The Venice Alcove

Venice, 1723...I am sitting on a gondola, my husband's rower behind me, standing in balance between long slow rows.

My breasts are strictly closed into a corset, pushed high, the nipples barely hidden. Whalebones keeping my bust straight up and a heavy cape covering all, I sit still, my eyes follow the other crafts passing by, a few gondolas and women in similar clothes who greet me with a hint of waving. I reply with a half smile, seeming assorted in my thoughts.

The gondola reaches a pier by a building, I stand up, the long, heavy gown weighting on me. Nipples brushing against the fabric, rough like a beard. The rower lends me a hand to climb on the pier, I grasp it, lifting my gown, I'm sure he has got a glimpse of a chiselled ankle. This world, what would it be if women weren't playing the fine art of driving gentlemen off?

"I will spend the whole afternoon with Mme de Beaufort, I'll want to return right before sunset. You can go." I said handling him a few coins. I know what he'll do, he'll row to the closest tavern and drink away all the coins I gave him. Perfect, he will not be able to tell much should my husband question him.

He bows quickly and quickly rows away, cheered up by the clinking coins in his pocket. I watch him rowing away for a moment. Then, I know what I am here for, my breast is exploding into the corset. I turn around the corner of the building, cross the small alley and turn another corner. A wooden door shuts the entrance to the palace, a light knock and a guard opens it from the inside without saying a word, in silence.

The guard stares a distant indefinite point, his Lord's order, let no body know what business takes me there. My gown drags on the pavement, I walk quickly rushing up a flight of stairs. The cold hair penetrating through the opening of my cape, through the neckline...awakening my neck, and breasts, but I know it'll warm where I am heading.

I reach a heavy, engraved double door and push it.

It opens to a canopy bed with red linens, embroidered, awaiting...and the place made warm by a big fireplace, throwing shadows all over the room.

Sweet rich smell of myrrh, reassuring, I close the door behind me to turn and see my lover awaiting in a corner, standing, his body hidden under a long, red cape.

Our eyes meet to tell nobody followed me, we're alone in this secret room made for me, for the purpose of meeting my lover in secret. I stand, right close to the door, untie and remove my cape...now he can see my breasts lifting quickly as I regain my composure, he stands still watching them from the shadow, and I know his cape will not hide him for long.

He's so fast I don't see him walking to me, but he grabs my waist and his face is already dipping into my breasts, fondling the line between them, and his hands reaching for the ties to open my bodice.

My body arches at his contact, even thorough our clothes I can feel his heat.

He grabs me steadily sending a thrill down my spine, oh I love when he's so possessive, manly, something my husband would never be able to, sucH a weak, poor resemblance to a man.

My lover's mouth moves up to my neck, my chin, and my hands find their way to untie his cape and let it fall.

As he bites my chin and I am free to breath, my bodice is untied, falling...I let out a moan and bite my lips anticipating the feeling of being naked in front of him. Withdraw, one step back from my lover. There, the room is not spared to witness the sin, free of laces and strings, my gown falls on the floor like the poorest of blankets, revealing the richest dress.

Milk white skin, smooth like glass, a raven-black bush, tidy, curly...grass a cat would curl his claws in, I'm waiting for that cat. My lover stares at my skin, it could not be cold, with fire everywhere.

I notice he's seen the glistening wetness in the inside of my thighs. He is contemplating my body as a painting, his eyes nibbling like a tongue. A few notes reach up to our secret alcove, the rosary is being chanted in the chapel underneath. It is a bigger sin now, now it matters more to my eternal damnation, yes, sin is a sweet pleasure I can't do without.

And my lovers wants too, to the point he has arranged this room for me only.

He is stepping out of his clothes, slowly removing his embroidered jacket and pants, his eyes sticking to my body standing still, never lowering his gaze. The long shirt covers the pole of passion. I move a step to him, my hands raised drawn to unbutton his shirt. He stops me with a slight nod and does it himself, to let it fall so the floor as well as my gown.

My eyes are drown to the centre of attention, though, shyly gazing down, to the rich clothes lying on the floor like rags.

"And you can still be a maiden at heart" are the first and only words breaking the silence dooming the room since I walked in.

My eyes rise to see his lips, and move down to a bearded chin, oh sweet memories I have of that beard. Down to a scarred chest, where a couple of scratches landed in a night of passion, and down where from a tidy bush of dark hair springs the object of sin. Notes of the rosary permanently fixing our sins on the walls, the sight of our naked bodies...and again, I don't see him moving, how fast he is. His manhood pressing against my venter, softness against hardness.

My hand slips down to his thighs, I feel the scar on his side, reward of a duel with swords, it's thick, it tells he is my lover, he is my sin.

I let him drag me to the bed, his hands once strong and powerful, now trembling, funny how hot flesh can break a strong man more than a sword could do. I fail to act shy, I want him between my thighs, there I lay on the embroidered linens, the finest, my hair messed, giving view of a welcoming, red mouth. We kiss eagerly, our tongues twisted into the unique language of passion. His hands grab my hips, as his kisses move down, fondling my breasts. He pulls the skin around my breast, licking around to take a light bite to my nipple, then his tongue moves down to the groove between my breasts, which he licks eagerly, with a free hand on one...then blowing cold breath to make the nipples harder, a warm lick and a cold blow...like little poles they stand.

His mouth stops on my navel, his hands touching my thighs, then with a slight movement, turning our positions. And I am now on my lover, his wand pointing to me, I slip down straddling his thighs, the long thick scar in clear view how worth it was...will be told by my long, velvety fingers closing on him, moving, his skin following my movements.

I love his scent, my mouth gets closer and I can feel it, male, all I want. My hand moves up and down with my tongue, slipping at the base of his shaft, tracing a spiral around the base and moving up, to swallow it like the best banquet...

My tongue moving down, hands still moving on his shaft and my attention drawn elsewhere, oh I love to nibble at that bag of flesh, soft and swollen. I tease the skin, bite and lick...move into another spiral, round and round until it joins into another, I feel him squirming while getting stiffer as ever. The sounds coming from the church below our bed excite me further.

A quick flick switches our position again, my legs on his shoulders and his mouth steadily nestled between my legs, oh sweet...returning the pleasure. His hard breath on my wetness.

A moan tells when his mouth has touched my most secret place, his soft tongue slipping through my folds, his beard tickling around.

On the start of another chant he moves over me and bites my neck whispering "and now I will have my prize".

I lift my legs and hold him, let him feel I'm keeping him in place, I see a smile on his face as he lifts a bit over me, to get closer. His manhood pointing to my bush, I do not see it, but feel the heat and I feel as it touches my lips, to push and open me up.

His weight shifting on me, spreading my legs further, slipping on my wetness and reaching deep.

Now, now, I felt it building up like a wave, my lover moving, feeling so pleasing shameful, like there was nothing else to the world than his blows. One, and one, and one, and one...pleasure building wave on wave. Long female fingers clinging to the bed sheets, wrinkling the embroidery and loud sinful moans together with the sacred chants. Holy and sin united. Moans and grunts together. The first wave takes my sight, everything is black for a moment, but my lover's regular blows are reassuring, I moan, scream and my breasts are dancing with each blow.

Then another, and my lover screams with me, erupting with furious blows, with another wave of pleasure taking both our souls. Our hips rocking desperately in our own world, to catch even the latest, tiny glimpse of pleasure, to receive all that can be received.

And he collapses on me, his weight pressing down my exhausted breast, his naked body covered in a slight sweat, cooling down on me.

Boaters yelling, on the canal out of the window, unaware of the pleasure and sin.