by S. C. Daiko
He lets out a groan and clamps his mouth on mine. I open up to him, wide, my lips swelling with the hotness of unexpected desire. He’s enjoying me so much that I’m responding and my pearl throbs.
I rise from his lap. ‘Pray sir, shall I read you one of my poems?’
‘You write? How wonderful! By all means. I shall enjoy a reading. But first, let me taste the poetry of your body. You will like what I’m about to do to you, I promise.’
Hmm. ‘And you will like what I’m about to do to you.’ I hope.
I unlace his cod then lower myself to my knees between his legs. A quick glance up into his eyes as my tongue darts out to taste the tip of his prick.
Signor Ramberti places his hands on the back of my neck and urges me closer. ‘Oh, yes!’
Curling my fist around the base of his prick, I work my tongue up and down its length, coating it with in my saliva. With my other hand, I reach down to cup and massage his testicles. A warm drop of liquid escapes him and I swipe my tongue against his tip, capturing the bead of salty fluid to swallow it down.
‘Keep going,’ he pants.
I ease open my mouth and suck him in. Warmth and moisture flood my quim. His hand tightens in my hair, causing my scalp to tingle. He pulls away from my mouth; saliva dribbles down my chin. ‘You know what I want now?’
I nod and point to the jar of goose fat Mamma has left on the table.
‘Good.’
He hands me the pot and I rub the ointment onto his prick with deft stokes. He lifts my chin. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’
I shake my head and he laughs. ‘You’re still dressed. Come here, boy!’
He unlaces my codpiece, pulls down my breeches then my hose. My top-half clearly doesn’t interest him. Gently, he bends me over. ‘Your arse is so beautiful.’
First, he inserts a finger, then two. I wince, but the feeling is not unpleasant. Now the nub of his prick is pushing at my culo. Signor Ramberti is an arse-rider and what we’re doing could have us burnt. The state inquisitors hate sodomy more than any of the other sins. No one will know, I hope. ’Tis between me and Signor Ramberti; he has paid me handsomely for it.
It hurts, God how it hurts. I yelp.
‘Relax, boy,’ he says.
I’m trying. Tears escape and I wipe them away with the backs of my hands. Signor Ramberti is holding onto my hips, grinding into me. Now it’s not hurting anymore. Now I’m nudging my arse back at him. Now I’m reaching down to my nub and rubbing it.
‘So good, so good, so good,’ he says. ‘A culo hot and tight. Ripe for fucking.’
His body jerks and his prick spasms inside me. I can feel his wetness mixing with mine.
‘Did I please you, Signor Ramberti?’
‘Pray, call me Ludovico. Your arse is delightful. I shall partake of it again when you’ve read me one of your poems.’
Mamma has left a bowl of water by the window. I bring it to him and sponge his flaccid prick with a cloth. Some of Ludovico’s seed has found its way into my quim and I give myself a good wash.
The parchment is by my bed. I pick it up and start to read:
‘Sir, you are brave and have such valour
and your words to me are filled with power
they freed my heart from another’s hand;
that heart I soon hope to see
placed within your nobility,
to rule there and do your will.
What I most loved I now despise,
and I can no longer value beauty without spirit
so repent of ever having delighted in it.’
Ludovico claps his hands, ‘Brava! Brava! You are a prodigy.’
‘You flatter me, sir. But I want to learn, to meet with fellow poets and improve.’ I catch my lower lip with my teeth. ‘Do you know any?’
‘Not me, I don’t mix in those circles. I know someone who does, though.’
‘Is he an arse-rider?’ I think about the men Ludovico was with at the festival.
He chuckles. ‘Far from it. Count Andrew Tron. You’ve heard of him?’
‘Yes.’ From one of the ruling crow families, a naval commander. Now we’re talking. ‘When can I meet him?’
Ludovico grins. ‘He’s away at sea at the moment, I think. As soon as he returns, I’ll introduce you. Don’t you go tying yourself down to one patron anymore, Veronica! You’re too delectable to hide yourself away.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Your mother told me about di Babolli. What will he say when he finds out you’ve been unfaithful?’
‘He treats me like another wife. I’m a courtesan. I should be out in the world. Otherwise I might as well have entered a convent.’ Ludovico laughs, slapping his thighs. ‘I can’t imagine you in a nunnery.’
‘Unless it’s like the one in Boccaccio’s Decameron.’ I giggle.
‘You’re a breath of fresh air, my sweet. Come, sit on my lap again. I need to feel your lovely arse against my prick.’
And, surprisingly, so do I.
Ludovico becomes a regular, and soon there are others knocking at my door for he’s spread the word. I take to wearing men’s attire when not entertaining; ’tis so much more comfortable than tight bodices that cut into my breasts.
Dressed in the light hose, breeches and doublet made especially for me by my dressmaker, I sit at my desk, quill in hand, composing a verse.
The cool roses, lilies, and violets
were scalded by the breath of my burning sighs
and I saw the sun blanche with pity
when it viewed the distress in my eyes.
Why am I writing of sadness? ’Tis because I’m cooped-up in this house. The only time I get out is on Sundays to go to church, or when Maurizio takes me for a ride in our gondola. If I walked the narrow streets of the city dressed as a boy, I’d be in danger of attracting just as much, if not more, attention than if I slipped my chains in one of my dresses. At least I enjoy intelligent conversation with Ludovico. He tells me not to be impatient, and that his friend Count Tron will soon be here.
The door swings open and, startled, I leap to my feet. Maria santissima! Jacomo stands in front of me, his jaw hanging open. ‘What in God’s name are you wearing, Veronica?’
I take his hand. ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were back? Is your wife recovered?’
‘She’s well again. I only just arrived and couldn’t wait to see you. Tell me! Why the boy’s attire?’
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘No. I prefer my women to look … womanly. What’s going on?’
‘Jacomo, I’ve made new conquests.’
A frown creases his brow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t have exclusivity anymore. What did you expect? You left me on my own for two months.’
‘Didn’t I leave you enough money?’
‘’Tis not that. I was lonely and bored.’
His expression darkens. ‘I’m surprised at you, Veronica. I thought you loved me. I saved you from having to sell yourself to all and sundry, didn’t I?’
‘You kept me in a gilded cage. I’m not your possession even if you did pay for me. You can’t possess another human being. I have free will, don’t I?’
‘I can’t share you. ’Tis not in my nature. I’m a jealous man.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not as sorry as I am.’ He kisses me briefly on the forehead. ‘I wish you well, my dear. My servant will come tomorrow to collect my things.’ And he strides out of the room.
Stunned, I sit down at my desk. Jacomo is a gentleman, kind and considerate. He loves me in his own way, and I have loved him in mine. I shall miss him…
There’s no time for me to mope. Having lost Jacomo’s patronage, I have to work hard. Besides Ludovico, I take on a soap merchant from Treviso and a jeweller who pays me handsomely in gold trinkets. All men from the citizen class like myself, for, in spite of having fallen on hard times, my family is one of the oldest in Venice. All three of my patrons are
booked two nights a week each, with one night left for me to rest.
Life settles into a new routine until the morning the sickness starts. I barely make it to my chamber pot to vomit. What’s wrong with me?
‘A hazard of the trade, I fear.’ Mamma sits beside me on the bed after I’ve told her. She takes my hand. ‘When did you last have your courses?’
‘Certainly before Jacomo went to see his wife, now I think about it. Sorry, Mamma. I should have paid more attention.’
‘If you are with child, the babe must be Jacomo’s.’
‘I expect so.’ A chill creeps over me. So many women die during childbirth…
4
I carry on working, keeping my condition a secret from everyone except Mamma. Fortunately, the sickness only happens in the mornings, and my soap merchant and jeweller like the fact that my breasts have grown. Only I notice the slight swell in my belly. I love to hold my hand against it and wonder about the new life budding within me. I try not to think about my fears of dying; worry will do me no good.
’Tis Ludovico’s night tonight. He sits me on his lap and runs a hand up my legs. ‘I have some good news for you. Count Tron has returned from Cyprus and is anxious to meet you. We’ll have a proper soirée. You can play music, sing and read your poetry.’
‘When?’
‘Next week. What say you?’
I wriggle my backside against him. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
They come for dinner, and Anna surpasses herself producing dish after dish of tasty delights: caper, truffle and raisin salad in pastry; seafood risotto; roasted quail and pheasant; fresh fruit to finish.
Mamma doesn’t join us; she says she no longer sees the need to supervise me. ’Tis my guess she feels inadequate when I’m entertaining. I think Mamma is nostalgic for the time when she was a great beauty. The years have ravaged her face and body; men no longer look at her in the same way…
Count Tron sits opposite me. His skin has been darkened by the sun, and his deep-blue eyes are fringed with long, black lashes. He flashes a smile that reveals even, white teeth. His countenance is certainly pleasing to the eye. Dressed in a black velvet doublet, breeches that only reach halfway down his muscular thighs (I noticed earlier), he cuts a fine figure.
We make polite conversation throughout the meal, but, as soon as we progress to the portego for after-dinner drinks and entertainment, I get right to the point. ‘My lord, Signor Ludovico tells me you frequent a literary salon.’
‘That’s right. Domenico Venier’s. ’Tis the most important gathering place for intellectuals and writers in Venice.’
‘Are courtesans welcome there?’
‘I’ve noticed a few. Why?’
I’m seized by a sudden shyness. Will he think I’m being forward? Thankfully, Ludovico answers for me.
‘I’ve told you about Veronica’s abilities. Don’t tease the girl!’
The count laughs and drains his glass. I reach across to refill it, my gaze meeting his. ‘I write poetry. My greatest desire is to learn from others and improve my own work.’
‘Will you read me one of your poems?’
‘With pleasure.’ I go to my desk and return with the verse on which I’m now working.
‘If you are overcome by love for me,
Take me in far sweeter fashion
Than anything my quill can describe.
Your love can be the steadfast knot that pulls me towards you,
Joined to you more tightly than a nail in hard wood;
Your love can make you master of my life,
Show me the love I’ve asked for from you,
And you’ll then enjoy my sweetness to the full.’
‘Very good!’ Andrew Tron rises from his chair and bows. ‘You have talent, Signora Veronica. I shall be delighted to introduce you to Venier. There are no meetings during the summer months, however. We can go in the autumn when the weather is cooler and I get back from naval exercises.’
My heart sinks. In the autumn my pregnancy will be showing. Mamma has worked out that my babe will arrive in February, all being well. Perhaps I won’t show very much? In the meantime, I need to bind this man to me. Make him one of my patrons. The soap merchant told me this morning that he will be spending more time in Treviso. To have my very own crow would truly be another string to my bow.
‘Signora Veronica. Pray tell me, in what far sweeter fashion can a man take you than your quill can describe?’
I laugh. ‘Ah, that’s something I have yet to discover – which is why my quill cannot describe it.’
Ludovico, who has been watching us up until now, his lips twitching with mirth, gets up from his chair and goes to close the door. ‘Shall we try and give this lady the sweetness she desires?’
My jaw drops. The count’s blue eyes look into mine. He inclines his head and gives a lopsided grin. Intrigued, I glance from one to the other.
Ludovico unbuttons my skirt. Under it, I’m wearing my breeches. He cups my buttocks, and wetness floods me. ‘What say you?’
I pretend to consider, although I know the answer already. ‘I say, yes.’
Ludovico’s lips graze my ear as he unties my cod. Standing behind me, he draws me against him. He’s also unlaced his own cod for I can feel his prick pressing into my arse. The count is in front of me now, kissing me, his tongue around mine. I gasp. His hand has found my quim. I give a soft moan as his fingers slide through my wetness.
Ludovico pulls off my breeches and the nobleman unbuttons my doublet. I stand between them in my chemise. Lifting my hair, Ludovico rains kisses down the back of my neck. The count pulls down my shirt, exposing a taut nipple, and sucks it into his mouth. Prickles of pleasure dance on my skin. Ludovico is kneeling behind me now, massaging my buttocks; he licks around my culo. Andrew pushes two fingers deep inside my sheath, and I let out a squeal.
The nobleman slides down my body and lightly traces my labia with his warm tongue. Madonna! No man has ever done that to me before. My quim is crying out for release, and I push my hips forward.
The count draws my throbbing pearl into his mouth. I lean against Ludovico for support, my legs spread wide. This nobleman has sparked such a fire within me; I’m glad I’m so wet or I would surely burn to cinders. His tongue is inside me now, lapping at my juices with delicious pressure, unleashing such a flood I fear he will drown in my fluids. I can feel Ludovico’s fingers up my arse. One more lick from Andrew and I reach my joy, crying out and sagging into Ludovico’s strong embrace. He carries me to the day-bed and lays me down, curling up beside me, stroking my face. ‘You have given me so much pleasure, my sweet, these past months. Your generosity needed to be rewarded. Did you enjoy that?’ His voice is low and husky. His hot breath on my ear makes me quiver. ’Tis not often that I’m speechless. I can only nod, breath raging, heart pounding. Oh Dio!
‘More?’ His eyes sparkle.
‘Please!’
Ludovico and the count gently flip me over and guide my body so that my chest lies on the bed and my legs hang down, feet touching the floor, arse in the air.
Ludovico massages my culo with the head of his prick. The sensation makes me groan and push up on my hands. The count moves forward. ‘Suck me!’
I’m happy to oblige. I wrap my lips around his prick, by far the biggest I’ve seen. I let out a yelp as Ludovico takes me from behind, slamming into me, filling and stretching me. Over and over he rams his prick home as I suck the count with vigour, the tangy taste of his flesh making my mouth water. I suck faster and faster, wanting to please the nobleman as he pleased me. His body tenses, his prick turning to iron as he grabs my hair, thrusts his hips and unleashes a torrent into the back of my throat. I gag but swallow every drop, the salty, thick liquid marking me, making me his.
I whimper when Ludovico stops thrusting, the sudden stillness unsettling. He pulls out as the count moves down the bed. Every part of me is crying out for more. I close my eyes, and, when I open them again, I catch the nobleman stro
king himself, getting ready. He pulls me on top of him, impaling me. Ludovico is behind, pushing into me. The feeling of fullness is incredible. I’m going to die of pleasure as they fill me, fuck me, and fondle me, making my blood burn and my skin melt.
The nobleman thrusts deeper. His fingers are rubbing my nub now, and my whole body shudders. My muscles tense and then a white-hot fire spreads out from my quim. Waves of joy. Again and again and again. My vision darkens as my orifices spasm in unison, both the count and Ludovico pouring hot seed into me.
Ludovico rolls over to the side, pulling me with him, his prick slipping from my culo and the nobleman’s sliding from my sheath with a popping sound. My back is pressed against Ludovico. He runs his fingers down my side, soothing my ragged breathing. The count strokes my hair.
‘Such beauty.’ He kisses the tip of my nose, then whispers, ‘You’re perfection.’
The fragrance of our fucking permeates the air: apples, sweat and musk. Sated, I stretch like a lazy cat.
As I’d hoped, Count Tron becomes my new patron. There’s been no repetition of our threesome frolic, however. Mamma said I must think of my babe. Was she shocked when I told her about what had happened? Not at all. I’m starting to believe that nothing will ever shock her. The only thing she said was I should be careful not to dislodge the child from my womb.
Ludovico was delighted when I told him I’m pregnant. One would think he’s the father he’s so proud. ‘’Tis the nearest I’ll get to being one,’ he said. He’s been extra gentle with me these past weeks, and I love him for it.
One afternoon on my rest day, masks covering out faces, my mother and I go for a gondola ride. We glide past the Ca’ d’Oro; the gold-leaf covering its façade shimmers in the sunlight and reflects in the water like buried treasure. Mamma shields her eyes. ‘I went to see Paolo Panizza yesterday.’