not? Rosie wants to close and everyone wants to get out of here. Lead the way."

"Put it on my tab," he said to Rosie as we left.

How convenient to have an apartment around the corner from where he took his dates. He lived in one of those swanky apartments with a doorman who nodded and smiled at him, then glanced at me as he opened the door, probably used to seeing Angelo with another young woman. We were quiet in the elevator. Though I was tense, listening to the little chime as we passed each floor, watching the red numbers go by, but I could feel his eyes on me, a little surprised he didn't move to do anything like I had read in some stories where they fucked in the elevator, but when we reached the thirtieth floor and the door opened to his penthouse apartment, he took my hand and said, "Here we are, my Shangri-la."

"Nice apartment," I said as I looked around at the large, uncluttered, living room with plush white carpeting, a long white sofa, a tan leather recliner in front of a huge TV screen on the wall, two large soft looking white chairs opposite the sofa with a shiny wooden coffee table in between. Angelo went to the bar on the other side of the room and asked if I'd like champagne.

"Sure. I'd love a glass of champagne. Mind if I take off my shoes."

"Of course not, make yourself at home." He smiled and looked me up and down as if to say why don't you take off your clothes while your at it.

While he poured, I glanced at the many paintings on all of the walls, then, loving the soft, thick carpet on my bare feet, walked over to the glass doors that opened to a patio and looked out at the bright lights of the city. The darkness outside let me see my reflection in the glass, my long reddish hair, the short, floral skirt, the white peasant blouse barely covering my shoulders, my breasts straining the thin material, and saw my eyes looking back at me and couldn't believe I was there and not at the kitchen table at home writing on my laptop--a virgin who had fantasies of being ravished like in some of my stories.

He handed me my champagne and we clicked glasses, sipped and again, gazed into each others eyes over the rim of our glasses. This was not my laptop. This was real. I was in Angelo's apartment. Would I be another addition to his harem, another conquest, another woman to be dominated, maybe hurt and frightened like Renee, something I was determined not to let happen to me. At the same time, I liked being in his swanky apartment and wondered if I could turn the tables on Angelo, tease him, make him be my conquest, show him he wouldn't have me wrapped around his little finger, and then I remembered how I loved reading One Thousand and One Nights where Scheherazade told the sultan stories that kept her from being raped and beheaded like all the other women, how he hated women because of his unfaithful wife. I had written a lot of really hot stories, but thought why don't I write a new one for him, one that keeps going. It would be exciting, enticing, mysterious, build to a really hot, tense, suspenseful place, then say, "to be continued" and leave him wanting more. I'd write during the day and tell him I'd read the next part that night and thought I'd be protecting other women from being harmed by him. Then, as I looked around, thought why not write in his swanky apartment instead of going home to the snoring and drabness of the kitchen and sleeping on the couch. I'd go to work at Rosie's, then come back to Angelo's apartment and read him what I wrote. That would be a real conquest. I loved the idea and was determined to make that happen, though I wasn't sure how.

While I sipped my champagne, Angelo picked up his remote from the coffee table and pointed to his TV where soft, mellow music started playing, though the screen remained dark. He took my glass and put his arms around me and without a word we started dancing in the dimly lighted room. He held me close and we moved slowly, taking small steps, hardly moving. He was a good, smooth dancer. His hands felt so strong on my back, the pleasant smell of his cologne like ambrosia had me melting into his arms. While we danced, he kissed my throat, then my chin and moved his lips to my ear, nibbled and whispered, "You feel wonderful in my arms."

I didn't respond but the breath of his whispered words in my ear tingled though my body. His embrace tightened and his gentle strength made me gasp and swallow. He moved his hands lower on my back and began rubbing my ass gently as we swayed slowly to the mellow jazz, my breasts crushed against his chest, his hands arousing me, but I somehow pulled away, still holding his hand and smiled. "I'm glad you want to hear my stories."

"I'm looking forward to it. I love good, erotic stories. I have a feeling your stories will be very enjoyable."

"I know this is bold of me to ask but I have an idea." Am I really going to do this?

"Yes, what is your bold idea?" His eyes narrowed revealing surprised curiosity. "Tell me."

"I would like to write a special story just for you and I'd like to write it here. I can bring my laptop here and write during the day, go to work at Rosie's and then read it to you at night."

"That is bold of you. I'm not sure. I'll have to think about that. I like my privacy. What can you do to convince me that's a good idea?"

He picked up our glasses of champagne and handed mine to me. I was already a little woozy from the martini and the champagne, but I took a sip and wondered how I would answer his question. What could I do to convince him it was a good idea without subjecting myself to his seductive ways. Mindy's words, watch out echoed in my mind. I could feel my heart beating and the smile on his lips as he waited for my response made me want to kiss him, but knew if I did, I'd be into temptations that would ultimately make me one of his conquests. I have to be daring, bold, smart.

"I have my ways to convince you." I tilted my head and smiled into his eyes.

"You do? Tell me. Why should I let you stay in my apartment and write your stories here?"

"Why don't we go into your bedroom and you'll find out?"

He chuckled and nodded. "That's pretty brazen of you, Sherry? I'm surprised."

"Why are you surprised. You hardly know me. There's a lot more to me than meets the eye."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, you'll see."

I don't know where I got the nerve to move my hand to the front of his pants and stroke him, but I let my imagination take over. This was so unlike me, but I think the drinks were giving me courage to be aggressive.

"I'm finding that out," he said and bit his lower lip and moaned softly.

"You'll find out I'm a keeper...not someone you can wrap around your finger then toss into a dumpster or become on of your submissive slaves. You may find out that it's you that will be wrapped around my finger."

I continued stroking his hard cock, then gripped it in my hand which made him moan louder. I had never touched a man's cock before, though I had seen a lot of cocks when I watched porn. I was going with the flow and let my imagination lead the way, but knew I was in dangerous territory. I don't believe I'm doing this.

"Do you like what I'm doing to you?" I whispered, looking up into his dark eyes.

He closed his eyes as if savoring the sensation. Another low moan came from deep in his chest, then he reached between my legs to grab my pussy.

"Don't touch me, mister." I slapped his hand away.

"Who do you think you are?" He practically growled.

"I'm Sherry, a writer who will tell you stories you will never forget."

When I took my hand away from his bulge, I picked up my champagne and swallowed what was left, then handed him his glass. "We can't waste good champagne can we, Angelo?"

He finished his champagne, took my glass and put both glasses down on the coffee table, then put his arms around me, pulled me close and I could feel his hardness against my body. He moved his hands to my ass and squeezed, then kissed my throat just above the collarbone, sending tingling shivers through me, causing my shoulders to lift. Damn he's good. He feels so big.

I somehow found the strength to put my hands on his chest and push him away.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm showing you I'm someone you should let stay here and tell you stories--stories that will captivate you."

He took a deep breath and stared at me. "You still haven't convinced me that I should let you stay here."

"Let's get comfortable in your bed and I will convince you. How about it, Angelo?"

I didn't wait for an answer and took his hand and led him down the hall where I assumed his bedroom was. Halfway down the hall, he grabbed my hand and pushed me up against the wall. I knew he was still aroused and could feel his hardness as he pressed his body against mine. He took my arms and stretched them above my head, squeezing my hands, grinding into me, but I bucked my body, thrusting my hips against him as hard as I could and squirmed away. He gripped my hand and pulled me towards him, but I placed my hand on his chest and pushed myself away. "Not here."

"You're a devil, aren't you?"

"You'll find out," I said, taking his hand and leading him to his suite at the end of the hall.

He flicked a switch and two small lamps by the side of his king-sized bed cast a soft glow, but most of the large room was dark. I glanced around and saw a large bathroom on one side with a floor to ceiling mirror covering the wall next to it, then on another wall, a large closet filled with suits. I went to the bed and moved my fingers over the black silk sheets and admired the array of large red and gold pillows against the backboard, then looked up at the ceiling covered with white billowing cloth draped over the bed. Large maroon curtains were on either side of the glass patio doors that lined one wall, the lights of the city shining in the world below us.

"You have exotic taste," I said, looking up again at the white cloth covering the ceiling over the large bed."So this is your Shangri-la. It looks like a sultan's tent in the desert."

"That's right and I like being treated like a sultan."

"Is that so?" I asked, remembering pictures of the sultan's tent in Scheherazade.

"Yes and I want to know how you're going to convince me you should stay here and write stories you say I will never forget. That's pretty daring of you."

"You'll see."

I sat down on the bed and leaned back on my arms, my bare feet dangling over the edge and saw his eyes looking at my breasts straining the material of the white peasant blouse. When my skirt rose high over my thighs, I spread my legs apart, opening and closing them, knowing I was arousing him, but I admit, the champagne, dancing and stroking him had me aroused also.

"I hope you're on the pill, Sherry."

"I am. Why?"

"You know why. I don't like condoms." The way he looked at my breasts and bare legs told me he wanted to devour me.

"Yes, you want me to convince you I should stay here and write stories for you."

"That's right. How are you going to do that?"

"I'm going to tell you a story, that's how. You just have you lay back and listen."

"You're going to tell me a story? Just tell it without writing."

"Yes. That's how I write. I just hear the story in my head and write it as it comes to me. I can do that here...it's easy. I love doing it. Improvising. Just saying what comes to me. You will not want to let me go."

"You're pretty cocky, aren't you?"

"I don't believe you used the word cock like that." I laughed.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Yes. I thought that was funny. I like puns."

With my skirt high on my thighs, I kept opening and closing my legs and knew I was teasing him, but liked it. I liked the power I was feeling and realized I wanted more power over him.

"So do you want to hear this special story I'm going to tell you?"

"Yes. You're fascinating me."

"Do you have any pot?"

"Of course. I also have some coke if you prefer."

"I'm not surprised to hear you do coke."

He laughed. "Let's say it's one of my enterprises."

"I wondered how you could afford to eat at Rosie's several times a week and always have a sexy chick with you. I've never done coke, but I smoke pot. I like writing when I'm stoned, but at home I always have to go outside on the back steps so they don't smell it. That's one of the reasons I want to stay here and write. You're going to be a happy guy if you let that happen."

He opened the drawer in the table next to his bed and took out a small gold cigarette case that had at least ten neatly rolled joints, I also noticed a pair of handcuffs in the drawer. He lit a joint with a silver lighter and handed it to me. "You'll like this weed."

I took a hit and handed it back to him and watched him inhale, holding in the smoke, closing his eyes, then handed it back to me. It didn't take long to realize I was really stoned. That was the strongest pot I had ever had...way different than what I smoked with Alisha and Emily and what I had at home.

Pot makes me horny and I wondered if I was getting into dangerous territory. I wanted to control the situation, have a cool place to live instead of my drab house and be able to write enticing stories and Rosie's was right around the corner. How cool! I was determined to make that happen.

"I'm waiting to be convinced why I should let you stay here."

I smiled and without a word, stood up and slid my flowery skirt down my thighs and stepped out of it, wishing I had worn the red thong I bought online, instead of my regular black panties. Wanting to be sexy, I stepped towards him, slowly unbuttoned his shirt and rubbed his hairy chest. "Let's get comfortable and I'll tell you a nice story."

"Nice?" he chuckled. "I don't want a nice story."

"You'll like this one." I laughed, wondering where I was getting the nerve to do this, but I wanted him to think I was wilder than I really was and not a virgin who lived in a world of fantasies, but most of all, I wanted to turn the tables on him and not be another slave.

Once I had his shirt off, I unbuckled his belt, then the button to his slacks and slowly unzipped them, then smiled up at him. "Take your pants off."

"Is that an order."

"Yes. Do it!"

He gave me that look, narrowing his eyes as if to say who do you think you are.

I smiled, bit my lower lip then went back to the bed and crawled up to lean against the huge fluffy pillows, my white peasant blouse staining against my breasts and barely covering my black panties. I moved my hands through my long auburn hair, messing it up slightly, wanting to look wilder, and, as he took off his pants, I stared at the bulge straining his red, silky, bikini underwear, his well toned legs, his hairy chest and knew I was getting wet...a dangerous sign. Control yourself, Sherry.

When he slid in next to me, he moved his hand up and down my smooth thigh, but I removed his hand and smiled. "If you want a story you can't touch me otherwise I get distracted."

"How can I be in bed with such a beautiful, sexy, young woman and not touch her?"

"That's the rule. I want you to concentrate on my story and not be trying to seduce me."

"Are you serious?"

"Very, I want to tell you such a good story that will convince you to let me stay here and write. I'll bring my laptop over tomorrow and some clothes. You won't be sorry, but tonight I'm just going to tell you one I know you will like." I couldn't believe I was wanting to move in after knowing how dangerous he was, but knew that's what I wanted and was determined to make it happen.

"Listen to me, Sherry. I'm not used to women telling me what I can and can't do or what they want."

"I'm sure you're not." I leaned over and kissed him lightly on his lips, but you have to let me convince you that I'm worth it. Be patient, Angelo."

His scowling eyes told me he didn't like losing control and suddenly, he grabbed my hair. "Who do you think you are?" He pulled me to his mouth and tried kissing me.

I turned my head so that he kissed my cheek and avoided his lips, then smiled at him.

"I'm someone who will drive you crazy. Now be a good boy and relax and let me get started and remember, no touching or the story stops and I'm out of here."

He laughed and shook his head and released my hair, but not after giving a hard pull which both frightened but also excited me...not sure why.

To create some distance, I sat up in the lotus position a few inches from him and placed one of the pillows on my lap, but while I did, I lowered my blouse slightly, revealing my cleavage. Instinctively, I knew how to play with his mind and followed my intuition, determined to get what I want, and not let what happened to those other young women, happen to me. At the same time I was curious about him. What made him click? What made him be a gigolo to older women? A seducer of young women? What's his story? I sensed that underneath his macho ways, lurked a hurt, angry little boy. Still, I knew he was dangerous and I was playing with fire.

"Okay, story time."

When I said that I remembered storytime when I was in kindergarten and how we sat in a circle and listened to Miss Macintosh read to us, showing pictures and how she used different voices for the characters. I loved that and knew that's what I would do when I told him the story. I wanted to enchant him.

I closed my eyes and wondered what my story was going to be. I was good at making up stories on the spot, something I did when I babysat and didn't want to read one of the boring children's books. After a silence, I took a deep breath and looked at him leaning against the pillows, his hairy chest and flat stomach, his skimpy red, silk bikini underwear with the outline of his package bulging.

"Here goes."

Sarah loved horses She loved the smell of the barn. She loved the farm she had inherited from her grandparents, loved coming here every summer, and now, after graduating from Hampshire College, the farm would be a perfect place to live and follow her dream to be a writer. Her parents had divorced when she was nine and she hated living with her mother, a nag and a drunk, and her father grew more and more distant because of his business and his affairs. College was liberating and she did her share of partying, and now the farm would be even more liberating. She had learned a lot about relationships in college after being seduced by that writing teacher but also had several boyfriends, one who tried raping her after a night of binge drinking, but she fought him off and learned how far she could go without getting in trouble. Live and learn...but learn!




Sherry, The Storyteller



Still, she wanted freedom to do what she wanted, when she wanted. She didn't have much money, just a little from the inheritance and that wouldn't last too long. She hoped her writing would make some money but that was a long shot. She knew from her writing teacher at college how hard it was to get published, and then, it was even harder to get read with so many books being published. She had heard three thousand books get published everyday.

One day at a time was her philosophy. The Now. Being able to get up each morning and look out at the barn, the meadows, the woods surrounding the farm, the mountains to the East filled her with the desire to breathe in the world around her and shout,"I love freedom!"

I kept my eyes focused on Angelo as I spoke and loved how the words just flowed as my imagination took over. His dark eyes shone as he listened, and I could feel his fascination and curiosity. I like how he's looking at me. This is going to work.

I took a breath and continued.

As weeks went by and, Sarah realized there was always so much to do. She had to feed the chickens, gather eggs, keep the chicken house clean, get the seeds into the garden that had been well cultivated for many years, then weeding and watering the garden if it didn't rain, milking the two goats, Ruby and Sapphire, who she also inherited, keeping her horse, Ginger fed and happy, shoveling manure, riding her every afternoon, then brushing her down, throwing half a bale of hay into her stall, some grain, and filling her water bucket.

Angelo picked up the gold cigarette case and lit up another joint, took a puff and handed the joint to me. Why not I sighed and took another hit. I was already pretty stoned and drunk, but I was on a roll and knew that pot loosened my mind and mouth, sometimes too much, not to mention my body. Determined to tell him a story that would captivate him, I continued.

Sarah had just returned from a long ride in the North Meadow and through the woods on an old bridle path her grandfather had made. Her tight faded jeans always pressed against her crotch and the bouncing and rubbing against the pommel always got her so turned on, she couldn't wait to get back to the barn. But this day, she was surprised to see a red convertible parked near the barn and a tall man wearing dark slacks, a white dress shirt, his tie undone and his suit jacket held over his shoulder with his finger. She hopped off Ginger and watched him walk towards me.

"This your place, miss?" he asked.

"Yep. All mine."

"Interested in selling. I'm in the market for a farm around here."

"Nope. It's not for sale."

"Is that so. Everything is for sale for the right price," he said looking her up and down.

"Is that so?"

"I looked at a couple other places but I drove past here the other day and know this is the farm I want.

"Too bad." She patted Ginger's neck and wanted to get into the barn and scratch the itch she had felt riding her.

"I'm sure I can convince you to sell."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," she said, and walked Ginger towards the barn, then glanced at his red convertible parked nearby and knew he had money by his statement,"every thing has a price."

She could feel his eyes on her as she entered the barn and knew her ass looked good in the tight, faded jeans and, for some reason, maybe being horny, she swayed my hips slightly, wondering if this good looking rich guy might want to keep her company. Being alone on the farm for three months was getting to her, plus all the work and trying to find time to write made her wonder about getting a farmhand and recently fantasized about hiring a strong, young man from the area to take care of things, maybe even her.

She knew this guy would follow her into the barn as she led Ginger to his stall, and glanced over her shoulder and there he was, carrying his jacket over his shoulder, but she saw where his eyes were looking and thought, "Interesting, so he wants to buy this farm." She knew she would need money, but knew she would never sell the farm to him or any one.

In the stall, she took Ginger's saddle off, placed it over the railing, while the man whose name she didn't know stood in the entrance of the stall. She picked up Ginger's water bucket and squeezed by him on her way to the faucet at the front of the barn and accidentally on purpose brushed his hip but didn't apologize.

"Listen, mister, there's no point of you standing there. I'm not selling...no way."

He stood close to her while she filled the bucket. "Listen, I hope you don't think I'm arrogant, but I usually get what I want." His eyes glanced at her tight tank top then at her eyes.

"I don't think you're arrogant," she said, knowing where he had looked and stared into his eyes. "But you won't get what you want here."

Sarah had to admit she enjoyed talking to him like that and knew there was a hint of sexual innuendo in her words, probably because she was finding him attractive and also because she was still turned on from her ride.

Back in the stall, she placed the bucket in front of Ginger and when she caught him looking at her ass again when she bent over, asked, "So what's your name, mister?"

"Angelo," he answered.

Angelo's surprised eyes widened when I said that, but I was equally surprised that I had named the character Angelo, but that was the name that popped into my mind. What am I doing?

"I hope you don't mind if I use your name in this story. It just came to me and I went with it."

"Yes, I'm surprised. It's a little weird, but I like the story. Sarah seems like an interesting character. I'm wondering if she's like you."

"You'll find out."

I was getting sleepy but was getting into the story and curious about what would happen. That's one of the fun things about writing, letting the story unravel. Some famous writer, I think E. L. Doctorow, said, "Writing is like driving through a thick fog and you can barely see beyond the headlights." That's the way it was for me.

"Do you want me to continue?"

"Yes, I want to see if something happens between those two."

"Thought you would."

I needed to stretch after sitting in the lotus position for so long, so I picked one of the large pillows and placed it front of me, then laid down, facing him, stretched my legs behind me and rested my chest on the pillow which caused my breasts to practically spill out of my blouse. I was too drunk and stoned to care, but could see where he was looking and the impact it was having in his skimpy underwear.

"Do you have candles?" I asked. "Maybe next time, we could light some candles while I tell you the story."

"Next time? What makes you think there's going to be a next time."

"Because there will be."

"You're presumptuous, aren't you?"

"Maybe. What if I am?"

Surprising me, he grabbed my wrist and put my hand on the big bump in his bikini underwear. The sensation of feeling its throbbing hardness excited me, but I resisted and lifted my hand."I told you not to touch me or I would stop the story and take off. So what will it be....do you want to hear this story? I know you will like it." I moved forward, kissed his cheek, and, teasingly, let my breasts touch his arm and he released my wrist.

"Listen, Angelo, you're going to like having me around. I know you like your privacy. So do I. You can go about your business and ignore me and I'll just do my writing, and maybe we can have some fun together. How about it?"

"I'm still not convinced. You might have to do more to convince me."

I knew what he wanted to do in order to be convinced, but I had other plans.

After getting myself comfortable on the pillow and liking the air on my breasts, and the buzz from the pot, I looked around. "Yes, candles would be nice," I said before continuing. "Now where was I?"

"The guy just told Sarah his name was Angelo."

"Oh right. Here goes."

Sarah started brushing Ginger."Well, Angelo, I have work to do."

He stepped into the stall and stood closely behind Sarah while she brushed.

"What can I do to convince you to sell me this farm?"

Sarah looked over her shoulder at him and could feel how close to her he was standing.

"There's nothing you can do. My place is not for sale. Now if you will excuse me,

I have to brush Ginger. Then get dinner ready."

"Oh, for your husband?"

"No. For me. There's no husband, no boyfriend."

Sarah moved the brush to Ginger's rear thigh and tried ignoring how close to her he was standing. "He's turning me on" Sarah thought, "and I was already turned on. Uh oh."

"Too bad, you have to live here alone. Must be hard not having a man around."

"I like it this way. I like my freedom. It's only when you're alone that you can be yourself and not have to compromise."

"So you don't like to compromise."

"You got it."

"Well, I don't compromise either. I want this farm." He stepped closer, pushing Sarah against Ginger.

"It's not for sale. I already told you that." Sarah stared into his fierce eyes and felt the breath from his mouth on her ear, but squirmed away and continued brushing Ginger, then moved around to the other side to be away from Angelo, not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of her rising desire for him, despite his aggressive manner.

"Listen, miss, I'm going to leave, but I'll be back tomorrow and think I can convince you to sell."

While she watched him walk out of the stall and towards the front of the barn, she got an idea and before dismissing it as stupid, she called after him."Hey, Angelo. Want to stay for dinner."

He stopped and smiled back at her. "Sure, why not?"

"Cool. I'll meet you up at the house in a minute."

"Well, I just happen to have a bottle of wine in my car. I'll bring it up."

Sarah tossed the brush into the corner of the stall, petted Ginger and, while walking up to the house, glanced at Angelo leaning over the door of his convertible and noticed his trim body, his broad shoulders, his dark, longish hair and thought, he's going to become my farmhand."

Angelo interrupted me and chuckled and so I asked. "What's so funny?"

"You have a devious mind," he said. "Why would she think he would become a farmhand when he said he wanted to buy the fucking place?"

"No, I don't have a devious mind. I could never do anything like that to a man. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"Well, you're trying to convince me to let you stay here, when there's no reason I should."

"That's true, hmm, maybe I am devious." I laughed and picked up Angelo's hand and gently rubbed the back of it with my thumb. "Do you want to hear the rest of the story?"

"Yes, Sarah seems like an interesting, sexy woman. I want to find out what her plan is."

Little did he know, I was taking one sentence at a time and also wanted to know.

Sarah went into the kitchen, washed her hands, then took out from the refrigerator lettuce, broccoli, a green pepper, a cucumber, a jar of Greek olives, a small ceramic container of cheese, then from the basket over the counter, a red onion and a big tomato. Angelo came in with a bottle of red wine and Sarah handed him a cork screw and, with her eyes, told him to open the wine, then reached for two wine glasses.

"Hope you like a Greek Salad with homemade feta cheese."

"Homemade?"

"Yes from the goats. My granny showed me how to make it and some other cheeses."

She held out the two glasses while Angelo poured. They clicked glasses and Sarah said, "To fun and freedom!"

"I'll drink to that."

"Mmmm nice wine." She took another sip and another and put down the half empty glass.

"So, you live here all alone," he asked, leaning against the counter while she assembled the salad. "Do you ever get lonely, a pretty girl like you."

"Sometimes. I've been thinking of hiring a farmhand. I'm a writer and the chores take a lot of my energy and time."

"Oh, you're a writer? What do you write?

"Romance novels. Love stories."

Sarah took another sip of wine, faced him and, wondered if she could entice him if she told him what kind of romance stories she wrote, then, smiling into his eyes, said. "They're very erotic."

Angelo nodded, gazing into Sarah's eyes, "Are your stories based on reality or are they fantasies?"

"A little of both," she said, a slight smile on her lips, and finished her wine. "How about pouring us a little more wine and we can eat. You look like a man who likes to eat."

He poured each of them more wine while she sprinkled the feta cheese on the salad, poured her homemade dressing over the vegetables and cheese, tossed it with two wooden spoons, took another sip of wine and moved the large wooden bowl to the round oak kitchen table on the other side of the room and smiled at him."Come and get it."

Sarah knew she was being sexually suggestive by what she said and how she said it, and could see by his smile that he knew what she was doing. The sexual tension between them filled the kitchen. She was determined to seduce Angelo and see if she could get him to stay and be her farmhand.

Sherry's eyes were fixed on Angelo's while he listened. The bulge in his red bikini shorts had gotten bigger and seeing its length sent a bolt through her and wetness between her legs, but she was determined not to lose her virginity to this man who seduced young women, abused them, then tossed them aside like trash.

Sherry yawned, placing the back of her hand over her mouth, and said in a weary voice, "I'm getting tired from all the champagne and pot. I might have to stop and get some sleep."

"You can't stop now."

"I have to. I'm really sleepy. I can tell you the rest of the story tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What makes you think there's going to be a tomorrow? Come on, tell me what happens. I want to know how Sarah seduces Angelo and gets him to become a farmhand. That's pretty daring of her."

"Am I making you horny?" I asked, glancing at his bulge.

"Can't you see?" He rubbed his hand up and down his hardness.

"Yes, I can see. Okay, just a little more, then I'm going to sleep. It's late and I like to get up early and write before I go to Rosie's and I want to get my stuff and bring it here."

"You're serious aren't you?"

"Very. I like it here and hate where I'm living. This can be a win-win situation having me stay here and write and we can hang out. You'll like it. I know you will."

"I doubt that will happen. Now, tell me what happens."

I wondered if I should make the story really hot and get Angelo even more turned on and then stop, or should I keep it suspenseful, making him more and more curious so that he had to wait until the next night to find out what happens. If it's too hot, would I be able to resist his actions, would I be testing myself by getting so aroused I'd give in and become another conquest, would I be on the razor's edge? Before starting, I moved back to one of the huge pillows against the backboard and lay on my side facing him. When I did that, Angelo, also lay on his side, with his head on his pillow, facing me and started rubbing my thigh. I have to admit his warm hand felt good, but I lifted it. "Remember, no touching."

He grunted softly and narrowed his eyes at me, but removed his hand and I continued.

While eating, Angelo commented on how delicious the salad was and Sarah said she loved to cook and how much she loved growing as much of her own food as she could and how much she loved writing, but she might need to hire a farmhand to help with the chores, and the pasture fence needed mending and firewood needed stacking and it was taking too much time from her writing.

"Well, if you sell to me, you would have plenty of money and you'd be able to write and not worry about all the work."

"I told you I'm not selling. So you can forget that idea."

After they finished eating, Sarah cleared the table and took the plates, and empty salad bowl to the counter while Angelo sat back on his chair with his legs stretched out towards her. When she turned around to face him, she saw her chance to make something happen and said, "Wanna get high. I grew some dynamite weed this summer and just harvested some and it's ready."

"Sure, I'd like that. You're a resourceful young woman, aren't you?

"I am. Have to be if I want to be independent."

"So being independent is important to you."

"Very. That's why I've been reluctant to hire a farmhand, but if I can find the right one, someone who loves the farm as much as I do and can work hard, I might change my mind."

Sarah opened up a mason jar filled with buds, placed a few in the small glass pipe that had been on the counter, picked up a lighter and walked over to Angelo, lit the pipe and took a deep puff before handing it to him. While he took a hit, she hovered over his outstretched legs, straining her tight faded jeans. When he handed the pipe back, she closed her eyes, savoring the taste and sensation that rose through her body, then, gazing into his eyes, sat down on his lap and started grinding herself against Angelo's bulge. As the growing lust between them grew in intensity, he grabbed her ass, and, remembering how she felt riding Ginger and rubbing herself against the pommel, started grinding harder, sliding up and down, her breathing heavier, moving faster, her body tensing, getting closer to exploding in a huge orgasm, the first of many she wanted, and shouted, "Oh my God" as her body moved faster, harder, "Ohhhhfuck! I'm cumming!"She rode him faster, harder, then shuddered as an overwhelming orgasm swept through her. She came hard and collapsed on Angelo, crushing her breasts against his chest, but knowing she had to do something more to turn this rich man who wanted to buy her farm, into her farmhand, slid off his legs and onto her knees, then lowering the zipper on his slacks, pulled out his hard cock and smiling, said, "I want some dessert."

I stopped when Angelo rolled onto his back, spreading his legs and started moving his hand up and down his throbbing cock which made me know my story was getting him where I wanted him, and knew this was my chance to escape his lust, though I have to admit, watching him turned me on even more than my story.

"You like my story, don't you?"

"I'm so fucking hot I can't stand it."

He reached for me but I slapped his hand away and said, "Good. Jerk off for me. I want to watch!"

When he lowered his bikini underwear and his hard cock stood straight up and she saw how large it was, it was all she could do not to lean over him and swallow it, but resisted and watched his hand move faster and faster, his eyes closed, his body tensing, but then he reached for her and tried to roughly push her onto her back.

"No," I shouted and pushed him away. "Keep going....Jerk off for me."

Watching him, I moved my hand between my legs and shoved two fingers into my wet pussy and within a minute of intense thrusting, our eyes fixed on each other, we both exploded, his body shaking, then stiffened as white gobs shot out of him into the air and onto his stomach, while I convulsed in a huge orgasm, screaming, then smeared my breasts with what poured from me.

I lay back on the pillow and looked up at the billowing cloth above me, panting and thinking, wow that was hot, glad that my story had accomplished its goal and I'd be able to sleep.




Sherry, The Storyteller



"Let's get some sleep," I said, facing him and saw his chest heaving, his eyes closed as he came down.

"Damn, that story got to me. You're a wild storyteller. I like that."

"You ain't heard nothing yet," I said, between breaths. "I've got a wicked imagination."

"You do, do you?" he said.

I moved towards him and kissed his cheek, his forehead, his ear and whispered, "You'll find out how wicked I can be if I stay here and write. Now let's get some sleep."

I couldn't believe this was me talking and behaving like this, but I was enjoying the excitement and was also determined to show him, I wasn't like all the other women he had fucked or abused. I wanted to hurt him, torture him and maybe, even break his heart.

The next morning, I made sure to wake up before he did and watched him sleeping, glad that he didn't snore. Seeing him with his eyes closed, his gentle breathing, I wondered what it was that made him so cruel to the young women he seduced, what pain, what anger? Was it revenge for some hurt? My writer's mind wanted to know what made this handsome man, so vile.

It was chilly so I put on his white shirt over my peasant blouse, and tiptoed into the other room. I glanced at my sneakers and wondered if I should leave and show him I wasn't a captive, but decided there was more I could do to convince him he should let me stay and write. I'd go home later and pack some clothes, get my laptop and come back here after Rosie's. I went into the kitchen that looked untouched, and, seeing his French Press, decided to make some coffee. I opened a cabinet and found a bag of coffee, put on the teapot and explored the nearly empty refrigerator but found a dozen eggs, a carton of milk, which, when I sniffed, knew wasn't sour, a package of cheddar cheese wrapped in plastic and a package of bacon. In the freezer, I grabbed the bag of bagels. Great! He likes breakfast. Now if there's some butter, I'll make him an omelet that will make his tongue throw a party for his mouth.

I found an onion in the vegetable bin and wondered why he even had an onion. It looked like he didn't cook much. I loved to cook and remembered my mom saying, "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." No wonder my dad had such a pot belly.

The smell of bacon must have wakened him because he came in wearing a short silky maroon robe over his red bikini underwear and saw what I was doing. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Then added, "How about slicing the onion for me."

Though his startled eyes widened, I handed him the knife I was about to use, then found some salt and pepper to add to the egg batter.

"You want me to slice an onion?"

"Yes. I want to make you a good breakfast, but I'm not a slave. By the way, how come you have an onion. It doesn't look like you cook much."

I like making breakfast, but then I eat out a lot. I don't have time to cook or shop."

He reluctantly started slicing the onion. "I hate cutting onions. They make my eyes burn."

When I saw his eyes tearing, I said, "Go sit down and I'll finish."

When he sat down at the small white kitchen table with two chairs, I chopped and sauteed the onion, and added them to the egg batter that was already in the frying pan, then the cheddar cheese. When the two bagels popped up in the toaster, I buttered them and placed them on two white plates just as the perfect omelet was ready to serve.

"You look pretty hot in my shirt," he said, looking me up and down.

I brought breakfast to the table and glanced down at the bulge in his underwear as his robe hung partially opened, also revealing his hairy chest, flat stomach and legs.

"You look pretty hot yourself," I said, knowing he saw where I was looking, then added, "I hope you like my cooking. Maybe on the nights I'm not working, I'll make you dinner and you'll be glad I'm living here."

"I didn't say you could live here....don't get ahead of yourself, miss."

"Well, if you want to hear the rest of my story and have a someone like me to enjoy, you'd be nuts to not let me stay here."

While we were eating, I couldn't resist lifting my leg and placing my foot on the bulge between his legs while I chewed a piece of my bagel, my eyes fixed on his. "Isn't this a nice breakfast," I said, rubbing him with the arch of my foot and felt him getting harder. "I think you'll like my cooking and me giving you something delicious to eat. Wouldn't you like something delicious to eat?"

He swallowed and pushed himself harder against my foot.

"How about it? Let me stay here and write and you can hear the rest of my story. I can entertain you in ways none of your other little girls can."

I'm not sure why I said little girls, but I was following my intuition about him and knew he liked his power and control, liked making young women submit to his lust, liked hurting them and I wanted to show him he couldn't do that to me. I wanted revenge for all the women he used, his sluts, and saw my chance to have a cool place to live, even though I knew I was taking a chance and remembered Mindy's words, watch out, he's dangerous, but the writer in me also wanted adventure. I didn't want to just write. I wanted to live and write from experience.

"You like teasing me, don't you?" He bit his lower lip as he savored my foot pressing against him.

"Yes, and as you know, I have a wicked imagination. I can tell you stories that will enchant and tantalize you."

I have to admit, his hardness against my foot was arousing me, but I knew I had to control the situation, make him know he had met his match, so, I moved my foot away, picked up our plates and mine and started towards the sink. When he grabbed my wrist and forced me to sit on his lap, his hardness on my ass stunned me. Damn he's hard, but I was holding our plates and stood up, looking down at him, then leaned over and kissed his forehead. "Is this how you treat all of your waitresses?"

That surprised him and me.

I walked to the sink, swaying my hips slightly, and turned back to him the way I did when he looked at me at Rosie's the other night. "Hey, mister, are you checking me out?"

I wasn't sure what I was doing, but the idea of role playing and acting out stories might really do the trick. It would add another dimension to my storytelling that would have him wrapped around my little finger and that's where I wanted him.

"I couldn't help it. You look so delectable," he said, then turned and stretched out his legs letting his robe fall open to reveal his hardness bulging in his red bikini shorts as if tempting me.

The sight immediately got me tingling and I swallowed, trying to ignore what was happening.

"I bet you say that to all of your waitresses. I've seen how you look at the waitresses at Rosie's even when you're with one of your slut girl friends. Guys like you are jerks. I ignore guys like you."

"Yeah, but I see where you're looking, miss."

"So what. Don't think showing me your ammunition is going to get you in this waitress's pants."

Finding us suddenly role playing was unexpected, but I could see this could be fun. Would I be able to control him? And what about me?

I turned on the water and started washing the dishes, ignoring him.

He came to the sink and stood behind me and put his arms around my waist and pushed himself against my ass. I bucked him away. "Listen, mister, I've got work to do."

"Yeah, well, I'm a hungry customer. I'd like some service around here."

"Sorry. I'm closing up shop. I want to get these dishes done so I can get out of here."

" But I want something more to eat."

He turned me around and got down on his knees and I knew what he wanted to eat, but I placed my fingers on his chin, lifting his eyes to meet my eyes. "Sorry, mister, the kitchen is closed. Now, how about leaving so I can get out of here."

Then I stopped the role playing. "Listen Angelo, let me finish up here, then go and get my stuff and I'll come back after work tonight and you can hear the rest of my story."

He huffed and stood up. "Sherry, I didn't say you could stay here."

"I saw how my story got to you, last night. Don't you want that to happen again and we can add a little more role playing to the story if you want. Tell you what--if my story tonight doesn't make you hot, I'll pack up my stuff and leave."

"Okay, one more night."

"Cool," I said. "You're a smart man and a good looking one. This will be fun."

At work, as soon I showed up, the other waitresses wanted to know what happened when I left with Angelo and I told them I had fun, we messed around and said, I'm going to be staying there.

"You are!" Carrie said, shocked.

"Are you crazy?" Molly asked.

Mindy took me aside while we folding napkins. "I'm worried about you, Sherry. He's a cruel man."

"I have everything under control. I have to get out of my house and he's got a really cool apartment and I want to teach him a lesson. Nothing I don't want to have happen, will happen."

She gave me that look, then said, "I hope you know what you're doing, but I won't be surprised if I see you bruised like Renee and you quit working here to stay away from him."

"I'll be fine, Mindy. I know what I'm doing." I tried sounding strong, but a part of me wasn't so sure and realized how strong he looked, what good shape he was in and I'm a little over five feet tall. I asked myself, Why am I doing this? Maybe I don't know what I'm doing.

I had my suitcase with a few changes of clothes—some for work, but a few for our evenings of storytelling and role playing. I had my laptop and a briefcase filled with my stories and a new one based on the story I was telling Angelo. The idea of living there was exciting and dangerous, but I was so drawn to wanting to be there and show Angelo I was not one of his sluts and could ultimately make him suffer in a way he never imagined. My desire for power over him surprised me and made my heart pound and my mind swirl.

It was a busy night and, feeling energized by what was happening, really got into giving good service, kibitzing with the customers I had been serving for over a year and secretly smiled, when one asked, "So, what's new, Sherry?" and I said, "nothing much...just writing and stuff." But inside, I was bursting with what was happening.

Bursting, that is until Angelo walked in with one of the girls I had seen him with before. My bubble suddenly dissolved into a puddle. I tried swallowing but my throat tightened, stunned. When I caught my breath and approached his table, I had to pretend I didn't care.

"Good evening, Angelo, would you and your date like to try the new house wine we're serving?"

I was wearing my new skinny jeans and a black tank top and got the usual up and down look from him.

When the busboy brought over the bread and olive oil, I stepped aside and watched him take his date's hand and nod, "Yes, we'll have the new house wine. Thank you, Sherry."

Serving him that night was torture, but being a good waitress is a performance, and I did a good job asking how everything was and did they need anything else, but here I was with my suitcase, laptop and shattered expectations. Now what?

It was hard walking back and forth to the kitchen with him sitting with this gorgeous blonde, but I could feel his eyes on me and a few times our eyes met and I wondered, how can that jerk be flirting with me while he's with his date, but knew I was jealous and tried to shake that emotion away. Why am I jealous. What's going on?

When he handed me the leather bound credit card holder and stood up to leave, he whispered, "See you later." I didn't know what he meant until I opened up the leather holder and saw a note written on the receipt. "I want to hear the rest of the story. Come after work."

Instead of sitting down for a meal after we were finished serving and setting up for the next day, I got my suitcase, laptop and took off. No one asked why I had a suitcase, but Mindy knew and her eyes again told me watch out.

The door man recognized me and bowed when he opened the door. I was the only one in the elevator as it rose to the thirtieth floor, wondering about his date, would she be there, but when the door opened to Angelo's vast apartment, he greeted me with a glass of champagne and when I saw the other woman wasn't there, I wondered what happened to her, but also felt myself becoming the the woman determined to have a swanky place to stay, write and make Anglo know he had met his match.

"So, are you going to let me stay here?"

"I'm considering it." He glanced down at my suitcase and laptop. "Let's take one night at a time."

"Cool! I can handle that."

"Good."

We clicked glasses and sipped our champagne. I took off my shoes and walked barefooted across the plush carpet to the other side of the apartment and looked out at the city lights. He followed and I knew he was looking at my ass in the tight skinny jeans. Little did he know what other clothes I had in my suitcase to use for our role playing and wondered what stories I would tell after the one I had started last night. To say I was winging it was an understatement.

He stood behind me with his arm around my waist. His cologne and the feel of his body holding me was soothing. I closed my eyes and savored how it felt to be standing there and, for a moment, forgot how dangerous he was and how romantic it felt to be in his apartment looking out at the city and drinking champagne. He kissed my throat just above the collarbone and a shiver went through me.

I took his hand away and, facing him, smiled into his eyes,"So do you want to hear the rest of my story?"

"Sure, why don't we get a little more comfortable in my bed?"

I finished my champagne and handed him the glass. "How about a little more champagne."

He poured me and himself another glass and I took his hand and led him into the bedroom, but then remembered my suitcase and knew I had something I wanted to change into before I told him the story.

"I'm going to change my clothes, Angelo, then finish the story. Why don't you get undressed and put on that sexy robe you wore this morning and I'll be right back."

In the bathroom I squeezed myself into the cut-off jeans I've had since I was fourteen. They were so tight I could hardly button them and so short I knew my ass cheeks showed, but I knew they would make his eyes pop out. I kept the black tank top on, but took my bra off then put on the cowboy boots I had squashed into my suitcase. I tied my wild hair in a ponytail and became a farm girl.

When he saw me in the tight cut offs, ponytail and the cowboy boots, his eyes looked up and down my body.

"You're some storyteller," he said.

"Thanks. You're going to like the rest of my story."

I have to admit I liked how he looked at me, but I was determined to stay out of his clutches and entice him to let me stay.

I walked around to the other side of the huge king-sized bed and crawled towards him on my hands and knees, knowing my breasts were showing, then moved to lay next to him with my head on the plush pillow against the backboard, loving the feel of the black silk sheets, then I leaned up on my elbow and looked down at his grinning face.

"Why are you grinning?" I asked, curious.

"Because I think you're funny." He had a smirk on his lips.

"Funny? Why do you think I'm funny?"

"Because you think telling me a story and dressing up like a little farm girl while you tell me a hot story is going to make me let you stay here past tonight."

"That's right and you're going to like my story so much you won't want me to leave."

"We'll see, won't we?" he said, and reached for his gold cigarette case, took out a joint, lit it and handed it to me."Here, this will help your storytelling."

I took a hit, inhaling and handed the joint back to him and felt my body responding to the pot, my whole body loosening, and that tingle between my legs warning me I'd better be careful. I took another hit and closed my eyes to find my way back to the story I had started last night.

Kneeling between Angelo's legs, Sarah unzipped his slacks and smiled up at him while she placed her hand around his hard cock, then started licking the head, while gazing into his eyes. Angelo lay back in the chair and stretched his legs on each side of Sarah and gave into the pleasure of her warm, wet mouth making soft slurping sounds as she swallowed more and more while making sure her tongue licked the underside of his swelling cock. Angelo grabbed her hair, wrapping thick strands tightly around his fingers, holding her head still, while thrusting harder, faster. "Suck my cock. Suck it!" he screamed, writhing, and within minutes, filled her mouth with his load, then collapsed back in his chair, panting, while Sarah licked the remnants of his cream that dribbled from her lips and down her chin.

Angelo was turned on by my description and I loved seeing the big bulge in his red bikini underwear, loved how my words excited him, loved the power my words had. "Do your girlfriends give you blow jobs like that?"

"Yes, but Sarah seems like she's trying to lure that man who wants to buy her farm and make him her farmhand. How does she do that?"

"You have to be patient and listen to the story, if you want to find out."

"I'm not a patient man, Sherry."

"I know. I can tell by the different women you come into Rosie's with every night, you like variety, don't you?"

"Yes, I like my little pets, but I get tired of them and when they get too clinging, I dispose of them."

"Dispose of them. What do you do?"

"You don't want to know what I do."

"Yes I do. Tell me. How do you dispose of your women?"

I couldn't believe I was probing like that, but when he said, "You might find out," I wasn't sure what to say, but surprised myself when I said, "I'm not afraid of you."

He smiled at me and reached for my pony tail and pulled. "You should be."

"Maybe you should be afraid of me," I said, taking his hand from my hair.

"Really." He smiled and shook his head at me as if I was a fool.

I shifted and squirmed away from him and facing him, lifted my leg.

"Take off my cowboy boots."

"You want me to take off your boots."

"Yes, please. I want them off. Take them off for me, then I'll continue the story."

He took one boot off and tossed it on the floor next to the bed and rubbed the bottom of my foot, then kissed my toe and licked my ankle which send shivers through me. I lifted my other foot and he took off the boot, kissed my toes, and smiled at me while he placed the boot on the floor. I knew what he was doing, but enjoyed it.

"Thanks. I love being bare footed."

He started moving his hand up my bare leg while his tongue continued licking and tickling the arch of my foot which caused me to writhe from the sensation. My tight cutoffs were pressing against my pussy, but then I realized I can't lose control and rolled away from him and sat up. "Storytime," I said, catching my breath and saw how hard he was. Though turned on, I swallowed and somehow continued.

Sarah stood up and took Angelo's hand and said, "Come with me." She led him up the stairs then down the hall to her bedroom and knew she wanted to take advantage of having this handsome man who wanted to buy her farm. Standing in front of him, she placed her hands between his legs and grabbed his balls. "I want you to fuck me!"

He placed his hand between her legs and cupped her mound through her tight jeans. "I like a woman who knows what she wants."

"Well, I know what I want and what I don't want." She kissed him, probing his mouth with her tongue then slid it into his warm mouth and swirled it around while his tongue did the same to her mouth. She tightened her grip on his balls and he tightened his grip on her crotch, and rubbed her.




Sherry, The Storyteller



He took his mouth from hers with a gasp, "And what is it you don''t want?"

"I don't want to sell my farm."

"And what do you want?"

"I want you to be my farmhand. I need a guy like you to work for me."

"What makes you think I'd ever want to be your farmhand when I want to own it?"

"Cause of me." Sarah stroked his hard cock.

Angelo reached around and grabbed Sarah's ass and pulled her against his bulging cock forcing her to spread her legs and slide up and down, savoring the intense sensations rippling through her..

"Cause of you?" he chuckled as he moved his bulging cock up and down Sarah's jean covered pussy.

"Yeah, you'd like having me for a boss."

"That isn't going to happen."

"We'll see" Sarah said, smiling into his eyes,"but right now let's fuck each others brains out."

My eyes closed while I told the story and felt aroused by my description, when Angelo grabbed my hand and startled me out of the story. He tried pulling me on top of him, but I shook my hand loose and said, "I told you not to touch me while I'm telling you the story."

"I know what you told me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to listen."

"Well, then I think I'll leave."

I shook his hand away, leaped up off the bed and, picking up my boots, ran out of his room and down the hall and knew he would follow me. I ran to the front door just as he caught up with me, but I pushed him away by butting my head against his chest and dashed into the kitchen which was a mistake because now I was trapped, but just as he reached for me, I ducked under his arms and ran into the living room, jumped on the couch and leaning my ass against the back, my tight cut-offs pressing against my crotch, kicked him away when he tried to grab me. "Stay away from me," I yelled and leaped from the couch and ran across the plush carpet, down the hall and just before I reached the bathroom to lock myself in, he tackled me and pounced on my back as I tried to crawl away. His weight on me made it impossible to move, though I squirmed and felt his hard cock against my ass.

Somehow I found the strength to buck him off of me and crawl away. He grabbed my ankle and tried holding me, but I squirmed away, out of breath and frightened, found the strength to laugh. I don't know how, but he laughed, too.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" I said, suddenly changing the mood.

"I've never met anyone like you," he said, gasping for air.

"You never will....that's why you should let me stay here. It will be fun and I can tell you stories that will blow your mind. Don't you want to find out if Sarah makes him her farmhand?"

Just then, he stood up, reached for my hand and brought me to my feet, then surprised me with his arms embracing me in a way that made me melt into his chest. For the first time, I felt his tenderness and don't know what I felt by the sudden change, except I was confused. With his arms around me, he lowered his hands to my ass and I could feel his fingers through the thinness of my tight cut-offs, but there was something in his touch that was gentle and soothing, not seductive.

He smiled."Come back to bed, Sherry and tell me the rest of the story." His voice was different, softer, sweeter, and I was bewildered. It didn't sound like Angelo. My guard went up as I crawled back into bed and leaned against the pillows, but he surprised me when he gathered me in his arms to cuddle. I snuggled against him, my mind spinning, and tried to relax, but couldn't and wondered, What's going on with him?

"So do you want to hear the rest of the story?" I asked.

"Yes. You left off at a very hot place, please, continue."

Still suspicious of how he was behaving and confused by his gentleness, I knew I'd better be careful and moved out of his arms and sat up. He put his hands behind his head on the pillow and smiled, gazing into my eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked.

"Because you're different, challenging. I like that. You make me laugh."

"Good," I said. "So you like a challenge."

"Sometimes. Now get on with your story, my dear."

I closed my eyes, surprised he called me 'dear' and remembered they were going fuck each other's brains out.

In bed Sarah started out on top but Angelo pushed her roughly onto her back and got his mouth between her legs and licked and sucked until she grabbed his hair and writhing, erupted in a huge orgasm, and then he pounced on her and gripped her hands above her head, and while her screams filled the room, Angelo yelled, "I'm going to ravish you!"and pounded her into oblivion. They both fell asleep in each other's arms. In the morning, while she showered, he came into the shower and they fucked again under the cascading hot water.

After a breakfast of eggs, home fries, toast from homemade bread, Angelo asked, "So how much do you want for the farm?"

"I told you it's not for sale, but I'll tell you what. I need a man around here to help me, why don't you stay. You can enjoy the farm without having to buy it and it will be a win win situation. What do you think?"

"You mean, you want me to be your farmhand?"

"Yeah, you can be a farmhand with benefits."

Sarah knew he had money and thought maybe in time, she'd get him to help out with the expenses.

"What makes you think I'd want to be a farmhand and have you for a boss?"

"I'd be a nice boss. You'd like working for me and it would give me time to write my erotic stories which I would read to you."

"Hmmmm, sounds interesting, but I'm determined to own this farm. Maybe you would become my farmhand."

Sarah laughed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Having me be your farmhand. Well, it's not going to happen."

I stopped and looked at Angelo listening with a smile on his lips and wondered what he was thinking.

"I think I'll stop there," I said and yawned.

"Come on. I want to hear what happens."

"I'm sure you do, but I'll tell you the rest tomorrow night. I'm sleepy."

Then he said something that surprised and startled me. "You remind me of Sarah."

"I do...what do you mean? I'm nothing like Sarah."

"She's playing with his mind to get what she wants and that's what you're doing. You're trying to get me to let you stay here, aren't you?

"Maybe," I said.

"Listen. I do want you to stay here, but not because you're telling me that story."

"Really. You want me to stay here. Cool! What do you mean it's not because of my story?"

"I like how you are. You're not afraid of me. After I tackled you and was about to take you, you laughed and I felt something I had never felt before."

"Really."

Though I wondered what he was feeling, I didn't want to tell him I was afraid of him even though I laughed. I couldn't stop thinking about all of the women he had fucked then got rid of. Despite the sweet smile, and the way he looked at me when he listened to my story, the way he held his hands at the back of his head and seemed relaxed while he listened, I wasn't going to let my guard down. He still had whatever anger or pain made him so dangerous; he still had the need to hurt and dominate women. Things like that don't just go away because I made him laugh. Still, he was going to let me stay there and that's what I wanted. I would write and not let him get too close to me. I'd keep him at arm's length. I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted him wrapped around my little finger. Talk about living on the edge, that's what I was going to do for as long as I could.

When I said, "Let's get some sleep," he held out his arms to me and I knew he wanted to cuddle, but I said, let me change out of these cut-offs and went into the bathroom and changed into the little white, sheer nightgown I loved sleeping in at home. It was short and barely covered my thighs and was so comfortable.

"Nice," he said, looking at me when I came out of the bathroom.

I knew he could see my breasts through the thin material, but I didn't care. "This is my favorite nightgown," I told him.

When we cuddled and I had my head on his chest, he gently rubbed my back and I was surprised how soothing his hand felt. His hand moved to my ass as I snuggled into his arms, but just as I started to feel aroused by his touch, I kissed his cheek and rolled onto my side, away from him and said, "Goodnight." Surprised he didn't attempt to spoon with me, I turned to see he had closed his eyes and was drifting off to sleep. For a few minutes I lay next to him, my back to him and wondered why he didn't try to fuck me. Strange.

The next morning, I saw he was still sleeping, so I quietly went into the kitchen, made a pot of coffee and was writing on my laptop at the kitchen table when he came in wearing his short maroon robe, partially opened, and kissed me on the cheek and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"What are you writing?" he asked.

"I'm working on the end of the story I was telling you last night, so I can't stop to talk."

"Is that so?" He chuckled and reached for my hand and kissed it.

"I can't wait to read it to you later," I said and continued writing, staring at the screen.

"I was impressed how you can tell a story like that just off the top of your head."

"Well, I just let my imagination go, but when I'm writing, it's just like I'm saying it out loud but then I can go back and improve the writing. I want my stories to sound spontaneous and like I'm telling it. It's the art of appearing artless. Now let me concentrate."

"You're quite the storyteller. I'm not used to having such a talented artist in my apartment."

"I know what you're used to," I said, sarcastically, narrowing my eyes, then went back to reading what I had just written. "Now, if you will excuse me, I want to see if I can nail the end of the story so I can read it to you tonight."

He went to the counter to pour himself another cup of coffee and then, without asking, poured more coffee into my cup, then kissed the top of my head.

"Thanks." I smiled up at him, then went back to writing, but thought, Why is he being so nice. It's not like him.

He stood at the counter and sipped his coffee while I continued writing, but found myself distracted by his presence and could feel him watching me and tried to block him out, but couldn't. I was wearing my sheer nightgown and looked at him against the counter with his robe open, his bulging bikini underwear, his hairy chest and legs, his longish hair, his handsome face with the shadow of a beard, his dark eyes looking at me with an intensity that made me swallow.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked.

"You fascinate me."

"I do? What fascinates you?"

"How you operate? How you're trying to get what you want by telling me a story and playing with my mind. I know what you're doing?"

"You do, do you?"

"Yes, I'm enjoying you. You're right, you're not what I'm used to. You're entertaining. You make me laugh. You're playing hard to get and giving me a challenge when I always get what I want from my girlfriends."

"So, you like a challenge. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, and I like winning and getting what I want. I always win."

"Listen, Angelo, I just want a place to write. I can't stand where I'm living. I have to get out of the house and I like telling you my stories, but I want to know your story."

"My story?"

"Yeah, why do you need a harem of women to seduce, fuck and get rid of?"

"I like it. That's why. It gives me pleasure and I like pleasure, but you're different. You're interesting, not like the bimbos I bring here."

"I'm glad you think I'm different and not a bimbo," I said, but still didn't trust him. "So, does that mean I can stay here and write and you won't try to make me into one of your slaves."

"I don't want a slave. I want someone who is not afraid of me."

"I don't believe you. I think you want power over me because there's a demon in you that hates women. I'm a challenge and you still want to conquer me."

"No, that's not true. I want you to feel about me what I feel about you."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I think I'm falling in love with you."

I couldn't believe my ears and closed my eyes and thought..Oh my god. This is crazy, but somehow found words. "You hardly know me. I've been your waitress for over a year and asked if I could stay here to write and I know my story turned you on, but I don't believe you're in love with me. You're just playing with my mind, like you think I'm playing with your mind. You like the game, the challenge of seducing someone that's not like all your other women."

"You sure say what you think, don't you?"

"I try."

He came over to me and placed his fingers on my chin, lifting my face to look into his eyes, and then he kissed me. His lips were warm and soft and I have to admit, I started to kiss him back and closed my eyes, savoring his lips, but then pulled away and said, "I better get back to work. Excuse me."

He nodded, smiled and said, "I have to go and take care of some business, but you can come and go as you please and I'll see you after work tonight."

"Cool," I said and went back to work. "You'll hear the end of the story tonight, okay."

When I came back to the apartment after a busy night at Rosie's, I saw the vase of roses on the coffee table and Angleo sitting on the couch. A bottle of wine and two glasses were next to the flowers. Smiling, but without a word, he poured the wine, stood up and handed me a glass. We clicked and sipped and he said, "To us."

"To us?" I asked. "What do you mean to us?"

"I told you, I think I'm falling in love with you."

No man had ever said that to me before. The few guys I had dated as well as my line conversations were after one thing, and I enjoyed the relationships for as long as they lasted, but I put my writing first and didn't let myself get too involved or distracted. What Angelo said, baffled me. How could a man like Angelo love me or anyone?

He picked up the remote and turned on the soft jazz while I sipped the wine, then leaned over to smell the roses. "I love roses."

"Good. I will make sure there are always flowers in the apartment."

"Why?"

"To let you know how much I care about you. To make sure you're happy."

"That's sweet of you. I will really be able to write tantalizing stories here."

"Good. I told you I have some friends in publishing. Maybe I can help get you published."

"Really, that would be great."

"Come here, my little storyteller."

He took the glass from my hand, placed it on the table next to the roses along with his glass.

"By the way, I finished the story about Sarah, do you want to hear the rest of the story."

"I want to make love to you." He took my hand and pulled me gently towards him. Just as he embraced me and I smelled his cologne and the warmth of his arms, I slid away.

"I can't wait to tell you the rest of the story and I have another one that came to me while I was walking here tonight."

He took a deep, disappointed breath that I knew was from my sliding away from him. The tone of his voice was soft, but I couldn't let my guard down with him.

"Come sit with me." He sat down on the white couch and reached for my hand.

"Do you want to hear the story here and not in bed?"

"Yes, come here and tell me the rest of the story."

"I could read it to you now that's it's written."

"No, I just want you to tell it like you did last night."

When I sat down, he kissed my cheek,"Lay down, Sherry, and put your head on my lap."

When I did, he smiled down at me while I looked up at his smile and liked the way he looked at me, softly, warmly, sweetly, then I closed my eyes, trying to remember where I left off with the story last night.

"Where was I?" I asked. "Do you remember what was happening?"

"Yes, Sarah told him she would never be his farmhand. She said, "It's not going to happen."

"Oh right." I nodded, then closed my eyes so that I could see in my mind the story I had written and began.

Sarah placed the breakfast dishes in the sink, then said, "I have to go to the barn and feed Ginger, milk the goats and feed the chickens. Why don't you come with me and get an idea what it would be like if you worked here?"

"Sure. I'd like to take a good look at the barn to make sure it's structurally sound."

"Well, it's in pretty good shape and there's a hayloft that I know you would like."

"What makes you think I'd like the hayloft."

"I'll show you why," Sarah said, winking."Come with me."

Sarah picked up the stainless steel milk bucket and walked in front of Angelo towards the barn and glanced back at him looking at her ass in the tight, faded jeans. In the barn, she filled up Ginger's bucket with grain. The goats were excited to see her and hopped up on the milking stand. She fed them some grain, then milked both goats while he watched. "Ever milk a goat?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact I used to milk a cow when I was a kid. I grew up on a farm in Ohio."

"Is that so?"

"That's why I'm looking for a farm. I've made a lot of money in my various businesses, but I need a change. I want out of the rat race and that's why I want to buy this farm. It's just what I've been looking for. It reminds me of home."

"Well, too bad it's not for sale, but maybe you'll change your mind and stick around and help me with this place. Wouldn't you like to be a farmhand with benefits?"

"I think I'd like it the other way around. I think having a woman like you as a farmhand would be like icing on the cake."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I' think we could have a lot of fun. You'd have time to write sexy stories for me and I'd own the farm and you."

"You think you'd own me."

"Yes."

"No one will ever own me. I like my independence."

"I can tell you like your independence but I like to get what I want. I told you that."

"Well, this time you're not going to get what you want, so you can get back in your spiffy car and take off. I can always get a farmhand from around here."

"Not one with a lot of money."

Sarah knew he was right and that she didn't want him to leave. She stood up and pushed him aside with her hip and walked towards the ladder to the hayloft. "Wanna see the hayloft?"

"Sure." Angelo followed her.

Sarah climbed the ladder and knew that Angelo was just below him and was looking up at her ass. Once in the hayloft, Sarah bent over to pick up some straw and could feel her tight jeans straining. She sniffed it then brought a handful to Angelo and held it to his nose to smell, then surprised him by throwing it onto his head and laughed.

"Hey!" Angelo grabbed Sarah's wrist."That's not funny."

"Yes, it is. You look good with straw in your hair."

"Who do you think you are?"

"I know who I am. Who do you think you are thinking you can buy my farm and own me?"

Angelo brushed the straw from his hair, then grabbed Sarah's wrist. "Do you want me to leave?"

His grip on Sarah's wrist was tight as he pulled her closer, his mouth an inch from her's, their eyes glaring into each other's eyes. Rather than pull away, she said. "You don't want to leave. You want to see if you can make me your little farmhand and own my farm, but that's not going to happen. I know men like you. You think the world revolves around what you want. You think you can take what you want, don't you?"

"Yes and you think you can seduce me into being your farmhand and get what you want."