Bianca: The Silk Merchant's Daughters

by Bertrice Small

  “Signore! I beg you, cease!” Bianca cried as he sucked upon her innocent flesh, arousing emotions in her she had never known. “Please! Please! No more, I beg you!”

  Reluctantly he raised his head from her snowy bosom. His eyes were glazed with his lust. He drew a ragged breath, but then covered the little breast. He knew his cock was surging so strongly in his need for her that he was surprised it didn’t push through the fabric of his trunk hose. No woman, least of all his two previous wives, had brought him to such a state without a touch of the dog whip. He was both astounded and thrilled by the knowledge that this girl could have such an effect upon him. Particularly given his age.

  “You are a temptress, cara mia,” he told her.

  “I did not mean to entice you, signore,” she said lowly. “Will you always kiss me with such fervor? Why did you suckle on me?”

  “Didn’t you like it when I caressed your sweet little breast?” he asked, not bothering to answer her questions.

  “It was strange. I felt . . . I felt strange,” she told him. “I thought only babes suckled from their mothers’ breasts.”

  “I want no children of you, Bianca. I have two strong sons, one of whom will wed shortly before we do. I will not spoil what I suspect is a perfect body beneath your gown. That body now belongs to me, and you will reserve it for my pleasure alone, cara mia. Before we marry you will know much of what I require of you.”

  Bianca did not tell her mother of his words, or his actions as the next few months went by. She dreaded his visits, for she never knew what he would do. When the weather began to chill, they were given the privacy of a small salon, in which he slowly educated her to his taste. She almost fainted the first time she was given a view of his manhood. He made her kneel before him before he uncovered himself to her sight. Then he taught her how to handle his cock, delighting in her gentle, delicate touch, in her gasp of shock as he thickened and lengthened before her sight. When he was hard, Sebastiano instructed her to kiss the very tip. She did so, reluctantly.

  Another time, when he was suitably firm, he explained to her how to lick him, starting with the satiny head of his cock, then slowly bathing the length with her tongue. He might have waited until Nudara could teach her these things. He had fully intended to do so, but he found he was gaining great pleasure in teaching her himself. Once a tiny pearl of his juices bedewed the tip, and he forced her to lick it up. “I sometimes enjoy being sucked dry, cara mia,” he told her. “Best that you get used to the taste now.”

  Bianca was horrified by such a suggestion, but there was worse to come for her, she found. Her fifteenth birthday came in December, and after eight months of betrothal, her wedding date was set for the week after. Learning of it, Sebastiano Rovere became bolder in his tutoring of his bride-to-be. His hands began to roam beneath her skirts, stroking her silken thighs, rubbing her mons, and then one evening the curious finger of her fidanzato pushed between her nether lips. His lips and tongue engaged with hers as he began rubbing a tiny nub of flesh with that finger.

  Bianca moaned as it caused that secret flesh to tingle. Stronger and stronger the sensation grew, until she could bear it no more. She wiggled against the finger until a lovely burst overcame her, and she sighed with open pleasure.

  He laughed softly, darkly. “I am glad to see you can respond so naturally to my lovemaking,” he said. Then his finger pushed into her up to the first joint.

  “Ohhh.” Bianca gasped.

  “I just want to see how tightly your virginity is lodged, cara mia,” he reassured her, and he moved his finger deeper into her sheath. She was very tight, her sheath narrow. Breaching her would be divine. She would feel pain, as the membrane blocking his finger’s passage was strongly fixed. The very thought excited him. She whimpered, and he withdrew the finger. “There, there,” he soothed her.

  Was there any escape, Bianca wondered in the days that followed? No, there was none. She would belong to this man till she died, and she would have no children to comfort her, to distract her from him. She had never seen the palazzo in which she would reside after the wedding ceremony. She knew his younger son lived with him, but the boy had just been betrothed to Carolina di Medici, a distant relation of Cosimo.

  Stefano, who had wed Violetta Orsini in October, had been given a charming little palazzo in which to live with his new wife by his in-laws. Stefano’s father-in-law knew well the dark reputation of Sebastiano Rovere and did not want his daughter living in the man’s home. A silk merchant himself, Signore Orsini wondered how Rovere had managed to gain the hand of the fair Bianca Pietro d’Angelo from her usually prudent father. He felt sorry for the poor girl.

  Bianca knew she might ask to see her new home, but she did not. Seeing it would have made the reality of her life fact. But she did wonder if the gardens were as lovely as her father’s, for like most respectable married women, she would not leave her home except on rare occasions. Her servants would do the marketing. Sebastiano Rovere was an extremely old-fashioned man and had told her quite frankly that a priest would come and say Mass when she wished it. There was no church on his piazza. Unless it was a wedding or a funeral, it was unlikely she would even see her sisters again, although she knew that her father, being less traditional, would allow her mother to visit her.

  “You will come tomorrow,” Bianca said to Orianna as she was being dressed for her wedding.

  “Not tomorrow, but in a few days’ time,” Orianna promised her daughter, thinking as she did how beautiful Bianca looked in her wedding gown.

  It was silk, of course. A very rare fabric, for it had not been imported from China, as all of the bolts in her husband’s warehouses were. It had been spun from the thread of the silkworms Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo raised himself in a hidden garden of mulberry bushes outside of the city. There was enough silk this year for one gown, and no more. Pure white, the fitted bodice with its squared neckline was embroidered with pearls over lace. The sleeves were lace-edged silk, heavily embroidered with gold thread and pearls.

  The full skirt was lace trimmed at its hem. Bianca’s long dark hair was left loose, and she carried but a single white rose in her hand.

  All of her siblings were to be allowed to attend the ceremony in Santa Anna Dolce, a rare privilege, but Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo was proud of his family. An occasion such as this one gave other important men and their wives the opportunity to see the strong, healthy children he and Orianna had produced. He would soon have to find a wife for Marco. Georgio would go to the Church next year. He was clever, and Giovanni had no doubt he would one day gain a cardinal’s red cap. Having a cardinal in the family was a useful thing, as the Borgias in Rome were discovering.

  But today was for Bianca and her marriage to Sebastiano Rovere. While his conscience still troubled him over the match, he had, as his daughter had, resigned himself to it. Nothing could be changed now.

  Chapter 3

  Because of the time of year, an awning had been run between the palazzo of the Pietro d’Angelo family, across the piazza, and up the steps of Santa Anna Dolce. A cold, light rain fell as the silk merchant brought his eldest daughter to her destiny. His wife and children had preceded them and now waited in the crowded church. Despite the fur-lined cloak that had been put over her shoulders to protect her, Bianca felt cold, and the garment was removed the moment they entered the building.

  Her father led her up the long aisle of the church past nameless people she did not know. Some smiled at her. Others simply marveled at the girl’s extraordinary beauty. Some whispered to their companions knowingly. Bianca was numb. She would shortly have the Church’s blessing on her marriage. She didn’t want it! She didn’t want this union. She was terrified of Sebastiano Rovere, who now stood waiting for her at the end of the aisle, a toothy smile decorating his darkly handsome face, his lust barely concealed.

  Her father put her hand into t
hat of Rovere. Bianca remembered to acknowledge him with a small nod of her head. They knelt at Father Bonamico’s instruction. She answered when required, but she didn’t really hear the words being spoken. She just instinctively knew what was expected of her and performed her duty. That was all that would be needed of her from now on. That she do her duty.

  And after the church had done what was expected of it, Bianca and her new husband led her family and the guests back across the square to the Pietro d’Angelo palazzo, where tables covered in the finest linen cloths and topped with golden candelabras had been set up in the formal sala da pranzo. Bianca had never had a meal in this dining room, with its mural-covered walls and coffered ceiling. Their family ate in a smaller and more intimate chamber. This was where her father entertained his guests. Tomorrow there would be another wedding feast given in her new home by her husband.

  The menu was extensive, with several kinds of pasta, salads, and roasted meats and poultry. There were freshly baked breads and rich wines. Unlike many, Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo did not serve his best wines first and afterwards his worst, believing as so many did that no one would notice. He served only his best wines for the entire feast, which led the bridegroom to imbibe too much.

  Sebastiano Rovere knew he was drinking too much, but tonight he could not seem to stop himself. Soon, soon Bianca would lie naked in his bed, at his mercy. The thought of her fear, of her screams as he took her virginity, excited him almost beyond bearing. And she was fearful of his attentions, he knew. She accepted his kisses easily enough now, but when his hands would roam over her nubile young body, a look would cross her face and she would struggle not to forbid him, although he knew she wanted to do so.

  He turned his head to look at her now. The neckline of her wedding gown had been cut particularly low. Her full young breasts almost swelled over the lace edging, and he had seen many men in the room tonight admiring the view. Little bitch, he thought. She will soon learn at my hand the consequences of her teasing. His fourteen-year-old son, Alberto, could not take his eyes from Bianca’s tempting cleavage. Alberto needed to have a wife. Stefano had told their father that the young devil could hardly keep his cock in his hose these days. Sebastiano chuckled. Alberto was like his father.

  It was time to go home. They had remained long enough to satisfy custom, and he wanted to fuck Bianca now. He arose from his seat, reaching out to pull Bianca up too. “My friends,” he said, his voice slurring, “it is time for me to take my bride to my bed. I thank you all for coming, and will look forward to your company at our own wedding banquet tomorrow.”

  Bianca looked like a young deer caught before a hunter. Orianna came quickly to her daughter’s side. “I will see my daughter settled in her litter, signore,” she said and led Bianca from the sala da pranzo. “You know what is expected of you,” Orianna said in a no-nonsense voice she hoped would calm Bianca. “I have carefully instructed you, daughter, and I know he has had his hands all over you these past few months. Whatever you do, show no fear. The deflowering is quickly over and done with, Bianca. Then all you need do is let him have his way with you. His condition is such that I doubt he will do much more tonight than what is required of him. And after the newness of you wears off for him, or you get yourself with child quickly, it is unlikely he will disturb you but for now and again.”

  Bianca nodded. It all seemed so simple to her mother, but it was not. “He wants no more children,” she told her mother.

  Orianna looked shocked. Then she said, “It is not up to him. It is up to God.”

  The litter was waiting outside the palazzo. Orianna helped her daughter into it, wrapping a wool and fur robe about her. “Agata is waiting for you,” she said. “God bless you, my child. I will come in a few days to see you.” Then Orianna signaled the litter bearers to be on their way. By the time her new son-in-law reached his house, Bianca would be waiting for him in their marriage bed.

  It was almost an hour before Sebastiano Rovere came forth to mount his horse, and with his son, Alberto, and their armed escort, departed for his own house. Arriving, he found the palazzo quiet. A servant opened the door, greeting his master.

  “Where is my bride?” he asked.

  “She was brought to her apartments when she arrived, my lord. Her servingwoman is with her.”

  “Have her brought to my rooms immediately,” Sebastiano ordered the man.

  “At once, my lord,” the servant said, hurrying off. Reaching the newly refurbished apartment of his master’s bride, he knocked at the door and almost at once found himself facing a stern-faced servingwoman. “The master wishes his bride to join him in his chambers,” he said to the woman.

  “My young mistress is awaiting her bridegroom in her own bed.”

  “Mistress, in this house we never question the master’s orders,” the servingman said quietly. “Please, I beg of you, do not send me back to him with such a message. He can be particularly harsh when he is defied, or drunk. Tonight he is drunk.”

  “It is unorthodox, but wait while I see my little lady properly garbed, and then show us the way. My name is Agata.”

  “I am Antonio, and I will wait,” the man said.

  Agata went back through her mistress’s new apartment to the bedchamber, where Bianca was waiting for her husband in her bed. She was naked. “Your bridegroom has sent a servant for you to attend him in his rooms,” she said disapprovingly to the girl.

  “Then I must go,” Bianca responded, arising from the bed.

  “Put this on,” Agata told her mistress, handing her a long, plain, silk night garment. “The manservant is waiting. I will go with you, but mark the way well for you will have to return on your own. I will be here awaiting your return.”

  Bianca put on the nightgown Agata held out to her. Shouldn’t he have come to her bedchamber on this their wedding night? But then she knew nothing of wedding nights. Barefooted, she followed Agata through her apartment and out into the corridor, where a manservant awaited them. To her relief, he kept his eyes politely lowered. The silk was very sheer. She watched carefully as they went. Her husband’s rooms were not far from hers, much to her relief, and were at the end of a passageway.

  The door opened. Another manservant stepped out. “If you will come with me, mistress, I will bring you to the master,” he said politely. “I am called Guido, mistress.”

  “Go! Go!” Agata murmured. “God and his blessed Mother protect you.”

  Bianca followed Guido into Sebastiano Rovere’s private rooms. They crossed a dayroom. The servant knocked upon the door of another chamber across from the first chamber. “Master, she is here.” He opened the door, and after a moment’s hesitation Bianca stepped inside. The door behind her closed with the finality of a prison door.

  The room was dim, the only light coming from a large fireplace. “Signore, I have come at your request,” Bianca said. Her eyes growing used to the dim light, she saw him sprawled upon a large canopied bed in his wedding robe, which was now stained with wine and food. “Signore,” she murmured again, not certain if he was asleep.

  “Take off that garment,” he said. “I want to see you naked, cara mia.”

  She obeyed, already feeling shamed by his disrespect.

  He stared at her and licked his lips as if he were anticipating a fine meal. “Come closer,” he said.

  She moved closer, although how she managed to work her legs Bianca was not certain. She was very frightened, and she could see he was indeed drunk with her father’s good wine. She had drunk more than she was used to drinking, but she felt no effects from the wine at all.

  “Turn around. Do it slowly,” he said.

  Bianca followed his instruction, rotating herself around a turn.

  “Put your hands beneath your breasts and hold them up for me,” he said. She was delicious. She was perfect. For months the very sight of her, the mere
thought of her, had caused his male member to rage with lust. Tonight he felt nothing. Nothing! Sebastiano Rovere was suddenly angry.

  She saw the anger staining his face. “Do I not please you, husband?” she asked him. Was he angry at her? What had she done? He reached for something upon the table next to the bed. Bianca saw it was a small dog whip. Her eyes widened with surprise as he arose, and turning her, pushed her facedown upon the bed. She felt the whip upon her buttocks and shrieked with both her surprise and her pain. But beating her did not help. He had not hit her hard enough to even break the skin, but she was sobbing piteously, and he found it annoying.

  “What have you done to me, you little bitch, that I cannot perform as a man now?”

  “I have done nothing, husband,” she cried.

  “You have!” he snarled. “I have lusted after you for weeks, but tonight my fire is dead. It would not be so had you not done something to me. Is it a spell you murmured, or something you slipped into my wine, Bianca? Answer me!”

  “I have done nothing,” she told him, sitting up to face him.

  “You must be punished for this wickedness, cara mia. I can see you are fearful of losing your virginity. All brides are. If I cannot do what is necessary tonight, someone else shall. Then you will not be afraid, and my potency will be restored. Guido!”

  The servant’s head came round the bedchamber door. “Master?”

  “Fetch my son, Alberto, and hurry!” Sebastiano Rovere shouted.

  Guido disappeared, to return a few moments later with young Alberto. He had found the boy about to make use of Nudara’s charms and wondered if the master knew.

  He pushed Alberto into his father’s bedchamber, and then, shutting the door, put his ear against it to listen. What was the master going to do?