1. Sherry, The Storyteller Pt.3


    Date: 10/12/2015, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: Sisyphus, Rating: 1, Source: LushStories

    the after work meals at Rosie's and rush to what was now our apartment and be greeted with the aroma of what he had prepared, the new wine he had discovered, and often, outrageous chocolate he bought when he learned how much I loved candy. He often surprised me with a bracelet, or necklace, or sexy dress he wanted me to wear. He even made a decadent chocolate cake for my twenty-first birthday. I liked wearing my sheer nightgown while I told him a new story, or, if my story was about a teacher and student, I dressed in a short schoolgirl skirt with a white blouse, or if my story was about a pirate and a kidnapped woman, I made him wear a black bandana and a patch over his eye while I wore my white peasant blouse that barely covered my breast and loved how he reached for me and I'd squirm away or run down the hall with him chasing me, but though we laughed when I let him catch me, I'd yell, “Jerk off for me,” while I lay down on the floor and used my fingers. A few times he'd pounce on me but I would squirm away and run back to the bedroom laughing all the way. Many times I was tempted to suck his cock and feel my power over him, but resisted (not sure how) but I was determined not to let him have me the way he wanted. I wanted control and it took all of my imagination and determination to drive him crazy, but then, I saw how sad it made him. “I want to make love to you, Sherry. I love you. I want you. I need you,” he'd say after I told him a story, and he'd reach for me and ...
    I can't tell you how hard it was to say, “Please, don't touch me. If you love me you will not touch me,” and see the tears in the corner of his eyes, and how he wiped them away with his knuckle and lay back on his pillow, swallowing his pain. Let's cuddle,” I'd say and loved draping my leg over his legs, my head on his chest and feel him kiss my hair, and be soothed by his gentle hands rubbing my back. I could feel his love and wondered why I couldn't forgive him for his hurting so many women when I saw that he hadn't been with one of them for months. But then I wondered what he did when he was away during the day or while I was at work. A man like him had to want more than jerking off. No matter what he did to win my love, no matter how much fun we had, no matter how many gifts he gave me, or the trips we took to the Caribbean or other places I thought I'd never see, my imagination, my stories, my teasing, my wanting to torture him became an obsession, a need. I loved being adored by him, but he would never capture my heart, my spirit, my love of telling him my stories. Mindy marveled at the way I had him wrapped around my finger, how he never came in with a young woman anymore, but sometimes came in at night to have a drink with me, and then we'd go for a walk. The other waitresses would ask how did you get Angelo to change. He seems so different and I'd shrug my shoulders and say, “Cause I'm a sexy storyteller.” Then one night when I came home, Angelo threw me for a loop ...
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