Where The Chips May Fall In Venice

Dear reader: this is an installment of a novella. To best enjoy it, I would like to recommend that you first read

When the Masks Come Off in Venice

, and

When the Snow Comes Down in Venice.

The sunbeams made their way pleasantly down between the buildings that lined the Calle Larga XXII Marzo, as Michela emerged from the department store with her elegant new handbag, a black Chanel number made of quilted lambskin. She was actually carrying two handbags, her old, familiar one, plus her new acquisition. She strolled past the arched windows with their gleaming displays, and as she approached the canal, she withdrew her cell phone from the older handbag, and sent a text. When she reached the canal, her motorboat was purring at the landing.

Her boat was quite a piece of work. Made with a mahogany hull, it had two electric motors that propelled it quietly and in style through the marine labyrinth of Venice. Michela savored the nice things that she possessed. She could not imagine having to make do with anything common.

The unusual snows of November had passed, and the canals were free of ice. Still, Michela stayed in the cabin. The breezes that flew across the waters were uncomfortably brisk.

Her boat cruised grandly through the canals until it came to a stop, nudging up against the tires that dangled from the boat landing to protect the hulls. Her boat driver tied up the boat, then escorted her a few blocks to her impressive home, looking very smart in his livery. Michela thanked him, then closed the door behind herself as she entered the dwelling.

She left her new purchase in her chambers, and went back downstairs to the kitchen. She was in a mood to celebrate. She prepared a spritz for herself, and studied the roster of her household staff to see who was on duty. She was pleased to see that Joramae's name was on the list for that day. She pushed a button on her in-house intercom and asked Joramae to meet her upstairs.

Michela seated herself on the settee, and a minute later Joramae entered the room. Joramae had come to Venice two years ago from the Philippines. She was a comely girl in her twenties, wearing a black domestic's uniform with white trim at the sleeves and collar. Her compact form was curvaceous and agile, and there had been a knowing look in her eye when Michela first described the rather broad range of responsibilities that came with the job for which she was being hired. Some of the girls balked at what Michela requested, but Joramae saw it as an opportunity for job security, as well as a way to satisfy her own curiosity about some of the more esoteric forms of love.

"Good morning, signora," said Joramae, "would you like a massage?"

"Not today, Joramae," replied Michela, smiling.

Joramae, understanding Michela's intention, advanced toward her and stood six inches from her body as Michela stroked her thighs and began to unbutton her uniform. Joramae ran her fingertips along Michela's jawline, then began to comb her fingers through the older woman's blond hair. Michela grunted her approval and slid Joramae's dress to the floor. Joramae stood there in her brassiere and panties, as Michela looked her over, noting the contrast between her dark complexion and the white undergarments. She smiled approvingly.

Joramae waited. She knew not to take the initiative now. Michela rose to her feet and walked in a circle around Joremae, inspecting her. She came to a stop at her left side, then seized Joramae's panties at the waist in the front and back, pulling them upwards against her crotch. Joramae looked at her with sparkling eyes, inviting her to do more.

Meeting her gaze, Michela stretched the fabric harder upwards, putting pressure on Joramae's labia and causing them to bulge outwards around the pantie crotch. Joramae pushed her pelvis foward, straining against the panties. "Good girl," said Michela, and abruptly pulled the panties down to her knees.

Michela was pleased by Joramae's pussy. It was quite hirsute, unlike Michela's own pussy which was meticulously shaved. When Joramae was aroused, she produced a very sharp, pungent aroma -- Michela inhaled deeply. Yes, there it was. Without warning she plunged her fingers up into Joramae's pussy, knowing in advance that it would be abundantly lubricated. She smiled wickedly as she heard Joramae gasp, and felt that hairy cunt contract around her fingers.

Keeping her fingers in place, Michela reached her free hand behind a cushion on the settee and produced a blue transparent vibrator. Joramae saw it, and her eyes lit up in recognition. Swiftly and relentlessly, Michela applied it to the area around Joramae's clit, teasing it more and more insistently until Joramae cried out in climax. She withdrew her fingers and, making certain Joramae was watching, licked the cunt juice off them, slowly and with obvious relish.

Michela could feel the wetness welling up in her own cunt now. She quickly stripped off her slacks and panties and sat down on the settee, instructing Joramae to kneel on the floor before her. Then she surrendered to the sensation as Joramae ate her to one orgasm after another.

***

The household staff was fully mobilized. Michela's two sisters would be dining with her tonight, with full Venetian aristocratic pomp. It would not be a family gathering per se -- the three sisters did not particularly enjoy one another's company -- but rather, a meeting of an important Venetian family to discuss necessary business and political issues.

The chandeliers blazed overhead as the maids methodically placed the sumptuous tablecloth on the long table, followed by the fine place settings. The room had a high ceiling with an elaborate relief, and lavish wall hangings with images of the Grand Canal.

Michela's younger sister, Gianna, was the first to arrive. She was dressed in a fawn-colored suit and wore her pearls. Her chestnut-colored hair was parted on the side and shoulder-length. Michela gave her a peck on the cheek and escorted her to her place at the table, where she waited primly.

Ten minutes later, Carina, the eldest, arrived in her fur coat and an ocean-blue dress. Her hair was blond like Michela's, but worn short, and her eyes were blue rather than green. She seated herself on her own, and looked around the table, smiling expectantly. The servants quickly and efficiently delivered John Dory fillet and homemade pasta. The sisters began to eat, but they were all conscious of the fact that there was business to be discussed.

Gianna took the initiative. "Our

Consiglio

presumes too much. Just because they have been elected, they think that they may disregard the advice of the old families."

Carina arched her eyebrows. "Is there a particular controversy that you wish to bring to our attention?"

"I can give you an example." Two pairs of eyes were on Gianna. "They have a new plan to restrict campaign contributions."

Carina rolled her eyes. "This will pass. It's just more repercussions from

Mani Pulite.

" Mani Pulite, the "clean hands" affair, was a bribery and corruption scandal which rocked Italy during the 1990s.

"Perhaps," replied Gianna, "but in the meantime, these Consiglios will make a mess of the city." She stabbed the air with her salad fork, for emphasis.

"I think we have become lazy," observed Michela. Her sisters turned their respective gazes to her, questioningly.

Michela continued. "There are other ways to get things done than to simply give money to politicians. In the old days, we were more intelligent. We did research. We found out who the right people were, the ones who

really

made the decisions, and we learned how to persuade them." She was thinking of her friend Bedrich now, who used to be so effective at gathering intelligence.

"Before my time," remarked Gianna, a bit sourly.

"Everything is about television now," said Carina. "Politicians must buy time to become known."

"Politicians are unimportant," was Michela's retort.

And so the sisters continued to debate their family responsibilities for another 45 minutes, after which port and truffles were served and the meeting adjourned.

MIchela went upstairs to her chambers, and her thoughts turned once again to Bedrich. She had known him for years, since he first appeared in Venice and unsuccessfully tried to spirit his wife and daughter out of Czechoslovakia. He was trained as a spy, and had gone into business as a free-lancer. She and her family had hired him on more than one occasion, to find things out, or make certain things happen. Yes, thought Michela, that's how the city ought to be run, not with this business of throwing money at politicians and hoping they will honor their agreements.

She enjoyed sex with Bedrich. It had taken him a long time to warm up to the idea; when he had tried to defect with his family, very unfortunate consequences had left his wife and daughter dead, and he had mourned them for a long time. But he finally came out of it, and eventually he let her have her way with him. He was a very "vanilla" lover, but she liked the way that he surrendered to arousal -- he was swept up in it, overwhelmed by it, and that excited her as well. She was fond of him, and she felt a tinge of regret that she had once violated his trust.

Michela's musings were interrupted at this point by a call on her private line. Not many people knew the number -- it was likely to be important. She retrieved her phone from its new location in her Chanel bag, and saw on the screen that the call was from Till Acquati. She hurried to answer.

There was only one man, among the many that Michela knew or had known, who had this singular effect on her, the effect of making her lose her distance, the effect of making her feel submissive. Breathlessly, she spoke into the phone, "

Pronto

."

She heard Acquati's serene, authoritative voice say, "Ciao, Michela."

"Ciao, Till."

"I hope you are well."

"Yes, I am. Very well."

"That's good to hear. I was wondering if I might ask you a favor. Actually, two favors."

"Certainly, Till, anything."

"There is a man in the Guardia di Finanza who is causing me some annoyance. His name is Lieutenant Antonio Durante. Is it possible that you might find some way to discourage him? He is worried about some business I transacted in Iceland. It's really none of his concern."

"Till, I will see what I can do. I'll make some calls tomorrow, and let you know. What was the other favor?"

"Tomorrow evening, I will be visiting the CEO of the Banco della Laguna and his wife. It will be an... intimate gathering. I was wondering whether you might care to accompany me?"

Michela felt her nipples grow taut. Although Till's voice was calm and relaxed, she could feel the erotic undertone in his words. She could always feel it. "Yes, Till. It would be my pleasure."

"That's wonderful, Michela. I'll have you picked up at 8 o'clock."

"I'll be ready. Ciao, Till."

"Ciao."

Michela squirmed restlessly in her armchair. Her panties were sopping wet. She thought of ringing for Joramae, but then had second thoughts. She wanted to be hungry, on edge, for Till when tomorrow evening came.

She reclined on her bed, and her thoughts returned once more to Bedrich. She admired his intelligence, and the skill which which he conducted himself in his profession. But no one is infallible. She remembered the evening a few months back, in late October, when he had come to see her. The encounter had begun, as it often did, with sex. She had greeted him naked at the front door of her residence. She remembered with some satisfaction that she still had her seamless full-body tan at that time, and Bedrich was duly impressed. She had led him up to her room, pausing at the half-way point in the grand curved staircase to play with her pussy as he watched. That had been nice. Excited by the hunger in his gaze, she had cum twice, and when they reached the top of the staircase, she had laid down upon the plush carpet and let him eat her. When they finally reached her room, they did everything. He had cum several times in both her mouth and her cunt; she liked that about him, his resilience, despite his advancing years.

Afterward, they had lain on her bed and chatted. She had described her breakfast with Till, with Bob Cole, with the American consul and his wife (sad what had happened to her), and with that lovely German fellow with the dreamy hair, who had introduced himself as Mr. Pagel. When she mentioned his name, she had seen Bedrich do a slight double take, and he muttered, "Well, that's one of his names." She did not ask him to explain, because she immediately knew that this information would be valuable to Till.

She once again regretted having exploited Bedrich's carelessness. But in Venice, she thought, everyone trades information. She had gone to Till to warn him that Mr. Pagel might not be quite what he seemed. Till had rewarded her in a most delicious way.

And tomorrow, she thought, she expected some more deliciousness with Till. She felt her juices begin to seep out onto her thighs again at the thought. But her resolve stayed firm, and she did not touch herself. She would wait for tomorrow evening.

***

The following day, Michela paid a call at the offices of Giorgio Adessi, a member of the

Giunta Comunale

, the city committee. His staff recognized her and she was given the red carpet treatment. Within minutes she was seated with Signor Adessi in a well-appointed lounge.

"Now, how may I help you, Michela?" said the very imposing Signor Adessi, who weighed 310 pounds and looked quite vigorous. His head was bald and shiny, and his thin mustache was dashing.

"I have a small request, Giorgio. You are familiar with Signor Till Acquati?"

"Of course," replied Adessi.

"There is an overzealous official at the Guardia di Finanza, a Lieutenant Durante. He seems to be harassing Signor Acquati over his dealings in Iceland, which to me seems a bit out of Lieutenant Durante's jurisdiction."

Adessi nodded soberly. "It would certainly seem so."

"Would you be so kind as to look into this, and see whether Lieutenant Durante may have strayed a bit from his area of responsibility?"

"I will be happy to, Michela, and I will let you know what I find out."

MIchela rose, and Adessi rose with her, bowed, and kissed her hand gallantly. Both of them chanced to think of a certain evening during carnival, back in 1998.

***

At 8:00 P.M., a liveried boat driver knocked on Michela's door. She emerged wearing a dramatic Versace gown of emerald green chiffon silk, and allowed the driver to escort her down to the landing, where she boarded Till Acquati's sleek powerboat and rode it through the evening. As the craft sliced through the placid waters of the canals, Michela thought back to other encounters she had enjoyed with Till, and she savored the slippery sensations that were developing between her thighs.

The driver made his way to the Cannaregio neighborhood. There they tied the boat up and disembarked. He escorted Michela along a quiet, narrow, but clean and well-lit street to a dwelling that was unobtrusively elegant. They were greeted at the door by an elderly

maggiordomo

who conducted Michela upstairs.

Michela entered a room that was softly lit and lavishly appointed. The walls were hung with lush tapestries -- she could not quite make out the scenes that were depicted, although in one of them, fauns were clearly pursuing nymphs. There were comfortable-looking settees and chairs, and on the floor, large, soft pillows. In the middle of the room stood Till, with an attractive couple. Till and the man wore tuxedos, while the woman wore a ravishing white gown with long, embroidered mesh sleeves.

Till spoke. "Good evening, Michela. May I introduce Luca Manco and his wife, Silvia?" Luca was tall, at least six feet, with jet black hair that was parted on the side and partially covered his ears. His wife was perhaps five and a half feet tall, slim, and blond. Her breasts looked very nice and intriguing, from what her gown allowed one to see.

"My pleasure," replied Michela, and took each of their hands in turn. She noted with approval a subtle glitter in Luca's eyes. She thought that she detected a hint of anxiety in Silvia's.

Till looked gorgeous with his confident carriage, his serene features, and his high forehead with the striking gray hair swept back from it. He continued. "Luca and I have been business associates for many years. We will take this opportunity to consolidate our relationship, to get to know each other... better."

Michela smiled graciously and felt her nipples stiffen once again. The maggiordomo reappeared with champagne, and served it to the foursome. After finishing their champagne, Till and Luca exchanged significant glances, then began to disrobe.

Michela did nothing. She knew that she must wait for an explicit signal from Till before participating. But she found the scene extremely arousing. Both men were powerfully built and physically fit, and the sight of them disrobing was making Michela very, very wet. She cast a glance at Silvia, and Silvia stood rigidly, her stance awkward and uncertain. Michela wondered whether she had any experience in situations like this.

Till and Luca were naked now. They stepped toward one another, embraced, and kissed, and Michela could see that they were both hard. She squirmed in anticipation, feeling her wet thighs rub together under her Versace gown.

Till and Luca continued to kiss as they stroked each other's cocks. Till's was long and slender, Luca's was thicker and more substantial. Michela had the urge to rub herself through her gown, but she kept still, waiting for the signal that she knew would come. She saw Till apply a hint of pressure on the top of Luca's shoulder, and Luca took the cue, dropping to his knees and taking Till's cock in his mouth.

Michela glanced at Silvia, and saw that her face was a mask of tension as she watched her husband go down on Till. Was she surprised? Jealous?

Suddenly Luca rose to his feet and approached Michela. She smiled in delight, knowing that she would now be permitted to join in the wanton activity. He reached behind her to unzip her gown and pushed it roughly to the floor. She was naked underneath. Luca stood for a moment, admiring her firm, ripe breasts and freshly shaved pussy. Then he stepped forward and suddenly slapped her face.

Michela felt the sharp sting of the slap and the warm, throbbing sensation that followed, and that throbbing resonated in her nipples and cunt. Her eyes watered briefly from the pain, but she knew that she would now be permitted to respond, and she squatted lewdly before Luca, taking his thick cock in her mouth. She was intoxicated by its size and its smell. She felt tremendously gratified as Luca began moving his hips, fucking her mouth.

Luca abruptly pushed her back onto one of the pillows and straddled her face, rubbing his cock and balls over her nose and mouth. She seized his hips, pulling him close, as he thrust his cock once more into her mouth and she began to suck with desperate passion.

At this point she became aware of a sound across the room. It was Silvia's voice. She had cried out suddenly, and now was sobbing loudly and hysterically. Michela heard some murmured words in what seemed to be Till's voice, then the sobbing grew into a protracted wail. She heard footsteps rushing across the room and a slammed door, then nothing.

Luca had continued to thrust his cock into Michela's mouth relentlessly during this brief interruption. She had been momentarily distracted by the noise, but now she once again gave her full attention to his powerful cock, which was filling her throat in a way which she found wonderfully enthralling. Luca climbed off her and lay back on the pillow, and she crouched between his legs, hastening to get her mouth back on his exquisite cock.