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One Week Later
Abby fastened her seatbelt, giving only half an ear to the attractive steward as he gave the typical welcome and safety reminders. She had to admit, though, that even a reminder to put her seat in an upright position sounded sexy when spoken in Italian. Her seatmate, thankfully, put on the plane's headphones, closed her eyes and ignored her.
As the plane leveled off, Abby leaned back and shut her tired eyes. She'd been busy the past week. As per her regular routine with a job, she'd committed the information given her to memory. A new wardrobe was next and she'd bought easy-care separates that could be folded into one lightweight suitcase. Using Eurofly service she'd arrive at the Bologna-Marconi airport with no need to fly into Rome.
She sighed in contentment and fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep.
"You cannot turn away, my sister. It would be an insult to our father."
Juan's whisper, near lost amid the raucous strains of music filling the banquet hall, reached only his sister's ear. Her father, known to the Catholic world as Pope Alexander VI reigned over the feasting, seated in his massive, raised, gilded throne.
She was almost eighteen, well past time to find her another husband now that her divorce from Giovanni was final. The candidates were among those attending this evening. She was to select the most virile after watching them perform with the women in the hall. They'd a multitude of partners to choose from--the prostitutes or the guests. And if she felt like trying out those skills for herself, so much the better.
Wine flowed like a swollen crimson streamas the guests swallowed draught after draught, wallowing in the never-ending tide.
Loose-fitting clothing fluttered to the ground like leaves in fall; fewer layers made for quicker stripping and soon the guests would be as naked as the live, gilded statues of young men and women posed about the room. Each golden couple engaged in different erotic poses, inspiring the guests to copy them once they removed their garments.
"Lucrezia, my daughter, 'tis time to begin the 'Ballet of the Chestnuts'. Come, here, my pretty one, and scatter the nuts."
Juan squeezed her hand as Lucrezia rose from her smaller, less ornate chair, pushed herself away from the table, and went to her father. She could feel the pulse beating in her throat. Her breasts, restrained behind the low-cut bodice of her gold cloth gown, threatened to spring free as she took a deep breath and stood before her father. He gestured to the gilded bowl of chestnuts placed on the small, gaudy table near his throne. "Here, cara mia, take the nuts and scatter them before the guests."
Lucrezia nodded, unable to speak without her voice betraying her sense of uncertainty. She hefted the bowl, and with a shaking hand, tossed the chestnuts from left to right onto the polished marble floor.
The courtesans scrambled to collect them, weaving around the massive silver candelabra set up around the room. Their naked buttocks glistened in the candlelight, their breasts swayed as they bent, crawling along the floor, enticing the guests to join them.
And they did.
Returning to Juan, she found his attention fixed on the orgy that was taking place before them.
He turned to her, his eyes blazing. "You must select one of the noblemen; pick the one who fucks the most females." He smiled. "I'll help." He rose, unlaced his shirt, dropped it carelessly to the floor and walked away half-naked, leaving her to stare after him.
She watched him saunter toward an energetic couple, the male thrusting his stiff cock into the woman's rear. Mesmerized by the steady rhythm, Lucrezia was unable to tear away her gaze. Standing behind the male, Juan dropped his hose, and now, dressed only in a loincloth to cover his genitals, he fondled the male's lean flanks. She saw him lean over and whisper something in the male's ear, who then nodded.
Juan pressed against the male's backside, fumbling as he untied his loincloth, revealing his hard cock. With no further delay, he plunged it into the man's willing body.
Lucrezia closed her eyes, but the sounds--the sounds of the men and women coupling battered against her ears. Grunts, moans, sighs, pants, sobs and screams overwhelmed the music issuing from the quartet of musicians situated in an obscure alcove.
Broken words of passion assailed her, seeking and gaining a response.
The smell of sex rose around her. She brought a linen cloth to her nostrils, opened the compartment of her perfume ring, and doused the material. Her personal fragrance filtered through the musky odor, but only increased her reaction to the activities going on around her.
Where to look?
She turned toward the gilded figures of two men engaged in oral sex. The statues came alive before her eyes. Fascinated beyond her control, she watched as the kneeling figure sucked the cock of his partner with greedy enthusiasm.
Her breath caught in her throat and moisture seeped between her thighs. She wondered how it would feel to have her lips do that to some lusty male. Her thoughts whirled as she observed the carnal acts going on around her, luring her to join in.
It had been so long since she had made love.
She moved toward the men and in a loud, commanding voice demanded to participate. With an unexpected graceful movement, the kneeling man relinquished his place.
She knelt, taking the huge prick into her mouth, sucking it with hungry urgency. Giovanni had never let her touch his penis, but he was out of her life. Now she could indulge in her most erotic desires.
She wondered if her lips would bear a golden stain from the gilded skin of the living statue. She didn't care. She gripped the man's buttocks and swallowed his seed as his orgasm struck. Gasping, she leaned her head against his thighs, gilding her cheek.
She rose, stumbling, and grabbed the edge of the long banquet table. Her legs trembled as she made her way back to her seat. She sank down on the cushioned chair and found her gaze locked with one of the courtesans. The woman's long, pointy nipples had been rouged. A man burrowed his face between her legs. The woman smiled at Lucrezia and hefted her breasts in her palms. She kneaded them, pulling at the nipples.
Lucrezia moaned. As though it had a will of its own, her hand drifted to her lap. Hidden by the tablecloth draped to the floor, she crumpled her gown, rolling it up so that she could reach under and delve between her thighs. Her fingers caressed the nubbin of aching flesh. Her eyes closed and her head tilted against the padded back of the chair.
Without warning, a strong hand pulled her fingers from their task. Beard-roughened cheeks insinuated between her thighs and a skillful tongue plied the tiny bud.
Her eyes sprang open and she bent her head to observe short, ebony curls atop a masculine head. Her heart raced. She didn't want to push the unknown man away--his lips felt so good. She had never experienced such feelings before. Instead, she clasped the silky curls and thrust against him.
She arched upward, her breasts pressing against the cloth of gold that covered them. The material chaffed her skin and without thought, she untied the thin ribbon, loosening the bodice and dragging it down. The hall's warm air caressed her skin and she moaned louder, uncaring of the wanton display she presented. Her hands gripped the chair's arms, her fingers curving around them.