Daddy's Plaything by Bruce Flores

Author:Bruce Flores [Flores, Bruce]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: incest, erotica, sex
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

Sherry primped for a few minutes longer, then went upstairs to pass the time before her act began. She did not see her father anywhere and so she ambled toward the lounge stage to watch the act which preceded here. There stood Tony Agnello, his arms outstretched, singing The Night Was Made For Love. He wore a bright orange peasant-type shirt, with the arms full and open down the front to expose his hairy, masculine chest. His tight-fitting, bell-bottom trousers a gray shiny material. He held the audience absolutely enthralled, particularly the women. Sherry wondered why she had never heard of him before. His voice was just as magnificent as it had been that afternoon in the woods. She felt a tingle of desire run through her entire body as she recalled the sexual scene she had witnessed ad listened to him now.

Finally, she went around the stage door and entered to watch and listen even closer.

“Good evening, Miss Trent,” the stage manager greeted as she entered.

“Good evening, Sid,” she said and stood in the wings watching. Tony’s act featured Tony exclusively, but nobody seemed to mind. Accompanied by five musicians, he sang popular torch songs, usually of a semi-classical nature, and all the standard Italian songs. He was a better in the Mario Lanza tradition and the crowd gave him loud ovations after each song. Listening to his trained voice, Sherry suddenly felt that her own voice was nothing but a highly stylized bag of tricks. Where she relied on gimmicks of presentation and cute little chirpings, here was a singer of great power and depth. He was not without stage presence though. Great emotion contorted his features as he sang and he smiled broadly, showing his dimples and perfect white teeth, or looked forlorn, as the mood of the song dictated.

When he finished his final tune, Sherry’s heart thumped wildly in her chest as he took curtain call after curtain call. As he came offstage finally, he walked directly past her. He was breathing hard and perspiring profusely. He stopped then, turned facing her and dabbed at his wet face with a handkerchief. His eyes ran the length of her, taking in her western attire.

“Well, hello there, cowgirl,” he said. It was not a derogatory remark, merely an observation.

“Hi, Caruso,” she responded.

Still out of breath, he smiled broadly. “Only in Nevada could a singer of Italian songs share the bill with Annie Oakley.” Again it was not an insult. He was merely trying to be friendly.

“I suppose you’re right,” Sherry said. “I love your voice. Where are you from?”

“Philadelphia,” he said. “I’ve worked mostly on the East Coast. This is my first time in Nevada.”

He seemed about to leave and Sherry sought desperately to prolong their conversation. “I’m delighted to learn that your voice is even better indoors than outdoors,” she said.

He stared at her, puzzled. “I-I don’t think I understand,” he said. “So far at least I haven’t played the Hollywood Bowl. My agent’s working on it, but so far it hasn’t materialized.

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