by G A Dazio
Without reason, he obeyed her and took to lavishing her there with his tongue. He did not understand what he held so gently between his lips, or how his tongue was able to venture inside of her so easily. It was only the uncontrollable movement of her hips and her labored breaths that often became voice, suggesting some secret pleasure, something equal to or surpassing the debilitating joy he had felt with his cock in her mouth.
She twisted her back slightly to find his wrist, pulling his hand up to her mouth to suck on his index finger, wetting it until it was dripping. She then brought his hand down and helped him slide that finger inside her. His digit moved into the tight space effortlessly, and the Marquesa let out a sound that was like a squeal, a high-pitched scream of sorts, which, for Dídac, was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced. He could not conceive of such a pleasure.
He continued feeling the inside of her lips with his tongue, reveling that the inner sheath of her sex was the essence of strength, yet utterly compliant. It was the softest skin in the world, he thought, like the walls of his mouth, but with the strength of stone behind the wet flesh. Like a living being in its own right, exuding some sort of intelligence that excited him and taunted him to explore as much of it as he could. Its strength would come in powerful waves, loosening slightly to allow him deeper passage, and then tightening with an unbelievable force, only to loosen slowly once more. It was like the strength of a savage beast’s jaw, and the thought of it tempted him to kiss her there as if he were consuming the Devil himself in a rage of passion.
Dídac handled her with utter concentration. Time left his mind utterly through this act. But when she came, he felt as if she might destroy him, her hands coming down on his head to hold him with an incalculable strength, somewhat begging to disfigure his face. She held him so tightly against her as she came that he feared he would run out of breath and die, then and there. It would be a pleasant death, to be certain, but he could only imagine what an unexplainable death it might be to anyone outside this private world.
And when she finally came, soaring with the maximum intensity of her orgasm, he felt her hot wetness drip onto his tongue. He lapped this at his sweet reward until she was deliciously dry.
It was incredible to him, that two people could do this, that people’s bodies had it in them to manufacture such joy. It seemed impossible that this was the property of married adults! He could hardly imagine his own parents engaging in this act; the thought was ridiculous. This act was something so magnificent that he believed only the two of them had the power to create it. What other human expression could be more beautiful or god-like? His prior understandings were forgotten as the notion ravished his mind, contemplating a mystery he knew would take him the rest of his life.
But she was hardly through with him.
Marcelina loved this moment best of all, it was her favorite part of love-making. That exquisite period between her first orgasm and his first penetration. This was when her body was truly alive, when she would feel the peak of ecstasy from his cock driving into her, as her sex was still on fire with the tingling rhapsody. It was this moment she wished for whenever contemplating sex, the ancient fortune the gods buried beneath the sea, daring mortals to chance their lungs against the ferocious currents.
She moved back along Dídac’s torso to straddle his cock, still violently erect and possessing a darkly tinted scarlet, which she knew meant he would not be able to carry on much longer. The thought of letting so much time pass between his first orgasm and his second was not appealing at this moment, and the Marquesa settled that she would coach him on resistance and maintenance from the very beginning.
Marcelina thought that she would lose control of herself when she let Dídac penetrate her. His fat cock drove into her with a speed she had not counted on. His hips shot upward to fill her after she had guided him to the illusive spot. The girth of his cock spread the Marquesa unexpectedly, forging the most wonderful impression. She rotated her hips over him, commanding just how much of him she preferred and in what manner she would pleasure herself with what she took.
Marcelina studied his voice, coming now in heavy labored breaths, and she ordered him not to climax until she said.
Dídac pleaded that he must release the tension, but Marcelina only whispered gravely that he must not speak a single word.
She all but stopped her pace, allowing him a few precious moments to regain his control. And when he began to lift her with his hips, trying to create the magnificent friction, she made to end his opportunity all together by dismounting him.
In a fit, he pulled her back on top of him with a strength she could not account for. He held on to her body for dear life, taking command of this act and pumping her body mercilessly, drawing up the fire in his loins to a white rage, holding onto her hips and moving as if his own reason were no longer a factor.
When he came, his voice faltered, and he throated a dry wounded cry, sitting up to pull her body tightly against him as his seed flowed into her with wrenching spasms that removed the very life from his body.
After an hour, he awoke with her warm body nestled beside him. The lovely fragrance of her hair was still intoxicating, and it seemed forever that he simply lay there, breathing the sweet air of her before moving to sit up.
It did not matter to him anymore, this thing he had done. All his fears were forgotten or lost, he cared only now that he loved her, that he loved everything about her, everything she had created and shared.
* * *
The room was stifling. With the windows and doors closed, the chamber absorbed all the heat from the afternoon sun pouring in through the sheer curtains.
Dídac rose from the bed and quickly dressed, taking care not to make any noise. It was fruitless, really, for she was not asleep, but simply resting, waiting for him to awaken so she might send him off.
“I trust you are still a gentleman, señor?”
He stumbled to answer her as he stumbled to dress; it was quite impossible to do both, he found.
“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he whispered humbly.
Marcelina stirred now, coming to life before moving to the edge of her bed and letting her feet fall to the floor so that she could sit. She pulled on his thighs so that he stood before her, bringing his stomach to her lips. She kissed his navel and then put her ear to his flat stomach, as if to listen inside of him.
“What day do you move to your apartment to begin your classes at the university?”
He thought for a moment, he did not really know the day.
“Two days after my parents and I return from Madrid. Three weeks from tomorrow. Whatever day that is. Wednesday, yes, it must be.”
“I meant what I said about instructing you on how to behave with a lady in private. I won’t have you take my niece from me without being sure that you’re prepared.”
“You don’t think I’m prepared now?”
Marcelina rose her head up to look at the boy’s face. Yes, indeed, he was beautiful.
“Hardly. Though for a beginning, it was certainly pleasant.” She moved to rise and find her dressing gown.
He stopped her, held her firmly by the shoulders and kissed her strongly, hoping to make a dashing impression upon her, which she received simply enough.
“I love you,” he said.
She looked at him tenderly in the eye and smiled, placing her finger to his lips to silence him, “No, dear. If you wanted to do it again, you shouldn’t have gone to sleep and left me lying here for an hour. That will have to be the most vital part of Lesson One.”
* * *
Marcelina was silent, as deathly quiet as Veronica had ever seen her. She read the letter over and over, folding it closed before opening it again and again. She had just received it from her butler, who had promptly left them both where they were in the garden, nestled among the shade trees on two comfortable old wrought iron lounge chairs, the delicious sea breeze swaying lazily in the many branches sheltering them.
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br /> Veronica did not want to ask what was so interesting in the letter, though if Marcelina did not tell her soon, she might have to ask. She was sure she possessed such boldness by now, and she was sure that her aunt had given her such strength.
But this was a slightly disturbing look the woman held, Veronica thought. The lines of her face had begun to etch deeper into the blonde, white skin. She looked as if she were somehow aging rapidly and might appear a tired old woman by the hour’s end.
“Is anything wrong?” Veronica asked, all at once very concerned.
Marcelina did not answer, but simply looked away toward the sea, avoiding the girl’s question altogether. Veronica could see, even from her limited angle, that her aunt had let a slow and delicate tear fall from her eye. She breathed slightly deeper and the parchment of the letter fluttered noticeably in her frail and trembling hand.
“Tia, what is it?” Veronica whispered. She was frightened by her aunt’s fragile breaths.
Without turning back to face the girl, Marcelina lifted the letter out to the girl for her to read. The smell of the parchment gave the girl the slightest apprehension. It was a scent that she loved, but Veronica thought there must be some horror contained on the beautifully crisp cream-colored paper to affect her aunt so. The girl felt a shiver fight against the warmth around her as she unfolded it silently.
4 August, 1849
To the Marquesa de Amontoní,
Beloved Marcelina, it is with the greatest sorrow that I must inform you that my brother’s widow, your sister, Doña Lucía Isabel Motas de Fernández, passed from this earth in her sleep yesterday in the early morning.
As you are so very far away, and as it is still very much the summer season here in Madrid, it has been agreed upon by the family that her funeral must be executed immediately. I have sent word to Father Mateu of the Catedral de Barcelona that a private service for you and Doña de Fernández’ daughter might be held. You may summon him at your wish and in your own time.
With regard to our niece, Veronica, it has been made clear by your sister’s will that her daughter is to remain in your care until she has married. As of this afternoon, I have written to your lawyer to assist in completing the transference of the girl’s dowry and the portions of Doña Lucía’s estate that were willed to her and that will be placed into your care. All of Veronica’s possessions here will soon also be sent on, as well as those private things that Doña Lucía has left to you both.
Please receive this letter with an abundance of love from all of your family here in Madrid. It relieves us that you both have been spared from having to be here during this most terrible and unprepared moment. All of us wish for you both our very deepest love and sympathy.
If there is anything at all that we might do to ease the burden of this sorrowful event, I pray you will honor me with your word.
My devoted love,
Don Carlos de Fernández y Aguilar
Veronica did not feel sadness; the thought did not occur to her. She received the information with an emotionless response, like she might while reading a list of chores; she simply interpreted the words and sent it to the galleries of her knowledge, one more bit of memory to enhance her intellect.
Not only did she not feel any sadness, she did not really care. She did not perceive her mother’s passing as she had her father’s death. At his passing, she had been nine and the walls of her mind had come crashing in for one dreadful moment when all she understood was a miserable sense of fear and dread. She had cried for hours and hours when her nurse had told her, holding on to the woman as if she might die were she to let go. But not now. She felt only the most uninvolved acknowledgement that her mother was dead and most likely already buried. She simply would never see the woman again. And that was all there was to it. She would not feel any joy for it, but she did not feel pain over the loss either. Veronica simply felt nothing.
Marcelina cried openly and without the composure she always blanketed her emotions in. Her breath was uneven, and she held herself as if to try and keep her corset from hurting her.
Veronica rose to land at the foot of her aunt’s chair, opening her arms to the woman so that she might hold her and allow her to cry with her support. The woman drew to this comfort immediately and began to undergo a long period of full-bodied sobs that shook them both.
“She knew,” Marcelina sobbed from beneath her closed eyes. “That’s why she sent you here. She knew she was dying. And everything we did to plan your coming here… She did it all because she knew.” The pain enveloped her, and Marcelina’s frame fell beneath the weight of it to be supported by the girl.
“Shall I send word to Father Mateu?” the girl whispered in the woman’s ear gently.
“Yes,” Marcelina muttered, as if she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I’m so sorry, my love.”
“It’s all right, Tia, I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, dear. You will be. I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Time stretched out after her sister’s death. Despite the Marquesa’s natural inclination to be swept away with a grieving pause, she continued on with her life in the same fashion and drove for achievement. Her one honest drive through this period—while potent memories of her youth endlessly brought back long-forgotten experiences with her sister—was for the enrichment of her niece’s future. In fact, the Marquesa delved into her efforts with a magnified ambition. With Veronica’s mother gone, the last and final barrier between them was brought down. Veronica was her daughter now, the Marquesa genuinely believed it to be so, and her foresight of the young woman’s future understood no boundaries. All that she had ever envisioned for herself, the young girl who suffered from the confines of a memory laced with regret, would be created now and made possible for her niece.
Veronica became a presence within the houses of Barcelona, allowing the Marquesa to carefully choose which gatherings she would appear in. The woman provided her instruction on how it was within her means to mark those homes that others would eventually come to embrace and fight to be received by, simply due to her prestige. Veronica learned that, indeed, she too had the power to ennoble one family and defame another, regardless of their established mirth, simply by choosing to or not to make an appearance under their roof. And Veronica exercised this power carefully and humbly at all times, only reveling in this ridiculous ability to influence people so unconsciously when she was alone or with her aunt. She wouldn't dare mention it to anyone else, even her fiancé. She feared Dídac might not fully see the dynamics of it and think it petty, which she refused to allow it to become. She would have him approve of her in every way.
Veronica did not need to be told that it was her aunt’s initial presentation of her that had empowered her own influence in this small but accredited community of wealth. And it was precisely because of her aunt’s involvement that Veronica continued to look to the Marquesa for guidance and instruction.
“All of one’s gifts must be understood to be responsibilities. To lavish in power is the greatest vulgarity. You would soon come to realize that such power would be rendered useless if you did not respect the possibilities for good it promised.” More than a half hour of reproach had followed this statement of her aunt’s one afternoon. Veronica had stupidly gloated over how simple an act it was to persuade her growing number of acquaintances that the Rubio’s archery party was a dull and lame affair, and the Marquesa had rarely been so serious with her. From then on, Veronica acknowledged that her influence must be exercised only for some greater good; it would be better not to leave the house at all, otherwise.
And when Veronica found that there was nothing that truly inspired her to use this power, she simply ignored it. Rather, she attempted some of the enterprises the Marquesa had recommended. She endorsed local artists who needed financing, she organized her efforts for those charities that were ever in debt, and she even turned to Father Mateu, whom she saw more and more of in a less congenial way, hoping to be
turned on to some sort of charitable mission that she could embrace.
But after a few months full of these experiences, Veronica realized she was not suited to be anyone's benefactor, not merely to justify the wicked little pleasure of exercising her influence. The parties were not nearly that fun, and the work was too difficult and uninspired, not to mention endless. She realized that the work of charity was not something to be done for idle reasons, and she came to ennoble it with that degree of respect.
Shunning her acquaintances and their gatherings, except when expected and necessary, Veronica turned to improving herself as a soon-to-be bride. She came to the conclusion that any man who would graduate from a university would hardly want to find himself married to a lovely fool. Though, to her credit, the Marquesa had seen to it with undeterred focus that Veronica became more knowledgeable of the inner workings of marriage and society. Nevertheless, during the last couple months, Veronica had taken to reading every periodical and historical book she could come across in the house’s untouched, but well-preserved, library.
Her aunt had confessed to the girl that her uncle was not a great reader of literature, having collected what books they owned for decoration more than anything. And the Marquesa had confessed to not having the slightest inclination to read historical texts herself; the body of her knowledge was acquired through life and hundreds of French and German novels, which she believed to be the best and least romanticized of stories, despite the disapproval of most.
In all truth, Marcelina had fretted while eying the girl as she laid silently engrossed with these texts. Upon discovering the girl with a book on military history, the Marquesa had erupted into a fit of shocked laughter.
“I doubt even my husband would have spent a week reading that one!” she had whispered nervously.