The Orchid The Storyteller
- 4 years ago
- 39
- 0
Sherry, The Storyteller Pt.3 free porn video
I knew the ending because I had finished the story that morning, but something was happening to me while he was stroking my hair, my head on his lap, his saying he was falling in love with me and how much he wanted me to stay there and wondered if I would change the story. What's going on with me?
“ Where almost near the end,” I said, but was now uncertain of how the story would end. “Watch out. It gets pretty steamy.”
“ Good. The steamier the better.”
I took a deep breath and began.
“ I want this farm and I want you,” he said, gripping her hand tighter.
“ Tough!” Sarah lowered her head and butted him away and with her hands pushed hard which caused him to stumble over a hay bale in back of him, but he pulled her with him and she landed on top of him. He grabbed her ass, squeezing it, then surprised her by slapping her ass while she lay on him.
“ Hey! What do you think you're doing? ”
He slapped her ass again, harder and she could feel his hardness pressing against her jean covered pussy and tried lifting herself to get away, but his relentless slapping made her squirm. “Stop it! Stop it!” But the more she tried to get away, the harder he slapped her ass which caused a tingling sensation between her legs. Somehow she found the strength to place her hands on his chest, push herself off of him, jump to her feet and dash for the ladder. He grabbed her foot and pulled causing her to fall to the straw. Before she could crawl away, he pounced on her back and pinned her with the weight of his body. She could feel his hardness grinding into her ass as she twisted and squirmed under him but was unable to get away.“Let me go!”
He reached under her and cupped her mound in the palm of his hand. His weight forced her to rub against his hand as she tried to escape. “Let me go!” But his hardness grinding against her ass and his hand gripping her pussy excited her. She knew she had to get away but also knew by the way he slapped her ass and gripped her wet pussy that she was more turned on than she had ever been. I can't give into him. I have to get away.
With my head on his lap, I could feel Angelo getting hard and knew my story was turning him on and I have to admit I was getting aroused. I swallowed, Control yourself, Sherry.
Opening my eyes, I saw Angelo's mouth open, his breathing heavier. “Keep going,” he said, practically gasping.
“ Get off of me. Get off of me!” Sarah shouted, but found herself humping his hand, wanting to let go and give herself to him.
“ You like this, don't you?” He whispered in her ear.
“ Yes. Yes. Fuck me!”
Without hesitating, he flipped her onto her back, pulled down her tight jeans, while she lifted her ass and let him peel them off of her. He unzipped his slacks and began rubbing her pussy with the head of his cock.
“ Don't tease me!”
“ Sell me your farm!”
“ No! I'm not selling!”
He moved his hard cock up and down her wet, dripping pussy.
“ Yes, you will.”
She spread her legs wide apart wanting him to take her, but then knew if she gave herself to him, she would also forget her desire to make him her farmhand, she would sell him the farm and be owned by him. Before he was about thrust, she found the strength to buck him off of her, squirmed out from under him and before he could grab her, she grabbed her jeans and dashed to the ladder. “Get the fuck out of here,”she yelled as she climbed down and ran out of the barn.
Angelo followed, running with his cock hanging out of his pants and followed her up to the house where she slammed the door, then breathing heavily, leaned against it. “Go away!”
“ Let me in,” Angelo shouted, knocking on the door.
“ Go away. Get out of here. Fuck yourself. I'm not selling and I won't be your fucking farmhand.”
She was panting but determined to keep her farm and independence.
“ Let's talk,” he yelled through the door.
“ There's nothing to talk about. Now go before I call the police.”
“ Don't be stupid, Sarah. Talk to me.”
“ Go away. I'm not selling and there's nothing to talk about.”
A few minutes later, she heard his car starting up. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, looked out the window and saw him driving away and wondered if she had made a mistake not letting him fuck her. She had been so turned on and now she was frustrated and angry and confused. Had she lost her opportunity to have a rich man help her with the farm, become her farmhand with benefits? There was no way she would sell it and knew she was seducing him by inviting him for dinner, but now he was gone. At the same time, she wondered why she still felt horny, why was she turned on by the way he slapped her ass. Did she want to be owned, taken, fucked? Was she glad she had fought him off, that he was gone?
She remembered she had left the pail of goat milk in the barn and how important it was to get it refrigerated and went back to the barn to get it. She went into Ginger's stall and petted his nose and thought about Angelo growing up on a farm and remembering how much he loved it and that's why he wanted to buy her farm, and, though he was rich and could buy any farm he wanted, he loved her place.
In the kitchen, after filtering the milk and refrigerating it in a large mason jar, then cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast, she sat down at her laptop and started working on the story she had been writing, but found herself distracted and thinking about what had happened the night before and in the hayloft, when she heard a car drive up. Looking out the window at the red convertible, she saw Angelo sitting at the wheel, looking around the farm, but not getting out. Why is he here? Why is he just sitting there looking around? Does he think he can get her to change her mind?
My eyes were closed while I told the story then I felt Angelo's lips kissing me. At first I was startled, my mind completely on the story, but then the warmth and softness of his lips made me kiss him back, our mouths lingering. I was savoring the moment, but just as his tongue opened my mouth, I pulled away and sat up and caught my breath.
“ What's wrong?” he asked, his bewildered eyes staring at me.
“ I don't know. I didn't expect that. I was so into my story. You surprised me.”
He reached for my hand and kissed my fingers, then, in a soft voice, said, “I want you in my life. You have captivated me. I love you.”
“ That's very flattering,” I said, not knowing what else to say but felt my heart beating like a tom tom, my breathing quickening, still feeling his lips on my fingers. What's going on? He's a monster? He hurts women, He's not going to hurt me.
I pulled my hand away. “Oh Angelo, I didn't want you to fall in love with me. I just wanted you to let me stay here and write. I have to get out of my house. It's not forever, just 'till I can afford my own place.”
“ I don't want you to leave. Stay here. Write your stories. Let's enjoy each other.”
I didn't know what to say, but couldn't let go of my fear of him and kept hearing Mindy's warning, “Watch out.”
When he reached to put his arms around me and pulled me closer, I knew he wanted to kiss me and though a part of me wanted to kiss him, I couldn't, and placed my hands on his chest to avoid his lips. “Let me finish the story. You will love the ending.”
I knew he was hurt by my pushing him away. He closed his eyes and swallowed a deep breath, then sat back. “Okay, tell me the rest of the story.”
I have to admit, it hurt to see the pain in his eyes, but rather than giving in, I turned around and lay down with my head on the opposite arm of the couch and, stretching out, placed my bare feet on his lap.
“ Would you like a little more wine?” he asked and before I answered, he reached to pour wine into my glass and to his and handed mine to me. Sipping it, we looked at each other over the rim of our glasses and his eyes seemed to say, I adore you which made me quiver and realize I had never been looked at like that. Neither of us spoke 'till I broke the silence and said, “This is delicious wine, thank you.”
Caressing my feet as they rested on his lap, he smiled and said. “Continue with the story, Sherry.”
Sarah wasn't sure what to do when she saw him walking towards the house then stop and look around at the barn and the chicken house, then continue. Sarah wondered what he was thinking and would she open the door for him or tell him to go away, but she also liked how his long, dark hair fell to just above his shoulders. She always liked long hair on men and thought how confident he seemed as he walked towards the house, how handsome, and remembered how he made her scream last night as they fucked each other's brains out.
He knocked on the door. She was about to say go away when he said. “I need to talk to you.”
“ There's nothing to talk about. I told you the farm isn't for sale.”
“ Listen, open up. I have a proposition for you.”
“ Oh yeah! What?”
“ Open up and I'll tell you.”
“ How do I know you're not going to try to fuck me like you tried in the barn?”
“ You're the one who tried to seduce me and make me your farmhand? Now let' me in and let's talk.”
Sarah knew he was right. She did seduce him. She invited him to dinner, got him high and they had a wild night and morning and the thought made her horny.
“ Okay, I'll let you in, but don't you touch me or you won't know what hit you.”
When she opened the door, she asked, “What's your proposition?”
“ I love this farm. It reminds me of where I grew up and I changed my mind, I want to be your farmhand with or without benefits.”
“ Are you serious?”
“ Very. I think we can have a very nice arrangement. I have money and know you will need money to keep this place from falling apart. I don't need to own it to enjoy it and you.”
“ Are you sure you don't want to own me?”
“ No, I don't want to own you. I just want to be happy and I think I can make you happy. I love working with my hands and like I said, this place reminds me of the farm where I grew up.”
“ Interesting proposition,” Sarah said and put her arms around him and kissed him. “I think you will be a good man to have around. Let's go upstairs, farmer, and show each other some appreciation.”
“ Cool story. A happy ending.” Angelo said.
“ Most of my stories have happy endings. I'm such a romantic.”
“ Will our story have a happy ending?”
“ What do you mean 'our story?'”
“ Remember the toast I made when we clicked our wine and said, “To us?”
“ I remember.”
“ I want you to stay here and be happy, but I have a feeling you don't trust me because you know how I am, how I have needed women to dominate and hurt.”
“ That's true. How can I know you don't want to do the same to me? I don't trust you.”
“ I don't want to hurt you. I love your mind, your imagination. You're beautiful and I would never hurt you.”
I wanted to believe him, but couldn't. I wanted to stay there and write stories I could tell him at night, but still a part of me wanted to tantalize him, wanted to hurt him and know the pain he had caused so many women. I knew we could have nice dinners and laugh, but there would be boundaries I would never cross. I wanted a man I could love and give myself to without reservations and doubted I could ever feel safe with Angelo, even though he seemed so different than the man who came to Rosie's with a new woman every night.
The trick was how to write stories that I knew would enchant him, turn him on, and, I have to admit, get me hot, but keep him from fucking me. Who was I tantalizing when story after story made him hard and me wet, and I would get him to jerk off while I took care of myself, next to him or in the bathroom after he fell asleep? I knew he didn't like it, but he reluctantly accepted my boundaries.
We had delicious dinners, most of which he prepared before I came home from Rosie's. He said, he had always loved to cook when he was younger, but then got too busy with his businesses, and now, it gave him pleasure to come up with new dishes he thought I would like. He kept his promise about having fresh flowers on the table. I'd skip 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 when he said he wanted to marry me or let me go. He said, “You've been living here for over a year, writing and telling me stories. I'm not the same man I was before you came into my life, but something is not right. You act as if you're not afraid of me. You laugh and we have fun, but I can feel you're hiding behind a wall I can't break through, and so I have made a decision. I don't want things to continue this way. I never thought I would marry anyone. I was too selfish, too angry at women for reasons you don't know, but you have healed my anger by your sweetness, your stories, your wild imagination. You know how much I love you, how much I adore you, but I can't reach your heart.”
“ Then why do you want to marry me? That doesn't make sense.”
“ I said 'I want to marry you or let you go.'”
“ Why would you let me go if we have fun and you enjoy my stories. I love living here and telling you stories.”
“ I know, but I want you here because you see who I am, that I'm no longer the man who wants to fuck young women and toss them away. I want your love and have realized I will never have it. I don't care if we get legally married, but I want to feel your love and not have you hiding behind a mask—a storyteller. It's too painful wanting you and knowing you can't or won't give yourself to me.”
It hurt to see how sad he was as he spoke, how I was causing him so much pain, but at the same time, that's what I wanted. I wanted to break his heart.
“ Do you really want me to leave?” I asked.
“ No, I want you to love me, but if you can't, I have to let you go so you can find happiness with a man you can love. I can tell by your stories that's what you want.”
It was true. Though I wrote erotic stories, they were really love stories, more like R rated movies, but I was imagining someone who I could give myself to like I do to my writing and knew it could never be Angelo and that was painful for me. Why couldn't I change like Angelo did? What the fuck was wrong with me?
It was hard to leave and know I didn't want to go back home. I cried in the elevator as I carried my suitcase, now with new clothes and jewelry Angelo had bought. I stayed that first night with my sister and her boyfriend. What she saw in him I'll never know. Mindy knew what had happened and invited me to stay with her in a spare room until I could find my own place. At work, I put on my happy face and gave really good service, made good tips but found myself checking my cellphone to see if Angelo had called, but he hadn't, and wondered why did I want to hear his voice.
After work. I'd sit with the staff and have a meal and wine and we laughed, but I kept looking at the door to see if he would come in and ask if I wanted a drink the way he did that first night. What was going on with me? Why did I want him and not want him? It was crazy.
For some reason, I was writing more poetry than erotic stories, and they were all poems of yearning. I got a few of them published on line where I used to publish stories and the response was amazing. A number of guys wanted to chat and flirt but I never responded.
Rosie knew what had happened between me and Angelo and was sympathetic but also missed the business of one of her best customers. I'm not sure how I would have felt if I saw him come in with one of his women, but would cross that bridge when I came to it.
Then one afternoon when I showed up for work, Rosie handed me an envelope with “For Sherry” written on the front and I recognized Angelo's handwriting. I sat down at one of my tables, actually the same booth I had sat in with him that first night and read his letter which said, “ I know there is nothing I can do to have to you in my life and make you know I would never hurt you, but I want you to know I can live with unrequited love as long as I know you are writing stories and being the artist that you are. I showed a few of your stories to my publishing friend who will publish a collection of your stories if you are willing. Please consider coming back to my apartment. Nothing would me make me happier than to know you are happy. I know how much your art means to you. My door will be always be open to you with wanting nothing in return. I miss you. Please come tonight.”
All during work, I wondered if I could trust that he could live with unrequited love, but, somehow, his words melted my heart. Tears came to my eyes when I felt his sincerity and believed that he wanted nothing in return but to see that I was happy and wanted me to write my stories and become a published writer. It was busy that night, but I left a message on his cell phone that I would come after work and that's what I did. Not only that, we made love for the first time and almost every night after that, with or without a story, and now we have a beautiful daughter I want to tell stories to.
Geraldine
- 04.04.2021
- 29
- 0
- Category:
- Straight Sex
The Storyteller Of Brompton House Part One
- 4 years ago
- 23
- 0
Storyteller
- 2 years ago
- 23
- 0
