by AJ Llewellyn
He mingled with the guests Emporia hastily assembled. Peron and his wife lit the candle sconces and the chandeliers. Wine flowed, guests ate tiny, succulent sugared apples and then Emporia caught his eye. This was the signal that Massimo had arrived.
Philippe-Auguste slipped out of the warm house, sorry he could not stay to enjoy more wine. He pictured enjoying both Marcello and Caprice at Emporia’s house, then knowing that he couldn’t. His love for the Visconti twins must remain a private matter.
His step was brisk, the night air bracing him for the moment when he would claim his male lover for his own. Outside her house, Philippe-Auguste could hear Caprice’s voice. She talked in soothing tones, but received no response. He glanced over his shoulder in both directions and took the plunge, flying straight up to her room.
She did not see him. She was busy painting and he was pleased to see she had new canvases lined against the wall. He landed softly on the other side of the balcony window, his cape closing around him. Her chestnut hair gleamed in the glow of candlelight and she held her long paintbrush in her right hand, her head tilted as she examined her work.
“You look like a reposing swan,” she said with a laugh, glancing at the bed in which Marcello laid delirious, half-dead with fever.
The painting, almost finished by the looks of things, showed a reclining woman, a piece of pomegranate and half a fig on a small table beside her. Figs were the latest euphemism for the emerging word, fuck. He adored the word fuck. It was both opulent and primal. The figure in the painting had a long, pale arm extended toward the fruit, indicating her carnal desires. Her hair tumbled enticingly along her bare shoulder and arm.
In sharp contrast with art, Marcello’s eyes were puffy slits, which opened a little as he sensed Philippe-Auguste’s presence. His long hair lay in damp strands on his pillow, his skin sallow.
I am here, he telepathed, actively inserting himself into Marcello’s addled thoughts. He was pleased at what he found when he invaded them. Marcello was in the middle of a dream, remembering the moment he, Philippe-Auguste, took possession of his cock and sucked him as nobody ever had before.
For a moment, it surprised him that Caprice was painting her lover as he lay on his deathbed, but in truth, it didn’t. It pleased him. It meant she was serious about her burgeoning career. He was already a fan of her work and watched the way she applied the extra coat of egg wash with her fingertips.
Marcello gazed up at him and his glazed eyes opened, as if he was certain Philippe-Auguste was still in his dreams. The poor man’s mouth could barely move. As he stepped toward him, he could feel the rage of fever emanating from Marcello and vowed once again to destroy the Greek vampire, Thais. How dare Thais do this to you, Marcello.
Help me, Marcello said in Philippe-Auguste’s mind.
Philippe-Auguste pulled back the sheet covering Marcello’s naked body. The soaked sheet felt like he was peeling off his lover’s skin and, as Caprice kept painting, adding layers of paint, Marcello’s hand fell between the slashes of leather and crimson ruffles of Philippe-Auguste’s shirt. For one brief, sweet moment, their lips collided.
Marcel’s cock stirred, in spite of his fever. Philippe-Auguste felt his own cock responding. He took the wet strands from his lover’s face and pushed them away. He wished he could ice him down as Marcello’s body inclined toward him, instinct urging him to mate to fruition.
Philippe-Auguste moved him back to the damp bed, kissing him. Marcello’s mouth opened to him and their tongues met. Philippe-Auguste licked from his man’s dry, cracked lip down his chin.
Cloudbursts of lust parted in Philippe-Auguste’s brain. His tongue moved down the salty-tasting throat. He felt Marcello’s pulse quicken, his breathing growing shallower now, and he hastened to his cock, which was very hard. Philippe-Auguste licked the head and glanced up at his man. “Do you want this?” he asked.
“Yes, I want it,” Marcello responded, tears running down his cheeks. He whispered, “I want you. I want you more than any woman.”
Caprice jumped when she heard their voices.
Marcello was reacting to his man’s tongue on his cock, on his trembling thighs.
Philippe-Auguste pushed his legs apart, his teeth elongated now…I must hurry.
Caprice tried to pull Philippe-Auguste away from her prone lover, but it was as if she realized he was there to help, not hurt Marcello.
I want to be yours. Please hurry…please, my love. Marcello’s voice shrieked from somewhere deep within him. Rarely had a human had such an effect on him.
Philippe-Auguste’s mouth moved to Marcello’s hot ass hole and Caprice gasped when she watched him lick Marcello.
For Philippe-Auguste, it was intoxicating to have his woman watch him take his male lover.
“Soon, I will pleasure you this way,” he told her, lifting his face for a moment from Marcello’s needy body. His elongated teeth made licking increasingly difficult, but Marcello’s ecstatic response was its own reward.
“Take your clothes off,” Marcello whimpered and Caprice helped the Frenchman remove everything quickly. They both struggled with his boots and hose, but at last, he looked at him in all his glory and he could tell she was pleased.
“You have the biggest cock I have ever seen,” she breathed, touching it with tentative fingertips.
Philippe-Auguste cringed inwardly, hoping Marcello would not be put off by this, but one glance told him his momentary panic was for naught. Marcello fixed his gaze on him in a predatory way.
He knew he’d been right, that Marcello would be the perfect mate. He almost crowed when Marcello put his hands in Philippe-Auguste’s hair, the way he wanted, the way he should have when the Frenchman had knelt before him sucking his cock. Raw need tremored through Marcello’s body, which shook with fever. His legs opened wider. He was Philippe-Auguste’s sexual sacrifice. Philippe-Auguste’s cock was hard and ready for his man. Marcello moaned when he took his tongue from his ass and turned his head. It was as if he knew what he needed.
Philippe-Auguste tried to enter him, but missed. He had never been a clumsy lover…my God…what is happening to me? He poked again and Caprice stepped forward, taking his thick shaft in her paint-stained fingers and pointed him at Marcello’s ass.
“Please take me,” Marcello said again.
“Save him,” she whispered and their gazes collided as Philippe-Auguste entered Marcello. Caprice was on the floor, kissing his face, her mouth on Marcello’s when Philippe-Auguste claimed Marcello as his. He bit Marcello’s neck and Marcello held Philippe-Auguste’s head to him. Philippe-Auguste saw nothing but pleasure when it was Marcello’s turn to feed from his lover’s arm.
Caprice stroked Philippe-Auguste’s back as he fucked Marcello. He could not believe how lovely the man felt. He craved Caprice, yes, but nothing compared to being inside Marcello. He didn't think about coming, he thought only about Marcello’s release, only of the young Italian’s complete gratification.
Her hand moved to Philippe-Auguste’s ass and she stroked it. His cock jumped anew. It amazed him how good it felt to have her participation, her tender, possessive touch. Now, he could not wait to lay claim to her sweet, womanly body. He gently removed his arm from Marcello’s fierce and gripping teeth.
He licked the puncture marks closed as Marcello begged again for his cock.
Enthralled, Caprice clearly wanted to be a part of the illicit union taking place in her bed. Not too long ago, a sodomite had been burned alive in Venice, but Philippe-Auguste was too careful and too powerful to allow anything to happen to the men he loved.
He kissed her and kissed Marcello’s face, his heartbeat faltering for just a second, but the color was back in Marcello’s cheeks. He felt Caprice's fingers in his ass. Philippe-Auguste wanted to bring Marcello the release he promised him, that only he could give him, then he felt it.
Caprice must have sensed it, too, for her fingers moved between the two rutting men as Marcello poised on the verge of a shattering o
rgasm.
Fixated with Philippe-Auguste’s cock being inside her partner, her hand moved to the drenched cock sliding in and out of Marcello. Philippe-Auguste knew she wanted to feel it, wanted to be a part of it, but he felt no jealousy. He felt her curious and alive. When Marcello started to come, he shouted Philippe-Auguste’s name. He shouted for Caprice, shouted that he loved them both and held onto his man’s shoulders.
“Please come inside me, make me yours,” Marcello implored.
Philippe-Auguste grabbed Marcello’s cock in his hand, moving Caprice’s hand aside. “For now, this is mine,” he rasped.
Her hand moved to Marcello’s face. She urged Marcello to fulfillment and, as he came, Philippe-Auguste looked into his eyes.
“I loved you before I even met you, when you were but a dream.”
Marcello exploded all over Philippe-Auguste’s hand and belly, all over both their bodies and Caprice watched, knowing in that moment, that Philippe-Auguste erupted within their shared lover.
“God!” Marcello shouted when he felt the orgasm inside him. “Oh God!” His legs tightened around Philippe-Auguste who could feel Marcello’s orgasm continue deep within him. He felt Marcello’s joy, his life force returning.
Caprice rocked back on her knees. “It was never like this with me!”
“I love you,” Philippe-Auguste told them both.
“And I love both of you for saving me,” Marcello murmured. His man and his woman took turns giving him hot, loving kisses.
“Philippe-Auguste, I want my turn,” she pouted.
“I want Marcello still, my love. I am still inside him and his cock is still very hard. Suck him for me, then I promise to pleasure you all night long.”
She didn't hesitate.
Philippe-Auguste knew Marcello wanted to come again.
“I will stay inside you until you come, my love,” he said. He moved slowly, gently, aware this was Marcello’s first time, but also knew Marcello wanted Philippe-Auguste to fuck him.
The greedy lips suckling him brought him to full hardness very quickly.
“No one else could ever satisfy me,” Marcello moaned. “I need both of you. Nothing…nobody…this has never happened to me before.”
Philippe-Auguste kept moving inside his man, taking his time, stroking his belly, his tongue flicking at the lips and throat, hot and moist from carnal desire, not pending death now.
“This is how it will be. There will always be a mouth on you, a cock inside you, a cock to fulfill your every desire,” Philippe-Auguste said.
Marcello clutched his back and Philippe-Auguste fucked him harder now. He felt his sweet lover’s legs opening wider, both of them drenched in sweat and come. He gazed down at his man, lost to the sensations of fucking each other, almost forgetting Caprice was there.
She was helping him fulfill the man they loved, helping to bring him complete and utter bliss. Marcello laughed and cried all at the same time, and suddenly, his face went slack.
Philippe-Auguste knew he was feeling the unaccustomed pressure on his prostate now and that Marcello had no idea what it was.
Philippe-Auguste wanted so much for the prostate to bring Marcello pleasure…some men didn't like it, but Philippe-Auguste knew it could bring the strongest orgasm a man could know.
Caprice sensed something was different and lifted her ruby lips from Marcello’s shaft.
“Don’t stop now,” he implored.
She resumed her sucking, hanging on to keep Marcello in her mouth.
Philippe-Auguste had to lift back a little to accommodate her.
Marcello’s face softened as his prostate grew used to the arousal Philippe-Auguste’s cock induced and he began to scream.
“Oh, fuck me!” He came very hard, his gaze on Philippe-Auguste’s face, surprise and intense delight swamping his senses.
Philippe-Auguste kissed him, his fingers and tongue easing the tiny entrance wounds on Marcello’s throat.
As Marcello’s release waned, Caprice lifted her face.
“Now it’s my turn,” she said. “Please, please fuck me.”
Chapter Seven
“Did it hurt?” Geovanna asked her for the seventh or eighth time.
Caprice laughed. She felt as if the whole of Venice…no, the whole of Italy must know that she had made love to two men and one had fucked her ass as the other licked her pussy to the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced in her life.
She picked up her glass of Nocino, and savored the taste of the liqueur. She loved the flavor of the green, unripe walnuts. She held the thick, brown liquid in her mouth for a moment. She and Geovanna had somehow come under the favor of the old ladies who sold packets of maize for visitors to Piazza San Marco to feed the square’s numerous pigeons.
The old ladies dribbled the liqueur into cracked cups for the two friends, now enjoying the waning day in the cooling mists from the canals. The lamp lighter went from lamp to lamp, lighting the candles in each holder. A stray bird, evidently unaware he should be sleeping at night, pecked the ground for crumbs.
“You leave the cups here.” The old ladies pointed to a flowerpot standing against the wall.
Caprice, feeling a sudden burst of love for all humanity, jumped up and hugged the two women who cackled and lumbered home, their chatter a little more merry for their shot of alcoholic comfort.
Anal sex had hurt, but in truth, what hurt more was the itchy place at her left breast, a large blue vein where Philippe-Auguste had claimed her. It had been an erotic, emotional experience and suffused with a spiritual striptease, stronger even than anything she experienced with the twins. It was an orgasm of her soul, not her body, and she looked forward to a repeat performance.
But she could not tell Geovanna any of this.
Sex between men was illegal and she felt protective of her new family. She felt a heart full of love and a weakness in her belly when she remembered how Philippe-Auguste had bathed after taking Marcello, who watched and helped Philippe-Auguste take Caprice as his lover as well. She had spent many nights with the Visconti twins, but neither man showed an interest in the other, but then, they were brothers after all.
She wondered how Philippe-Auguste would seduce Massimo, for he had made it clear he desired a quartetto, a foursome.
“This way, each of us always has a lover. We will always have a partner,” he had said and she wondered if such passion were possible.
She worried about Massimo. Geovanna had come to the house and told her and Marcello that he’d come into an unexpected gift of money from a secret admirer and lost it all on the dice games at Emporia’s salons.
“He lost it all, they say, to a Greek lord who lent him more money, also lost.”
Philippe-Auguste had hidden in her bedroom, listening to the exchange. He urged Caprice to go out with Geovanna.
“Marcello will find Massimo and bring him home. I will protect you and provide for you all,” he said. “I am sorry for this interruption.”
He and Marcello had both kissed her, deeply, and after taking Geovanna’s arm, Caprice strolled to the Piazza with her, giving her lovers a chance to leave the house unnoticed.
She could not disguise or deny her new joy, but she knew she could not tell Geovanna the whole truth so she simply said she enjoyed her first taste of anal sex.
“It is not like anything I imagined,” she said, taking another sip of her liqueur. She was astonished at the array of emotions exploding continuously in her now. She found she needed only a little food, only a sip of wine and it was enough…more than enough. It dazzled her mind until she thought she could hear the whispers of brick walls, of pigeons and even her friend’s inner gloom.
Geovanna was petrified of being abandoned. Caprice realized that now. The fear was contagious because now Caprice was afraid to be on the streets at dawn. Her first full day as a vampire had brought exhaustion and lust for all the senses in equal doses. They’d closed the blinds on the day and Philippe-Auguste warned her she needed t
o be home by five o’clock in the morning.
Five! She had no urge to be outdoors much longer, but now that she knew Geovanna was so unhappy and a little jealous, it seemed that Caprice could postpone her own happiness for a few minutes longer. The irony was not lost on Caprice. It had usually been the other way around. Caprice had always been the lonely one, Geovanna, the one with men lusting after her.
“I admit it’s different,” Geovanna said, harping back to the matter of anal intercourse. “But did it hurt when Marcello went the back way?”
“A little, at first, but the pleasure, the physical sensations surprised me.”
“That, for me, is still something I aspire to,” Geovanna said, recovering a little of her trademark humor. “I can’t drink all this. Do you want the rest of mine?”
Caprice shook her head. It struck her as strange that as Massimo was losing his newfound wealth, she was losing her mind to her two new vampire lovers. It had of course, been Philippe-Auguste who claimed her virgin ass as he had Marcello’s, but she could say none of this to anyone. The rumors of vampires had been rampant in Venice and many plague victims were accused of being vampires.
She heard they rushed victims of the plague to an infirmary on a small island nearby, dead and buried within a week of their enforced captivity. She heard of mass graves being dug every day and she shivered in the growing cold night air.
Massimo had not come home after losing his new fortune. Caprice, after ignoring Geovanna’s many visits to her home, had finally caved in and allowed her entry after Marcello and Philippe-Auguste kissed her goodbye and went in search of Massimo.
This evening, everything tasted better to her, colors were sharper, the smells and textures of everything crisper, cleaner…brighter since her transformation.
“You seem different,” Geovanna said.
Caprice jolted back to the present. “Different, how?”
“You seem calmer, not so…neurotic.”
“Neurotic?” Caprice felt wounded and quite astounded. “Is that how you see me?” She could not be offended though, when her friend’s distress was so acute. “What’s the matter?” she asked Geovanna. “I have never seen you like this. You’re not…you’re not sick are you?”