1. Sherry, The Story Teller Pt. 2


    Date: 10/11/2015, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: Sisyphus, Rating: 2, Source: LushStories

    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 ...
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