10 Shades of Seduction

by Tiffany Reisz

  “Do you love it, Ellis?”

  “The coffee?”

  “Venice, silly.”

  I nodded. The fears were taking hold once more with a cold fist around my heart. Where would I go next? How would I survive? I felt guilty even being unable to put down the few coins for the espressos. There was nothing in my wallet except a lucky dollar that was stamped NO WAR. At least, that’s what I’d thought, but when I fumbled with my battered wallet—in that habit people have of pretending they’re going to pay for a check—I saw European notes filling the interior.

  “Don’t think so much,” she said, when I tried to ask what was going on. Who had put the bills in my billfold? “I promise, everything is going to be okay.”

  Sasha had always lived life like this. With a confidence and an assuredness. I took a sip of the coffee, and I vowed to try, at least for the few weeks we’d be here, to be more like her. Including her kink.

  When we returned to Uncle Stefan’s, she suggested we nap before dinner. I slipped on the headphones of my new iPod and reached for the brand-new vibrator that had been thoughtfully left for me the previous night. So Sasha hadn’t said a word about what her true relationship was to the men in the house. Maybe that would come out later. I hadn’t told Sasha the true level of my miserable existence for months. Some things are difficult to share, even with the best of friends.

  That didn’t mean I simply slept. I pressed the new sex toy against my pussy and fantasized about the night before. I didn’t close my eyes after coming twice, the toy still clutched in my sticky fingers.

  * * *

  Waking up was one of those surreal moments. I couldn’t immediately tell from the light if it was dawn or dusk. At least I knew where I was. The bed was becoming more familiar—the room felt like my own. I thrust the vibrator under my pillow, slid into my old shoes and rubbed my eyes. In the mirror, I saw a girl I recognized, but different from what I normally looked like. My hair was loose, curls flowing. I was actually starting to appear relaxed. Transformation. Was that the true magic of Venice?

  I took a moment to write in my travel journal. I didn’t want to forget what we’d seen today, what I’d wished for. I wrote quickly, my handwriting dancing across the page, comforting in its familiarity even if what I was describing was entirely foreign. Then I set down the notebook, stood and stretched.

  I’d find Sasha and talk to her, I decided.

  But when I looked, she wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t in the main living room or in the kitchen. I wandered through the halls seeing no one, hearing nothing. Finally, I found a door I hadn’t seen before. I put my hand on the knob, and then I stopped. From within, I heard Lou’s deep Irish brogue, although I could not make out his words. This must be his room, I decided. I swallowed over a lump in my throat, imagining what I might find if I opened the door. Was he fucking her the way Stefan had described? Had he bound her down, tormented her in the most delightfully decadent ways imaginable? My fantasies ran wild, but I couldn’t muster the courage to turn the handle.

  What if I walked into a scene like the one I’d witnessed the night before?

  “Miss?” I looked and saw the chef coming toward me.

  “Yes?”

  “Sasha’s retired for the evening,” she said. “You’ll have dinner with Stefan. Tell me what you like, and I’ll bring you whatever you desire.”

  The way she spoke the words made me think she was talking about more than food. Whatever I desired? What did I desire?

  I heard a loud groan from inside the room. I could tell that Sasha had made the noise, even if I’d never have expected so guttural a moan from her lips.

  What did the chef mean...retired for the evening? I was reading into everything. But I hadn’t yet asked Sasha about what her true relationship was to Lou and Stefan. Now, it looked like I wouldn’t find out until the morning.

  * * *

  I shouldn’t have been so pessimistic. I began to learn more about the villa at dinner. The table was set with candles and pretty pastel plates. Stefan sat opposite me. He looked casually cultured in his crisp white shirt, black jacket and emerald silk tie. I felt as I had felt so often lately: underdressed and underdone. I was wearing a black tank dress that I hoped looked elegant in its simplicity rather than simply simple.

  I wished I had dressed better.

  “What did you wish for?” he asked almost immediately as I’d had that thought.

  I stuttered my answer. “What do you mean?”

  “The tree...” He motioned to the one in the foyer. I realized what he was talking about and sighed. I didn’t have to tell him about the clothes. Then I thought about what I’d written, and I wasn’t sure if I should say that, either.

  “You can tell me later,” he said. “I’m pleased that we’re having this chance to dine on our own.”

  The chef came in then and served us from a painted wooden tray—starting with caviar on small rounds of toasted bread. The plates were as stunning as the artwork we’d seen earlier in the day. I didn’t want to disturb the arrangement, but I was hungry. Each bite was delicious. I’d been on rations for the past month. The closest I’d come to caviar was tuna salad on special.

  Stefan smiled as he watched me eat. I’m sure my appetite showed on my face, even in the candlelight.

  “What do you know about me?” he asked.

  I knew he was wealthy, and that he didn’t officially have to work. I knew he was handsome and that he had spanked my best friend. I knew he had good taste in clothes, décor and food, and that he had stuck his pointer up Sasha’s asshole. What did he want me to say?

  “This isn’t the world I’m accustomed to,” I ultimately managed to respond.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Elegance,” I said, made slightly more confident by the wine.

  “You deserve elegance.”

  Again, I wished I were better dressed, wished I could behave the way Sasha did, so refined. She always seemed to know exactly what to say in any given situation. I’ve always been better with words on paper. “What do you know about me?” I decided to ask, because the way he was looking at me made me think he had already acquired certain knowledge.

  Stefan smiled, and I instantly envisioned what kissing him would feel like. He looked so different this evening. My first glimpse had been of him spanking Sasha, and his face had been set and stern. Now he appeared relaxed and magnanimous. “I’ve known you for years,” he said, and the surreal quality that seemed to follow me in this villa settled on my shoulders like one of Sasha’s fancy scarves.

  “I don’t understand....”

  “Ellis, I had an ulterior motive to inviting you to stay here.”

  I thought about the spanking and didn’t lift another round of caviar toast. I would say my heart began to beat faster, but actually it was a different part of my anatomy that responded. When I reached for the glass of wine, my hand shook.

  “I’ve been reading your words for the past fifteen years, and I am a fan.”

  “My words?” I asked the question before I could stop myself.

  “Sasha’s sent me your writing—the articles, the copy. You have a flow.” The fact that he’d like my work—that made me blush. “I want you to write something for me.”

  “I’d love to,” I said too quickly, before knowing what he wanted, what he could be asking.

  He looked at me carefully. “I’m not ready to tell you the assignment yet, but I will soon.”

  The rest of the meal seemed to pass like a movie I was watching by not starring. We spoke, I know, about his life in Venice. About where I had grown up and the different careers I’d tried. I worked not to let him know about my failures—about how low I’d gotten myself right before the journey. He didn’t ask pointed questions. But the whole time we spoke, all I could think of was a job. I might have a job. The box under the bridge seemed like a distant threat now, as if I’d managed somehow to knock the cardboard flat.

  At the end of the meal, Stefan
led me to my room. I felt like a girl coming home from the prom, wondering if her date was going to try for a kiss. I hoped he’d try, but he didn’t.

  * * *

  That night, I heard the same sounds as I had the previous evening...clapping, or what I realized now was spanking. This time, I wasn’t surprised; I was excited. I followed the noise, not nearly as nervous as I had been on the prior evening. I felt as if someone was calling out to me. I had to respond.

  That didn’t mean I stomped my way to Sasha’s room. I still tiptoed, as quietly as possible. I wanted to watch. I didn’t even question the desire in myself. I yearned to see everything, to hear each word.

  At the door, I noticed the same sliver of light as I had on the previous night. I came closer, closer, and then peeked inside. There was Sasha. But this time, she was over Lou’s lap. He had a paddle in his hand—one that looked like a fraternity paddle, wooden, with holes drilled through in a uniform pattern. The chef was off to one side, and she seemed to be speaking to Lou, directing him. I crossed my legs and watched.

  No, she wasn’t directing, she was assisting. She was holding a tray of different sex toys and a bottle of lubrication. She looked exactly the same to me as she had when offering me my meal earlier in the evening, setting items from the tray in front of me, pouring me a glass of wine. Except now, she was pouring K-Y between Sasha’s cheeks and then offering a molded-glass butt plug to Lou.

  Did Venice artists blow these types of glass artifacts? That would be a souvenir tour I’d be willing to attend. I stifled a giggle. Then felt a pair of arms around my waist. I stiffened. This was not Lou, making sure I didn’t need anything. I turned to come face-to-face with Stefan, and my heart felt as if it had forgotten how to beat. He had his tie and jacket off now. His shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows, and his collar was unbuttoned.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “Come with me.”

  He took me to the room adjoining Sasha’s. There was only one small light on in the far corner. I was surprised to see that the room was set up in almost the exact opposite of Sasha’s. The mirror image. Oh, the mirror. Stefan took me closer, and now I saw that the mirror looked into Sasha’s room.

  “You like to watch,” he said. “This will give you a better vantage point.”

  “I...”

  “Don’t worry, Ellis.” He ran his fingers through my hair, then kissed me, once, on the lips, exactly as I’d fantasized about after dinner. I wanted more. I wanted him to take me to the bed and do all the things to me that Lou and the chef were doing to Sasha. But I couldn’t find my voice. “Sit here. Watch. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  I looked wildly around the room, and I saw that all of my belongings had been brought to this room while I’d slept. Stefan seemed to take note of my realization, because he said, “This is where you will sleep tonight.” One more kiss. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  People didn’t behave like this in the real world, did they? Nothing even remotely like this had ever happened to me before. Not outside of the dirty fairy tales that I wrote for my own pleasure, ones that only Sasha had been privy to reading. I thought about that as I sat in front of the mirror. The stories I’d given her over the years were fairy tales set in modern times—filthy stories set in New York. Had she given the stories to Stefan? Is that what he’d meant when he said he liked my writing?

  It was clear to me that he had read my words, as he walked into the room occupied by the chef and Lou. Because wasn’t this one of my all-time fantasies? I watched as Stefan bent Sasha over the bed. She had that butt plug between her cheeks, and he rocked the base of it gently. I couldn’t hear the sounds she made, but I could imagine. He removed the plug and then began to spank her once more. He was such a handsome dom, the way he stood, the way he moved. He punished my friend with hard, even strokes.

  I started to touch my pussy as he spanked her. I couldn’t stop myself. I put my feet up on the marble table in front of the mirror, parted my thighs and stroked my pussy through my bikini bottoms. I was dripping wet already.

  Somewhere in my mind I realized that the table on which I’d placed my feet was undoubtedly a priceless antique. But I couldn’t worry about that. I needed access. Sasha was taking the punishment well. She didn’t flinch or try to get out of the way. That is, not until Stefan motioned to the chef that he wanted something. What? What was he reaching for?

  I saw her hand him a thin-looking weapon and my stomach dropped. A crop? Sasha turned to look over her shoulder, and she started to stand. There was Lou, moving quickly, holding her in place by her wrists. I realized I wasn’t breathing, and I sucked in a great breath of air as Stefan struck the first blow. Sasha definitely responded to this. Maybe the hand spanking had been more of a warm-up. She squirmed and flailed, but Lou held her in place. Stefan parted her legs, and touched her in between. I felt myself growing more aroused by the second. I was watching a dirty scenario starring players I knew, but I felt as if I were viewing an X-rated movie put on solely for my enjoyment. I’d never been part of anything like this before.

  I thought of the stories I’d written over the years. The first time I’d given Sasha one to read, I’d been embarrassed. She’d never seemed that into sex before. She’d written me a note back drawing a picture of herself with the words Me and My Halo, letting me know then that although she might appear pristine and perfect, she had a slight deviant streak. But she’d never talked about putting any of the themes in my stories into play.

  Apparently, she did.

  Then the chef came into view, and I realized, I’d forgotten about her. She took Lou’s position, not holding Sasha’s wrists, but moving to her side, stroking her hair, kissing her. I wasn’t going to last much longer, I realized. I climbed onto the marble table so I could get as close to the action as possible. What would they say if I joined them, I wondered? What would Stefan do if I walked out of my room and into Sasha’s? Is that what they hoped for? Was this their genteel style of an engraved invitation?

  For some reason, I couldn’t. I sat there, watching as Lou stood behind Sasha, and I understood when he started fucking her. I could hear the sounds, but not the words he said. The cadence, like a lullaby of how he spoke to her. I saw Stefan leave, and I wondered if he would come to my room, if he would find me up on the table and scold me or stroke me or spank me.

  But I remained alone, all night, watching Lou and the chef make love to Sasha until the light in that room went out and I was all by myself.

  * * *

  In the morning, I found Sasha in a transparent nightgown on the veranda, standing and looking out at the water. I could see through the filmy material that her ass was still red. This brought back instant memories of the night before. My pussy clenched. Once the debauchery had ended, I’d spent the remainder of the previous night fucking myself with the vibrator while listening to my favorite songs. The iPod had been preprogrammed with music I adored. Someone knew my music tastes better than Pandora.

  Sasha was drinking from a champagne flute. She didn’t turn to me until I reached her side. When she did, her face lit up.

  “Did you sleep well, Ellis?”

  I stared at her. Sleep? Was another day going to pass where we were not going to talk about what I’d seen? Were we going to pretend that this was some normal vacation, where we’d take a boat out to the glass factory and buy paperweights and overpriced knickknacks?

  “I don’t think she slept for more than twenty minutes.”

  The voice surprised me. I turned to address Stefan.

  “How do you know that?” I asked before I could stop myself. Was it rude to challenge so generous a host?

  “Because I watched you.”

  Without hesitation, I took Sasha’s champagne glass from her and began to drink. I had to work not to chatter the rim of the glass against my teeth. Sasha was smiling at me. I’d never seen her look so peaceful before. Was someone going to tell me how he had watched me? Was there another two-way mirror in the bedroom? W
ere the guest rooms fitted with video cameras?

  But nobody spoke. Stefan reached for Sasha and brought her close to him. While I stood there, drinking her champagne, he bent her over the stone railing and lifted the back of her nightgown, exposing her beautiful ass. I’d worked out with Sasha at the gym before—she brought me in with her as a guest, like a city mouse taking pity on a poor Nautilus-deprived country mouse. I knew how hard she sweated to keep her body in shape. Now, I knew why.

  “Did you enjoy watching me punish her?” he asked.

  I stared at my feet. I was wearing my last best pair of shoes. Even these were scuffed, and if you flipped them over, you’d see holes in the soles.

  “The answer isn’t on your knock-off patent-leather mules,” he said.

  “I know.” I liked the way he spoke, the way he described my footwear.

  “How did you react?” he asked next. “What were you thinking?” While I watched, he stroked Sasha’s ass. I felt a catch in my throat. How I wanted him to do that to me. But people didn’t behave like this. Not in the really real world.

  “I don’t know,” I stammered.

  “Then let’s try it again so we can see.”

  Part of me wanted to run back to my room, to repack my bags, to get out of this place. I had never experienced anything like this before. I didn’t know how to behave. The other part of me wanted to stay exactly where I was. Due to the fact that I truly had no place to go—this was the end of my rock-island line—I held my ground. Stefan seemed pleased.

  “I’ll spank her. You watch. Then you tell me how you feel.”

  I sucked in my breath. He let his hand connect with her naked ass. He didn’t hit her hard, and I was aware that something in me wished he had. He smacked her again. Then he smiled at me. He was playing a game, giving her soft little love pats. I wanted to see him let loose. What was going on inside of me? I felt all twisted and bent. I wanted to watch a man who was practically a stranger punish my best friend.

  “This is Venice,” a voice said behind me. I turned and saw the chef with a bottle of champagne. She motioned to my glass and I held it out, waiting for the refill. I felt as if I hadn’t drunk a sip. Not that my head was clear, but that my edge was still sharp. Nothing in my brain was fuzzy or hazy. I craved release.