1

The dark chocolate notes of the espresso bite her taste buds just as the first rays of sun peak through the clouds, dancing on the water of the grand canal below her room. The waves slap gently against the walls of the hotel like a metronome, keeping the rhythm of the sea while birds squawk their little melodies in time, the salty brine filling her nostrils with each breath as she lounges nude on the armchair, legs spread wide. Such simple pleasures on this brisk Italian morning.

“Ooh,” she winces. A tiny spear of discomfort jabs at her groin, rising up into her belly. “Too hard,” she directs down over the sound of the seabirds.

Her toy looks up at her through the mess of reddish pubes, half his face eclipsed by her engorged shaft, and nods knowingly, one testicle held firmly in his mouth. He resumes the wet caresses, albeit gentler now, with renewed fervor. She couldn’t be harder, she thinks as the coffee starts to settle down in her stomach and the purple head of her dick juts out from her foreskin almost angrily, veins bulging down the shaft erratically towards her bush.

She doesn’t have to say anything this time, her toy knows already, and he releases her wet balls with a sloppy smile. He turns to present his hole to her willingly, still puffy and pink from the night before, and she sips the last drop of espresso. Such simple pleasures indeed.

2

In truth she wasn’t too sure about him initially. He was the embodiment of the stereotypical Italian club scene: 5’4”, slicked back black hair, chinos and loafers (no socks), twill buttoned shirt opened at least two buttons too many to be proud of what little chest hair peaked out, knockoff sunglasses hanging mid-chest. She towered over most of the crowd, dancing alone to some Euro beat synth track in the middle of the small, packed dance floor when she caught his gaze. Every time she looked his way he was locked on to her with a stare that bordered on awe; slack-jawed, eyes bulging out of his head.

She had that affect on men, women too actually, and she fed off their unbroken stares like a lighthouse needs ships in rough seas. It might have been the head full of unrestrained red hair, flowing along with the music a full foot above the rest, a blaze atop a forest of brunettes. Or maybe it had to do with the leather body harness she made no effort to conceal under the layered purple skirt, black straps across her pale white chest and thighs. More than likely it was due to the wide smile she had plastered all over her face, ear-to-ear, bordering on maniacal, as she danced and laughed and captivated their attention. They stared and judged and wondered and gave her a wide berth on the dance floor.

Everyone except him. He moved his way towards her timidly, only appearing closer each time the strobe light flashed his way, the way a housecat might, until eventually he was in her orbit, nervously trying to match her gyrations, sneaking glances at her face in what seemed like reverence. That’s the way she liked them, pious.

She pulled him closer with gravity, or magnetic fields, or whatever makes satellites fall in circles towards earth if they get too close, until eventually the frills of her skirt brushed up against his pants as she spun. At this distance he could see the light hairs of her unshaved armpits and smell the sweet sweat that beaded down the small of her back and her pheromones washed over him like the soft waves outside. She smiled down at him and curled a hand around to the back of his ear as they swayed back and forth in unison. He looked back at her dumbfounded with a punch-drunk grin you’d see in a cartoon, the thumping EDM dulled to a low drone in the back of his head. The web had already closed around him; all that was left was the sting.

She spun him with the hand around his head and draped it over his shoulder, down his neck and into his open shirt, grabbing a tuft of chest hair and pulling him in tight against her body. Her full, untucked erection pressed against him, starting in the curve at the top of his asscrack with the remainder sitting in the small of his back. Even through multiple layers of clothes he felt the heat and weight of it between them as she held him tight. She ground her hips against him in a languid swirl in halftime with the music and he shuddered involuntarily, letting his body fall back into hers. She leaned down to his ear and let her hot breathy words make it official.

“Would you like to be my toy for the night?” she whispered, each word cutting through the fog and noise and permeating his brain.

He nodded, staring straight ahead, entranced.

“Sì.”

3

And what a great toy he turned out to be. She enjoyed watching his machismo facade melt away in real-time, less bulldog and more puppy with each step out off the dance floor. His friends cheered him on in as they walked towards the exit, their best Italian whoops and catcalls, but the smirk she turned and flashed them needed no translation: He was to be the conquest, the notch on her bedpost. She squeezed his asscheek and he waved goodbye to his buddies, unlit cigarettes dangling incredulously from their lips as they watched her lead him away.

He spoke very little English, and she even less Italian, but it wouldn’t matter anymore. They made their way through the maze of narrow Venetian streets, him following her wordlessly, one step behind, drowning in the heat and sexuality she left in her wake until they were finally at her hotel. It wasn’t necessary to repeat herself but she was feeling a touch guilty for pulling him in so deep in front of his friends (even if he could forget the memories from tonight, they’d never let him forget it), so she asked him again.

“Are you ready to be my toy tonight, my…” she tried to remember the phrase, “il mio servitore?”

A flash of lightning sparked in his eyes and he seemed to awaken from a dream for a moment. He looked around for a second, getting his bearings, then up from her legs, following the curve of her hips towards the tiny nubs of her full and pointy nipples under her skirt, back up over her collarbone and into the combination of her penetrating gaze and disarming smile.

“Sì, per favore,” he replied, his cheeks flush with honour.

She bent over, kissed his forehead, and breathed in his ear, “Good boy,” and he was under once again.

She led him upstairs to the room, locking the door behind him, and immediately instructed him to undress. Specifically, she circled his torso with her pointed figure and said, “Off,” and he began disrobing without hesitation. Another point, towards the washroom this time and, “Clean,” and off he went, his 3.5” dick at full-mast. She listened as he scrubbed himself clean, taking extra care to notice him paying special attention to his ass. Good boy.

For her part she removed the dress but kept the harness on and tied her hair up in a ponytail; she wanted to make sure she could see everything. Lounging in the armchair she sat spread wide, her sweat drying into salty trails on her skin, and she waited. Her leather-ensconced cock and balls sprung to life in long bursts of erotic electricity. It was going to be long night.

4

He came out mostly dry, little drops of water in his slicked-back hair and on his chest, but the drop that sat at the tip of his furiously erect little penis was milky white, his eagerness to please made evident. She smiled and eyed him up and down, lying back in the black leather armchair, her cock approving the inspection with a long flex upward.

“Clean?” she nodded at him.

“Sì.”

“Good,” she pointed down at her chest. “Clean.”

His eyes sparkled and he ran up and dropped to his knees in front of her. He reached out his small hands to grasp her growing phallus, mouth visibly watering, but she slapped his paws away harshly.

“Here.” She lifted one of the leather straps that crossed under her breasts, puffy A-cups made to look like sizeable B’s by the harness’ pressure, where the last little bit of sweat collected in the reddish lines left behind. He reached again but she raised her hand in warning, so he dropped his hands to his side. His tongue came out instinctively, practically dripping with enthusiasm, and he leaned in close, wary of more correction, but she just smiled and let her head fall back into the chair. He traced the imprint left by the harness with the tip of his tongue, drawing in her flavour with each pass, greedy for her salt like a deer on the side of the highway. She released the strap and he continued to work, gorging himself with her scent and taste, cleaning her torso with cat-like precision, one lick at a time, under each black line that crisscrossed her body.

He was as far under as he could be, adrift at sea in the ocean of her body chemistry, his eyes lolling in his head while his mouth worked. Breathing in the musk her pores exuded alone was enough to keep an unwilling man twice his size at bay, so you can imagine how his tiny frame shook with each lash of his, obedient, almost zealous, tongue-bath. Each lick sent lightning through him, like connecting the positive and negative terminals of his heart to a battery, each muscle in his body flexing involuntarily as he worked diligently to clean the sweet and salty secretions from her skin. His cheeks were flush and his muscles taut with chemical excitation by the time he’d finished with her arms and upper body, his vision almost totally black, his pupils constricted to pinholes.

She wanted him blissful, not catatonic, and she needed him relaxed for what came next so, before his tongue made it past the little patch of rufescent hair that led down from her belly button she lifted his chin and directed him back to on his feet in between her legs. His eyes rolled forward, he took a deep breath and waited, wet tongue still lolling out for more. She noticed the translucent drop on the end of his dick was dangling now, threatening to fall, so she scooped it up with one long finger, twirling it down the length as she brought it up to his needy mouth.

“Good boy,” she said as she held out her finger and immediately he sucked her digit down to the last knuckle, savouring his pre-cum as he licked it clean. He’d never tasted cum before, let alone his own, and while it didn’t taste nearly as intoxicatingly delicious as her sweat, he was grateful for the gift and her praise. Heat emanated from his core, his belly filled with enough of her concentrated sexuality to keep him warm, and needy, and pliable for hours but in that moment it was pride that blanketed his neurons.

She motioned for him come and sit and he scrambled up on to the chair like a big dog, sitting sideways across her lap, legs up on one arm, his head resting in the crook of her arm on the other, eyes staring at her face, waiting for her next command. But she said nothing. Instead she fed him the same long finger again, deeper this time, until she felt the cliff at the edge of his throat. And then a little deeper. He gagged and she withdrew her digit, now dripping with saliva, thick and stringy, and brought the suspended, slick mess in between his bent knees and under his tiny package to his ass. Slathering it into the crack, she pressed his throat lube around and into his freshly washed hole. He winced and the hole shut tight, expelling her finger in the process. Again she scooped some goo from the back of his mouth, and again his hole clamped down reflexively around the tip of her finger.

“You need to relax,” she commanded him, but he didn’t seem to understand, or was unable to communicate that he couldn’t, he just stared back at her ashamed and apologetic, his puppy dog eyes getting watery. “Don’t worry, just breathe,” she comforted him as she pulled his head closer, turning and resting it under her arm. The wispy red hairs of her armpit tickled his nose, threatening a sneeze, until the musk wafted in his nostrils, thick and heavy like an evening fog rolling over the canals. His pupils dilated and his eyelids felt so heavy, his frame now dead weight in her arms. The only thought he could hold on to in his mind was the desire to serve her, everything else faded away, he felt so relaxed, so secure.

She fed him two fingers this time and brought down a little rivulet of spit to coat his hole. This time when she pressed against his sphincter the resistance melted away and she slipped in one fingertip, one knuckle, then two knuckles, then a second fingertip, another knuckle, and two, until her index and middle finger were buried to the hilt. She moved his head out from her armpit and the slits of his eyes blinked slowly like a newborn baby. Then she curled her fingers up inside him and pressed on the little patch just behind the base of his shaft, firm pressure on her fingertips, and it felt like a beam of pure sunlight flooded his brain, a ray of God’s love like he’d only heard about in sermons. His eyes snapped open and he spurted a long white rope up into his chest hair and onto his lips. He looked at her in shock and disbelief and she just smiled, released the pressure inside a moment, and then reapplied it. Again he ejaculated, hot and thick, this time painting her torso from waist to breast like a monochrome rainbow.

His mouth hung open and she giggled and continued to rub his prostate in slow circles inside him and he came, incredulously, over and over, until his dick jerked and twitched dry in between them.

“Dio mio,” he uttered breathlessly, spackled in semen, still staring up at her.

“No, not God,” she replied with a smile, “but I appreciate the compliment.”

5

At least a couple minutes passed as they sat together in the armchair, his anus still quivering and quaking in soft aftershocks long after she removed her fingers, his eyes softening from total disbelief to absolute reverence. She had unlocked something in him, reached a new plateau of pleasure, and now he lay cradled in her arms ready to do whatever she asked of him; hungry to please.

Hungry for more, as well. She scooped up the fat, white caterpillar of warm sperm that had perched itself on his lips and placed it on his tongue. He slurped it down greedily while admiring the mess he made all over their bodies, now suddenly ravenous, looking back at her face for approval.

“Yes, that’s a good boy,” she cooed down at him, feeding him another errant globule, this time from the tip of his chin, “taste your accomplishment.” He savoured it instead.

“Some now,” a droopy strand hanging from her forearm she fed him like a pharaoh eating grapes, “and some,” she scraped the thick arc of coagulate he sprayed on her chest into a goopy ball, brought it down between his legs, and pushed it into his other greedy hole while watching his eyes grow big again, “for later.” He clenched down on her fingers again, gently this time, and shivered in anticipation. Down his throat or up his ass, she pushed his cum back to into him, cleaning themselves until only a little pool remained, collected in the divot above his dick where he bent at the waist.

From a backpack beside the chair she produced a pink glass plug, bulbous and shimmering in the moonlight that peaked through the balcony doors. He watched as she brought it down into the milky puddle and twirled it around, covering it in long, creamy strands and clumps of his good work. When the bulk was scooped up she raised the toy, always seemingly threatening to drip, so he could watch it disappear behind his legs until the warm tip pressed against his hole. Although fully lubed with his jizz, his ass resisted the glass intruder, stretching much wider than her fingers but not enough to allow for the girthiest part of the buttplug to enter. She lifted her arm to let him breathe in some of her relaxing chemicals but he shook his head.

“No, per favore,” he pleaded, “I, uh, rilassare, um, relax?” He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly and steadily. She nodded and pushed the plug into him with an even pressure and he inhaled sharply as the widest part stretched his tight canal open, before slipping in fully, the base settling against his O-ring with an audible squish. He felt the warmth and weight of it, and all the homemade lube forced inside, high in his bowels. His eyes fluttered before he looked back up at her, grateful for the opportunity to prove himself. “Mmm, grazie.”

“Prego,” one of the few Italian words she actually knew that didn’t involve the pursuit of the anal virginity of the men of Italy. Well, I suppose in this case, it also did. “On the bed now, uh, letta,” and she pointed to the King-size mattress (a luxury in Venice, she heard) and he bolted up out of the chair, but she quickly pivoted forward and caught him, wrapping an arm around his ribs and up into his sparsely carpeted chest. Holding him tight she leaned in to his ear and, with her free hand, plucked the glass flower that peeked out from between his cheeks, and he froze in place. “Lentamente. Slowly. I want to watch,” and she pushed the plug back into his ass, tapping the pink rose on the base twice with her finger to emphasize the point.

A tiny moan squeaked out of his mouth.

She released him and he slumped down gently onto his knees, his olive skin a beautiful contrast to the polished Italian hardwood. He arched his back and crawled lazily along the floor, peeking over his shoulder to see if she was watching. She didn’t just watch, she plotted. She leaned back in the chair, stroked the hood of her cock up and spit into the little cup it made, pulling it down to grease herself as she watched the pink glass sparkle in the low light as he crawled up onto the bed. He flipped on to his back and raised his hairy legs up over his head, spreading his ass to emphasize the glint of the buttplug across the room. On his face a desperate yearning as he peered through his legs back at her.

This was the part she never got tired of. The anticipation, the total capitulation, the overwhelming need to be used. They all eventually wear the same look in their eyes and on their brows, and on their lips, and on their quivering holes: Hunger. Fortunately, she loves to feed them.

6

She sat there stroking herself in that Florentine leather chair, reapplying spit every couple minutes, growing as hard as an oak bough. Like a oak branch, her cock curved slightly downward at the tip, the blood that engorged it fighting the gravity trying to pull the heavy, hooded head closer to earth. Her shaft, thick and veiny, exploded out of her puffy, red bush like an obelisk in the forest, directing all eyes to the head. Purple and slick, the tip shimmered in the low light and, even from across the room, made her toy salivate every time it peeked out from her foreskin. He laid on the bed presenting his hole to her, legs up and bearing down on the buttplug to make it dance for her; a display of his desire, a primate in heat. She flexed and the veins bulged and the length jerked and at the tip, the first of her many emissions that night: a tiny drop of clear seminal fluid perched atop.

She roused from the chair and glided towards him, balancing the tiny transparent orb on the end of her swaying cock like a trained seal, crossing the room and mounting the bed in one fluid movement. She knelt between his upturned legs and tapped his little scrotum with it, the droplet stretching into long, thin, strands connecting the hammer to the nails. Each plap hit him like a battering ram, reverberating shockwaves out from his ballsack, shaking the walls of his castle, while he stared up at her, begging to be beseiged. It was only when she grabbed his ankles and leaned into him, resting her balls against the plug in his ass, laying the rest of her shaft on top of his stomach, eclipsing his dick completely, that the realization set in his eyes for the first time. The tip, hard and angry, sat just below his ribs; his desire now mixed with the fear of what this would do inside him. She loved this part too, the fear.

“Don’t be scared, my little toy,” she comforted him, leaning closer, bending his legs further back, pressing her hips into his, “I’ll take care of you.” Her cock, hot and hard as forged iron, sat heavy on his abdomen as she towered over him, his ankles resting on her shoulders. She reached between them and hooked her fingers on either side of the glass base and held it.

“Give yourself to me,” she commanded and pulled out the plug, his seed bubbling out in little streaks before she plugged it back up with her glans, the whole head slipping past his defences in one move. His mouth and eyes gaped open and his body shook. She could feel his sphincter spasming, grasping at her cock wildly, and she held him tight, neither pressing forward nor retreating. “Take this,” she whispered down at him and let a long, viscous gob of spit drop from her mouth, falling so slowly, until he caught it with his tongue and closed his lips around it. He swirled it around and by the time it hit the back of his throat, he was filled with warmth and comfort and safety once again. His mind and his hole relaxed and she pivoted her hips into his. He smiled up at her serenely as she inched herself all the way inside, his hole now so creamy and soft, until her messy pubes tickled his ass.

He whimpered when she fully bottomed out, a high whine that slipped out of his mouth, but she held him there, fully buried inside, and watched as his little dick twitched and leaked. His fear had turned to wonder once more.

Starting ever so slowly she set the tempo and the rhythm: She pulled out halfway, pushed back all the way in, then pulled out to the tip, and slammed back in with her whole weight. One-two, three-four it began, like a steam train just staring to leave the station. Chugg-ah, chuh-GA, chugg-ah, chuh-GA, chugg-ah, chuh-GA. Claps on the 2 and 4 as her hips smacked against his cheeks, the air forced out of his lungs on every 4th beat adding a high-pitched squeak. The tempo increased.

Inside, her cock rubbed up the front of him, each stroke pressing her hooded and ribbed tip up, starting against his p-spot to knocking against his sigmoid colon, high in his guts. This squeezed him like a toothpaste tube, his dick leaking like runny nose, dribbling out all over himself again. A ‘skrr’ on beat 2 and a louder ‘skrrt’ on 4 joined the chorus, the wood-on-wood sound of the bed skipping on the floor. Their music filled the room (funny, she seemed to always bring the club back to the hotel with her) and the pressure built down in her balls, each slap against his asscrack priming the pump. The tempo increased and she bore down on him with her full weight, her face locked in to his watching his wonder transform into bliss in 4/4 time. As his eyes fluttered and his head fell backward she grabbed him by the hair and dragged his attention up out of the fog.

“No, my pet, you need to be awake for this.” He stared at her, bewildered, his brow furrowed, his lips open in a breathless ‘oh.’ The music reached its fever pitch and she smashed each note into him like crash cymbals, exploding inside him on the half beats, driving her cum high and deep, pushing her heat into and through him. She released his head and he slumped down into the pillows, the air trapped in his lungs expelled out of him in a quiet moan.

“Did you like that?” she asked him as she caught her breath, little beads of sweat forming on her forehead, but he just nodded, full of her warmth and hard work and cock. “Good,” she grinned wickedly, “because we’re just getting started.”

She withdrew from his hole, her cock slathered in cream and still quite engorged, and a little trail of sperm leaked out on to the bed. Pointing a finger at him she made a circular motion he understood despite being groggy and laden with her seed; flip over. He rolled unceremoniously onto his belly and then up on his hands and knees. His ass gaped at her, a stream of ejaculate running from the edge until it disappeared down into the pink and dark of his rectum. She wasted no time and slipped right in behind him, all the way to the hilt once more, causing him to arch his head back in surprise. She caught him by the neck and held him, fully impaled and wriggling under her grasp. His wide eyes peered up at the ceiling and he whispered what sounded like a prayer. She held his neck with both hands and leaned in.

“He can’t help you now.”

7

In this position there was no bend at the waist to contend with, her cock sliced right to his core. More specifically, he felt it run along the inside of his spine, firm and unyielding, the tip poking under his ribs and into his diaphragm, stealing his breath. She continued to hold him by the neck while she began to gradually gyrate her hips, stirring him from within, his organs shifting around the space her phallus demanded inside.

“I can feel my seed sloshing inside you,” she said as they bumped and swirled together, the culmination of the dance they started earlier in the club. She leaned back, pulling him upright with her hands, almost sitting up, and thrust her hips up into him. “Can you feel my heat deep inside you?” A solemn nod and a whole-body shiver, he was grateful for her gifts from head to toe. “Good, because I have much more to give.”

She locked her fingers around his neck and pulled down. For a split second it felt like he was falling until his ass crashed down on her thighs and her cock poked high inside, deeper than ever before, the tip banging against the sphincter at the top of his rectum. Up again, lifting him by the throat, and slamming him down. Instinctually his hands went up to his neck to try to escape but she pulled him close the next time she slammed him down, explaining, “There’s no chemical to relax this hole, no rilassare. This one I have to force my way in.”

She lifted him, stifling a thought in his head, and crashed him down in her lap, knocking on the door once more. His upper hole clenched, but now weakly, like a toy whose batteries have ran dry, and she knew the defenses had faded. Out of the corner of her eye she watched his arms fall down to his sides and he slumped down heavy in her hands so the next time she dropped him down on her cock she held him there. Together they both felt the instant her glans rounded the corner, high inside him, straightening his guts out with her rod.

A long and low moan wheezed out of him like a balloon losing air sloppily. The sphincters circling his sigmoid sparked wildly like an electrical fire and squeezed her tip from every angle, a blaze neither of them could put out. Just as it seemed that it would overwhelm them both, his muscles stopped spasming and he slid down the remaining half inch of her shaft like the world’s smallest fireman’s pole, the most curious look on his face. Confusion.

She lifted him up and brought him down, almost completely dead weight. Still total confusion about what was happening to his body. His anus constricted almost imperceptibly around her base and a new type of orgasm throbbed deep inside him, building like the pressure behind a dam. She bounced him up and down on her crotch like a fleshlight until the pressure built grew so strong that it sent fissures throughout his nervous system and the lights in his eyes went out. Dam breach. Full system shutdown. All his tendons sat at attention, locking his body as if frozen, and a 2mm thick strand of saliva poured from his open mouth, off his lip, falling down onto his tiny shaft, dribbling over his little balls down towards his hole, where it lubed her further as she fucked the spit into his hole. He floated away in bliss. The slamming, the choking, the waiting to drop, the low moaning, all just background noise. He faded.

She slapped his right asscheek with imprint-leaving-force, and his vision snapped back to life. “Svegliati. Wake up.” She pulled out completely and gave him a slap, half as hard, on the left. He looked back and she tapped both cheeks upward. “Put your ass up. Point your hole to the sky. Cielo. And put your head down.”

She pushed his head down with one hand and lifted his cheeks up with the other, like she was presenting a show dog. Just as well because she mounted him like one too, legs on either side of his, hips above his, and pointed her ivory spear down into his wide open hole, a glimmer of pearlescent white pooled down in the darkness. She plunged and it curved right around inside him, as deep as before, this time without any resistance. Between his legs he watched her heavy swollen balls swing softly against his bag. From this angle she pierced him so deep, pressed against the front of him, sphincter-to-sphincter, and it allowed for the last inch that hides behind her balls, curving back up towards her tailbone, to hook into him. He gasped and she reached down and yanked his head back by the hair, turning the key in the lock at his core, breaking into his vault.

Supernova. Blinding light flooded his mind every time she fucked down into him, striking the anvil at the centre of him like a golden hammer, sparks flying out his fingertips. Truthfully, he passed out a few times around this time, phasing in and out of consciousness, but he did remember that at one point she came deep inside him again, coating the walls of his colon, and how she fucked him from one orgasm, refusing to slow down, until he rode the wave directly into the next orgasm, short-circuiting his brain in the process.

He was her toy, fully at her disposal, and she used him as such. “Stringere,” she ordered him, “squeeze!” She slapped his ass and made his muscles clench tight. “Now, bear down, push, umm…” Her fucking didn’t slow down as she searched for the word, “Ah! Premere!” And he did, blooming inside, allowing her to penetrate him completely. Lights out again.

He awoke on his side, the little to her big spoon, and she hugged him from behind while fucking, one arm across his collarbone and shoulders, one cradling his belly, so laden with her gifts. Then unconscious.

Eyes open and now he’s laying on a towel (he never remembered how it got there) and his balls ache from constantly ejaculating, his tiny dick now jerking and shaking dry whenever he came. In this position her cock poked at his bladder and when she fucked him deep he couldn’t help squirting little jets of pee on to the towel. Again his mind fell into darkness.

On and off his mind flicked like a light switch, disconnected from time, as she used his body to quench her seemingly bottomless carnal desires, until eventually he roused to find her laying beside him in the moonlight, her erection finally subsided, her red bush caked in white jizz. He watched her lay there serenely, finally depleted, breathing low and quiet as she slept. She looked magnificent, like a victorious Amazonian, full of battle and its spoils. He curled up into the crook of her arm and snuggled in close. The moon hung high in the night sky reflecting on the waves that slapped gently against the hotel when slumber overcame him again and the dreams floated in, each fantastic landscape now pale compared to the experiences and memories this evening had seared into his psyche.

8

She rose just after the sun and watched him rest in bed, little frowns and shy smiles flashing across his face as he dreamt peacefully, his subconscious catching up to the reality of last night. Truthfully, she never could sleep that well when she travelled, no bed except her own made her feel safe enough to truly relax, so she got up and took a long shower. Washing the sweat off, scrubbing the dried cum out of her pubes, she rinsed the evidence of their debauchery down the drain. She pat-dried her hair, applied some men’s deodorant and tapped some perfume oils around strategically, nullifying her olfactory-based powers of persuasion.

Of all the burdens her gifts laid at her feet, this one was the least enjoyable, she thought as she watched him stir gently in the big bed, hugging the duvet as he had once held on to her. He would soon rise and determine the remainder of her time here in Venice. Even though her many deposits still sluiced around inside him, the half-life of her chemical romance was never long enough to survive until the next day. She set the pod-based espresso maker (sacrilegious in Italy, she thought) to ‘Lungo’ and let it brew.

Sometimes laying it on so thick and fast in public like she’d done meant they woke up embarrassed (or disgusted), sometimes they woke up angry, vengeful. She would have to leave town if that occurred. There was nothing to be done about it now, she thought as she retrieved the coffee, the morning rays of sun reflecting off her pale skin, refracting roan patterns onto the wall as it passed through her long red hair and bush. He rolled away from the direct sun and peaked one eye open at her svelte silhouette basking in the morning light. She caught his gaze and the breath caught in her lungs. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, disorientation fading, memories flooding back in like a tsunami, his eyes as big as saucers as the realization set in, looking down, hands on his slightly distended stomach like an expectant mother.

Uh oh. She slid down into the armchair, resigned. Soon there would be the swearing and the crying and the gathering of clothes.

She was always too greedy, too brash to run the long game. Never satisfied with letting it play out naturally, she always wanted to control their attraction, bend their desire to her will. It masked deep insecurities, she was told once by a therapist, to never let them get to know her, to never let them like her for who she is, instead of what she does to them. But it was so easy, and so thrilling, to pluck them from the pack like a dive bombing hawk in front of their friends. It was also messy, it turned out, and costly to bounce from city to city, leaving a trail of the freshly-fucked husks of men she’d fast-tracked into to being submissive bottoms for her. She sipped her sorry excuse of an espresso and shrugged her shoulders. Well, at least we had fun for a bit.

Bracing for recrimination and retribution she still tried to play it cool, lounging back in the chair, appearing care-free while her heart raced inside. She wasn’t afraid of him, she could take most men in a fight or could put them under if need be, she just hated to see her toys get upset. And she hated losing her security deposit.

His eyes scanned around the room, attaching the memories and positions to each scene in his mind, his face looking grayer as he rebuilt the timeline (at least the parts he was awake for). Eventually his face turned to her, observing and analyzing, and quickly it twisted into a mix of disgust and anger.

‘Ugh, not this kind,’ she thought as he waddled off the edge of the bed, ‘the holier-than-thou kind.’ He didn’t rush up in a tizzy but rather calmly walked to the chair she was in and stood above her looking down. Same nauseated pitiful grimace. She stared back, defiant.

“Bad. Not good,” he wagged his finger at her. This was more hurtful than yelling and screaming, somehow, and it cracked her stoic demeanour. She scoffed and prepared to give him both barrels, setting down her tiny mug and sitting up straight, but when she looked up at him he was smiling.

“Ti offro un caffè come si deve.” He pointed at her little cup and shook his finger again. “Bad coffee. I bring good coffee.” He leaned down and kissed her, long and slow, little sparks on his lips like built up static electricity and then he giggled, and she sighed in relief. She let her guard down and relaxed again, sinking back into the leather. He stood over her, the little bulge in his belly so prominent at this angle. “Sono incinta?” he asked jokingly, rubbing the underside of it. They both giggled this time. “Posso ancora essere il tuo servitore?” She couldn’t make this one out and stared back, puzzled. “Can I, umm… Serve?” The widest smile washed over her face.

“No, you don’t need to serve,” she told him earnestly, “but you can kiss me again.” He bent at the waist and kissed her lips again, just a little peck this time, and then again on her cheek, behind her ear, on her neck. She exhaled and relaxed further, turning her head to expose the path forward. Down on her clavicle, towards her shoulder and under her arm, kissing each rib before spiralling around her puffy areola, the nipple ripening into a tiny pink raspberry just as his lips reached the end.

“Mmm,” she murmured, opening her legs and letting him get closer. He fell to his knees and approached the altar, paying his respects to the other breast, the salty taste on his lips just a memory of last night’s prayers. He remained clear-eyed and sober, this mornings worship free of her divine influence, as he worked his way along the trail of light red hairs that ran down her abdomen, through her belly button and into the forest of pubic hair below. Hovering over her crotch he felt its heat underneath him, her erotic flames licking at his flesh like a roast pig. By the time he’d kissed and licked and blessed his way to her cock it was fully at attention for him. He kissed the tip, suckling at the parts that protruded from her foreskin, lapping at the salty hole and running his tongue around and under her hood. Above she purred.

It was far too big for him to take very deep, the head barely making past his lips, but what he lacked in depth, he made up for with effort. He slathered the shaft in his saliva, stroking along the thick veins while caressing her glans so wet and sloppily that it bulged in an angry purplish hue. The bouquet of long wiry red pubes that once crawled up the side of her cock like ivy was slicked and matted to the shaft with his spit as he worked his way to the balls that hung on the edge of the leather armchair. His stomach gurgled in appreciation when he sucked at the orbs floating in her sack, each growing heavier by the minute, replenishing from the night before, and when he looked up between her legs she smiled down at him.

He didn’t have the raw compulsion to serve coursing through his veins, the instinctual, chemical need to obey anymore, but his heart raced and his asshole twitched in anticipation nonetheless.

He pulled her testicles into his mouth, together, then one-at-a-time, rolling them like an amateur juggler.

“Ooh, too hard,” she winced and warned him and he relented, less tugging and more hugging with his mouth. He acquiesced and her erection towered over him. He wanted nothing more than to feel her shifting his guts around with it like she did last night, her balls slapping against his once more.

For her part she enjoyed the last drops of her budget espresso when he released her balls from his mouth and turned around. His hole looked so perfectly punished, puffy and pink, and her penis pulsed with pride, petitioning to penetrate once more, but instead she paused, perceiving these simple pleasures.

He looked back, over his shoulder, and his eyes flashed that look once more, fear and awe. This time, however, his desperate stare contained a tinge of something more: A yearning not only to please, but to be pleased. A desire built on more than flesh.

9

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be this way,” she ponders aloud. She loathed the thought of packing everything up and leaving town, again. She really enjoys this place. She is tired of running.

“Come,” she beckons him off the hardwood. Confused, he rises, a touch of disappointment in his eyes, until she taps her lap and directs him to mount. He straddles her legs, the heat rising up under him like coals from a bonfire, and waits, watching her face for instruction.

“My apologies,” she says as she looks him in the eyes, soft and clear, “but let’s start again.” The engorged head, hot and slick, taps against his swollen hole and his legs grow week at the touch. He falters and she catches him with hands around his neck, not gripping, but caressing this time. She holds him securely for a moment before slowly guiding him down on to her cock, his ass blooming for her, welcoming her back in with his own wet embrace, shivering despite the warmth. He slides down in her lap as she slips into him completely.

He feels her jerk inside him, flexing and swelling, erupting hot lava. Their heat starts a bonfire inside, lighting them up like dry tinder, the flames burning through them completely, until all that’s left is ashes and aftershocks, and her eyes meet his and she levels him with a shy smile.

“My name is Anaïs. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”