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Venice, February 1996

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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 bedava bahis 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 bedava bonus 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 deneme bonusu 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.

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