Dark Whispers of the Heart
soppingwetpanties
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
Chapter One
Waiting for the Proposal
Francesca's eyes popped open when bright sunlight peeked through the slats of the bedroom's venetian blinds. Her mind was still foggy as she heard the
tap tap tap
of the blinds rocking in the light breeze coming through the open window. She quickly realized she was in Carlo's room, though the only trace of Carlo was his rumpled pillow and a tangle of sheets on his side of the bed. The young, dark haired beauty straightened up to a sitting position, rubbing her eyes. The spaghetti straps of her sheer nightgown had fallen off her shoulders, revealing pinkish hued erect nipples surrounded by large circles of brown pebbled skin. She rolled on her side and reached on the nightstand for her phone. She squinted as the bright oversized display read 7:30 a.m.
"Merda,"
she mumbled to herself. She was supposed to open her leather goods store in Buonconvento in an hour and a half. Carlo's house was in Montepulciano and the store was a 45 minute drive if traffic was light. She was hoping to take a long hot bath with a trashy novel but resigned herself to taking a shower instead.
Carlo had already left for work. He was a partner in his father's law firm, the largest in Siena, and was making his usual Monday morning commute. He typically spent Monday through Thursday in Siena and Friday and the weekend at his country house just outside Montepulciano. For the past two months Francesca spent the weekends with Carlo, so it was a familiar routine for her to get ready for work by herself, feed the cat, and lock up the house before she left.
Carlo's master bath was luxurious, with an oversized shower stall and a Jacuzzi jetted tub. With a cup of fresh drip coffee in hand Francesca turned on the shower, sipping her beverage while holding her hand under the water until it was hot. Satisfied with the temperature, she shed her filmy nightgown and caught a quick glance of herself in the above counter bathroom mirror. She was blessed with her mother's curvy body and standing sideways, admired the way her breasts prominently jutted out without the hint of a sag. She was
molto bello
and she knew it.
The shower felt amazing, the stinging hot water washing off the sweat and stickiness from the previous night's lovemaking. Though the young couple made love almost every weekend Francesca was frustrated over her inability to achieve an orgasm. Carlo wasn't particularly interested in giving oral sex and his lack of staying power meant leaving her high and dry after intercourse. At age twenty-seven, and her sex drive at its zenith, going without an orgasm for more than a day was impossible. She was left to either masturbate that night after he'd fallen asleep or the next morning in the shower.
She tried not to be angry with Carlo. Maybe he was trying. She wasn't sure whether he was incompetent at or just disinterested in sex. Even though he was a nice enough guy, she rued the day she met him.
Francesca had the pick of the eligible bachelors in Tuscany and had unfortunately picked him. She didn't realize she'd be trapped in a relationship with no sexual gratification until she and Carlo had already been dating for several months. She was a beauty queen, but also a virgin, saving herself for that special man. When she had intercourse with him for the first time, she felt nothing except complete disappointment. Carlo spilled his seed after only a few strokes, rolled over and fell asleep.
She had no real frame of reference because Carlo was her first, but innately she knew the sex wasn't good. He was perfect in every other way; intelligent, witty, wealthy, and of course handsome, but even inexperienced Francesca knew that Carlo came up short in the bedroom. There were no trumpets or fireworks like she'd read about in romance novels. Instead, in the ultimate indictment of Carlo's bedroom skills, Francesca found him to be boring.
To make matters worse, Francesca had come to the realization that her sexual appetites were outside the lines. Before she met Carlo she'd discovered online BDSM videos and masturbated to them, even experimenting with pain, starting with a hair clip on each of her nipples. She soon became dependent on pain to achieve a satisfying orgasm. She didn't dream of broaching with Carlo the subjects of nipple torture and orgasm denial, both of which Francesca wanted to explore.
Francesca bowed to pressure from her mother (and herself) to conform to a "normal" relationship with Carlo. She denied that she had these irresistible sexual urges even though she fantasized about them all the time. She put off the inevitable for as long as possible, finally admitting to herself that could never, ever marry Carlo and that her sexual urges should be satisfied, not suppressed.
Time had run out for Francesca. She had every expectation that Carlo would offer his hand in marriage that evening and she had no idea how she'd respond.
Her mind snapped back to her present situation when she realized she had to be out of the house in fifteen minutes. She stepped into the shower, wanting the water to drench the roaring flame burning inside her. Francesca closed her eyes as water sheeted off her face and ran off the ends of her long dark hair. Her fingers traced over the gentle curve of her breast, wandering lower over her flat belly and seeking that pleasurable spot between her legs, kneading the little knob of flesh with the fingers of her right hand. One, and then two fingers went inside her with little effort, her body already reacting to one of her recurring fantasies.
There was a nameless, faceless man, tall in stature, his large, heavily calloused hands roughly handling her, two thick fingers pushing inside her, seeking the heat at her core. He ripped open her blouse with the other hand and then shoved it under her bra, pawing at and then twisting and pinching her nipples.
"Ahhhh," she moaned loudly with closed eyes as she imagined it was his fingertips, instead of fine streams of water, that were tracing an erotic path down her body and dripping off the reddish brown hair of her bush.
Fuck me. Fuck me now, she begged the stranger.
She was getting close, oh so close, to the sweet release of an early morning orgasm. But she realized this fantasy wouldn't be enough to give her the orgasm she needed before she had to face Carlo and her mother. She cursed to herself as she picked up a wooden brush with a long handle that had taken up a permanent residency in the shower. She told Carlo she liked to use it to scrub her back, but in truth it had a more insidious purpose. The brush's broad round flat back was perfect for spanking herself. The rounded end of the handle was made of a rare African hardwood that was polished to an almost glossy natural finish and was intended to be used for masturbation. The brush had natural semi-stiff bristles that when dragged over the spanked area, ignited every nerve ending in her bottom.
She positioned the rounded end of the handle against the slippery wet lips of her pussy, then easing it inside her, inch by inch, until she felt pleasantly full. Then she gripped the handle with both hands and vigorously fucked herself, getting close, but...
Please, she begged herself
.
Please let me cum without the pain.
She wanted to prove to herself that she didn't need the pain. She wanted to prove to herself that she was "normal."
But her test of will was destined to fail again. She needed the pain. She put the brush down and picked up her favorite hair clip, the one with a strong spring and curved plastic prongs that bit fiercely into her flesh. She squeezed it open and took a deep breath before letting it clamp onto her nipple. As she sucked in the moist air of the shower the prongs of the clip dug into her nipple and made her knees buckle from the pain.
She squinted hard and fought through the pain, picking up the handle again with her free hand. She'd already surrendered herself to her desires so she felt no guilt when the wood probed for her back channel. She rimmed herself with the rounded end and then pushed it inside her, feeling the stretch in her virgin ass. Francesca had never let Carlo fuck her there.
She relished the pain. Stretching open her asshole and filling her up. The pain was pounding and thumping inside her, a primal rhythm that was background noise for the climax, the release, when she pulled off the clip and contracted the muscles in her ass around the handle. There were fireworks on the inside of her eyelids and bells ringing in her head. Her head swooned with pleasure and she dropped to her knees in the shower, gasping for breath, and feeling the ultimate prize of sex, a head splitting orgasm. She wanted to feel it again... and again... and again.
Yet as she toweled off and cooled down she chastised herself for once again caving to her deviant sexual desires. So she wondered:
What's wrong with me? Why do I need the pain? Why did this darkness find me?
Questions she asked herself each time she succumbed, feeling pity for herself and fear for what she might become. But pity and fear were no match for a powerful sexual desire. She did want to have that feeling again, and with a few more minutes to spare she ran her fingers across her labia, red and swollen, before pulling back the hood covering the clitoris to massage the nub itself. Her conscience intervened and she paused for a moment. A good girl didn't masturbate. A good girl didn't get herself off twice in the morning. A good girl didn't punish herself.
But a bad girl did.
Damning Carlo and her mother, Francesca wanted to cum again. Her fingers danced on her clit, smearing the viscous discharge from her pussy to slicken the skin. Her thoughts went back to the familiar, the scene where she was ravished by a mysterious man, a man whose face she couldn't clearly see.
Fuck me.
Her fingers move faster. She snatched the handle of the hairbrush and smacked her ass as hard as she could.
Twack, thwack, thwack!
