by K D Grace
He drove the Porsche like it was an extension of his own body, as once again they headed out of Rome and onto the winding road leading to Tivoli. His running commentary on Roman history and the quarrying of travertine in the area said less about his own nervousness than the citrus note that now capped his scent. That he was nervous did little to calm the citric spike of her own nerves. ‘Not everyone will be there tonight,’ he said. ‘But you’ll meet some of the people who’ll be participating in our little experiments, and you’ll meet the people in charge.’
‘Coraline mentioned that you were a member of The Mount’s High Council.’
He offered her a quick flash of a smile that seemed to take some effort, and the flint and steel spark of irritability shot through his scent.
‘Fidelia’s now the head of the High Council,’ he said. ‘That role changes every four years so that too much power isn’t concentrated in the hands of one person. Fidelia’s good in the position.’ He gave her a quick glance as he downshifted onto the road leading to the villa.
‘And you?’
‘I’m only on the council because I couldn’t get out of it.’
‘I take it you’re not pleased with the position.’
‘I don’t consider myself very well suited for it, that’s all.’
She slid sideways in her seat and studied him as the Porsche hugged the curves of the mountain road. ‘You’re a natural leader, Paulo, or you wouldn’t be the heir apparent to Martelli Fragrance.’
‘I’m the heir apparent because I have a good nose and I have a good sense for the business. The Mount, well that’s a completely different animal. You’ll understand once you’ve been introduced.’ It almost sounded like she would be having an audience with the pope.
This time the front of the villa was lit with fairy lights, and expensive cars were being driven away by liveried valets after they disgorged the beautiful people from their posh interiors. Liza’s stomach knotted, and she was glad that Paulo couldn’t smell her nerves. She certainly could. As they approached the entrance, he rested a warm hand on her thigh and offered a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, Liza, you’re fabulous, and everyone will know that the second they see you.’ Perhaps the man’s nose was better than she thought. But then again, it probably didn’t take an ace sense of smell to figure out that she was nervous. Paulo shooed the valet away from Liza’s door and opened it himself, offering her his hand as she struggled out of the low seat less gracefully than she would have liked. Thanks to Paulo, no one saw her awkwardness around the mantling of his body.
A man who could have passed for a model in his coat and tails and air-brush-perfect black hair handed each of them a flute of prosecco and led them through a long tiled corridor out into a Renaissance garden that surely rivaled the Villa d’Este. Fountains like tumbling streams banistered the wide travertine steps that descended into the terraced garden below. At the end of each terrace, the water spilled down into the next around sculptures of lovers in a whole Kama Sutra of positions, but with that same Bernini attention to detail. Though the statuary seemed to have no effect on Paulo’s scent, surely he must be able to tell that it was heating hers up nicely. At the bottom of the steps, he led her into a topiary maze that made her pulse race as it twisted and curved back on itself until she could never find her way back through without his help. And just when she was about to ask him if he was certain he knew where they were going, the maze opened through an arch of shrubbery. There in the middle of a richly mosaicked patio surrounded by the same type of banister fountains that flanked the travertine steps, was a stone dining table, long and slender. At one end, dressed in rich black silk that caressed her full breasts like a second skin, sat Fidelia.
‘Ah, our guest has arrived,’ she said, offering a smile that was warm enough, but not without the wicked edge Liza had experienced in the basement at Martelli Fragrance.
Paulo cupped Liza’s elbow and guided her to stand in front of the table on which a rich array of antipasti had been served up. ‘Fidelia and David, you know,’ Paulo said. She noticed the man who had been in the ménage last night sat opposite her dressed in a black tux not unlike the one Paulo wore. ‘And you know Alessandro.’ Liza was surprised to find Coraline Martelli’s PA smiling broadly at her in an immaculate grey tux with tails. ‘Lucia.’ He introduced a delicate-boned woman in flounces of pastel taffeta and lace, who looked like she might have just returned from the Land of Fairy, but the scent of her was slightly metallic and charcoal sharp, and Liza knew immediately that the tiny woman was the most dangerous of all to play with. It was clear from her scent that she really wanted to play with the fresh meat Paulo had brought. ‘Coraline, of course you know. She’s not here at the moment and I don’t know where Angelo is.’
‘Last I saw he was playing in the dungeon,’ the fairy queen said without taking her hungry gaze off Liza.
‘No surprise there, Luci,’ David said, adding his own raking gaze across Liza. The scent of metal and heat that rose around the table felt predatory, even in its blending of cinnamon and nutmeg curiosity and the coriander smell of skepticism.
‘Tell me, how do I smell?’ The fairy queen asked, leaning over until her small breasts were visible all the way to large cherry-licorice nipples.
‘You smell like you’d like to catch me and eat me in the corner of the garden, bones and all.’
The whole table went silent. Christ, when was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut?
Then David broke into a raucous laugh and everyone else at the table followed suit, including the fairy queen. ‘She’s got your scent all right, Luci,’ he said.
Luci pushed back her chair and moved around the table in a swish, swish of taffeta to stand in front of Liza. ‘Tell me, Ms Nose, if I could smell you as well as you can smell me, would I smell nerves?’ She brought her nose to rest against the pulse point of Liza’s neck, an effort which had her standing on the tippy-toes of her bare feet with one hand resting on Liza’s shoulder for balance. Then she inhaled with a sigh. ‘Or perhaps I’d smell fear. Or maybe something a little sweeter?’ Her hand slipped off Liza’s shoulder to cup her breast, which she kneaded before giving Liza’s straining nipple a hard pinch.
‘You’d probably smell a good mix of all three,’ Liza managed with a hiss of breath between her teeth.
‘And you can smell us all, Ms Calendar?’ The woman asked, walking behind her trailing fingers around and down until they rested low on Liza’s belly. Her hot breath smelled of fennel and seaweed against Liza’s neck. Next to her, Paulo’s scent thickened with protective iron and heat.
‘Would you like me to go around the table and sniff everyone for you?’ Liza sounded much calmer than she felt. And she certainly wouldn’t have to sniff everyone to get their scents. They were all that obvious. But she didn’t tell the fairy queen that. Besides, getting past the jitters was less of a challenge with so many intriguing smells.
‘Maybe later,’ the woman said in a breathy voice. ‘For now, sit down and eat, and let us get to know you.’ She led Liza back around the table and pulled out a chair between her and David, forcing Paulo to sit across from her. Liza could tell by his scent he wasn’t happy about that. Without asking her what she wanted, the fairy queen began filling the plate in front of her with succulent treats. Then, with her fingers she picked up a ripe, juicy olive and shoved it between Liza’s lips. ‘There, darling, isn’t that nice,’ she said. ‘David and Fidelia have both told us about their experiences with your magnificent nose. And, of course, Paulo’s experiences, as much as we know of them, have been whispered amongst us in hushed tones, so I think we can safely assume we know more about you than you do about us.’
‘So what is The Mount then, some sort of fetish sex club?’ Liza managed before Paulo growled at her response, and the fairy queen stuffed a piece of basil and tomato bruschetta into her mouth. Liza bit and gnawed and chewed like mad struggling to maintain good table manners. There was a titter of laughter around the table.
>
‘So Paulo really has kept his mouth shut about us?’
Liza nodded and covered her overly-full mouth.
‘No one knows anything about The Mount unless they’re members, or have special dispensation, and you fall into the latter category, darling,’ Fidelia said, her eyes locked on Liza’s mouth as though she found the mastication fascinating.
‘I suppose you could say we’re a fetish club, but a sex cult would be more accurate, though probably no less offensive to the ears of the uninitiated, or to Paulo,’ the fairy queen said. Paulo growled again. Then she held a glass of wine up to Liza’s lips and slapped her hands away when she attempted to take it for herself. As Liza gave up the battle and leaned forward to take the drink, the fairy queen tipped it just a little too much, sending a cascade of primitivo sluicing down into Liza’s cleavage. ‘Oh dear. How clumsy of me,’ she said, making a groping effort to wipe up the spill with a thick linen napkin.
If looks could kill, the look Paulo sent the woman would have been fatal, but he said nothing, only turned to Liza and offered an apologetic grimace. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where the ladies room is so you can clean up.’
‘Not necessary, Paulo.’ Fidelia raised a hand. ‘Sylvia can show her. There’s business we need to sort, and we don’t want to bore poor Liza.’ She nodded to a tiny woman in a miniscule French maid’s uniform with masses of dark hair tucked up under a lacy cap. She offered Liza a bright smile and motioned her to follow. Paulo nodded reassuringly.
It hadn’t taken Liza long to clean herself. Very little of the wine had actually gotten on the gown. Most had splashed across her neck and cleavage. She had immediately dismissed the maid, promising that she could find her own way back to the table. In truth, she wasn’t in any real hurry to do so. She figured Paulo would be discussing with them The Mount’s willingness to help with his little experiment and, apparently those at the table, minus Coraline Martelli and this Angelo person, made up the High Council – whatever the hell that meant.
She took her time freshening up, and decided that with Fidelia dismissing her so the council could talk business, and with the glorious full moon, it was a perfect night to explore the villa’s exquisite renaissance garden. Of course there was a grotto. Every renaissance garden had a grotto, but as she approached it, the watery smell of the fountain that cascaded over its secret depths and the smell of the lush greenery all around were subsumed in the scent of sex. Though Liza could hear only the sound of running water, which drowned out the sounds of pleasure, the scent was unmistakable, so she turned away, not wanting to interrupt the fun. She felt her own heat kindle inside the lacy red thong as she recalled the fairy queen’s declaration that The Mount was a sex cult. Did she really think that would somehow appall Liza? Liza could think of no place better to study the scents of attraction and arousal, nor could she think of any place where Paulo might better recruit the help they would need to generate just the right scents for the five new perfumes Martelli was planning.
She had not been led back through the maze when Sylvia had shown her to the ladies room, so it would be no hardship to find her way back to Paulo and the council when the time came and, since she wasn’t anxious to be scrutinized further, she continued her explorations. The place was a pornographic version of the Villa d’Este, with each sculpture and each fountain a little naughtier than the one before. There were fountains with broad-chested, muscular-assed men with their faces buried in water gushing pussies of full-breasted, round-hipped women. There were threesomes in every combination imaginable doing every thing imaginable. There were scenes of seduction from Greek mythology, complete with pornographic detail lacking in all other artistic representations Liza had ever seen. As she wound her way amid the fountains and the foliage, the scent of sex blended into the rising night in nooks and crannies and hidey-holes that she was sure were designed especially for such encounters. Overhead an owl trilled and the grunt of an orgasm filtered from behind a flowering shrub. Even the heady scent of its blossoms couldn’t block out the moment of release. To avoid having to walk around a couple in mid-fuck on the edge of one of the stone benches, she turned behind a sculpture of a very well-endowed satyr who was about to bury his cock in the exposed pussy of a startled young woman. It was then that she realized not only had she come to the stone wall that surely must delineate the edge of the garden, but she was also lost. She looked around for the travertine steps, hoping that she could see them from a distance and somehow make her way around the outer edge of the maze, but the foliage was too high and the corner of the garden in which she now found herself was too dark. Retracing her steps to where she thought she had left the couple mid-fuck, she had hoped her nose would lead her back to the centre of the garden where the council was meeting. She didn’t want Paulo to worry.
Somehow she ended up by a fountain of Psyche and Eros in a far more erotic embrace than any she had ever seen depicted. Opposite the fountain was a stone archway with a heavy wooden door standing open. There was a light shining from inside. As she drew nearer, she could see that the door led down a set of worn travertine steps. Clearly the wall, the door and the steps were older than the rest of the villa, but then everything had its roots in antiquity in Italy. The light from the depths was an orange glow that danced like firelight. The steps were steep and the maw beneath the wall looked anything but inviting. Liza would have turned and tried another path if not for the scent of sex emanating from the depths. But it was more than just the scent of sex. It was the scent of lots of sex. It was almost like the history of sex written in stone. Trying to sip little gulps of the olfactory feast, as though she feared she might disturb any occupants, she tiptoed closer. The scent of deep earth permeated the air, the scent at the boundary where soil and growth give way to bedrock and cavern. From below she was almost certain she heard a moan. It was followed by the sharp scents of flint and steel and sulphur, of that first spark of fire against dry twigs. It was sex as she had never smelled it, and though she knew she shouldn’t, though she knew she should find her way back to the council meeting, her feet moved forward almost as though they had a mind of their own, and slowly, carefully, she made her way down the worn steps, bracing her hand against the dry cool stone of the wall.
She descended one flight and the steps curved back under themselves, going deeper. She could hear the sound of dripping water, more irregular than the tinkling of the fountains. She reckoned the steps had turned back into the grounds beneath the villa. There were sconces along the wall that flickered with gas lighting. It wasn’t difficult to see her path, but it wasn’t easy either. She had just begun the second flight of steps when there was a sharp crack of sound and someone cried out. She covered her own mouth to hold back a yelp, but the covering of her mouth meant that her nose took the scent deep into her sinuses, and the scent was marshy thick, mineral water sharp, laced with the tide pool of female heat. There was another crack, another moan and the deep rumble of a man’s voice, too muffled for her to understand, but by the tone of his voice and by the sharp metal scent of his arousal, there was no missing the fact that he was in charge.
As she descended the second flight of steps, she could smell old leather, heavy perspiration, and other wet smells that made her heart pound in her chest, that made her own wet smell sharp-edged and anise seeded with just a touch of wet metal fear, and enough cinnamon and cloves of curiosity to push her forward. She knew where she was, as sure as she knew her own name. This was the dungeon. It had to be. As the stairs gave way to uneven stone floor, the room opened into a cavernous space, the smell of which was so overwhelming that Liza’s knees gave from under her and she dropped onto the last of the steps, both hands tight across her mouth to hold back the gasp.
Chapter Fourteen
In the centre of the room was a bed that was more like a wooden rack. On it lay a woman cuffed spread-eagle and silenced by the ball gag in her mouth. She wore only black stockings and a black corset that forced her breasts up high and tight. Her hip
s had been elevated by something that didn’t look soft enough to be a pillow, but it ensured that her pussy was exposed and open at the perfect angle for penetration. From the scent, she was more than ready for the man kneeling between her legs, leather trousers pulled down to expose his red-welted ass and his very heavy erection. From a wooden table next to the bed, he took a string of hefty anal beads from a selection of dildos and butt plugs arranged on black velvet, then he leaned forward and eased the beads one at a time into her well-lubricated anus.
It was only when Liza found the strength to get to her feet and tiptoe into the room that she got the whole picture. The flint and steel male heat, the driving force of the olfactory story unfolding before her nose was not the man kneeling between the woman’s legs, but another man, a man sitting in a ladder-back chair, turned front to back so that his long jean-clad legs were splayed on either side. His feet were bare and he was naked from the waist up. His face was silhouetted and lost in shadow. His tattooed, muscular arms were draped over the back of the chair as he surveyed the couple on the bed. ‘Hold your wad, Vittorio,’ he called out. ‘You’ll come when I say you can come, when I say Chiara can come. Maybe I’ll let her come and make you hold it. I wonder just how full your sac will get, just how hard your cock will get if I make you watch me fuck her. Hmmm?’
Crack! The end of the bullwhip that Liza hadn’t noticed in the man’s hand snapped out so quickly and so perfectly controlled across Vittorio’s bare ass that Liza didn’t have time to force back her cry.