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Venice

By: Bluegray



The sun dipped below the skyline of Manhattan as my taxi pulled up to the terminal at JFK. I reflected on the symbolism but felt nervous enough not to dwell on it for long. I was to meet you for the first time, my correspondent of long standing. We had been exchanging electronic letters for eighteen months. We had finally talked on the phone and planned this trip without ever meeting. Were we complete fools, or was this the adventure of our lives? I had to travel to Europe for a wine auction in Italy, and your friends had encouraged you to take a vacation from your family responsibilities. No one else knew of the existence of the electronic lovers, because all had been planned with the utmost discretion. I only hoped I would be able to check in before you arrived, we had arranged to sit together but I did not want to be in line with you. I was nervous of others in the terminal knowing one of us and asking questions.

The check in went smoothly, I had arrived so early there was almost no one else in line. While I scanned the terminal I saw you alight from a taxi and struggle with your luggage. I wanted to run and help, but I was afraid of attracting attention. We had agreed to meet innocently on the plane, as if by chance. Your beauty took my breath away, I recognized you from the photos you had sent, but you were so much more radiant. I had to control my urge to run to you and embrace you in welcome. I turned my back and walked to the newsstand so you would not see me. 

I had to abide by the rules, but my first sight stunned me. Next to the newsstand was a shop selling scarves, I rushed in and bought you one I felt complimented your coloring. I had to give you a gift even if it wasn't in the plan. The lush silk and bright colors would frame the exquisite face I had just perceived for the first time. The light salmon colored summer dress you were wearing seemed too severe for your beauty. You were so elegant. The dress was expertly tailored and discretely highlighted your shapely legs. It outlined the curves of your hips and breasts, yet I felt it needed a touch of color. I was excited by my purchase and wanted to run and present it to you. Again I knew I must resist and play by the rules.

Now, suddenly, I was nervous about my appearance. I had taken great care in preparing for this trip, packing only my finest suits, shirts, and even the jeans and polo shirts that I felt showed off my tall lean body. I had visited, only the day before, my favorite coiffeur to have my white mane styled to look relaxed but perfectly groomed. I still had a light tan from summer even though it was mid September, and I knew that tan set off my deep blue eyes. But now I worried that since I was nervous I might not have the odor you would find appealing. 

I found the men's room and checked my image in the mirrors. All seemed well, but I splashed a bit more Cacharel on my chest and neck. As I buttoned my shirt I laughed at myself, I was acting like a teenager on his first date. I felt as if I were just that. I was rediscovering my emotions and excitement. I became worried again, but this time simply that you were not feeling the same agitation. I decided to allow almost everyone to enter the plane before I presented myself at the gate. That way we would not have to look at each other in the lounge and feign ignorance. I found a quiet corner and immersed myself in business papers while listening for boarding instructions. When the flight was called I returned to the men's room, brushed my teeth and generally checked everything. Yes, I was really nervous. Finally I had to go.

I boarded the jet trying to look confident and relaxed despite the storm raging inside. As I walked to my seat I saw you were already installed for the long flight. You seemed calm, the opposite of my turmoil, and relaxed. I nodded a polite hello as if we were complete strangers, placed my briefcase and jacket in the overhead compartment, put the package with the scarf in the seat back, and sat. I looked around and saw no one paying attention, the plane was far from full. I turned to you, gently took your hand, and said, "I am so thrilled to see you and be with you, I can barely speak. I am so nervous I don't know what to say." 

Your grip on my hand became so intense I knew you were feeling the same nervous tension. You answered, "I feel it also, let's just let time help us adjust. It feels so good to touch my phantom writer but we better wait a bit. At least until we are flying." I took a deep breath, sat back, and almost sobbed in relief. My mind was spinning, thinking of the things we had written over the months. The intensity of the relationship had been building and now we were together on a jet to Europe. 

The big jet accelerated on the runway pressing us to the back of our seats. You took my hand and gripped it hard. You were not at ease flying and sought comfort in me. I trilled to your touch and gently stroked your cheek as we climbed into the evening sky. As the noise reduced and the plane leveled off you let your head fall onto my shoulder. We continued holding hands but with less pressure. I presented you the scarf apologizing for the infringement of the rules but explaining my desire to place some color at your neck. You smiled and tied it in place. "Thank you my love, it is perfect." You said, giving me a delicate kiss on my cheek. The tension seemed to lift and real affection took over. The flight was the beginning of ten days together and we were already feeling comfortable. We were to fly to Milan then on to Venice from where we would drive to Verona for the auction. I collect wines and hoped to find some good Italian reds not available in the states. 

The flight was uneventful and the brief layover in the new Milan airport gave us a chance to taste our first Italian cappuccino. Upon arrival at the Venice airport we were informed that our luggage had been sent elsewhere and that we would certainly receive our bags in a day or so. I laughed, thinking of all my careful packing and the time spent selecting my wardrobe. "Why don't we just go visit Venice and find out later where our luggage has gone?" I asked. You answered that you loved Venice and would be delighted to visit the city again. I instructed the baggage desk that I would call them in the evening to tell them where we were staying. We ordered a water taxi and asked to be taken to the Rialto.

Your look of gaiety, as your hair was blown back, crossing the lagoon told me told me how much you adored this city. My mind began changing plans as we approached the sinewy canals. If you loved Venice so much, why should we go elsewhere? 

Venice

The Rialto is filled with people so I drag you onto a smaller canal to walk quietly and absorb the atmosphere. Your summer dress kisses your naked legs, playing with the breeze and threatening to show all. The straw hat we bought, though frivolous, gives you an air of another time. You walk freely owning the city of water and Moorish buildings. The sounds of the water slapping the walls create the soft music of seduction. The heat sends me your jasmine and sage perfume inflaming my desire. We surrender ourselves to the magic of the city and wander aimlessly through the maze of canals. Deeper into it's heart we stray. Letting the heat arouse our passion with the romantic walls and water overtaking our senses. We fall into a small square with a red church at one end and three little cafés opposite. The brightly colored umbrellas offer shade and more. I command you to sit and order wine, bread, and olives. 

Your dark hair, framing your pale face, your bare arms, and deep décolleté, your lovely naked legs, sinuous from your light flowing dress all incite my desire for you. You seem so at ease and relaxed in this foreign place. I notice you inhaling the odors and grasping every visual treat. You are as sensual as I and revel in the beauty of this place. We drink the wine watching the locals speak with their hands in animated conversations. I suddenly realize I want you. Now! I lean forward, kiss your neck and whisper in your ear that I will ravish you in the very near future.

I leave you alone as I enter the café to speak with the patron and pay our bill. You slowly sip your wine and catalogue the charms of this little square and it's people. I return having received all the information I requested. I lead you purposefully down another narrow canal. You notice a change in my demeanor yet the joy of the moment eliminates any apprehension. You are nonetheless surprised by my knowing turns and bridge crossings. You sense I know where we are heading.

We enter a lovely "palazzo" and I converse with an older woman. She leads us to a large room overlooking a garden with a marble balcony and pillars. "This is where I will ravish you, my dear." I laugh. "You are my prisoner, you will do as I command." 

You survey the room to find deep velvet cloth, dark woods, gold frames around old paintings, and an atmosphere of exotic mystery. The room seduces you yet you are at a loss to fathom my desires. Your questioning lasts briefly. I open the thick trunk at the foot of the bed and remove four long gold ropes. I approach you while commanding you to remove your dress. "I will tie you to the marble pillar on the balcony. I will gag you for I want no noise, but I will allow you to look at this beautiful place. I will love you, and make you mine. Do you agree?" You nod your approval as I tie my silk scarf across your mouth. 

Your mind spins with desire and fear. Your want of pleasure almost overcomes the dread of being tied naked in full view of anyone deciding to enter the garden. To be seen writhing in passion, shamelessly out of control, while your master makes fervent love to your bound body.

You remove the straw hat, which I take from your hand. You reach for the hem of your dress. The trembling hands seem to belong to another. They lift the garment over your head without hesitation, yet your heart has not accepted the command. The soft cloth flutters to the rich Persian rug leaving you standing, gagged, clothed only in your underwear and shoes. I gently hold your shoulders and guide you onto the balcony. I place your hands on the cool marble of the pillar. "Do not move." I instruct you as I slide your panties down your hips. You become aware of the beauty of the garden as I begin to unfasten your bra. The small fountain in the center splashes delicate sounds from the urn a cherub holds. The tall slim yew stands like a sentinel in the corner reaching far into the blue sky. The flowers and shrubs have been manicured to create a symmetry and peaceful ambience for which you are grateful. The elegance and softness of the view bring you a serenity that surprises you. 

You feel the gold rope around your wrists as they are secured to the pillar. The shock comes from the rope wrapped around your waist as it pulls your belly against the cold marble. Somehow you did not expect to be so completely immobile yet you realize the pillar will hide your nakedness if someone does enter the garden. My lips begin to kiss the nape of your neck as my fingers touch your hips like feathers caressing your skin. From a neighboring villa you hear the strands of a Vivaldi concerto. You try to find a meaning for the scene and the music but you are loosing your control to the passion you desire. The yew becomes an enormous phallus and the music imparts a rhythm to your yearning hips.

You sense that I am on my knees as I kiss your thighs and let my fingers explore their inner surface. The heat rises in your loins and your nipples become stiff against the cool stone that holds you. As your desire builds you realize that I am in no hurry and seem intent on tantalizing and frustrating those desires by not allowing you the release so needed. The whole city conspires to inflame your craving. Everywhere you look you see sensuality and suggestions of erotic delights.

You move your hips in hopes of making contact with my hands but I am too quick. "If you want release, my love, you must beg me." I tell you as I caress your sides touching the softness of your breasts but never making contact with the sensitive nubs. You murmur your request but I tell you that anyone in the garden must be able to hear your request. I press my manhood against your bottom to show you that I am ready but denying you the pleasure you seek until you obey. My hands continue to dance everywhere but where you need them. You look into the garden to see if anyone is present, only the cherub returns your gaze. He seems to be smiling at you! "Oh, please make love to me." You say softly. I slide my fingers to your heat and instruct you to speak louder and tell me what you want. The thrill of being touched pushes away all your inhibitions and you ask loudly "Fuck me, dear, fuck me from behind….make me come please!"

I slide my hardness deep into your heat looking at the tranquil garden and knowing I will stay with you for at least three orgasms. You reach your first peak quickly and moan your joy to the sky. "More, my love, I will give you more." I tell you. "Enjoy the beauty as we take our pleasure in this magic city." We thrust together in love and passion until we are both satiated and can stand no more. I untie you and carry you to the big bed.

"Rest, my love, for we will take the apéritif at the Piazza San Marco in two hours. We will spend this night here, and perhaps more, we can call the others and cancel our previous plans. Rest and prepare for love in Venice. We have beauty to see and many places to make love. Remember you are now mine and I will lead you."

Venice



The mystery was finally about to be revealed. It was not a major mystery, or even a minor one. More like curiosity. I had never been invited into the little house on Venice Beach, but I guess Karen's roommate was out of town, and the coast was clear. I had certainly driven by many times, when I picked Karen up for coffee or lunch, but never been inside.

It had been a late, late night at work, and when I called to say hello and Karen asked me to stop by for a cup of coffee, it sounded like a nice relaxing end to the day. Of course that was about an hour ago and it was already 11 PM by the time I actually got out of work and made the long drive to the Westside. Finding parking was no picnic either, but there I was knocking on the door. I wondered whether she would even still be awake.

I knocked softly and then a little louder. I was sure she was asleep, when I heard a soft voice from inside say " Come in, It’s open." I slowly pushed open the door, and found my self in a quaint, but typical Venice Beach House. So that Mystery was solved, but where was Karen?

"Here, on the left" a sleepy voice called, as I followed the sound into a small bedroom, filled with a large bed. So, that was the famous bed purchase I had heard so much about. "I'm sorry" Karen said, "but I thought you weren't going to make it. So I lay down to watch some TV and I fell asleep."

Jokingly I replied " Well that is not very nice, I am wide awake, and ready for coffee and entertainment, and here you are falling asleep on me."

"I know. I know." She mumbled, " I promise I will make it up to you another time, but I really am not in the entertainment or coffee mode right now. I wish you had come by earlier." "Its Ok" I replied, " I know it's late, maybe next time, so have sweet dreams and I will talk to you soon" 

I started to walk out the door, and then I don't know what came over me, but I had all kinds of mischievous thoughts, as I decided... well it was not OK, now that I was here, and maybe all I needed to do was wake Karen up in the right way.

As she sleepily mumbled goodbye, I turned and walked back into the room, and slowly lifted p the bed covers at the end of the bed, and knelt down on the floor. What are you doing "she mumbled, "Don't, its cold" but I just ignored her, and started to softly kiss and lick her feet and toes, working my way up her ankle and calf. 

"Stop it! Stop it! " She said sleepily, but I ignored her, continuing to work my way up her leg, making sure to kiss behind the knee, and then slowly kissing up her thighs, while running the tips of my fingers up the side of her legs. I think I felt the first beginnings of a squirm, but I just kept going. I made sure I did not kiss her between the legs, but just spent a lot of time kissing all over thighs, particularly the insides. Maybe my lips did brush across her groin for a second, but I made sure they did not linger. Now she was definitely squirming, as I continued to softly kiss and lick and nibble my way up her stomach, all around the belly button, working my way to her chest. I kissed all around her breasts and nipples, making sure to never actually touch them, though I did allow myself to brush against them a few times, and I saw them start to harden. 

Karen was definitely squirming now, and I noticed her breathing pattern change slightly as I continued up her shoulders and collarbone to her neck, ears face and finally lips. We kissed softly at first and then a little more deeply, and passionately, before I pulled away again and started working my way back down. Of one thing I was certain. She was definitely not asleep.

As I moved slowly back down again, I made even surer to softly caress her nipples with my lips, and let her feel my warm breath as I moved over them. She was definitely squirming now, and as I worked my way back down across her stomach to her thighs, a soft moan escaped her lips. I was having a great time too, and I was pretty sure I was getting ample revenge for driving all the way to see her, and for her falling asleep.

I got closer and closer to her groin, and let my lips move across the outside of her pussy, before running my tongue up and down the sides, letting it slip a little and penetrate, before with drawing and moving back to her thighs. She was really squirming now, and moans were coming more frequently.

" Stick it in!" Karen said, " I want to feel your tongue inside me, pressing down on my clit."

But I just ignored her, and instead moved lower on her thighs, before going back up again.

"Now! Now! I want you Now!" she said, but instead I told her to shut up. I was really enjoying my revenge.

Just as I thought I would have to give in, her hand suddenly reached down, and grabbed my head, pulling me towards her and her legs wrapped around my neck. I tried to pull away as I was not really in the mood to eat her pussy, but instead I wanted to fuck her.

Until it hit me, I may not have a choice. Much as I tried to pull away, and free myself, she was surprisingly strong, and her legs pulled me closer and closer, until my face was buried between them.

"Let me go" I shouted, but instead it was her turn to tell me to shut up.

Just as I thought I was almost free, she rolled from her back onto her stomach, causing me to flip over. Now I was the one under her, and before I could recover she was sitting on top of me, grinding her pussy onto my mouth, slapping me with her tits, and ordering me to eat her pussy like she wanted. 

I wriggled, writhed and squirmed, and tried to get her off. I had not bargained for this, but she had me firmly with those strong legs of hers, and instead I was forced to comply, licking and sucking, sticking my tongue further and further into her, excited and humiliated at the same time by what she was doing to me. 

Now it was my turn to beg, as I desperately asked her to fuck me.

Instead she replied " So you thought you could come in here and tease me when I was at a disadvantage? I will teach you about teasing!!!" And she leaned back and softly began to stroke my cock with the tips of her fingers. It was driving me wild!! 

"Please! Please! Please let me fuck you, I promise not to tease you again. Please! Please!" I said, only to be met with giggles and another slap in return.

"Not so tough as expected are we?" she mocked, as she rode me, " not quite the tease are you?"

I couldn't take much more. I started to buck like crazy, just as I felt her starting to come, and finally I had the result I wanted. I managed to move her down lower onto my stomach, giving me leverage. Adrenaline coursed through me as I used all my strength to loosen her hold, and flip her off. I was in frenzy. I wanted her now. 

As she tumbled off backwards, with a surprised expression on her face, I quickly sat up, and drew my legs back, so I was lying on top of her. Before she had time to react my hands reached hers, pinning them to the bed above her head, as I opened her legs, and let my cock find its way to into her pussy.

"Now it's my turn!!! I wanted to fuck you, and now I am going to!!"

"Fuck you!" she replied, "I was about to come! I will never let you fuck me now!"

But it was too late. I was already moving in and out, slowly at first, and then harder and faster. I felt like I would explode if I did not come soon. Soon she started moaning again, and writhing and bucking, trying to free her arms, but I kept her pinned, as I started to slam into her until my balls were slapping against her ass. I could not keep going for much longer, and I don't think she could either, as we both seemed to moan loudly in unison, and then I felt myself shooting deep inside her. My body went rigid, and then shuddered and shook with passion as I pumped out every last drop.

I slowed down gradually, until I rolled off, totally exhausted and sweaty, and lay next to her. We both were perspiring with the effort, and I wondered if we both thinking the same thoughts.

Would I be invited back to the little beach house? And would Karen be sleeping again? Or just pretending to?



Venice 1754



Venice 1754, the evening of Carnival. When Venetians gather in Piazza San Marco in masks. A night when torches blaze, their light dancing along the walls illuminating brilliant costumes below. In an apartment overlooking the Piazza, a beautiful young duchess is making a final touch, placing two black feathers on her silver and purple mask. Completing her disguise, her personality for an evening where her passion and desire will be free to lead her.

Elle D'or was the idol of all France, no other has ever been found, nor will one ever be found to match her beauty and her talents. Everything about her was natural, her purity of heart, the movement of her spirit, and her passion for ecstasy. Her gown, made for royalty, barely kissing the carpet as she walked was made of the finest fabrics the world had to offer. Draped across her shoulders, tight around her waist, accentuating her bosom which created a valley so deep and profound it demanded careful study from all those who came across it. 

She took one last look into the mirror, brining the mask up to her face, hiding all but her eyes and her lips. Her mouth curled up into a smile, approving of her fine handy work and the look of heated expectation in her eyes. For tonight she would not be alone in her escapades. It had been arraigned the evening prior that she would meet a Venetian noble man whose reputation and many talents were well known throughout the city. His charm infected all those around him. He was able to make women go into rage with desire and able to unleash their lustful passion. With mischievous intent in her eyes she dashes to the door. She pauses and takes a deep breath, causing her bosom to rise and fall as if they were clouds on a breeze. She cracks opened the door, takes a peek out side and makes off into the night, the candles in her room blowing out as she shuts the door.

Across the canal in an abandoned lot, four of Venice's finest are drinking the last of their wine discussing their strategy for the evening. Although they are all similarly dressed in black capes, one man stands above this group. His stance is slightly more relaxed and refined, confident of his place in life. His mysterious face hidden beneath a mask made nearly all of red through which all you could see are his two penetrating eyes, the devilish Count Dominique Rosa. There is a flash in his eye as fireworks explode overhead. After a final good luck toast these four-cloaked figures go their separate ways, our count makes haste for Piazza San Marco, to find a mystery woman from the north. 

As the Count and Countess wind their way through the alleys the temperature rises as thousands have taken to the streets, they weave and doge, making their way through the crowd. With every step the anticipation grows, the noise and music becoming louder, beating in their chests. Both have spent hours playing out the events to come. Now with the moment upon them their pace quickens, their breath impatient, each eager to tease the other into submission. 

Arriving at the chosen meeting point, the fun begins. They do not know each other, are unaware of what the other is wearing, they can only study the crowd and the masks, locking eyes with others to find the truth of their intent. For several minutes Elle D'or sneaks through the crowd hoping to discover the count before he discovers her. She stops in mid-stride, caught staring at the ground. She can feel them, his penetrating eyes. He has spotted her from a far, able to remain anonymous in the crowd. She does not know where he is, but she can feel him staring into her. Her pulse is racing, her blood rushing through her body, the excitement is overwhelming, as she skips a breath. She slowly looks up and carefully glances over her right shoulder. 

She catches sight of a bright red mask, stationary in a sea of movement. Confident of the authority her beauty possesses, she turns and challenged this man, radiating truth and purity from her eyes. As she smiled slightly toward him, encouraging him, their line of sight was broken by a passing crowd. As the crowd parts Dominique sees her disappear into the crowd, the chase is on. He weaves and dives his way through the mob of people, catching only glimpses of Elle D'or as she continues to elude her pursuer. A game of cat and mouse. She leads him away from the crowd, he always sees her as she is turning a corner into another alley, making haste to find this temptress he turns down the next ally and BAM, he is knocked to the ground by three men who place a sack over his head and tie his hands behind his back. 

There was no time to struggle, he is taken inside a house just off the alley, forced up the stairs and placed in a chair. The men then leave without saying a word, down the stairs out the door and down the alley, their fading laughter infuriating the count as he sits helpless in the house alone in the dark. Then something strange, the smell of incense, the sent of woman and he could now make out candle light on the floor. It was not a sense of fear that he feels, but curiosity of what was to come. 

A presence in the room approaches him, radiating pure sexual power, her movements choreographed for maximum effect, her prey, within her sights. Ever so slowly, and every so softly the duchess lifts the sack from off the counts head, revealing his mask and his eyes. He immediately catches sight of her mask and realizes at once that this woman was more powerful then he ever imagined. Having the prowess to kidnap a count right off the street, but then again, anyone kidnapped by Elle D'or would consider himself to be a lucky man. 

Their eyes lock, she takes four steps back allowing him to see her in full. No words were spoken. None are needed, their intent clearly written all over their hidden faces. With grace and delicacy she moves her right hand up to her left shoulder slowly slipping her gown up off her skin and down her arm letting it hang at her elbow revealing pristine skin above her left breast. Brushing her other shoulder, she slowly spins and her dress falls, exposing her back. A quick glance behind her to make sure she has his full attention and she drops her gown and slowly begins to reach for the sky, giving him a clear view of her beautiful ass and long legs as her gown comes to rest on the floor. Stepping out of the silk and velvet, she spins around on her toes taking a wide pose, allowing this man to see her in all her glory. 

Her figure is perfect, a true goddess. Her breasts generously offer themselves to him, her waist asking to be squeezed, and pussy waiting to be devoured. She slowly and seductively approaches him, bends over at the waist, her nude body a blaze from the candlelight, and gives him a soft wet long kiss on the lips. She can feel his hands struggle against the ropes, and notices the bulge growing in his pants, struggling against the tight fabric. Coming in close again, she slowly spreads her legs and one by one sits on his lap naked facing him, wrapping her legs around the back of the chair, not yet letting her breasts touch his chest. 

Eye to eye, she deliberately takes his head in her hands, digging her fingers into his mocha hair, brining her lips to his. Their tongues meet, slowly tasting each other, stirring the passion brewing within. The moment is eternal, their lips connected, enjoying each other's breath. He is helpless, unable to resist desire. Again she stands up and backs away to a table, grabbing a bottle, she lays down on the couch in from of him. She tilts the bottle over and out comes pure oil, slowly beginning to coat her upper right breast and gently roll down the middle of her chest toward her belly button. Gliding her hands over her breasts her body begins to glisten as she covers herself in oil. Now rubbing her hands all over her body her heightened arousal becomes evident from the soft moans escaping from her rounded mouth. Now closing her eyes she reaches slowly between her legs, parting the lips of her pink already soaking pussy. Rubbing her hands over her clit she squeals in delight. She slowly penetrates herself with two fingers. The pleasure between her legs begins to spread to her whole body. She bits her lower lip, as she continues pleasuring herself, her fingers gliding easily in and out her dripping pussy. 

The Count sits there, viewing a scene that will haunt him for the rest of his life. How could he be so lucky? Watching her there on the couch, pleasuring herself, the moans turning into whimpers as she begins to lose control. He watches as her muscles spasm uncontrollably, her back arching her hair fanned out and her open mouth, unable to speak as the orgasm takes her over completely. You can hear the juice from her pussy as she removes her soaking fingers and with here eyes still closed, slowly puts her fingers in her mouth, tasting her own sweetness. By this point Dominique's cock is engorged, stiff and seeking release from the tight cloth around his waist, yet he is helpless.

As if Elle D'or had read his mind her eyes open sharply, her gaze pierces his soul. She jumps up from the couch quickly closing the distance between them. In one quick move she reaches for his waistband, and before he knows it his pants are on the other side of the room. Elle D'or looks at his cock, now standing at full attention, she glances up looking Dominique in the eyes with delighted approval and a little smile. Then without warning she devours his cock. Her mouth, salivating from the thought of this glorious meal, immediately forces moans of pleasure from the count. The duchess, continues fucking his cock with her mouth, deep, fast, and with fire as she rubs oil all over his inner thighs, caressing his balls, tugging and pulling them as she continues to suck his cock with all her fury. It fills her mouth, she can feel it in the back of her throat, and all she wants is more. Sensing he is about to cum, she slows way down, and removes a small knife hidden in her hair, she looks as if to stab him then reaches behind him cutting his ropes setting his hands free.

The power dynamic instantly changes, as he grabs her with his strong arms and bends her over the chair onto which just a moment ago he was bound. He gives her one hard spank on the ass and then thrusts his cock inside her as hard and as deep as he can go. She instantly cums, screaming in ecstasy, her pussy flooding, showering his large cock inside her. He shows her no mercy, and continues to pound her while grabbing a full head of hair, pulling hard forcing himself deeper and deeper with every thrust. The walls of her pussy contact tight around his dick as intense waves of pleasure create spasms causing her to nearly fall to the floor. He doesn't let her escape, he throws her up against the wall and using his abundant strength puts both of his arms between her legs and spreads them wide as he lifts her completely off the ground, her back against the wall while she is sitting on his arms. 

He fucks her silly, his cock going in and out of her pussy over and over again causing a single bead of sweat to roll down his forehead to his cheek. Their eyes attached to one another's souls, each still wearing their masks. Just after she cums for the fifth time, he takes her to the bed and lays her down, never taking his cock from her pussy and continues fucking her without skipping a beat. Her legs spread wide, in full submission, his ass flexing hard as he dives into her again and again. They never want it to end, no pleasure has felt so deeply satisfying. Sweat is now dripping from his head onto her oil soaked body. His muscles are on fire and just as they are about to set fire to the sheets, they feel it. 

Electricity from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes and everywhere in between. They cum in perfect unison, squeezing and holding each other tightly as they experience this profound emotion and indescribable feelings. Dominique spasms violently as he cums inside her, every contraction delivering more and more hot white cum as he fills her to the brim. She can feel the pressure inside her every time he cums, taking her higher and higher than ever before. For a moment, nothing exists. Everything is whole, complete.

The moment lasts.

Their bodies slide together as they begin to calm and catch their breath. Again softly kissing, playing with each other's tongues ever so gently, in a mess of oil, sweat and cum. He begins to slowly pull out, but is stopped by her hands urgently grabbing his ass, pleading with him to stay inside her for just a moment longer. He gracefully obliges and rolls her on top of him. 

Lying underneath her, he has a new perspective to admire this beautiful woman. Her breasts and nipples engorged, twice their original size, the foreground to her beautiful smile and crystal blue eyes. Elle D'or's pussy, wet and swollen with cum starts to leak and drip down the base of his strong cock, covering him in a potion of pure love. She sits there, admiring her work just long enough, then with her lips curling into that mischievous smile. She slowly gives him one last kiss. Takes her time dismounting him, and with elegance and grace, slowly walks backward towars a back door, never taking her eyes off him from beneath her mask. She blows him a kiss and slips out the door still nude. Curious, Dominique approaches the door, cautious of another trap, but upon opening the door he finds nothing but an empty closet with an open window, curtains blowing in the breeze. A look down the alley shows it is deserted except for the sounds of carnival still raging on.

Not sure what to think, he slowly turns around walking back towards the bed. Throwing his mask on the floor he collapses on to the sheets that smells of his mystery woman, warm from the love they created. There is nothing more for him to do except use the last of his energy to softly smile and embrace the moment. 



Venice



I am in a crowded square, looking for you. It is carnival in Venice. The square is St. Mark's. Everyone is dressed in colorful costumes and wearing masks. I am dressed in silk...the fabric clings to my body and whispers as I move. My dress is red...long and flowing. Thin straps on my shoulders and my strand of white pearls around my neck rests between my full breasts. I have a shawl of reds and blacks that I carry over one arm. I wear a mask of black feathers...only my dark red lips and eyes are exposed. I am looking for you.

My eyes search the square for you. Vibrant colors, swirling., yellows, blacks, reds, blues and purple. Suddenly my eyes are caught by a tall man dressed all in black including the mask he wears. Is that you? Our eyes lock as he moves toward me. I cannot take my eyes this man. As he approaches, he holds out his hand to me. I touch his hand and I feel his warmth...a shiver runs through my body. 

This man does not speak. His dark eyes do not leave mine. He takes the shawl from my hand and puts it gently around my shoulders...brushing my nipple. It hardens under the touch and I sigh. He takes my hand again and leads me away from the square. Down the narrow, dark streets of Venice. He hurries along the cobblestones as I trip along in my black stilettos.

Suddenly he stops and gently pushes me up against the cool wall of a dark building. He leans forward and gently kisses my blood red lips. As I taste his lips I wonder...is this you? We kiss deeply, tasting each other as our tongues caress each other. As we are pressed together I can feel his excitement grow. I am getting moist in anticipation.

His hands move to the straps of my dress and as he kisses me...he pushes them off my shoulders and dips down to kiss my breasts. His kisses are soft and exciting as my body moves... My body responds to his kisses as my nipples harden and ache. I stand there trembling from the cool air of the night and the excitement of his touch. My hands caress his hair. I want to kiss him but he will not be drawn up to my lips.

His hands and lips continue to move down my body to my waist. My dress rests there and he stops and looks up at me. He drops to his knees and slowly moves his hands up my bare, smooth legs. I spread my legs apart, wanting his touch. He caresses my inner thighs. The feeling is so exciting that I am moaning softly. My eyes are closed concentrating on his touch... My black silk panties are growing wet with my juices and my hips begin to move. He leans forward and kisses my inner thighs as I moan softly.

He kisses and licks the silk of my panties...inhaling the musky scent of me. He slowly lowers them. He begins to kiss my swollen sex... his tongue licking and his mouth sucking, seeking out my hardened and throbbing clit as I cry out. My legs become weak and I tremble. I have my hands in his hair and start to guide him to the place that feels the most intense...body shifting. I am so aroused and want him so badly that I can hardly stand. Is this you?

He continues to taste my warm juices as his tongue caresses my throbbing. I pull him up and kiss him deeply...tasting myself on his lips. I feel his hardness as we press together. I take my hand and start to caress his cock still hidden from me. I outline his cock with my fingertips as I feel him becoming hard. He moans as I unzip his pants and release his throbbing hardness. His pants puddle on the ground. 

I can wait no longer as I kneel on the ground in front of him. I take his cock into my mouth and taste his sweet pre-cum. I hold his throbbing cock as I caress his balls and suck at his warmth. He has his hands in my hair as he moves his hips. I begin to fuck him with my mouth. His taste is sweet. I slowly press a finger into his ass...feeling his tightness. My hands as gripping his ass. Is this you?

Suddenly he pulls me up and turns me facing the wall. He moves my arms up and pins them there with his. I feel his cock as it bumps against my ass. He presses against me...opening me up from behind. My juices are dripping from my body. So hot and ready. He presses into me as I moan. I can feel his throbbing and heat as he thrusts against me. His balls bumping against my ass.

I push back...meeting his thrusts. I feel frantic now...wild. He reaches his arm around me to touch my throbbing clit. He presses his finger against my clit as I grind against it. As he touches me, we both explode and cry out together. We stand there together. Legs trembling, breathing rapidly...our combined juices running down our legs. We hold each other feeling the warmth of our bodies against the cool night.

Is this you? I glance around feeling the eyes of someone else. It is you...standing in the shadows, stroking yourself and smiling. 



Venice Ch. 2



You awake, the golden light inundates the sumptuous room, and you feel exquisite. You are naked lying on the heavy velvet bedspread, above you the painted ceiling depicts love scenes in the clouds, you believe you are immersed in the painting. The dark wood of the bed posts are carved with the same spiral pattern of the marble pillar on the balcony and the massive chest of drawers reminds you of old sea vessels. You search for me and find me sketching on the balcony. My pad on the stone railing, my naked form bent in concentration, and my eyes surveying the skyline of domes and spires. You place your body against mine and look at the drawing. I turn and envelop you in my arms. 

"This city is so magnificent I can think of nothing but beauty and love. Kiss me and we will walk the canals again." You embrace me with tenderness. Your touch and softness intoxicate me; they kindle my loins and plunder my mind of reason. I want to make love anew but fight to regain my composure. "You will not deny me the sunset on the Grand Canal. Your wanton body will remain under control until I permit!" I forcefully tell you as I slip from your arms.

You pout as we dress. I sense your displeasure and tell you that I will make you desire my love with every step. I tell you not to wear your panties and to lift your dress. I tie a thin rope around your waist and run one strand from the front center, past your vulva, up the crease of your buttocks to the center back. I pull this tight for the rope to part your flesh and tie a neat knot. "Now, my dear, let us visit this magical city." I lead you into the soft evening smells and guide you through the back canals. The tourists have left this part of town; only the locals still wander the paths. Their singing Italian rings against the walls and the water. We cross little arched bridges and admire lovely villas, the gothic windows, the marble inserts, and the heavy doors. The enchantment is complete except for a fire in your belly you strive to ignore. Yet every step reminds you of my words and brings pressure to your sensitive places.

The tourists are evident as we approached Piazza San Marco, and so are the shops. Many carry fine Italian apparel and leather goods. I pull you into a lovely clothing store and explain to the sales girl that we will be staying here for a few days but our luggage is elsewhere. Therefore, you need whatever is necessary for at least three days. She smiles and begins surveying you for size and color. Soon her arms are full of skirts, blouses, and dresses she believes will suit you. She leads you to a curtained dressing room and holds the drape aside. You step in and she follows. You stumble and cough, at a loss for how to act, you don't want her to see the rope yet there is no way she won't. I enter also and quickly lift your dress and explain that you are embarrassed. She simply caresses your bottom and comments how lovely you are and offers you a dress to try. You slip the silk fabric over your head and walk to me. The pale gray cloth flows with your movement and highlights your white skin.

"Yes," I say. "We will certainly take this one." Admiring the taste of the sales girl and your elegance at the same time. You feel more at ease and begin to enjoy dressing in different outfits. We chose four complete sets before deciding we have enough. We agree you will wear the gray dress tonight and leave the one you were wearing to be sent to the villa where we are staying. As I instruct the sales girl where to send the packages she interrupts and tells you to follow her for a moment. You both return and lift your hem to show me the rope has been replaced by a magnificent silk woven piece. The waistband is wide but flat showing your skin through the weave. The piece running between your legs starts wide but narrows into a ball at the top of your womanhood, it disappears betwixt your lips to reappear where it becomes wide again at the top of your rear. You smile at me saying "Quite a bit more feminine than your rope, don't you think? Yet I feel even more powerfully the sensation of excitement and pressure. Please let me wear this."

"Yes." I answer. "You are lovely wearing that belt. May we see others?" I ask the sales girl. She answers that she will deliver everything to our room tomorrow morning and bring some samples of items that might interest us. I am delighted and set an appointment and ask her for directions to a store for men. She tells us where to go and bids us farewell until tomorrow.

The men's store has equally elegant items and I select three outfits one of which I wear for the evening and have the rest delivered. We leave feeling like new lovers in as new life. The sky has begun to fade to purple. The director of lighting exaggerates the colors. The deep purples and bright oranges cannot be real. We must be walking on a set! Your gray dress reflects the colors of the sky, the colors reflected in the water and windows. The bright yellow of streetlights paints the left side of your face. Your eyes sparkle and your moist lips shine in the Magritte evening. I look at you in awe of your beauty and wonder if your sensuality ignites the fire in your eyes. I want to make love to you every instant but know we must treasure these few moments and barely even waist the darkness. 

We walk along the Grande Canal heading away from the Piazza San Marco to the east. You look at the Bridge of Sighs and comment on the delicate architecture. We continue along the wide sidewalk of the Riva di Schiavoni not noticing the other tourists, listening to the songs of the few remaining singing gondoliers. The sounds of the water and the deepening colors of the night make us feel alone despite the many others. I stop you at the church of Santa Maria della Pieta that holds the Vivaldi concerts and ask if you would enjoy listening to the "Four Seasons" tomorrow night. You seem delighted. I ask the ticket vendor if there are any remaining places for tomorrow and am told only the best seats are available. With pleasure I purchase two and tell you that we will have to buy you another dress.

We wander until we find a secluded restaurant with garden seating. We settle in for a leisurely meal full of sensuous tastes and smells. You enjoy the deep red wines and the ripe tomatoes, the fresh basil, and the figs for desert. Throughout the meal I caress your thighs under your dress and tell you of the passion I feel for you. You want to hurry the repast for your desire is building, but I force you to savor every bite and to relish even the lovely garden. "You will not return here soon, my dear." I tell you. "So make sure you waste none of the splendor, that you enjoy every smell, vision, sound, and taste. Fear not I want you as badly as you want me and I promise to love you completely upon our return to the room. But for now open your mind and let it be filled by the beauty of this place." You nod and bite your lip as I slide my hand cruelly to the junction of your thighs.

Finally I take you slowly back to the villa and undress you. I tie you to the heavy bed and worship your body for hours. You are so lost in the series of endless climaxes you really don't know what I am doing. I untie you late in the night and hug you to me in joy and appreciation of your gift. Tomorrow we will spend another splendid day in Venice.

The Second Day

The curtains were open and the sun warmed the tile floor as you awoke. You could feel the soft breeze feathering across your uncovered breasts. Lying on the open bed you stretched and absorbed the sounds and smells of the Venetian morning. The delicate odor of the sea mixed with the aroma of coffee. You scanned the room, looking for the coffee. A tray of delights sat on the trunk at the base of the bed. You took a cup, filled it, and walked still naked to the balcony. There you found me drawing again, also naked and drinking coffee. "Good morning my love." I said. "Are we not unusually lucky to be here?" I enfolded you into my arms and kissed you deeply. We gazed at the hazy skyline and felt the beauty invade our souls. "Drink, my dear, and put on some clothes for the sales girl will be delivering your packages shortly."

We dressed and waited enjoying the peace and serenity of the moment. We planned the day talking of the Gallerie dell' Accademia, the churches, and the Biennale. A knock announced the arrival of your wardrobe. The sales girl entered laden with boxes. She quickly opened each to show you the items we had chosen. Then she stopped and asked if we wanted to see the items we had discussed. I answered that we did and she began her presentation. At first she showed us delicate lingerie with osé themes, open bras, split panties, and the like. We asked for something else. She opened a dark wood box with brass corners and latches. Inside on a bed of red velvet was a magnificent Venetian glass dildo. 

The whorls of color flowing along its length were so exquisite that one could easily place this piece on display were it not for it's form. We bought it instantly, not knowing if we would ever use it or simply admire the workmanship. She then presented us some lovely masks. Not the ones seen in the tourist stores but handmade pieces with themes of fantasy. Again we purchased the ones we both admired not knowing how or if we would ever use them. Her last item was truly something I desired yet had never seen. Beautiful silk thong panties with a little pouch low in front. She handed me a small control unit and a plastic egg. Turning on the unit made the egg vibrate at increasing speeds. The egg fit into the pouch tightly and would sit at the mouth of your womanhood. I was enthralled and elated.

We told her that we would pass by the shop later in the afternoon for we needed a dress for the evening, a long evening dress for the concert. She answered she was certain she had a lovely garment and that she would be happy to make sure it fit perfectly. She left us and I instructed you to prepare for a long day of walking the canals and viewing art. You chose a short pleated skirt and loose open blouse. Your skirt was basic black, and the blouse a burgundy that highlighted your delicate white complexion. My slacks and shirt complimented your outfit and we set out for a day of sightseeing and art. 

We spent two hours in the magnificent Gallerie dell' Accademia, enjoying the great Venetian paintings and the sensuality of the colors and composition. While standing before a large Titian my hands slid under your skirt to cup your soft warm rear. As always I wanted you instantly but denied myself for fear of missing another masterpiece. By the time we had left the museum I had caressed you numerous times and you were complaining of a need for fulfillment. "Not until later, my dear, we have churches and art to see." I scolded. 

We crossed the Grande Canal and wandered into the church of San Stefano. We opened the doors to an interior of Baroque opulence. The cool and dark chamber was a refreshing respite from the heat of the day. Our bodies cooled while our eyes and minds indulged in the magnificence and sensuality of the frescoes and carvings. Full-bodied women in flowing robes their breasts overflowing stepped out of the ceiling. Their succulent bodies ripe with womanhood beckoned lascivious thoughts. Angelic cherubs rolled their eyes slightly back in their heads, looking upward as they reached that moment of being at the edge of paradise, not wanting to give up the tension, yet wanting the climax.

The opulence that we feasted upon gave rise to our sexual gluttony and we looked for a place for our release. We scurried like two children caught in the rain into the dark recesses of the confessional. We suppressed our giggles and closed the dark heavy purple draperies behind us. The smell of dark wood and the church incense permeated the small enclosure. I trapped you between my arms and the dark wood wall of the box, my palms out in front. You could feel my sexual energy permeating the space. "Now little one." I said in a firm voice. "Confess to me the sins you would like to commit." You smile knowing full well that we have the same sins in mind. "Will you confess or are I to punish you for sins you have not yet committed?" I said as I pressed firmly against your belly. You felt my instrument of punishment prepared for the task. 

I forced you to kneel on the padded kneeler. I dropped my trousers before kneeling behind you. Yes we were in prayer, but to the deity of lust. My fingers found your heat and pushed the cloth covering you aside. I felt your moist desire and slipped a finger between your lips. I spread your wetness to your nub and circled that sensitive spot. You moaned loudly so I quickly covered your mouth with my other hand. I could no longer wait and placed my rampant manhood against your lips. I held your mouth as I thrust deep into your belly and commenced the licentious dance we needed so badly. The fragrance of our love permeated the tight wooden box and the sounds of our movement would have certainly alerted anyone in the church. 

Our passion involved all our beings to the exclusion of care. I could not have stopped my hips from moving had the Bishop of Venice touched my shoulder. You bit my hand and pushed back onto me as your orgasm exploded. I could feel the vise of your sheath clamp my shaft. With my left hand I pulled your belly back and drove deeper into your canal as my seed poured forth. I had to bite my arm to arrest my cries. The power of our ecstasy engulfed us completely and brought a satisfaction that surprised us. I slumped against your back and slowly withdrew. Using my handkerchief I tried to dry your lovely fruit and then wipe myself in an attempt to be presentable as we continued the day.

We left San Stefan quickly not sure if we had been observed, but frankly not caring. We laughed, held hands, and kissed like young lovers. The canals and bridges seemed to welcome us and made soft wet sounds we thought we recognized. We entered a cozy trattoria for lunch and found a cool garden in the back where we savored the summer specials. The fresh melon, the prociuto, the ripe tomatoes with mozzarella, the pungent olive oil, the basil, and the delicate pasta with olive oil and garlic were all offered. Looking at you eating brought back my desires. Your sucking the strands of pasta into your mouth with a little stream of olive oil slipping down your chin made you look so sensuous, I leaned over to lick that little stream. You tasted better than the meal.

We walked to San Marco and took the vaporetto to the Castello Gardens to visit the Venice Biennale, the contemporary art exhibition where each nation chooses its representative. You were surprised buy much of the work but found some of the pieces appealing. I noticed your desire to touch certain sculptures and rejoiced in your natural affiliation to the forms. Becoming a bit distracted and tired we headed to the shop to find your costume for the evening.

The sales girl smiled at our entrance and locked the store. "I don't want to be disturbed while I fit the dress to the Signora. If you would please remove everything for the dress must fit perfectly." She commanded. When you removed your panties we both could smell the evidence of our earlier bout. The sales girl nodded and smiled while continuing to prepare the long black velvet evening dress. The deep neckline accentuated your round bust and it seemed as if the back slit went all the way to the junction of your thighs. She busied herself with pins and markings to make the fit flawless. When she was finished she told us to go to the little café in the next square and that she would fetch us when the retouches were completed.

We relaxed and laughed from sheer joy as we sipped our wine. "She must think we never stop making love. " You remarked. "Then she is not very mistaken." I answered. "What a wonderful sensual vacation." I said. You put your feet on my thighs asking me to rub them. I massaged your toes and dug my thumbs into the arch of each foot. I rubbed your calves and returned to your feet. You made little cooing sounds that turned the heads of the couple at the neighboring table. The Italian woman poked her companion and clearly told him he should do the same for her. He didn't seem to acquiesce and she pouted. We laughed and I continued to knead your feet and legs until the sales girl called us. 

The dress fit you flawlessly and enhanced your beauty, as it should. The sales girl informed us that you should wear no undergarments for you to look your best. I took her aside and informed her that I had intended for you to wear the thong with the egg during the concert. "Ah, si." She said with a knowing smile. "Then I must add a waist band inside so no one can discern the panty line. It will only take me five minutes." You asked what she was doing as we waited and I explained that she was making a minor adjustment. We thanked her for all her help and returned to the villa to rest and prepare for the evening.

Our room was bathed in the evening light accenting the warm colors of the woods and fabrics. We showered and lay on the bed for a few moments of rest. Your natural aroma mingled with the smells of the lagoon and stirred my passion again. I took your hand and gently sucked each finger, feeling and tasting the softness of you, so quiet, so tender. We remained on our backs touching and kissing until I felt you slip into slumber. I knew you needed the rest so I quietly left the bed to gather my drawing utensils. While you slept, naked on your back, I drew the sensuous curves of your body. The swell of your breasts, white and full with their burnt sienna tips. Your round belly drawing the eye to the seductive curve of your mons. 

Hiding beneath your dark curls the valley from which we both derived so much pleasure. Your thighs open and relaxed again drawing the eye to that warm moist province of delight. I drew trying to impart all the sensuality I could see. I became lost in the rendering of your carnality, moving about the room to capture you from many angles. My desire obvious by my constant erection, my hands and eyes conspired to create images of you both passionate and charming. 

For almost an hour I drew until you awoke surprised and refreshed. You kneeled on the bed and asked to see my work. We looked and commented on the drawings and I made you promise to pose for me another time. I told you that we must dress for the concert soon if we were to have time for an apéritif first. I went to the trunk and handed you the thong with the pouch. I instructed you that you were to wear this garment during the evening. Once you had slipped it over your hips I inserted the little egg in its pocket. I then stood back and turned on the control unit. You uttered a little squeak and your hand grasped your crotch. I turned it off and advised you that I might ignite it at any time during the evening. "Do you agree to be under my control, my dear?" I asked. You looked at me searching for an indication of levity and found only a stern master returning your gaze. You nodded, yes, and continued to dress. 

I wore a gray silk suit with a blue shirt and tie. Your long black velvet dress fit like a second skin, emphasizing your every curve. The slit up the back showed off the tops of your thighs above your thigh high stockings. The deep neckline displayed your breasts to the limit of decency and was perfect for the pendant you choose to adorn your cleavage. A delicate deep crimson embroidered shawl covered your shoulders in case of a chill. We strolled into another colorful evening in the magical city. Arm in arm we wandered slowly toward the church for the concert. As we crossed one of the little bridges I reached into my pocket and turned on the egg at low speed. You stopped still, squeezed my arm, and looked at me pleadingly trying to control your body. I extinguished the torment, took your arm again, and continued our walk. You wanted to talk of this torture yet you remained silent. I kissed your neck and declared my love. I was so delighted to be your companion. I infused with the feeling of being more alive than ever before. The passion we shared and the beauty of Venice had alerted all my senses and I felt inundated by their messages. 




Venice Ch. 2



We found a chic café and sat amongst the people wanting to be seen. You laughed at the others trying to be more stylish than the neighbor. The loud name-dropping and hand movements provided us with entertainment as we sipped the chilled Champaign. You were warm enough to leave the shawl on the back of the chair displaying your round shoulders and décolletage. I was proud to be your companion. The black and white of your dress and skin highlighted by the pendant and your lip-gloss reminded me of famous photographer's black and white photos that he had hand colored. You were simply stunning in the evening light of Venice. 

We walked slowly along the Riva d. Schiavoni to the concert. Surrounding us were the tourists in shorts and sandals, surprised to see people dressed so elegantly. Upon entering the Santa Maria della Pieta and taking our places we found only a handful of others in similar attire. To my amazement they were all Italian. The music began and quickly we were transported by Vivaldi's enchantment into the seasons he was portraying. I looked at you and perceived your immersion into his sounds. As the tempo mounted and your breathing increased I started the little egg vibrating. Your head snapped back, your mouth opened, and you looked at me as you gasped. I smiled but let the vibrating continue. Your left hand went to your lap but I removed it as the music reached a crescendo. Your breath became gulps as your eyes pleaded. At the final note I shut off the machine. You tried to regain your composure by taking deep breaths. I stroked your arm tenderly and smiled at you. Throughout the concert I would initiate the vibrating at periods when I felt the music would conceal your movements and breathing. You became more radiant with each cycle as your breasts heaved. Your poise and ability to restrain your desires amazed me.

You left the church holding my arm for balance, not completely in control of your legs. I told you we would stroll the canals for a while before dinner. You looked at me questioning but followed. Minutes later we found ourselves crossing the same little bridge where I had tortured you earlier. Again I turned on the egg and you begged me to fulfill your lust. "Right here, now?" I asked, "Yes please." You answered. I bent you over the stone parapet of the bridge so you were facing the water. I slid my hand up the back slit of your dress and plunged a finger into your moist passage. You gasped and pushed back onto my hand. I withdrew immediately and opened my fly. I was certainly ready. I parted your dress pushing it up over your hips and entered you quickly. You cried out and I quickly covered your mouth with my handkerchief. My desire was as strong as yours and soon we were deep in the throes of passion beyond concern for others. The egg continued its vibrations making my peak seem very imminent. Your movements belayed your approaching climax when suddenly a gondola appeared in the canal poling straight toward us. The gondolier looked into your eyes and smiled, I still held the handkerchief over your mouth, and you could say nothing as he gazed at your exposed breasts. 

He passed only a meter below us as we froze for a few moments. We resumed as he turned into another canal. My passion became more ardent and soon I was gushing deep in your belly. You threw back your head and cried out all your release as the pent-up pleasure finally broke free. We barely had time to disengage before three windows opened and heads popped out to ask what was the problem. I fell to my knees and pretended to hold your ankle. 

"Scusi, mia pate." You cried out falling into the game. We had a few replies as we pretended to limp you off to another canal. As we turned the corner you laughed and fell into my arms. "Should we not go back to the room before dinner?" You asked. I answered that was not necessary; we would go to the same little secluded restaurant as last night. No one will bother us and they have very nice bathrooms. "Then would you please turn off the damn egg?" You said. 

I complied laughing that I had forgotten.



Venice, February 1996



When I published 'The Artist and the Acrobat', people asked for more about the characters. That episode and this are part of the back-story, told in flashbacks, that I've been building for a novel I've been writing for the last 2 years, tentatively entitled 'Sun, sea, sand and...'. It's about a woman called Laura, with Gabriella (from 'The Artist and the Acrobat'), as women in their 30s, trying to make a go of a business at Angelo's villa after the artist's death. I'm getting on well with the main plot, so from time to time I do 'back-story' episodes like this, and there will probably be more on this site before the main novel gets published.

This story takes us back to when Laura, then 21, first decides to move away from Angelo and Gabriella after nearly 2 years as model, muse and mistress. It is set in Carnivale week in Venice. I've always been intrigued by Carnivale - the costumes and masks give it a strong undercurrent of illicit sexiness. One February, I hope to actually get there - if I can ever afford it! (But the city - and the women - are still beautiful at any time).

I was unsure whether to use British or American vernacular for this, as the two key characters are from opposite sides of the Atlantic. I stuck with British because most of the novel is told through Laura's eyes, and a style-change would jar. Please let me know if you enjoy it. I now have around 100 pages of the novel in a fairly advanced draft, and I'm just taking the plot in a new direction, so previews are available if anyone wants to volunteer to edit it!

________________________

Laura felt that she hadn't smiled so much on a single evening for years. Partly it was because she was genuinely happy, but partly because, as one of the joint exhibitors, she had to be nice to her potential customers. Angelo had planned it all quite carefully; two enormous rooms in a beautiful, slightly decayed palazzo in San Polo, not far from the Rialto bridge, in Carnivale week. His paintings and hers interspersed on the walls, so that she could be sure that her work would be seen. And so far, it seemed to be working. All the guests were in costume and masks, which made it rather difficult to tell who was who, but as Angelo had organised the guest list to contain mostly very rich and discerning art lovers, in some ways it didn't matter.

After three hours she was getting rather tipsy on a diet that had consisted mostly of bellini and spritz. She had found buyers for six of her pictures -- pretty good for her first exhibition - whilst Angelo had (unsurprisingly) managed to sell eleven. The prices were also good -- she had netted around $7,500 on the night, though of course Angelo could command that for a single work, and was looking at around $100,000 for his works. Many of the guests were American, although there were quite a few wealthy Italians present. One or two of them, she felt, seemed as though they might be from the wrong side of the law, but that was hardly surprising in Italy, and where the money came from was none of her concern.

"Buona sera, signorita" said a voice with a rather strong American accent to her left. She turned her fixed smile towards what would most likely be another fat, wealthy oil-man. She was very pleasantly surprised to see a tall, very handsome man of about her own age, in nicely-fitting Renaissance costume and a half-face mask. His smile was broad, even and white in the way only Americans seem to achieve. His skin was tanned, his hair long, wavy and a little sun-bleached, and his outfit was very fetching -- a black satin and velvet surcoat over a white silk shirt, with tight black velvet breeches tucked into shiny black knee-length boots. Above the black, crystal-studded mask, a broad-brimmed hat set off the outfit wonderfully. She was instantly reminded of Donatello's 'David', the wonderful, shyly erotic sculpture that she had seen in Florence; slim, tall and with a very similar hat.

He complimented her pictures and asked if she was the artist, in rather halting Italian. She replied in the same language that she had spoken almost continually for the past two years that yes, she was indeed the artist, that it was kind of him to speak so nicely of her painings, and was he also enjoying Angelo's work? His blank expression made her giggle a little, and she repeated the question in English. "Oh -- your English is very good!", he remarked. "It should be", she replied, adopting the accent of her native Yorkshire. "I were bloody born there!" They both laughed.

She introduced herself and extended her hand. To her surprise he took it, raised it to his lips and kissed it. "Very pleased to meet you, Laura. My name is David Meredith". 

"David?" she asked, incredulously. "How strange!"

"Why so?"

"I was just thinking that you reminded me of the sculpture of David by Donatello. You know, the one in the Uffizi".

"I'm not sure that I do. My folks sent me here to study Renaissance art, but I'm afraid I prefer more modern works. I'm proving to be a pretty poor student." 

She smiled at how he pronounced 'stoodent'. "So where are you from?"

"My folks have a place in New York where they tend to live for most of the year, but I hate the climate there. I spend most of my time in their house in Santa Monica. I've been studying fine art at UCLA, but this semester I've been encouraged to study the works at first hand here in Italy".

"And have you learned a lot?"

"Oh yeah! I've learned that Italians drive atrociously, that it rains a lot in Winter, that you have to walk a lot in Venice and that Italian girls are some of the prettiest in the World."

"Don't let my friend Gabriella hear you say that. She's conceited enough already." Laura thought about the effect that Gabriella might have on David if he saw her. The brazen tart was showing off her insanely long legs in black patterned stockings and suspenders, visible below the hem of her almost indecently short skirt. The bodice of her black satin dress worked like a corset to push her full, olive skinned breasts up and almost out. Only her long black cloak rendered her sufficiently decent to not outrage everyone at the event, but even then, her long, black lustrous hair, huge eyes and sensuous mouth were enough to turn heads without even a glimpse of the impressive body below. Best to steer David well clear of her.

Laura's outfit was modest by comparison. A tight-fitting silk sheath in a soft russet colour offset her pale complexion and spiky blonde hair quite dramatically The neckline plunged between her modest but firm breasts, and the 'Cinderella-style' zigzag cut of the skirt gave tantalising flashes of her slim thighs. Revealing as it was, it was meant to be sexily elegant compared to the incitement to riot that her fiery Italian friend was wearing that night. A black velvet choker set with pearls, ankle-strap high heels set with pearls (that were beginning to hurt) and a matching half-face mask with freshwater pearl trim (essential in Carnivale week) completed the outfit.

"I'm more interested in you -- and your work." He held her gaze for long enough to understand that his interests were not academic. "Can you tell me a bit about your paintings? And also, I've been dying to ask - is that picture over there of you?"

The picture in question was one of Angelo's many nude studies of her, Gabriella or both of them. They sold very well, mostly to wealthy old men who probably masturbated over them. Angelo's figurative work was coyly erotic -- at least the works he put into exhibitions. One or two of the works back at the villa bordered on the pornographic, as he regularly painted his two muses 'at play'. A modelling session would begin with an almost classically-posed diorama, from which he'd make some cursory sketches. He would then encourage them to relax, get close, enjoy the touch of each other's skin -- and before anyone knew it, she and Gabriella would be engaged in some very steamy lesbian activity. Angelo's brushes would move like lightning, capturing the essence of the activity before him, and he'd usually insist on at least a blow-job at the end of the session, as the girls would have got him very excited. Several of the finished works adorned the bedroom they usually shared.

The picture David was admiring was tame by comparison, but still quite erotic in its own right. Laura stared challengingly from the canvas, her pert breasts thrust towards the viewer, more than a hint of the smooth cleft between her legs as she stood, body bending a little in a soft, sinuous curve, holding a flower in one hand, spreading its petals suggestively with her fingers. Laura had been a little surprised when Angelo had insisted on exhibiting it -- and an equally charged one of Gabriella at the other end of the room. He had said that they would fetch a good price, and the girls had been a little hurt that he would be prepared to part with such intimate portraits of them.

"Beautiful -- beautiful picture. Shame I can't buy it", David said admiringly. 

"Why -- how much is Angelo asking for it?" Laura asked.

"It's not for sale," David said, pointing to the label next to the picture.

So, the old goat was showing off to his public. 'Look!' he was saying, 'I have two beautiful young mistresses. You can see how beautiful and sexy they are. And like Renoir, I paint with my prick!' And he certainly did -- and when he did, the result was usually a masterpiece, although she and Gabriella often had to shower off the 'paint' afterwards!

She looked again at David -- tall, slim, graceful and clearly very taken with her. She imagined his elegant, coltish body entwined with hers. It was a very attractive image. Then someone broke her reverie as she barged past, jabbering loudly to her friends in rather slurred Italian, oblivious to the fact that she'd almost spilt Laura's drink over her.

"It's getting a little loud in here, don't you think?" David said, eyeing the departing woman and her party with some distaste. "Should we go somewhere a little quieter?"

"Where would you like to go?" asked Laura, looking him in the eye somewhat suggestively.

"Well, I'm staying in a little Palazzo off the Strada Nova. It's not far from here."

"So -- back to your room?" she asked, with a note of challenge in her voice.

"Laura, I..." he smiled. "I assure you, my intentions are honourable". He bowed a little, bringing his face quite close to hers.

"Shame," she replied, almost nonchalantly. "I was rather hoping you were suggesting we fuck."

She smiled at the look of surprise on his face, followed by a conspiratorial grin. "Wait here a moment," she said.

Not far away in the crowd she spotted Gabriella. "I probably won't be coming to bed tonight. I've met someone. See you in the morning -- maybe later!"

Gabriella's big eyes widened further. "Who?" She glanced over Laura's shoulder and saw David. "Ah, I see! Well, when you've finished with him, bring what's left back for me -- I could use some amusement. I'm sure Angelo won't be delighted that you'll be fucking someone else, but I'll let you get away before I tell him"

Laura kissed her friend. "Thanks my love. I'll see what I can do about giving you a share -- but it may be a while!"

She grabbed her cloak and bag from the cloakroom. At the door, she turned to David. "I'm warning you; I can't walk far in these heels"

"The ferry's just at the end of this lane. Just 2 minutes' walk."

The weather was mild. It had rained, and the cobbles glistened in the lamplight that was everywhere. The streets were still thronged with costumed, masked revellers. After a few yards, David took her arm and steered her under a dark archway, pulling her close and kissing her passionately. She could feel the warmth, the hardness of his body under his archaic clothes. The kiss was soft, passionate. It took her breath away. He reached inside her cloak and cupped a breast, and her nipple hardened against his palm.

"Not here" she said, pulling back reluctantly from the kiss. "Be a gentleman, treat me like a lady -- at least until we're naked!" She treated him to her saucy grin, and could read the lust in his expression, despite the mask.

They just managed to get onto the gondola-style ferry before it left, and disembarked close to the Ca' d'Oro. Across the Strada Nova and down a narrow lane they went, his arm around her. Through an arch into a pretty courtyard garden, lit with hidden spotlights. The concierge wished them goodnight as they stumbled into the lift. As the doors closed, David held her close and kissed her again. At the third floor, the doors opened, and they almost ran across the hall to his room. As he fumbled with the keys she could feel the pent up excitement they shared. The tingling moistness between her legs was becoming an itch begging to be scratched.

The room was not overly large, but it was warm and had a pleasant canal view and a small balcony through the large French window. She crossed to the window and admired the scene outside, complete with more masked revellers, before turning back to survey the room properly. The bed was a four-poster, with lovely drapes. David switched on some soft lighting and locked the door. She took off her cloak and placed it on the chair, setting her bag down at the bedside. He hung his own cloak on a peg inside the door.

"No -- leave the hat on, and the mask" she said as he made to remove it. He grinned and took off the jerkin, and started to unbutton his shirt. 

"I'll have to take it off to get the shirt off"

"OK, but put it back on again"

"Deal. But first, I'd like you to remove your panties"

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"I thought you said you wanted to fuck?"

"Sure, but I can't remove my panties because I'm not wearing any. I haven't for nearly two years -- Angelo doesn't approve of them, or pubic hair for that matter." She waited for a moment for that information to sink in, before slowly hitching up her hemline to her waist. "See?"

His gaze was fixed on her naked, smooth pussy, and after a moment he took a step toward her.

"Stop! Firstly I want you to undo your breeches. Good. Now let me see your -- oh yes.... Oh yes!"

His cock wasn't the largest she'd seen, probably not quite as big as Angelo's, but most importantly it was hard, up-curved, circumcised and with a nice, bulbous head. It was pulsing a little as she watched. She just hoped he knew how to use it. Now naked from mouth to crotch, David's body was just as good as she'd hoped. Smooth, well-muscled, a tight six-pack and good, broad shoulders. In his current pose, with his legs still covered and his hat and mask on, he looked a little like a priapic statue of some ancient pagan deity -- perhaps Pan, with legs of a goat and a wicked sense of fun.

"Take off your dress." It was an order, rather than a request, and she complied, sliding the shoulder straps down her arms, peeling the garment past her slim hips and off, standing naked but for her mask, her choker and her shoes

"OK, so you've got me nearly naked. Take off your breeches and boots."

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled off the long boots and peeled off the breeches. As he did so, she surveyed the firm young body she was about to enjoy. He looked very, very good. As he cast aside his clothes and stood up, she stepped closer and reached out to touch him. His skin was smooth and darkly tanned, his muscles hard and beautifully sculpted. She ran her fingers lightly over his shoulders, his firm pectorals, his tight stomach muscles. She couldn't resist cupping his cock in her hand, stroking its rigid length and feeling the velvety flesh of the head and the stickiness of his juices.

In turn, he stroked her hair, ran his nails tantalisingly down her arms, then gently cupped her breasts. As his palms brushed her nipples, she felt the tingle not only in her breasts but between her legs. He leaned forward and kissed her mouth, so soft, gentle, erotic. He gently sucked at her lower lip, then moved down to nibble and lick her neck, then her earlobes. This boy knew a thing or two about foreplay.

As his hands and mouth roamed her skin, she continued to stroke his cock, moving her other hand around to feel and squeeze his buttock. It was hard, like his cock. This was truly like caressing a living, breathing statue. Donatello's sculpture had always intrigued her with its erotic grace; she had had several fantasies and dreams about it. Now she held a version of it, made from firm living flesh. And it -- he -- was going to fuck her. It was her fantasy come true.

David's clever, roaming fingers finally focused on her slit, and she cried out in delight as a long, slender digit slipped into the cleft and stroked her clit. He bent forward and licked, then sucked a nipple, and she began to moan out loud. He knew what he was doing. His fingers were stirring up quite amazing sensations, and in her currently aroused state, she knew that she would soon come this way. However, this wasn't how she wanted it; she needed to delay things.

She slid down onto her knees, pulling the head of his cock towards her mouth, licking it from based to tip. She treated his shaft and balls to her best tongue-bath, moving her mouth softly along both sides, teasing the head with her lips and tongue, savouring the salty pre-cum. He let out a low, throaty moan as she swirled her tongue around the hard, velvety head, teasing its rim with her lips. After a minute or so of this tantalising, she stood up and said "Take off your mask and get on the bed." 

David looked even more beautiful without the mask. His big blue eyes and straight nose were now properly visible, and the proportions of his face were, to Laura's mind, perfect. He lay on one elbow, gazing at her as she removed her shoes and her own mask and climbed onto the bed.

They kissed passionately, and once again she savoured the feel of his smooth skin and firm muscles as she stroked his arms and chest, and he held her and caressed her, gently cupping her small, firm breasts and teasing her hardening nipples. Then she slowly kissed her way down his body, turning around to straddle his face as she lowered her own mouth once more onto his cock. This time she opened wide and slowly, wetly, swallowed most of his length, delighting in the extended, lustful moan this act elicited from him. Moments later she was also forced to moan loudly, albeit stifled by a mouthful of cock, as his tongue traced a tantalising spiral path around her outer lips, into her slit and onto her clit. Lapping and probing, sucking and nibbling, he showed her that he also had some pretty good oral skills. 

She was in heaven, her pussy boiling with delicious sensations as he introduced first one, then two fingers into her pussy, still using his skilled mouth to excellent effect. He teased her g-spot with his fingers, alternately using his tongue and his thumb to tease her clit. He swirled his tongue over her perineum, and then treated her to a delightful few minutes rimming her tight bum-hole. Then she felt him use the long index finger of his other hand to probe that hole, deeply, wetted by his saliva and her own gushing juices. The combination of his tongue, his fingers in both her holes and his thumb on her clit made her come -- strongly, almost violently, her hips bucking with the sudden mass of delicious sensations.

The intensity of her orgasm almost made her bite down on his cock. All the while he had been savouring and probing her pussy, she had been demonstrating the oral skills that had gained the praises of Angelo -- and one or two others. She had learned how to control the gag, how to relax her jaw and her throat, to open wide and press the head of a cock into her throat, to cover her teeth, to present just soft wetness, the friction of tongue and lips, to the hard but tender flesh. Now David had enjoyed all of her best technique. She loved the sense of power that giving head provided her with, and the 69 position allowed her to control her lover's orgasm, reducing her ability to stimulate the most sensitive parts of his cock and so delaying his orgasm. Perhaps because of this, few of the recipients of her oral skills had been able to resist fucking her mouth, plundering the tightness of her throat, in the final throes of their lust. In the right mood, the strongest level of her lust, she even enjoyed this.




Venice, February 1996



David seemed reluctant to partake in this form of erotic abuse, so as her own orgasm subsided, she squeezed his buttocks hard and pressed his cock repeatedly as deep as it would go into her mouth. Seconds later, he cried out and she felt, rather than tasted, the thick spurts of semen as they burst into her open throat. She gulped, and withdrew him slightly to offer him the services of her tongue and the suction of his mouth, and to taste his spicy, salty juices.

She extracted his slowly-softening cock from her mouth and climbed gingerly off the bed. She grabbed two bottles of water from the mini-bar and passed one back to him, opened the other and took a long swig. "I find the taste of cum makes me very thirsty." She passed him a tissue from the bedside. "Here -- you'll want to wipe your face."

She took another swig of water, put the bottle down and lay back down on the bed. He took her in his arms and kissed her softly. "I can still taste my cum on your lips", he said.

Laura licked around his mouth. "And I can still taste my juices on you. You came really strongly. Are you able to handle some more yet?"

"You betcha. I'm ready when you are, ma'am" he grinned back at her.

She reached for her bag and extracted a condom from the pack of 'supplies' she always carried around. (Though Angelo never used them, having had a vasectomy years earlier, he encouraged his girls to carry them in case of encounters such as tonight's, which he freely encouraged). She suspected she would not need the lubricant or mini vibrator that were also there.

"First let's clean you up a little more" she said, sliding down his body -- savouring the feel as she went -- and taking another big mouthful of his cock. Again, she tasted his cum as his almost-hard organ filled her mouth. A few wet strokes up and down and he was fully erect. Still teasing the head of his cock with her lips & tongue, she tore open the condom wrapper, and initially gripping the rubber teat between her teeth, she slowly unrolled the rubber onto him with her mouth.

Then she sat up, straddled his body and slowly, slowly began to impale herself on the erect organ, all the while looking at his gorgeous face and sexy young body. God it felt so good. She prolonged the enjoyment as long as she could, relishing the stretch, the fullness, the friction on her g-spot, before coming to rest, against his body. His soft pubic hair brushed her open pussy lips and tantalised her clit. He moved his hands up from her hips, where he had been steadying her descent onto him, up to her breasts, gently kneading the firm flesh. She placed her hands on his firm chest muscles and began to slowly ride his cock, maintaining the gyrating, rocking motion that men loved and that usually got her off. Each time she rose up his length, she squeezed her pussy tight, sucking him hard the way Angelo had taught her.

They were gazing into each others' eyes, she admiring the beautiful sculpted features of his face and the look of lustful pleasure she had brought to it. "You're so beautiful -- and so tight!" He sighed. "Wow, I've had virgins who were no tighter than you, and you're no virgin, babe."

"Oh no!" she smiled back. "Not for a while. And I've had plenty of practice. And so have you, I think". He just smiled, gently tweaking her nipples before sliding his hand down so that his thumb could strum her clit. Oooh, yes!

And so she rode him, her vagina hungrily devouring his cock as her eyes hungrily devoured his face and body. They were soon both covered in a sheen of perspiration, and making increasingly more passionate noises. Gasps of "Oh yes!", "Right there baby, yes - right there!", "Oh God that's good!" and "Fuck me!" permeated the air. She steadily increased the speed and intensity of her movements, fucking herself harder on his hard rod, and he moved both hands down so he could tease her clit while snaking an arm behind to play with her perineum and tight arsehole.

And then she knew she was about to come again. She leaned backwards, pressing on his slick probing finger, forcing it past the tight sphincter, exploiting the upward curve of his cock to maximise the pressure on her g-spot, angling her pussy up so that his thumb could sweep and swirl over her clit. She was riding now with a rapid, jerky rhythm, forcing him deep on each descent, savouring the friction as she rose up high.

And she came. In a torrent of sensation, her cunt and arse contracted around his cock and finger, her clit seemed to swell and throb in tempo with sharp, tingling sensations in her nipples. All through her abdomen she could feel the waves of contractions, and her body seemed to jerk like a marionette's. She let out a long, incoherent moan and slumped forward, gasping for air.

Now David took up the rhythm, thrusting upwards more forcefully than he had as she rode him. She tried to match him, but she was spent, her thighs ached from the ride, and she found herself clinging on as he fucked her hard from below. Just when she thought she would get sore, he let out a long low moan and she felt him twitch and throb inside her. She gripped him tight with her strong cunt muscles and his cry became almost one of pain, his back arched up, lifting her off the bed as he strove to bury himself as deep inside her as he could go.

And then he dropped back onto the bed, and she collapsed onto his chest. They both started laughing uncontrollably. Their orgasms had been so intense that it was almost a relief when they subsided. Surrounded by his strong arms, pressed to his lean, smooth body, his hot mouth on hers, basking in the afterglow of two powerful orgasms, Laura was in heaven.

They lay like that for a while, as their heart rates and breathing returned to normal. "Laura, you're a fantastic fuck", David said at last.

"You're not so bad yourself" she replied, smiling blissfully. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting a bit cold lying here all sweaty. Fancy a shower?"

The shower was warm and refreshing, and they spent some time soaping each other's bodies, using the shower-head to stimulate each other with the water jets, and kissing, caressing and generally fooling around in the warm flood. By the time they were towelling each other dry, admiring and stroking each other's bodies, they were both highly aroused.

Then in a fluid movement he swept her up in his arms and carried her back into the bedroom, lowering her carefully onto the bed. He kissed her tenderly on her lips, then started kissing and licking her face -- her eyes, her ears, her cheeks, her neck, then across her shoulders and licking down her inner arms. He licker her armpits, which tickled a little but felt sexy, then trailed his tongue wetly across her breasts and nipples. He followed the path of his tongue with his fingers, caressing her inner arms and then her breasts as his mouth moved lower. As his tongue traced and probed her navel, then trailed lower between her soft lower lips, she gasped and her body shivered in delight. But after a few minutes of delicious licking and probing, she knew what she needed most. 

She reached once more into her bag and grabbed another condom. Her other hand lightly stroked his hair, then gently pulled his head back. He smiled up at her, his mouth and chin slick with her juices. "What's up? Am I missing the spot?"

"Not at all -- it's beautiful. But I need you to put this on" -- she handed him the condom - "and the hat -- and fuck me. I want your gorgeous body on me and in me -- now, please."

He knelt up between her legs so she could admire his beautiful, sculpted physique. He tore open the wrapper, swiftly rolled the rubber sheath over his long up-curved cock, and then retrieved the hat from the floor by the bed. "And the mask?" he asked.

"No thanks, just the hat. God, you look just like the Donatello statue -- or how he'd look if Donatello had given him a nice, long stiff prick." She giggled. "Who knows, perhaps Donatello really did give the model a stiff prick, but he probably needed the boy to bend over for it!"

"So what do you want me to do with the stiff pick you've given me, ma'am?"

"Why don't you stick it in my cunt, you naughty, naughty boy?"

"Why ma'am, that's a very naughty thing to say!" He pronounced it 'notty', and Laura giggled again.

"That's because I'm really a dirty slut who wants to be fucked. Is that a problem, Mr Statue-Man?"

"Not at all, ma'am. Pass me a pillow"

He slid back off the end of the bed, placed a pillow on the end of the mattress, and then grabbed her legs just above the knees and dragged her to him, lifting her buttocks onto the pillow and spreading her legs in one smooth display of his strength.

"Ooh, you big, forceful -- AAH!" she began, and was cut short by a powerful thrust of his cock, filling her instantly to the hilt. Holding her legs wide open, he thrust repeatedly and almost brutally into her. Even as she writhed and bucked under his onslaught on her open wet pussy, she was admiring how his six-pack rippled, how his slim hips twisted and swung. Here was Donatello's innocent shepherd-boy, slim, sinuous, sweet-faced, his broad-brimmed hat surrounding his head like a saintly halo, fucking her in the most intense, lustful fashion. And all the while he was whispering luscious obscenities as if to further emphasise the contrast with his innocent looks.

"So the cute little slut wants her cunt full of cock. OK - take my dick, slut. Is that hard enough for you? Is that deep enough?"

His hands moved up her slim thighs and pressed her further open, his thumbs once again focused on her clit. And he tipped her over the edge again. Her body bucked uncontrollably as his cock kept pounding into her wide open, gushing vagina, his thumbs forcing her clit out of its hood, pressing and strumming it almost to the point of pain. And he kept on fucking her with hard, frantic thrusts, for at least another minute, gasping and gritting his teeth.

Just when she thought she was getting too sore to continue, David pulled out and dropped to the bed beside her. "Sorry baby", he said at last when his breathing had returned to something like normal. "It felt fantastic, but I just couldn't come. Maybe we should try again a little later?"

"Poor sweetie." She kissed him passionately. "I think I'm a bit sore for that right now -- you really were a very passionate young man! But I have an idea you might like. Give me a moment."

She jumped up, grabbed her handbag and headed for the bathroom. David got up and strolled over to the balcony windows. Outside, across the small canal, under the portico of a semi-derelict building opposite, he could just make out some figures in the strong moonlight. As he watched, he realised that it was a group of masked revellers, clearly intent on continuing their revels. There were two couples. One guy was standing with his back to a pillar while a woman knelt before him. He couldn't see exactly what she was doing because the man's cloak wrapped around them both, but from the rhythmic bobbing of the woman's head, he has a pretty good idea. The other woman had her back to the wall, and her long skirt was bunched up as her companion's arm disappeared beneath it, and he was kissing her neck and (it appeared) also feeling in the bodice of her dress. Judging by the look on her face, she seemed to be enjoying what he was doing.

Laura emerged from the bathroom, and David indicated the scene below. Laura watched for a few moments, then said "get your cloak, mask & hat on". She went to the bedside, put on her shoes & mask and threw her cloak around her. "Open the window, switch the light on and follow me" she said, and David, puzzled, did as she asked.

Laura stepped out onto the balcony. The air had turned a little chillier now that the clouds had cleared, but it was still relatively mild for February. The couples opposite had spotted her, and were hurriedly adjusting themselves and preparing to leave, when she said in her best, posh Italian "Greetings, my Lords and Ladies! May the spirit of Carnivale be with you. Please don't go! We have been enjoying your little show, and hoped you might enjoy ours." The couples stopped their hurried fumbling and moved to the stone balustrade by the canalside to get a better look. "I'm afraid you'll have to watch us through the window, as it's too cold for us to perform out here, but I think you'll enjoy it nonetheless. My name is Petronella, and this is my good friend Donatello. He has a lovely body." She turned to David. "Pull your cloak back, David" she said softly in English. He did so, opening it wide like a superhero's cape. The two women below made appreciative noises. Laura turned back to her audience, and resumed in Italian. "As you can see, he also has a nice hard cock" - she reached out a hand to stroke it, allowing her own cloak to fall open -- "which he has used on me several times tonight already. For our finale, he is now going to fuck my arse with it. I've prepared for him already."

She turned so that she presented a profile view, then pulled the cloak back to expose her body. One of the men below wolf-whistled. She reached around and slowly extracted the long pink plug she had inserted into her anus. She relished the pull on the inside of her sphincter as the thick end of the tapered device slid reluctantly out. Having withdrawn it halfway, she re-inserted it, then withdrew it again, to further whistles from below, stirring up some delicious sensations.

She turned to face her audience, holding the plug in front of her face to show its length. "And now, my dear nobles, Donatello and I must now repair inside, for it is cold and my arse is now empty and in need of his hot cock. We will endeavour to ensure that you have the best possible view of our mutual pleasures. We regret we cannot invite you in to join us in our merry-making, but if you would like to indulge in similar pastimes as you watch, please be our guests. Goodnight, dear people."

With that, she curtsied (to further whistles), and she and David went inside and shut the window. The warmth of the room was pleasant after the cold night air, and they both removed their cloaks. She put the butt-plug down and adjusted a nearby cheval mirror so they could see themselves as they stood in the window alcove.

"What did you say to them? I couldn't keep up? The show with the butt-plug was pretty cool."

"I told them that we were going to put on a show for them, as they had entertained us. I explained that we are going to stand in the window and that you are going to fuck my arse -- my ass, as you would call it." She smiled coquettishly at him. His eyes widened and his grin broadened.

Checking that their audience were still looking, she placed her hands on the wall beside the window, spread her legs, hollowed her back and stuck her bum out. "OK, David, time to fuck my arse." She pronounced it in a very correct, English school-marm manner. "Put some more lube on and slide your cock in nice and slow."

David positioned himself behind her, checked the mirror, took hold of her hips and positioned his cock against her sphincter. He turned his head to face the audience, then began to push. It was as well that he was very hard, as despite the stretch that the plug had achieved, she was still extremely tight. He pushed harder, and she pushed back against him. Slowly the tip of his cock began to prise the tight sphincter open. Laura gasped, pushed back again -- and suddenly he was in. She could feel the tight ring of flesh mould to the end of his cock, stretching just enough to allow the bulbous head through, then snapping back tightly around the shaft.

"Stop! Stop there for a moment. Now, pull back just a little -- ooh yes. I love the pull on the inside of my ring when you do that. Now -- slowly in. Let me adjust to your thickness. Mmmm. OK, a little further. Yes. A little deeper. Now back a little. Almost pull out -- let me feel the stretch. Ah! Yes!"

She kept up a series of commands until David had got the technique, then concentrated on enjoying the experience. She checked the view in the mirror of David's tight body twisting sinuously and his nice long cock sliding in and out of her tight hole. She glanced out of the window, and was delighted to see that both the women in their audience were leaning on the stone balustrade with their long skirts bunched up, while their men were fucking them from behind. It was impossible to know whether the penetration was anal or vaginal, but she hoped that at least one of the women could be feeling what she was feeling now.

Having established a rhythm, David released her hips and reached around to slip his long fingers into her slit, and she realised how wet she had become. He started rubbing her clit in earnest, and then cupped her breast with his other hand, squeezing her nipple between her fingers.

Laura was in heaven. She loved the sheer naughtiness of anal sex, which Angelo had introduced her to and tutored her in until it was a natural pleasure to her. Added to the joy of fucking the most gorgeous boy she'd ever seen, who was stimulating her clit and nipples in a very satisfactory manner, in front of an audience, and being able to watch it all in the mirror, she was soon on the verge of coming. But she knew that David had been unable to come the last time he'd fucked her, and her arse would get sore even sooner than her cunt if he carried on too long. She looked at the mirror and gauged from his expression that he was not too far from the edge.

"Come on baby, fuck my arse" she moaned. She hoped that this encouragement would take him over the edge. "Stick your cock right in. Fuck it hard. Oh God, it feels so big in my arse. Go on you beautiful arse fucker. I want to feel you cum deep in my arse."

Moments later, he obliged her. She felt his cock pulse violently, and he cried out loudly and passionately. At the same time, he thrust in hard, squeezing her nipple tightly and rubbing her clit even more furiously. She looked in the mirror again, and the sights, the sounds and the sensations overwhelmed her. David moaned again as he felt her tight sphincter grip him even tighter in a series of powerful spasms as she started to come. Both of them were moaning as if in pain -- indeed, some of the sensations were almost painful in their intensity. Her whole abdomen seemed to be pulsing and throbbing, and little stabs of pleasure-pain flashed between her clit and her nipples. It was divine torment.

When it finally ended, she slumped against the wall, spent. She heard a noise from outside, and was aware that the 2 couples were applauding. She smiled. David slowly withdrew from her tight tunnel, and she turned to hug him. They kissed passionately. Then she grabbed a tissue, wrapped it round the condom and slid it off his softening cock. She then knelt down and took his cock in her mouth, swallowing it deep until her forehead touched his belly, the seed-pearls on the mask pressing into his flesh. She could hear the applause and catcalls even through the glass.

She got up, opened the window, and stepped into the chill air, curtseying, then turned to show her bumhole, stretched by David's cock. The other couples were making so much noise that lights started going on in adjacent rooms, so she and David blew kisses to their audience, then fled indoors, putting out the light. They shed their masks, Laura removed her shoes again, and they fell into bed, into each other's arms, and into sleep.

The phone rang only once before Gabriella picked it up. "So what have you been up to, puttanita? I hope you had a better night than me!" Laura was used to Gabriella's affectionate abuse by now. It wasn't the first time she'd been called 'little whore' by her friend; rather a case of pots and kettles, she always thought.

"Oh pretty good. 1005, 030, 03, 040." From across the room, David gave her a quizzical look, but she pressed on. "And we played to a group of revellers outside our window. They enjoyed it so much they did some fucking of their own!"




Venice, February 1996



Gabriella kept a diary, in which she had recorded all of her sexual exploits. She had invented a code early on to prevent people understanding what she was doing if it fell into the wrong hands. A blowjob was 1, a tit-fuck 2, a regular vaginal fuck 3, anal 4 and a pussy-licking 5. (She later added a 6 for a handjob, but rarely used it). A zero before the number meant that she had come. A zero after meant the man had. Thus 15 meant a bout of 69, and 1005 meant that both people had come. Laura picked up the code and found it useful in talking to Gabriella about sex without giving the game away. When Gabriella would say in a public place "Fancy some 5050?" no-one would realise that she was suggesting some mutual pussy licking.

"You lucky cow! I was about to go back to our room when Angelo told me he was going off with some actress he'd met who had effectively propositioned him. Well, there I was without even a pussy to lick. So I went and found one of the waiters -- you probably remember him, the blonde one with the floppy hair? I asked him if there was any champagne left, and told him to bring a bottle up to Angelo's room.

By the time he arrived I'd got out of my dress and just had on the stockings and garter belt, heels and mask. He was obviously impressed. He made some weak excuse and asked where Angelo was, but I told him just to shut up and open the bottle. When he did, I went into a shoulder-stand and told him to pour some into my pussy and lick it out. The wine went everywhere and it was cold, but at least he managed to make me come. I then got his trousers down, poured some champagne over him and sucked him for a bit. He wasn't very big, and I was going to suggest the back door route but he didn't really deserve my arse -- he was such a wimp. So I got him to fuck me doggy style, but he came too quickly and I had to use my own fingers to get off! My own fingers!!" She sounded outraged.

"So I kicked him out around 2. Anyway, at about 3:30, Angelo comes back in, and he's not in a good mood. He says to me 'Gabriella, is your arse ready?' Just like that! Not 'Ah, my darling Gabriella, have you missed me? Have you been lonely without me? Come here and let me hold you, sweetie.' No, none of that, just 'is your arse ready?' I told him I was clean (I'd douched it before the waiter arrived, just in case) but not lubed, and asked him what was wrong. He just said that the actress had refused him her tightest hole, claimed she was sore after only two fucks and was rubbish at blow jobs, so he had a hard-on like a telegraph pole and needed somewhere tight to stick it. 'And the tightest place I know is your little arse, my dear', he said. Well that was the nicest thing he said to me all evening, 'cos he then just pushed me over the end of the bed, stuck the lube tube up my bum and squeezed it -- Holy Mary it was cold -- then without another word shoved his cock in."

Gabriella was clearly into her subject and Laura could not even get a word in. "Well, you know me. I normally love it up the arse, but even with a lot of clit play it was a good 15 minutes before I came. Fortunately, Angelo wasn't far behind or I would have been too sore to move this morning. I suppose it was nice afterwards -- he finally did hold me close and was gentle and soothing and all that, but I did feel used, and not in a good way. I need you to get back here and share his cock, and make sure he doesn't go chasing after some other tart who'll leave him frustrated, or my arse is going to be worn out!"

"Sweetie, I'll be over later, but I'm a bit busy right now." She eyed David's lean body, fresh from the shower and with a hardening cock, and felt her mouth go dry and her pussy start to get wet. "If you're very good, I may bring you a present".

"Look, bitch. Angelo and me are having lunch at Ruffino's in San Marco, at 1:30. You can bring your little fuck toy with you if you like, but Angelo needs to see you again - probably with the boy, so that he gets jealous enough to realise what he needs and starts treating me right. Be there, or I'll never lick your pussy again!" The phone went dead.

Ruffino's was busy when they arrived. The plush, elegant Venetian interior was full of people, many in Carnivale costume, wanting to see and be seen. Mindful of this, in addition to the myriad of round tables in the centre, along the walls there were more private alcoves where diners could perhaps people-watch whilst retaining a modicum of their own privacy.

Angelo had, of course, managed to find a very secluded table in an alcove well away from the brash, "must be seen" crowds nearer the door. Laura had a momentary pang of jealousy when she saw the expressions on both Gabriella's and David's faces when they caught sight of each other; a hunger she realised must have been evident in her own face last night.

A smiling Angelo stood up and greeted her warmly, with an embrace and a kiss on the lips. As he turned to embrace David and shake his hand, Gabriella also got up, hugged Laura and kissed her quite passionately on the lips. "Now I see why you were out all night, you little whore!" she whispered in Laura's ear.

"Keep your hands off him, you tart! He's mine!" Laura whispered fiercely back.

"OK, I won't use my hands" Gabriella retorted.

"Gabriella, Laura, stop that whispering. Gabriella, say hello to David and let's sit down and eat -- I'm starving!" Angelo had his usual benign expression, but there was a slight edge to his voice. He ushered Laura into the booth first, opposite Gabriella, and then seated David opposite himself. He seemed eager to talk to the young man, though once seated, he leaned across the table towards her. "So, Laura." As always, he pronounced her name as if it almost rhymed with 'flower'. "Did you enjoy last night?" He arched an eyebrow, then cast a glance at David.

She refused to rise to his bait. "I thought the exhibition was fun at first, but it became boring pretty quickly. Too many dull, rich people who seemed more interested in ogling me than admiring my work."

"You shouldn't complain. Those 'dull, rich people', as you call them, have made us both a lot richer today. How much do you think we took for your work?"

"Oh, around $8,000 I think."

"Think again. Closer to nineteen"

"Nineteen thousand dollars? How? I mean..." She was aghast.

"After you left I sold two of your large works to a collector from Houston, together with a couple of mine. Gabriella can also take some credit. Some fat German with his tongue hanging out ended up parting with around $3,000 for one of your works, and he didn't even get to squeeze the young lady's delightful tits -- though he spent longer looking at them than at the painting he bought. I also managed to sell around $250,000-worth, so even with the cost of staging the exhibition, I'll probably easily clear two hundred. I was offered another fifty thousand for my two portraits of my delightful muses, but I declined. I found I couldn't bear to part with them. However, I've been given three commissions to paint some more, so as soon as we get back home, I need to get you both into the studio."

The waiter arrived, and Angelo scanned the menu and made his usual recommendations -- he always seemed to know what was best at any restaurant he frequented. They ordered, and Angelo called for champagne, a good Barolo and 2 bottles of San Pellegrino. He then turned to David and asked him about himself, his studies and how he was enjoying himself in Venice. David was polite and obviously seemed a bit overawed at sitting at a table in an expensive restaurant, discussing art with a famous artist. Somehow he managed to avoid ogling Gabriella, who as usual was flaunting her tits to the world in one of her wardrobe of tight, low-cut tops. 

Gabriella and Laura continued their earlier conversation in hushed whispers. As usual, Gabriella wanted to know every sordid detail, and Laura, feeling very pleased with herself (especially as she was still a little moist -- and sore -- from a further energetic fuck that morning) kept her friend amused. However, she was still a little wary. She guessed that the fiery Italian was not above stealing an attractive guy from her arms -- or in this case, from between her legs -- if he was handsome enough and Gabriella was sufficiently hungry. Looking at her friend's expression, Laura could see that her friend was ravenous -- and not just for food.

The meal came and went, with several courses of excellent food and some similarly-memorable wine, whilst Angelo seemed to be deep in conversation with David. After an hour or so, David got up to use the toilet, and once he had gone, Laura asked Angelo about his interest in her new friend.

"Laura my dear, I wanted to find out more about the boy, to see whether he was suitable". 

"I didn't think he was your type."

"Well, you know," he said in the matter-of-fact tone he often used when winding her up, "I've had boys before, though I much prefer girls -- it gives you a wider choice of holes. But boys -- the more experienced ones -- usually give better blow jobs. Of course, if you have a girl -- or two -- that you've trained yourself, then you may find that they're even better." He smiled at her expression -- she was used to his little games and put on an air of bored tolerance. "But no, my interest in him is not sexual -- at least not for me -- but rather finding out what sort of a man he is and whether he will be good or bad for my Laura."

"So you're not jealous?"

"Jealous? Why should I be? I have enjoyed you in almost every possible way over these past two years. You have learned much, though I think you still have more to learn, and if you choose to leave me now for this pretty boy, I would consider it a privilege to have had the use of your body and your mind. It is your life to lead, and I am just one of many teachers you will encounter on your journey, as you -- and Gabriella -- are among my teachers."

He leaned a little closer, and his tone became more serious. "However, Laura, I would be on your guard. This boy claims a lot of things, but I do not believe him. He says he's here on an art scholarship from his college. He knows nothing of the great classical painters -- he barely knows Leonardo or Michelangelo, let alone Bellini, Fra Angelico, Caravaggio or the rest. He says that his background is in the modern schools, but when I ask him to talk about works he loves, he has no understanding of any of them -- Dali, Picasso and so on - and seems largely unaware of people like Giacometti, Klee, Mondrian, Ernst, Pollock, Calder, even that fraud Rothko. He is very vague about his parents and where their money comes from, and although he claims to be studying at UCLA, he has only a sketchy knowledge of the campus. I gave some lectures there a few years ago, and I know more about it than he does. Laura, my dear, I think the boy is a fraud. A pretty one, I grant you, but a fake nonetheless."

Laura was dumbstruck. "You're only saying this because you don't want an attractive man to fuck me!" she blurted out. Her voice was a little louder than she had intended, and several people on nearby tables looked round at them.

"No Laura," he replied patiently, "as far as I am concerned, you, Gabriella and I can fuck who we like and it's no business of anyone else. What I don't want is for you to become attached to someone who is no good for you. Everything we do in life is a lesson, but I really care for you and I would prefer yours to be positive ones, not regrets. I get a bad feeling about this boy, so fuck him as much as you like, but don't fall in love with him."

"Angelo, I'm not going to fall in love with him. He's just a pretty fuck" she said, remembering this time to lower her voice, even though her tone was earnest.

"You really believe that? When I saw your face, the way you held hands when you entered the restaurant, the looks you exchanged -- no, you are already besotted with this boy and half-way in love, and I'm worried that he will use you. He is focusing entirely on you. You may not think that's a bad thing, but I can read the signs. Gabriella is flaunting her tits at him, and he has barely given her a second glance. Why is that, do you think?"

"It's because he only fancies me!" Laura replied, a little wounded.

"No. He fancies Gabriella as well, as any man with a cock would, but he's putting on an act so you'll believe that he's devoted to you. It's an act, my dear Laura. Please, be on your guard!"

When David returned to the table, the atmosphere seemed a little cooler. Gabriella kept trying to flirt, and dropping hints that she knew what he and Laura had been up to; "It was a bit cold out on the balcony last night, I believe," and "It's hard to be discreet at Carnivale time. Sometimes you just have to slip in through the back door," but apart from a raised eyebrow, David didn't react. However, glancing down at David's lap, Laura was sure he had a serious hard-on. Whether that was from the memories of last night that Gabriella was stirring up or the full-on assault from the brunette's eyes, lips and tits that he was experiencing, she couldn't tell. She was just glad that her friend and her new lover -- did she really think that word? -- were not sitting opposite each other, or she felt sure that he would by now be experiencing caresses of that swollen organ under the table from Gabriella's hand or surprisingly-flexible foot.

Eventually, she made her excuses and she and David went back to his hotel. Angelo told her to be back at the hotel in two days to pack her things as they were returning to the Villa. In the meantime, he gave her a thick wad of Lira notes - 'an advance on your earnings from the exhibition' -- and told her to buy some new clothes. "You look a little out of place in the cocktail dress. And hire a proper Carnivale costume if you can still find one. I got one for Gabriella so she wouldn't be walking around half-naked, but she doesn't seem to want to wear it."

She and David returned to the hotel, and spent the rest of that day and most of the night having sex. At times they were wild and passionate, at others soft and romantic. It was sublime. David then suggested they should go back to LA so he could resume his studies, and maybe she could paint and sell some of her work in the chi-chi galleries in Venice Beach and Carmel. By the following morning, she had decided. Despite Angelo's misgivings, she was going to the USA with her dream boy.



Venice in August



 Venice in August 

 By Denham Forrest, The Wanderer 

 My thanks go to PapaGus and Deryk for assisting me in preparing this story for posting. 

 Venice in August 

I'd wandered away from the cathedral entrance, wondering what the hell I was doing there anyway. It was the third day of our holiday, and my two daughters had taken their spouses inside to enjoy the splendour of the old building. And the coolness of the air, I should imagine. 

I didn't want to go inside the building myself. I'd seen it all too many times before and like most of the city, it held too many memories for me. 

Quite honestly I didn't want to be in Italy at all, let alone Venice and even less so, St Marks Square. For some reason Venice, especially the famous Piazza, had been Mary's most favourite spot in the whole damned world. Okay, Venice had been the city we'd spent our honeymoon in, but I'd never thought it necessary for us to return to the city almost every other year. 

Mary must have thought it was romantic, I suppose; she loved the place. I'll admit that I kind-a liked the city myself. Christ, I was so familiar with the place by then, it was something like coming home again; Mary and I had visited the city so often. 

But for me personally, it wasn't the city itself; the fascination for me had always been the woman I was with when I visited.

But I'd lost Mary some five years before, and with her going the city had lost most of its charm for me. I have no idea what possessed the girls and their husbands to book this holiday, or even why I had -- after a lot of cajoling -- agreed to come along with them.

Yeah, neither of my sons had visited the city before, but my two girls knew the place almost as intimately as I did. So their story, of me playing tour guide didn't really hold water. But when I put that argument up, all I got was: 

"Oh dad, you haven't been away since mother passed on. It's time you got out and did something. Besides you like Venice, it'll cheer you up no end, to get back there."

I honestly do not believe my daughters had thought that one through properly. Venice without Mary was hardly likely to cheer me up, now was it? 

Anyway eventually, and against my better judgement, I'd agreed to go with them.

-----

Telling them I'd meet them in one of the many pavement café's that surround St Marks Square, after they'd had their fill of the cathedral, I took a stroll up one side of the Piazza under the colonnade, or whatever you call the bloody thing. I think I was intending to walk back down the other side, but I noted that the sun was still partly finding its way under there, so I turned back the way I came. Just stopping for a moment to gaze in the window of a little jewellery store and remembering when I'd bought Mary a necklace she'd spotted in there one time, long before.

As I gazed into the window, I became aware that I could see a young child with incredibly large eyes reflected in the glass. She could only have been about five or six years old and for some inexplicable reason she appeared to be studying me with great interest.

Slightly embarrassed, I turned and smiled at the child. I have no idea why, maybe I thought that me looking at her, might drive the little girl away. No chance, the little girl continued to study me rolling her head this way and that, and then looking me up and down. Very curious behaviour I thought, and I wondered whether I'd suddenly sprouted horns or a tail or something.

Then suddenly a slightly older child, another girl, probably eight years of age, appeared by the little one's side. I figured an older sister. After exchanging a couple of words in Italian with her sister, she took hold of the little one's hand, then dragged the protesting smaller child away.

I probably smiled to myself, remembering how I'd seen my two girls studying something in the same manner, as the little girl had stared at me when they were young. I just could not imagine what the little girl had found so enthralling about me and cursed myself for not picking up more of the language over the years. 

Then I made my way back along the colonnade to one of the pavement cafés nearer the Cathedral's entrance, so that my family would not have too much trouble locating me. 

Picking a table that I thought would remain in the shade for a little while at least, I ordered a pot of tea and a couple of rounds of toast, pulled out the paperback I'd been reading and settled back to lose myself in it until the family showed up.

A short while later, I was reaching for the second slice of toast when something caught my eye. Just on the other side of the barrier that separated the many pavement cafés from each other and leaning against it was the little dark haired girl with the big green eyes again. What's more, standing beside her and also staring intently at me, was her larger sister. 

I smiled -- I suppose slightly embarrassed to find myself the centre of their attention yet again -- then sat back wondering what the hell the children found so fascinating about a middle-aged Englishman and nibbled at my toast, while I tried to get back into my book.

Yes, it did cross my mind that they might be hungry. We've all seen those pictures of staving children from around the world on TV. But I was in Italy for Chri'sake, and those two young girls did not look at all underfed to me. 

"Surely they've seen people eating buttered toast before?" was the one salient thought that crossed my mind.

I suppose... well, maybe ten minutes must have passed, while I nibbled at my toast and tried to pretend that I was reading my book. And keeping an eye on the two little girls out of the corner of my eye at the same time. Neither moved or said anything to me, or each other.

Then I heard a female voice talking in Italian and both girls' attention moved from me to the lady. Actually at the time, I wasn't completely sure it was their mother, as she didn't really look old enough, and at first had hazarded a guess that she might have been a much older sister. There was a distinct and unmistakable resemblance between them, that for some inexplicable reason I found familiar.

Later I discovered that my guess was wrong and that the woman was their mother. But she looked to me, much younger than both of my own daughters.

The woman quite obviously chastised the two little girls, in Italian. I assumed because they'd done a disappearing act on her. Well, those of us who have had children of our own, know what it's like when you suddenly realise that one of the little tykes, isn't where they should be, or you thought they were.

But then something strange happened. The smallest child said something her mother in Italian, which caused the woman to look at me; doing so brought the oddest response from her. The woman's eyes appeared to grow as large as her daughters' had been, and her complexion turned a distinct shade of pink, when she realised that I was looking back at her. Then grabbing both children by the hand she muttered "Sorry!" In English, without the slightest trace of an accent, and then retreated from my sight between the tables of the next pavement café, at high speed. 

I was still sort of wondering what the hell had just happened when I realised that I'd become the centre of attention for quite a few people sitting at adjacent tables, who were, without exception, smiling at me. I could only assume that whatever joke they were smiling at, must have had something to do with the words the child had said to her mother. But hardly speaking a word of the lingo, it had gone over my head.

I shrugged back at the people on the nearest table -- which brought an even bigger grin to their faces, and confused me even more -- then returned to trying to read my book; or rather, I attempted too.

Maybe another five minutes had passed, and everyone had apparently gone back to minding they're own business, before I figured it safe enough to pour myself another cup of tea. Under those circumstances I'd figured I my best option to keep my eyes down up until then.

But as I was putting sugar into my cup the little girls' mother appeared at my table.

"Excuse me... I..." was as far as she got before I'd leapt to my feet. 

Sorry, it was something I couldn't prevent myself from doing. One doesn't converse with a lady you do not know, whilst seated, if she is standing. Well, not when they look as good as that particular young lady does, you don't! 

Look, I might have been pushing fifty, but I wasn't that old!

"I'm sorry if my daughters have caused you any embarrassment." The young woman was saying. "But they... Well they didn't actually, but my mother thought... No, this is ridiculous. There's no possible chance..." 

"I'm sorry young lady, but you are making a very good job of confusing the hell out of me." I said when she stopped to take a breath.

"Yes, I'm sorry. My name is Vitalia. My friends call me Talia. Look, I'm sorry, you don't know me from Adam and I know this might sound like a ridiculous question, but your name isn't Matt Moncrieff, is it?"

"Mathew Algernon Earnest Moncrieff at your service madam." The name Algernon brought a flicker to Talia's eye, so I explained. "My mother had a thing about Oscar Wilde and thought it quite humorous. Most people call me Matt."

Talia was staring back at me with eyes that looked -- relatively speaking -- even bigger then her daughters' had appeared to be. Then she sank into one of the other seats around my table.

"Oh my god. Honestly?" she asked

"Would I lie to a lady, especially one as pretty as you, Talia?"

"My god, I would never believe it was possible."

At this instant the waiter appeared carrying a tray, loaded with another much larger pot of tea and five cups and saucers. The poor fellow must have assumed that the young woman's appearance at my table heralded the arrival of the rest of my party. 

"You look like you've had a little shock Talia. May I offer you a cup of tea; it's very good for shock, or so I'm told?"

"Thank you." She replied without thinking.

"Now, if you don't mind, I like to ask you a small question." I said as I poured Talia and myself a fresh cup. "Your daughters are Italian, and, if you don't mind me saying, you are most definitely Italian, but you speak English without a trace of an accent?"

She smiled at me. "I am Italian, but I was raised in Zzumerzet!"

"Now, don't you go trying to kid I, that!" I kidded her.

"Honestly! At one time I had a humdinger of an accent, but then I went to a Public School, where they knocked all the West Country right out of us." 

"They did a bloody fine job, by the sound of it." 

"Thank you. But surely you can't be the same Matt Moncrieff my mother thinks you are. It would be just too much of a coincidence."

"The nature of coincidences young lady, is that they do seem impossible sometimes. But as, when I first saw you, I thought that you reminded me of someone, then it stands to reason that your mother may possibly be correct. Where does she think she remembers me from?" 

"Rimini!" Talia replied.

"My Christ, I haven't been back there for... Oh god, it's got to be..." -- I did some quick mental arithmetic -- "it must nearly thirty years at least!" 

"So you have been there?"

"Oh yes, in my childhood I went there with my parents many times, and, when I was in my teens."

"And Lia! Do you remember Lia?"

-----

Strange how the mention of a name can take you back to your youth so quickly. Most certainly I remembered Lia!

Her parents had owned and run the small pension that my family always stayed at, in Rimini. My father had never been one for the big tourist hotels. I first met Lia when we were both less than ten years old. Although we only met for two weeks each summer and we could hardly communicate in actual words, a close friendship developed between us, and... well, eventually a romance, of sorts,. By the time I got to sixteen it had developed into an extremely heavy romance as well. 

All rather strange, because Italian parents kept a very close reign on their daughters in those days, and probably still do. 

Somehow Lia and I slipped through the net of her family's close surveillance and well... No, I don't think I'll go there, not just yet anyway. You can pick it up as we go along.

I have no idea why Lia and I never corresponded with each other by letter. Most likely because of my not speaking Italian, I couldn't write it either, and nether could she, English. 

Hey, there were no computers kicking around back then, that you could type your letter into in English and then have a free internet program translate into Italian for you. And I somehow don't think either of us had the money, or the nerve, to have any mutual correspondence translated by anyone else. 

Anyway, eventually one summer when the family and I arrived in Rimini, we discovered that Lia's family were no longer running the pension. I never went back to Italy again, until Mary and I honeymooned in Venice. 

-----

"Of course I remember Lia." I replied to the young woman. "But how...?"

"Mother saw you on the waterbus yesterday, and told my daughters that you reminded her of... Well, of you actually. Mother still has photographs of you two together in her album, when you weren't much older than my girls are now."

"Oh my, what does your father think about that?"

"He didn't mind. You and mother were friends long before he'd even met her."

"The way you said that leads me to believe..."

"Yes, mother is a widow, that's why we moved back to Italy, to be near her family. Oh, and Matt...?"

"Yes?"

"Mother has told me many times just how close friends you two became."

"Oh dear! How embarrassing..." 

"No, I think it was sweet. Mother told me that you could hardly communicate in words. But she claims that you didn't need to talk." Talia had a knowing glint in her eye.

I suddenly felt a little hot under the collar, and took a long sip of my tea.

"Don't worry Matt, my lips are sealed." she giggled.

"I should bloody hope so. It was bit, er... un-Italian of Lia, wasn't it? You know, to tell you about our relationship."

"My mother is not your typical Italian woman Matt; I would have thought you, above all people, would know that."

"Well she certainly wasn't any usual Italian young girl back when I knew her. Lia and I had something very special between us."

"Had?"

"Well, it was a very long time ago Lia."

"Matt may I tell you something? When we lived in Somerset, my mother once told me that her greatest fear in life was that one-day she might run into a certain Englishman. Mother told me, that she didn't know whether she'd have had the strength to leave him and come home again, if she did."

"Oh my god, that is flattering. But we haven't seen each other in years."

"Much to my father's relief, I should imagine. My father loved my mother, but I do believe he always knew that there was someone."

"Oh, so where is your mother now? I should imagine that you are going to suggest we meet again in person."

"Back at our hotel. We're on holiday the same as you, but nearly all of mothers' family is along. Our children are the youngest and can be rather boisterous sometimes. They needed a break from the old people; so my husband and I brought down here. Lucky we did, because Ambra spotted you again."

"Your little one?"

"Yes, and one who listens to, and understands, far too much adult conversation I fear. I'm afraid she told everyone that you were her grandmother's lover."

"I see. Well, that explains the general reaction."

"Yes, and why I came back to apologise. I didn't know how much Italian you understand."

"Not as much as I should, Talia, considering how often I've been over here. I'm afraid I'm not much of a linguist."

"So mother said."

"What about your mother's English?"

"My mother and father ran that ice-cream business in the west country for eighteen years, Matt. Mother can curse eloquently in both languages." Talia grinned back at me. "Yeah, I do recall she had picked up a couple of words of English, that...well, I don't think her own mother would have liked to hear her use."

"I know that she'd like to meet you again Matt, just to talk about when you were young. She would have approached you yesterday on the waterbus, but she had my little ones with her, and you had your family with you. Your daughters and their significant others?"

"Their husbands. They all but had to drag me over here for a couple of weeks. I've not been one for going away, since I lost my wife."

There was no mistaking the little hint of a smile that passed across Talia's face, even though it lasted no more than a millisecond or so. For a few moments, I don't think Talia knew what to say, but then she suggested that perhaps her mother and I could meet and have lunch together.

I told her that I thought that would be nice; if her mother would like to meet me again, that is?

"Oh Mother would like that, Matt. But she is well aware that you and she haven't seen each other for many years, and that you've both been married and had families of your own. That is another reason that she didn't approach on the waterbus yesterday."

"Yeah, a lot of water has passed under the bridge since we last met Talia, but it can do no harm for us to talk about old times." I smiled at the beaming young woman.

But as I spoke Talia's husband arrived at table, one of their children hanging onto each of his hands. Talia introduced me to Lauro and then they fell into a hurried -- and completely incomprehensible to me -- conversation in Italian. During which, Lauro pulled out his mobile phone and the conversation turned into a multi-way discussion that I could make neither head nor tails of.

Actually I spent most of it exchanging funny faces with Ambra, Talia's youngest, who took me by surprise, and after disentangling herself from her father's grasp, climbed onto my lap and sat there grinning at me. 

That brought Talia's other daughter over to hang on the back of my chair and play a sort of game of hide and seek. Her face would appear at my right shoulder, then, when I looked that way, it would disappear again only to reappear at my left. 

I was so engrossed in my games with the children, that Talia had to say my name twice before I realised that she was addressing me again.

Talia asked me if I could be at a certain restaurant at one o'clock. 

By chance I knew the place. It was another pavement café but it had a more formal restaurant in the building where Talia suggested that I meet her mother. I expressed surprise because the formal part of the place, to my memory, was closed to the public during daylight hours.

"Lauro's cousin owns the restaurant; you will have the place to yourselves. We thought that you and mother might prefer to meet in private. You said yourself Matt, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge of life since you last met each other. Mother will be meeting a memory and so will you!"

"Well thought out, Talia."

"Not me, I'm a born romantic. Lauro is the sensible one in our family."

"I'm not that bad." Lauro interjected. Again with not a trace of an Italian accent in his English. "We do not intend to tell Talia's mother that she will be meeting you Matt. We've asked her to meet us for lunch at my cousin's restaurant."

"Your English is almost as good as Lia's!"

"I'm sorry Matt. I grew up in Putney where my family has a restaurant. Lia and I should have spoken about this in English."

"No worries Lauro. In your position, if I could speak another language, I'm sure I'd have done the same thing."

"We must go now. But we will be near my cousin's restaurant later should we be needed. Good luck my friend, I do believe that you're in for a surprise." Lauro said shaking my hand again and rounding up his daughters.




Venice in August



The two little girls showed some reluctance to leave me and go with their father, which I found quite flattering. Both decided they were not going to leave, until they'd kissed me on the cheek; then they trailed off behind their father waving as they went. Talia lingered for a few seconds and then kissed me on both cheeks before she followed them.

-----

"And just who the hell was that? Christ dad, we can't leave you for two minutes and you're chatting up all the local talent." Kathy my youngest daughter said a couple of minutes later as she approached my table.

"Sorry?" I replied feigning ignorance of what Kath was talking about.

"Dad, you were canoodling with a very attractive young woman as we came out of the cathedral."

"I wasn't canoodling Kath. That is the way Italians say hello and good-bye. She's the daughter of a very old friend of mine. She had her family with her and we've just had a cup of tea together."

By this time I could see that Kathy was mentally counting the used teacups on the table and she gave me a disbelieving glance.

"Okay, Talia and I had tea together, then her husband and children joined us a little while ago. They must have left before you came out of the cathedral."

At this point in our conversation, a very confused looking waiter reappeared, I held up five fingers towards him, and asked my daughters and their husbands if they like any toast at the same time.

"I thought we'd be looking for somewhere to have lunch before long." Kathy said.

"You might angel, but I have a lunch date at one o'clock. That it would be better if I kept alone."

"With that Talia..." Kathy blustered. "She can't be half your age dad!" 

"No don't be silly Kath, with her mother. She's a very old friend of mine and we haven't met since we were both teenagers."

Kathy's eyes instantly performed the same trick Talia and her daughters' had performed earlier. Actually I thought for one horrible moment that Kathy's eyes were going to pop right out of her head.

"Dad," Kathy's husband ventured. "You are going to have lunch with a woman you haven't seen in forty years?"

"About thirty years Ken, I ain't that old. Besides Lia and I almost grew up together..."

My mention of the name Lia brought a sudden reaction from my eldest -- and quietest -- daughter. She usually let her younger sibling do most of the talking. Mind you, Katherine had always been a chatterbox, so Lia had kind-a got used to letting her get on with it, from a very young age.

"Did you say her name is Lia?" My eldest asked.

"Sure is my sweet, and you were named after her."

"Did mummy know?"

"Of course she did! I suggested Lia as your middle name originally, but your mother made the switch on the hospital records. Your mother and I had no secrets from each other, she knew all about Lia and me. If you remember, there're some pictures of Lia and me together in my mother's old family albums. Christ, you thumbed through them often enough, when you were little."

Then I went on to explain to them -- actually for their spouses information as I'm sure my girls had roughly heard the story before and must have instantly put two and two together -- how Lia and I had almost, but not quiet, grown up together. I didn't infer any romantic involvement between us, but I believe that they all assumed that there had to have been one of some sort, if only a tenuous one. After we'd drunk our tea we left the pavement café -- its very confused waiter and even more confusing bill -- and went for a stroll through Venice's back streets. All the time we were slowly moving in the direction of Lauro's cousin's restaurant.

"Dad, are you sure you've thought this out." Ken (Kathy's husband) asked me, while the other three were taking photographs or looking in some shop window.

"Thought what out, Ken?"

"Well these Italian women dad. You know they appear to fall into two basic groups, don't you?" 

"Ken, I know exactly what you're getting at. And believe me, it was even more prominent when I was a lad. Anyway, I can assure you that Lia and I are just very old friends meeting for a quiet lunch, to talk about old times."

"All right then, I just wasn't too sure that you'd thought it all through, that's all." 

"I'm a big boy Ken, and I can assure you that I'm very used to disappointment in my life. Christ, look at the two numpties my daughters chose to marry."

"Oh cheers dad, thanks for the vote of confidence!" Ken grinned back at me.

"Well, let's have some bloody grandchildren on the way before I'm too old to enjoy them. I had a great time with Talia's little girls while you were in the cathedral."

"You better tell your daughters about that, Matt. They are both under the misapprehension that one of them needs to visit you every evening to fuss over you. They claim that they haven't got time for children, just yet." 

-----

It was clear that my arrival at the restaurant was expected. As I made my way between the outside café tables, Lauro's cousin rushed out to meet me. With a long speech in Italian that I didn't understand a word of, he ushered into the large, dimly lit, empty and air-conditioned restaurant, at the rear of the building.

Gesturing to me to take a seat at the only table that the candles were lit on, he produced a bottle of what I assume was the best wine he had in the place. This is an assumption because he didn't ask me if I wanted a glass and gazed at me expectantly once he'd poured it for me.

I took a sip and swirled it around my mouth as I'd seen the wine wallies do on the telly, and then I smiled and nodded at him. This brought a big grin to his face, as he topped the glass up and then left.

Jesus, I wouldn't know a good wine from a bottle of cats pee, but I think I pulled the deception off okay. 

I sat there alone for some considerable time, taking polite sips from the wine at regular intervals. All the time I was sitting there though, disembodied heads would appear around the doorframe, look at me, smile, and then disappear again.

It was ten past one, before I heard a slight commotion going on in the vestibule that led into the restaurant. One voice I recognised as being Talia's even though she was speaking Italian, the other another female voice that I could not recognise.

I could not understand what they were saying, but I kind-a assumed that Lia was having difficulty in understanding why Talia was insisting that she went in the normally closed -- at that time of day -- restaurant.

So I stood up, went over to the door and looked upon the scene in the vestibule. O-boy did I get a shock!

Look, in case anyone isn't familiar with Italy and Italian women in general, especially older ones, I'd better explain. They fall into two basic groups. Unfortunately -- and probably the minority -- some of them tend to let themselves go a bit after they've had children. There's a kind-of mental picture many men have of a dumpy woman, dressed in black and sporting a severe hairstyle. Usually they have a grey or dark coloured scarf wrapped around their head as well. Actually I suspect that they are in a minority, but let's say that once you've seen a few, they kind-a stick in your mind and appear to be everywhere.

Then there is the other kind of older Italian woman. You don't notice them, because they never look their age. I suppose they are best described as the Sofia Loren or Gina Lollobrigida type, beautiful, and never ageing in your mind.

Well I wasn't looking at Sofia or Gina's back. But it was pretty obvious which category Lia fitted into. And it kind-of explained Lauro's comment as he left me in the piazza earlier, if you understand me.

Lia was talking two to the dozen at Talia, when I must have appeared in the doorway behind her. Talia moved her eyes from her mother to smile at me and her doing so made Lia fall silent. Then she turned to look at what had taken Talia's attention.

"Matt!"

"Lia!"

"It was you?"

"It was I, yes!"

This was some interesting conversation we were having.

"What are you doing here?"

"Having lunch with a very beautiful and dear friend; if she ever comes in to join me."

Lia looked from me to Talia and then back at me again.

"How?"

"A little tyke called Ambra... well she decided to tell the world that I was her grandmother's lover in the middle of St Marks Square this morning. And things kind of snowballed from there."

Lia's eyes did the popping out of her head trick that every female I'd met that day appeared to be perfecting.

"Oh my lord!"

"It would appear Lia, that you talk too much in front to the children. Now are we having lunch, or is that queue of waiters behind Talia going to stretch all the way to the canal first?"

Lia stepped into the restaurant and we did the kissing each other on the cheek bit. Yes, I really did fancy kissing Lia on the lips, but I feared that I might be getting ahead of myself. Then I showed Lia to our table and helped her seat herself in the most gentlemanly manner I knew how, and then I retook my own seat. 

I assume that Talia weaved her way out between the patiently waiting line of waiters.

"You're very beautiful Lia, just like I remember you." I said as I poured her a glass of wine.

"You're as handsome as you ever were Matt."

"So, long time no see, aye; how are you keeping." I asked.

Scintillating stuff what? Well, I'd run out of compliments, and having lunch with beautiful women wasn't really my forte. Christ, what do would you say under the circumstances. But Lia had a surprise up her sleeve for me.

"Oh, I'm keeping fine Matt, lonely of course since I lost my husband. How are Mary and your girls?"

Now that was definitely one bellow the belt. Of course I immediately came back with. "I lost Mary five years ago Lia!"

But I was wondering, how the hell Lia knew I had been married to Mary. She'd probably guessed that the girls were my daughters, when she saw us the previous day on the waterbus. There is a marked family resemblance, I'm told. 

But how the hell had Lia known that my wife's name had been Mary? I was sure I hadn't told Talia, and besides Talia hadn't told Lia about meeting me that morning. Well, from the surprised expression on Lia's face, I didn't think she had.

"I'm sorry to hear that Matt. And your girls', Katherine and Lia isn't it? I was very flattered."

"How do you know their names Lia? Come to that, how come you know that my wife's name was Mary?"

Lia smiled.

"Matt, when my husband died thirteen years ago, I was lonely. I had two choices, stay in the UK and carry on running our ice-cream company, or sell the business and come back here to be near the rest of my family. I couldn't face running the business on my own and there was only one man in the UK that I could see myself running it with; so I hired a detective. 

"You weren't very hard to find. Well, how many Mathew Algernon Earnest Moncrieff's can there be in the world, let alone the UK."

"Oh I see!"

"Yes, but you were happily marred with two beautiful daughters. So I sold the business and moved back here."

"You honestly thought that we... I would come and run your ice-cream company with you. We hadn't seen each other since we were... well, children."

"Not exactly children Matt. Children don't do the sort of things we did together. Well, I hope they don't! No, I think I was thinking more along the lines of becoming your wife. We did have some really good times together didn't we?"

"We sure did Lia, but if your old man had ever caught you sneaking up to my bedroom during the night, I really doubt I'd have seen the next dawn."

"Worth the risk though, wasn't it?" she giggled.

"Sure was Lia."

"And it kept you coming back to Rimini every year."

"I'd have gone to the moon to be with you Lia. But then one year you weren't there anymore. Damn that was one downer of a year for me. I'd looked forward since the previous summer to seeing you, and you weren't there."

"I'm sorry. My dad was very ill and the whole family moved to Milan where his specialist was. One of my uncles and his family took over running the hotel.

"But you came early that year. Your family always holidayed with us the middle two weeks of August. That year you came the last week in July and the first week of August."

"How do you know?"

"My sister and I arrived on the Saturday afternoon; you'd left that same morning. I think I cried for the whole two weeks we were there."

"Oh Christ, you went there to be with me?"

"Of course, I wanted to spend my whole life with you Matt. Once I'd realised that I'd been studying English as hard as I knew how. I was hoping to surprise you that year by telling you how I felt about you." 

Lia's revelation left me sitting there speechless, and remembering my own pain when I discovered she wasn't at the pension when we arrived. I could see that same pain reflected in the candlelight in Lia's eyes.

"I'm sorry Lia."

"Why are you sorry? It wasn't ordained at that time that we should be together. Maybe that has changed now."

"Maybe Lia. Maybe it has!"

While we ate, we went on to talk about both of our marriages, and the pleasure we'd got from our children and our spouses. It seemed odd telling Lia how happy Mary and I had been together. Even odder that I bore no animosity against the man she'd married. Although Talia had said something that made me wonder if Lia had been as happy she claimed she'd been in her marriage. I just couldn't bring it to mind.

Quite late in our meal, Lia had suddenly excused herself, and left me for a few minutes. I assumed that she'd gone off to the ladies and made no comment. 

It was only when the meal was over and the efficient waiters had cleared the table that I saw that Lia was fiddling with something in her hand.

"So what are we going to do now Lia? Go and find our children and introduce them to each other." "Oh, I was thinking that you've put on a little weight Matt. Maybe a little strenuous exercise wouldn't do you any harm."

I was taken aback by Lia's statement for a moment or two, but then I noticed that she was dangling whatever she'd been fiddling with from her hand.

"What's that?" I innocently asked.

"This restaurant, Matt, is a part of a small very private hotel. And this is a room key; shall we go and discover which bedroom door it fits?"

"Lia, you're a very naughty girl!"

"I always was Matt, but I usually had the duplicate key to your bedroom."

"But this is Lauro's cousin's place, won't Talia find out?"

"Knowing my Talia, she arranged that we meet here for the sole reason that there are some vacant rooms upstairs."

-----

"Oh Matt aren't your daughters pretty? Looks like they have a couple of handsome husbands as well."

Lia having woken me from my nap, I turned over in bed to see her peeking out through the bars of the window's shutters.

"Sorry?"

"Your daughters and their husbands, they're down there at a table talking with Talia, Lauro and the children."

"Jesus Christ, they aren't!" I said, almost leaping off the bed. "They must have waited somewhere for me. Bugger, they'll know what we've been doing all afternoon. We'd better get down there!"

"Not much point now is there, Matt." Lia replied as she covered her nakedness with her blouse and opened the shutter. 

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Silly boy, we're old enough to do what we wish now. I'm going to tell then that we'll see them tomorrow."

Which she did, loud and bloody clear, so that everyone sitting at the pavement café bellow heard her! Then I heard my daughters calling up "Hello Lia!" and her calling back down to them. But I couldn't really follow what anyone was saying. 

Eventually I -- kind-of -- sheepishly poked my head out of the window to see both our families grinning back up at us.

"Er, hi kids!" Was as much as I ventured.

The only reply I got, was Kathy telling me to have fun and that they'd see us in the morning, before Lia hauled me back into the room and closed the shutter again.

"You've rested enough Matt, we've got a lot of years to catch up on."

Jesus, the woman's insatiable.

-----

Yes we got married, eventually, and we now live in small kinda hamlet, just to the west of Ravenna. Close enough to the coast for us to take the grandchildren to the beach, but not swamped with tourists all the time in the summer.

I still hardly speak a word of Italian though, but I don't really need to. Just about everyone, including Talia's children speak excellent English when I'm around. They -- and that includes Katharine and my Lia -- just babble away in Italian to each other when they "think" they are keeping secrets from me!

I've lost a lot of excess weight as well. But that's really not surprising; Lia gives me a bloody good workout, most nights. And -- if no one else is around -- very often during the day as well! Lia's also found a very efficient way of waking me every morning; it kind makes sure she's got my full attention, in every sense of the word; if you know what I mean? 

Life goes on

This story is posted on Literotica with the authors consent.



Venice Lover



Hi this is new...please be sure to tell me if you like it or not.


She was stressed and ready to get away. Tamina had given her all into her job and they wanted to cut her due to recessionary issues. 'Yeah but what does that have to do with me' she thought. She couldn't understand why she had to be one of the ones chosen to be cut. Five years in the executive office and she lost her livelihood. She was single and the only person she had to provide for was herself, but she couldn't understand what happened.

"Azuca!" her friend yelled as she dance in. "Get up, I have some marvelous news for you."

"Danni please if it's not my job I don't want it." She said moping .

"Oh yes you do, I did not spend my money to get us tickets to Venice for nothing." Danni said.

"Venice Beach?" Tamina said looking confused and disappointed wondering how she could be happy when they lived thirty minutes away.

"No Venice, Italy!" Danni said throwing her arms in the air.

"Oh my gosh, Italy?" In that moment, her loss was her gain that was just what she needed. She was ecstatic "Wait a minute. Why were you speaking Spanish if we're going to Italy?"

"I didn't know the Italian word for sugar ok? Anyway Regie's coming with us. He said he wanted to get a taste of the foreign male, and you need to get over that damn job, something better will come around." Danni hugged her best friend. "Now go get packed we leave this weekend."

Tamina ran to her room excitedly but stopped in her tracks when she caught her image in the mirror. She cringed at the sight. She was pretty, but her body and her face didn't match. Thoughts raced through her mind about how she would stand out amongst the other people. They would be small and gorgeous and she would be...she shook the thoughts from her mind and went to pack. Just then she heard her friend Regie come in. 

"Tamina where you at?" Regie called out.

"Back here packing Regie"

"Let me come help you cause you been done packed something that covers you up instead of showing all your blessing to the world." Regie said. He had a harsh southern/ebonic accent but she loved the way he talked because it always reminded her of home. She loved Regie all together, they had known each other since college. She always turned to him when everyone else was occupied with their own problems crying on her shoulder, he was there to listen and try to get her to open up, he was there for her. They know each other like open books. That weekend they arrived in Italy and Danni and Regie immediately wanted to ride in the gondola. Tamina was so scared she would sink the boat she tried to object, but they pulled her on anyway. She sat quietly taking in the city's beauty. Many other gondolas passed and some of the rowers were very handsome. One guy rowed by and Danni and Regie gave him googly eyes. He smile and rowed by. Soon the ride was over and the three friends headed to their hotel.

*-------------*

He was lost in thought, had passed many boats and most of them had men and women drooling over him, the river could've risen higher, but none of them caught his eye like she did. He saw the way she sat up, taking in the beauty of the land, appreciating the creation and ability to enjoy life, but when the two boats got closer she shrunk back in her seat keeping her eyes low while her friends ogled him. He didn't understand why, she was so beautiful. She had a beautiful round face and full kissable lips, and beautiful eyes. She looked like she was about 5'3"- 5'4". Why was she trying to hide? Her flawless milk chocolate skin glowed against the sunset and she was thick and curvatious.

'A big beautiful black woman' he thought

She stood out to him, but the chances of him seeing her again was slim to none, that didn't mean he wouldn't try. He looked down at the women in the boat and they looked up at him flirtingly and laughed and giggled. He knew he could easily get one of them in bed if he wanted to, but he wanted to have a little more fun than usual, so when the boat stopped he invited all of the women out to his favorite club. When they agreed he rubbed his hands together and gave a sly grin. He knew that night would be much fun. When he arrived at the club he looked around to see if the shy lady was sitting in one of the corners or off to herself, but she wasn't. The women from the boat ride bombarded him ready for their escapade.

'Let the games begin' he thought.

The next morning, Danni and Regie had gone to the club, but Tamina stayed at the hotel and since they were passed out on the bed and the floor she decide to gout for a walk. Italy was very crowded. It seemed as if someone poured people in the city and they just wandered around. She walked with her eyes low avoiding as much contact as possible. She let her mind wander as she walked causing her to stop paying attention, and she bumped into someone.

"Oh I'm sorry." She said looking up in the man's face. When she realized he was the man she tried to avoid in the gondola she gasped as he stared down at her and took off running.

*----------*

He couldn't believe he had bumped into her. It was defiantly not the way he planned but she was there which meant she stayed close by. She was even more beautiful up close, but she was shorter than he thought around 4'11. He wanted to know who she was and why she avoided him. Had he offended her without knowing it?

"Aspettare, aspettare!" he yelled out to her. She wasn't going to stop. He ran after her, maybe he could find out where she stayed. He followed her all the way t the Ruzzini Palace.

'She must be rich' he thought. Why was she avoiding him? His curiosity was peaked.

*----------*

She ran in her room breathing hard about to pass out.

"What's wrong?" Danni asked alarmed.

"The guy from the boat...the really cute one..." She said breathless.

"Yeah what?"

"I ran into him and he started chasing me yelling out something in Italian, I don't know if he was mad or what I just kept running...." She stood up and put her hand on her hip and took in a deep breath. "Whew, I'm too big to be running like this."

"Honey no you're not, you did it didn't you?" Regie said.

"Ok look just watch out next time and if you see him go the other way." Danni said.

"Maybe you dropped something." Regie said. She felt her pockets and everything.

"No everything I had is here."

"Oooooh you've got a stalker." Regie and Danni teased.

*----------*

He breathlessly walked back to his home and he was confused.

"Merda!" he said throwing his door open. He sat down and rand his hands through his dark brown hair. Why the fuck was she avoiding him? He always had women falling at his feet, even shy women came out of his shell for him. He was 6'0 with green eyes. He didn't work out much but he had the body of a Greek god. He wasn't a shallow man, he just hadn't had much luck with relationships. This woman...she seemed so innocent, the way she kept her eyes low or the way she shrunk inward to mentally disappear. She was so cute the way she took off running, he laughed a little and decided he would try to run into her again. He got up and got ready for the day. He didn't' have much to do so he decided to peek around the hotel to see if he could bump into her and this time talk to her. Around noon her went over to Ruzzini Palace and just as he was about to walk in her bumped into her again.



Venice Vacation MF



After a glorious day of wandering through the calles of San Marco and Academia, and a delicious dinner along a quaint canal we returned to the hotel. As I asked the concierge for the room key, he and I were both distracted as you sat on the steps and removed your new Italian sandals, exposing your sweet thighs and fanning yourself in the humid summer air. With a less than discrete cough I regained the concierge's attention and retrieved the key, as you ran off up the stairs.

As I chased you up the stairs I was met with your sandals in the hallway, naturally I picked them up, and continued my pursuit. Around the corner, your wrap, it held the scent of your tantalizing perfume. At this point I calculated that you had only three more garments, and at this rate you would be naked just before getting to the room on the third floor. As I expected/hoped at the foot of the next staircase was your dress. I don't imagine anyone would be surprised to see a woman running through the halls in her lingerie, they'd enjoy it, but not be surprised, this is Italy after all. At the foot of the next flight of steps was your lacy thong, I expected it would have been your bra, but I enjoyed the fragrance imparted upon the cotton liner nonetheless. Alas there was your matching demi-cup brassiere at the top of the stair. 

Down the hall you stood before our door, naked, holding yourself, giving me teasing little flashes of your erect nipples and pubis. I took my time sauntering down the hall enjoying your tease. Then it finally dawned on me I need to get naked too! I untucked and unbuttoned my shirt, undid my belt and kicked my loafers down the hall, landing near your feet. Holding all of your garments in one hand I stopped unzipped my trousers and let them fall to the floor, taking my boxers with them. I stepped out of them, picked them up and continued towards your tempting body, my erection targeted right at you.

I pin you at the door your back pressed up against the cool wood, my hot body pressed up against you, my turgid shaft protruding into your abdomen. I dropped everything and held your face as I deeply kiss you, our lips melting together. Our hands race all over each other's bodies, pulling each other closer, squeezing, caressing. 

We hear a some one in the room across the hall and I swiftly bend down to pick up our room key, but I am deviously distracted by your fingers and the way they are spreading your lips to expose your hot swollen clit. I had to taste. I brought my tongue to your thigh, and traced it to the crease and down to your fingertip. I licked the flavor off your fingers then went for the source. My tongue darting between your moist lips, and then plunging into your juicy vagina. 

Just as I was getting into it we hear the handle and latch on the door across the hall click, I began to pull away, but you held my head in place. The door opens and then I hear an enthusiastic, "Yavol!" followed by a scolding, "Nine, Nine, Nine!" I couldn't look because of your grip, but I knew it was the older German couple I saw in the lobby earlier today. I heard the wife hitting her husband pushing him down the hall still muttering, "Nine, Nine, Nine"

As they turned the corner you burst out laughing and loosened your grip on my head. I snatched up the key and swiftly ushered you in the opening door by your ass, as you began to lead me by my stiff member. I tackle you on the ancient iron bed, and our impact making a great squeaky noise that echoed off the building opposite our open balcony doors.

As I cleared the bed of shopping bags from the day, I came across a thin bag that had four Italian silk ties, I thought to my self, "Perfect". I kept the bag near by and returned to my favorite spot, right between your thighs. While you laid back and enjoyed my tongue swirling across your clit, I prepared the ties to restrain you with slipknots. 

I kiss my way around your wet lips and then along your thigh. You go along, raising your leg to making your tender flesh more accessible. I continue kissing and nibbling down to the nape of your knee, where I tongue you firmly. I nibble your calf, down your Achilles tendon, kissing the top of your foot, and tickling your toes with my tongue. You conveniently raise your other foot so that it may receive the same attention.

I take this as the opportunity to capture your ankles. I softly slip the ties around your ankles, tighten them quickly and then fasten the free ends to the bed corners, before you realize what I have done. I climb on top of you and lasso your wrists despite your physical protest. I get your right arm secured to the bed frame, and you break your left arm free and give a mighty buck with your hips throwing me to the floor. 

After we regain our breath from laughing, I go silent and gaze hypnotically into your beautiful eyes. You offer your silk tie clad wrist to me, and I secure it so that you are now spread to the four corners of the bed. I kiss you softly on the forehead, the tip of your nose, your wonderful lips. Kissing you deeply and caressing your sweet breasts, I slowly work my mouth down your neck, tonguing firmly like on the nape of your knee. Sliding my hands all over your naked body. Cupping your breasts, rolling your nipples in my fingertips. Squeezing your ass. I suck and tease your nipples, getting them wet and blowing lightly upon them, making them very cool.

I kiss your navel and soft abdomen seeking your heat with my face. I return to your lovely vagina. I hover above your parted, glistening, lips, look at your face of anticipation. Then I swiftly descend upon your clitoris the way a vampire would a pulsing vein. My tongue whirling in a vibrant flutter across your sensitive clit, producing erotic moans and coos out of your mouth. I suck your clit up into my mouth and work my tongue tip delicately against your swollen nub. Your moans and coos turn to squeaks and squeals as your body begins to shudder in orgasm. 

You flail helplessly against your restraints, as your body writhes with orgasmic rapture. I grip your ass cheeks firmly to hold you still so that I can keep my tongue working on your clit. I delve my tongue in side your vagina to keep your clit well lubed as I press my tongue firmly against your button, like I had to your neck. My efforts prolong your orgasm for so minutes, I can't tell if it is a series of many or one enduring climax. Your body floundering like a fish with waves of orgasmic energy.

Not until after you screamed, "Stop!" its sound echoing outside, did I relent from loving your vagina with my mouth. Your body collapsed on the bed, as you lay there gasping for breaths between aftershocks. I release you from your leg restraints and you curl your legs up. I release your arms and you lovingly wrap them around me squeezing very tight, pulling our bodies into one. Showering me with kisses and rolling me onto my back you deceptively capture my right wrist. I mock resistance to you restraining my left wrist and ankles. Now our positions are reversed.

I lay naked with my erection leaning like the Tower of Pisa, my arms and legs stretched out to the corners of the bed. You kiss your way down to my nipples, nibbling on them and running your fingertips all over my body. Dragging your stiff nipples along my body, down to my dripping tip. Your warm tongue replaces your nipples, tracing down my shaft, licking around my base and under my balls. I moan in pleasure as you suck my sac into your mouth. 

You sloppily lick back up my shaft and engulf my helmet, your hand encircling my cock applying pressure and sliding it around, lubricated by your saliva and my pre-cum. You continue to stroke and suck, moving your whole body in unison. As I start to raise my hips to meet your receding lips you pull away your face, and firmly grip my cock around the base and give me a scolding look. 

A knock at the door, it is your girlfriends you are traveling with, you tiptoe to the door and crack it open. I can only make out that they need you to go to the front desk. You grab a robe and actually leave me there, with the door un-latched! I am stuck splayed out on this ancient iron bed beneath an intricate Venetian chandelier, I had time to notice a lot about the room. I hear footsteps in the hall, but it is the German couple again, unmistakably. Then I heard the familiar, "Nine, Nine, Nine", that means you must be coming down the hall.

You slip thought the door and drop your robe. You step over to the bedside and are briefly disappointed at my now only chubby penis, but quickly go into action to revive my erection. You drag your nails along my balls and penis; the tingling sensation is stimulating the blood flow. I stiffen more and more with each pulse of my heartbeat. You flick your tongue across my head and up and down my rod.

Now that you have resurrected my tool, you straddle my hips, and grind down on my cock. You slide up and down dragging your clit along my length, almost letting my head enter your velvety wet lips. Then you catch my head between your lips raising it perpendicular to me hovering above it, with a swift motion you impale yourself upon my turgid shaft. The feeling is hot, wet, incredible. My body melts into yours, we feel as one while you grind down on me, inching more of my stiff rod into your hot tight pussy. 

You lean forward and dangle your nipples against my chest, dragging them round in circles. Your hips gyrating back and forth, sliding your juicy vagina up and down my thick cock. You rise up and arch your back so that your headed to the foot of the bed, as your hips roll back you pull my turgid penis up hard against your G spot. Immediately your convulse in rapturous orgasm, arching further back and slamming your hips into me as you groan in pleasure.

You curl up back to be face to face with me and you kiss my chest, neck face, then you abruptly stop, look me in the eye and proceed to clench your vaginal muscles around my tingling hard on. You smoothly, with long slow motion, slide down my pole, while clenching very hard. When I am in to the hilt you release your pressure, tighten again and pull up off me in the same slow long stroke. Four cycles of your skillful muscle control has me bucking and screaming as I erupt hot cum deep inside of you. My explosion deep inside with your concentration on muscle control brings on another earthshaking orgasm rippling throughout your body. You collapse on top of me, we both exhausted after such a wonderful session.

After a while you come to your senses, which seemed like a blissful eternity, and remember my helpless situation. You carefully slip off my softening penis, holding all my cum in. You straddle my face and tell me that, "You cannot touch my clit." You then grind your sloppy pussy against my mouth, my cum mixed with your nectar drooling and bubbling out onto my probing tongue. We taste wonderful together. I lap at your lips and opening, regaining my erection from how sexy your creampie is. You rotate around and sixty-nine with me sucking and stroking my tender hard on as you squeeze out all of our love juice into my mouth. You raise your hips and climb down to face me as you suck my cock. Your sweet eyes tear up as you try to deep throat my cock, but your efforts are quickly rewarded as my balls tighten up and pump spurts of my slick cum into your mouth. I groan and sigh with pleasure as I let my body totally go limp.

You undo my ankles and my wrists, and then lay down next to me. We kiss deeply sharing each other's flavors; wrapped in one another's arms we drift off to sleep in the warmth of our passion and this Venetian summer night.