The slow sideways rocking of the narrow black boat and the silvery shimmers of the canal water under moonlight made her shoulders shudder in anticipation. She tilted her neck and felt a night breeze course along her bared skin and lightly flutter through her hair. Her lips parted in a wide smile and she could not herself: sliding a cupping palm beneath her own warm breast. She felt the nipple stiffen but resisted the growing urge to even graze it with a fingertip.
The native gondolier plied his pole in the dark waters quietly and murmured an obscene Venetian song in a guttural hoarse whisper.
"...sempre è qualcosa di osceno di più nei sogni altrui."
She blinked her eyes slowly in agreement to the lyric. Yes, she thought, "a stranger's dreams always seem more obscene." She took a deep breath. The cool air had the scent of the sea in it, but there was another aroma at play: earthy, crumbling wet stone. She let her eyes drift upward to the dim hulks of antique palaces along the canal and then to the wisps of gray bridges overhead. Her eyes misted for a long moment as her imagination flashed through centuries of romance and sex here, played out long before she had even heard of Venice. She inhaled sharply again and fumbled out a cigarette from her clutch-purse. Lighting it and taking a deep drag only slightly alleviated the pang she began feeling between her thighs.
The night before, at a masquerade, he'd kissed her passionately with his hand in her panties. She clenched her thighs together remembering the heat of his palm cupping her, two of his strong fingers quickly raking along her pussy lips, opening her mouth to cry out and feeling his tongue rasping against her own. And then, with a whispered "I must go", he rushed away. But not before pressing into her limp hand a crumpled note with his name and the words "I will send for you tomorrow night."
Her hostess had witnessed it all and stood smirking at her side in a heartbeat of time. "Just a hint, my dear. He likes begging, you know?"
She watched as the woman placed her hands together as if praying and then licked the fingertips before stuffing two of them in her mouth roughly.
Playing back the memory, she imagined herself as the hostess and the fingers as his rigid cock sliding into her mouth. A flash of heat coursed down through her belly to her pussy as she played the mental movie of herself. She'd almost reached down to feel her own wetness when the boat rocked harder and she grabbed at a rail.
"Here," the gondolier said in a hush. He looped a rope over a striped stanchion and rapped on a stout old wooden door facing the canal.
The door opened and a cloaked shadowed figure took her hand, leading her out of the boat and through the doorway. A powered lantern further down a square hallway made her blink and shield her eyes after the inky darkness of the night outside. As they approached the light, she saw there was a small table and a hatstand on which hung a long silk cloak the color of dark red blood. On the tabletop lay a matching half-mask of deep red lace. She looked at the cloaked figure's face but drew back with a gasp, recognizing her hostess from the party. The woman leaned close and smiled wickedly.
"Take off everything. You're only to wear these, nothing else." She gestured at the mask and hanging cloak. "Bring the lantern when you are ready." She listened as the woman's footsteps faded down the hallway and she vanished into the darkness.
She undressed.
As she became more nude - knowing it was only the wind drafting through the old doorway into the stone hallway - she swore she heard dirty whispers and giggles as if an obscene orgy was taking place just out of sight. Imagination, she told herself, but it still turned her on.
Completely naked, she wanted to grab the lantern and run up the hallway; to display herself and be taken. His kiss last night burned on her lips again and she wanted more, wanted it now. She looked down at her bared thighs and saw gleams of her wetness. She didn't think she'd ever been this wet before. Steeling herself with patience, she reached for the mask and slipped it over her face. She turned her head from side to side and felt a slight constriction - the lacy fabric on her face felt like a lingering caress or a feathery second skin.
When she slid the silk cloak over her shoulders, she felt transformed, morphed into a character from some movie or novel. It was as if she had just stepped from one self into another. She felt drugged with a horny desire to pleasure someone. And pleasure herself. It was all about pleasure and wants and hungers for more pleasures until she became delirious. She looked down at her naked body beneath the dark red cloak's drapes and thought to herself. "I am beautiful...and I want to be fucked."
It had been a long time - if ever - that she'd felt like this. Raw and wanting to wallow in the fleshy delights; she wanted to cum over and over until she remembered it for the rest of her life. She wanted the animal in herself touched and taken and ravaged and desired again until it was burned into her heart and soul. She needed a man on fire. And his cock. Now.
Shrugging her shoulders and feeling the cloak drape her nude body, she started walking down the hallway with the lantern. The tiled floor felt chill against her naked soles and the dirty whispers seemed to grow louder, mixing with moans and sighs.
She steadied herself - wanting, almost needful of just stopping, lying on the floor with her legs spread wide open and rub herself until she climaxed. Every step forward made her nipples ache more, the wetness of her pussy more apparent, her knees weakening. Every step forward - that she wanted so badly to turn into a run - brought her closer to him...to his mouth, his hands, his cock. She almost wanted to laugh from the sheer joy of what was coming. Turning a corner at last, her eyes widened at the sight. Her heart raced and her breath felt choked.
