The wind and snow mixed with rain lashed the windows of the stately house on the hill in the country-side. Through the clamor of the snowstorm, Sabah heard a car's engine begin to sputter and miss. Few women could have caught the sound over the storm rattling the windows, but her hearing was more acute than any ordinary woman's. All her senses were - as were her urges. And those senses informed her that as the desperate driver turned off the road into her driveway as his motor died, leaving it to roll to a stop near her entrance gate. She pursed her brow to ensure he didn't miss seeing it.

She was not expecting company on such a night. She had dressed for the evening alone. But also for a tete a tete. Always be prepared, she chuckled. Her house was set well back the road, and the wet snow was accumulating quickly. Out here, forty miles from the city there were no near neighbors. There was no help for it; the driver of the stricken vehicle would have to seek refuge at her door. He was going to be frozen by the ten minute walk to her door. Or she? No. Sabah knew the driver was male, a young male. A handsome and virile young male, she smiled her nostrils wide with excitement. Somehow, whenever her hunger reached this level, a prey appeared. Her nerves tingled in expectation, and all her appetites stirred. It would take him a few more minutes to make his way here. More than enough time to prepare.

She opened the satin robe, black as her hair, exposing the shorter night gown of the same material. She appraised her appearance in the mirror in the hall, noting with approval how the gown and robe set off her fair, almost pale skin. Her eyes were dark, mysterious, an effect many women tried to imitate with make-up. She needed none. Her ensemble clung to her slender yet voluptuous figure. Her bosom was twin snowy mounds with a deeply shadowed valley between. This would do very well. Experience gave her confidence in her powers.

She was ready by the entrance when the doorbell rang. She let it ring a second time -- she wanted him to feel like a supplicant -- then opened the door. She studied the young man standing there while her appearance had its desired effect on him. He was well made, better than she had hoped. His face was ruggedly strong rather than handsome. No little intelligence and even more strength of character looked out of his blue eyes. His hair was wetly plastered to his head; she could not judge the color. In spite of being miserably cold, he radiated vigor and vitality. She suppressed an urge to lick her lips. She could not have chosen better. His stunned reaction indicated a healthy masculine heterosexuality. Very good. This would make her task easier ... and more pleasant. She allowed him to stare for a few seconds longer.

"Yes?" she said finally. He came to himself with a start. He seemed embarrassed by his speechlessness, as if it was the fault of his rudeness rather than her calculated effort. She eyed him with amusement.

"My car broke down." He gestured towards the gate of her drive, although human eyes probably could not see it through the storm. "I wanted to use your 'phone to call the auto club?"

"They warn single women alone never to let a strange man into her house," she replied in a teasing tone. "And the traveler-in-distress is the most transparent ploy..." She should know; she had used it often enough in the past herself. Her accent reflected her long cosmopolitan life. Of course she did not show the least sign of apprehension.

"Yes, Ma'am," the distressed traveler answered, taking her at her word. "This whole situation is right out of a B-movie script. Could you call them for me, then? Here is my membership card with my member number. Tell them I'll wait for them in my car. It's a gray..."

"Oh, do come in!" she interrupted a trifle impatiently. His misplaced gallantry would spoil her plans. "I think I'm in no danger from YOU. You'll have to take your chances with me, however. No auto club could reach here, anyway. We're likely to be snowbound for days," she chuckled. "Now, get in her before you catch your death standing there in the snow!" She stepped aside and opened the door fully.

He did not hesitate, but entered quickly, visibly glad to get out of the cold and wind. He was in the entrance hall, with the gleaming white tiled kitchen off the right, and the living room/parlor straight ahead. The darkened hall to the left led to her boudoir. Why on Earth had THAT word popped into his mind? The living room was furnished in white: deep carpets, plush overstuffed furniture. A fire burned in the white brick fireplace and mixed with the smell of oak was incense of a most peculiar sort. Music was playing softly in the background; although the volume was low, he could feel the bass line from the powerful speakers.

"Heavens! Don't just stand there dripping on my carpet, my young friend" she smiled. "Go into the kitchen and get out of those wet things. I'll bring you something to put on." She went down the hall to the linen closet. From her vantage point in the dark, she watched his eyes try to follow her. He went into the kitchen, took off his coat and draped it over a chair. He removed his shoes, then hesitated. She returned to the foyer and tossed him a large, fluffy towel through the kitchen door. She laughed. "Go on! Get undressed! I won't peek," she lied. "Dry off!"

He blushed (how charming, she thought), but disrobed as she instructed and dried himself. She busied herself preparing the living room for the next stage, surreptitiously looking in on him as he finished and wrapped the towel around his body. She felt a spasm of desire. She had been far too long without a male essence and she had to exercise control to proceed methodically. When he had tucked the ends in to secure the bath sheet in place, she returned as if by coincidence with a white terry cloth kimono. "Here," she said not unsympathetically, handing him the robe. "Put this on. I'll make you some tea and join you in the living room."

He donned the robe and went into the other room. While he was in the kitchen, she had turned down the lights, and changed the music to something soft and dreamy, vaguely oriental, very quiet but with a slow pulsing base. "Sit down and make yourself comfortable," Sabah called to him from the kitchen. "I've turned up the heat, to help take the chill out of you."

She watched until he sank into the plush upholstery and soft cushions of the over-stuffed couch with a sigh. The warmth of the fire, the sensuous feel of the velvety pile and the music would coax him into the mood she wanted. She saw him hesitate, then put his head back, giving in to the music's invitation to let go. She smiled to herself and put the kettle on. Soothing and mildly sedative herbs were ready in an infusion bag. She let the relaxing and erotic suggestions she had implanted in the living room music take effect while the kettle boiled and the brew steeped. When it had reached the right strength and temperature, she poured a cup for him, and returned to the living room.

His eyes were closed as she expected. She sat by his side, curling one leg up under her so she was facing him, regarding him for a few moments. Her nostrils flared. He would do; he would more than do. Belatedly sensing her presence, he blinked, and raised his head to look at her. She handed him the faintly steaming mug with a smile. "Comfy? Might as well make the best of it Looks like you're stuck here with me for several days, so you might as well feel at home. Here, drink this."

Her fingers lightly brushed his own as she handed him the mug. He sipped the sweet fragrant liquid, somewhere between warm and hot, to encourage him to drink. It was delicious. He sipped again. As she watched, she could almost see its soothing effect speed through him, relieving the chill and stiffness of the drenching he had received, as it gently relaxed his muscles, stirred his passions, and beguiled his defenses. He glanced at her over the rim of the cup. Her robe was open and flowed behind her. The gown was slit to the hip, and she had seated herself in a position calculated to open it and subtly display her smooth, shapely legs. The neckline of her gown was disconcertingly low, and contrasted strikingly with her milk white bosom. He realized he was staring, and jerked his eyes up to her face. She saw his confusion, and smiled again.

"It is all right," she spoke in a tone of quiet amusement. "Finish your tea. I want you to feel comfortable here."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare," he stammered, then sipped more of the herbal brew to cover his embarrassment.

"It really is all right," she assured him. "It is hard not to look at me, isn't it? Don't worry, if looking at me helps you relax and feel comfortable, be my guest."

He blushed furiously. How sweet, she thought, to find a man who can blush these days. Plainly to cover his confusion, he raised one eyebrow quizzically. She laughed musically and placed her right hand on his thigh.

"Would I dress like this if I didn't enjoy having men look at me? I LIKE the reaction. Especially of a nice YOUNG man." She smiled and leaned her face in her left hand, resting that elbow on the back of the couch. She gazed steadily into his eyes as she continued speaking. "And you do enjoy looking at my breasts, don't you?" She did not remove her hand from his lap, but let it drift lightly up towards his crotch.

"Er ... yes, yes I ... I do," he admitted nervously.

"Of course you do," she repeated with mock coyness. "I can tell," she went on, trailing her fingers across his groin. "I believe looking at my cleavage could even be getting you a little bit turned on. Don't be embarrassed. It happens frequently when I show young men my breasts." She paused to gauge his reaction; she didn't want to frighten him ... too much. The tea was doing its work, keeping his skittishness in check.

"I'm flattered when a man cannot keep his eyes off my bosom. I like it even better when he tries to peek up my gown as you are doing." His eyes dropped to her lap in response to the implicit suggestion. "Trying to see if I have on panties?" she teased. She didn't, of course, and his eyes were riveted to the narrow gap at the top of the slit in her gown by the hint of a confirming glimpse. She reached out and took the now empty cup from his unfeeling fingers. "Tell me your name," she said, abruptly changing the subject.

"Ah ... my name? Oh, Rod," he stammered, blinking and dragging his eyes back up to meet her own. "My name is Rod..."

"Rod," she interrupted. "That's a nice name, a strong, masculine name. You like being here with me, don't you, Rod? Not waiting for an answer, she put the cup down on the coffee table, and slipped her hand inside the robe he was wearing, grazing her fingertips down his bare thigh. "Are you feeling relaxed and comfortable, Rod?"

"Oh, sure," he replied hastily, clearly trying not to show just how un-comfortable he really was. He tried to return her steady look, but her gaze was too intense, and the pull of her low neckline was so strong, that his eyes kept drifting back into the shadowed cleft between her creamy breasts.

This was too good! This delectable male morsel was struggling, not to defend himself from seduction by a dangerous woman, but to be a gentleman. Such innocence! Such naivete! Such a hunk! She could feel her pussy grow moist in anticipation of the feeding.

"I don't think you are telling me the truth, Rod," she smiled. "It's all right. Like most men, you are a little bit afraid of me. I am a mysterious, sexy woman and I am wearing clothes that make it impossible not to look at me. I think this negligee with its low neckline intimidates you. You are feeling a little aroused. Perhaps you are worried that I might seduce you, try to take advantage of you. After all, the lights are dim, the room is warm and cozy. I have you all alone with no one to see what I am doing to you. I could caress you and you might become hopelessly aroused." Her palm rested warmly against the inside of his thigh, while her fingers moved dreamily in little circles, barely touching his skin. "Are you afraid that I might make you have sex with me against your will?"

"Yes... ," he answered abstractedly, his eyes and mind elsewhere, as she had arranged.

"Well, you are right to be concerned. It would be easy, so easy to manipulate your mind to take advantage of you." Just as I have been doing, she thought. "But you do not need to worry, Rod. Relax. I never make love to a man against his will. No man comes to my bed until I have made him very, very willing. If we make love tonight, I will make sure you really want it first. So you can put those fears out of your mind."

"All right." he murmured compliantly, knowing somehow that he should not.

"Let me help you forget your fears. You can relax. You can trust me." She slid her hand up to his waist and unfastened the robe. She smiled a twisted little smile, almost a smirk, and dropped her hand to his lap. She began a slow gentle stroking of his crotch. "We will just talk. You can tell me anything, and listen carefully to everything I say."

"Uh, ma'am ... Oh!. You shouldn't ... Please don't do that!"

"No?" She didn't pause even for an instant as she replied. "Do you not like a woman's soft warm hand on your sex?"

"Aahh ... yes. But it is getting me aroused!"

"That's just the point. Your prick is already getting nicely big and hard!"

"But..."

"Do not fight it, Rod. It's to help us become friends. I want you to be completely open and at ease with me. Open to me. I want you aroused. Getting a man aroused makes him docile and obedient. Does not my playing with your penis make you feel like doing anything I tell you?"

"Oh, yeess, Ma'am," Rod sighed.

"That's right. Good. Very good. Now close your eyes and tell me everything about yourself," she commanded.

"Yes, Ma'am," Rod murmured as he drifted slowly down through the dreamy mood her hand on his cock induced and to the threshold of trance she had prepared him for. His eyelids drifted shut. She spoke to him softly, her lips next to his ear. She knew he was hearing her voice as if from a long way off. She asked him about his name, where he lived, his friends, his family, his job ... He answered automatically, without thinking. Eventually, using the information she gleaned, she began turning the questions around, twisting his answers into contradictions, confusing him, rendering the things he had told her meaningless. The facts of his life grew fuzzy and unimportant to him.

Making him forget the pretty little blonde fiancee was a little harder, but so satisfying. Interesting material in that relationship. Blondie apparently was sexually repressed and Rod was too nice to show how badly she frustrated him. The silly filly not only often refused him intercourse; she wouldn't even let Rod go down on her, despite his pleas, probably because she didn't want to have to return the favor. It had been weeks since she had let him have missionary sex. Very useful.