An Heiress in Venice (5 page)

Alice:

Friday night, I wore a midnight blue dress that outlined every single curve of my body, combed my hair into soft waves, and made my way to Casanova.

All week, I’d debated whether I’d go back. All week, I’d dreamed of Enzo, of the way he’d touched my body, of the way he’d controlled me and taken me to the peaks of pleasure.

I wasn’t sure if he’d be at Casanova. If he was there, I wasn’t sure if I’d approach him, or if he’d approach me. I wasn’t sure of anything.

***

When I entered the main floor of Casanova, my eyes automatically searched for Enzo. I found him at the bar, laughing and chatting with the bartender. Without even being conscious of my actions, I walked over to him.

“Hi,” I said breathlessly when I got to him.

His eyes ran up and down my body, a slow, sensual inspection. “Hello Alice,” he said finally. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Just club soda for me,” I responded. My nipples had hardened under his gaze, my pussy had clenched in need. I grabbed my drink, and Enzo inclined his head to a booth in the corner.

“Come talk with me,
gattina
,” he commanded, and I followed.

“A sex club is a rather strange place to have a date, Alice,” he grinned at me when we’d taken our seats. “But since you declined to join me for dinner, one does try to make the best of the situation at hand.”

I laughed out aloud. “Is this a date? I’d kind of hoped you’d just dominate me.” I flushed as I spoke. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that to him.

He smiled and his hand stroked mine. “All in due time,” he said.

“What if I’m not interested in dating you?” I asked.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Why are you in this booth, Alice?”

Damn it. Yes, I did want to date him. I wanted to talk to him, and I wanted to laugh with him. I also
couldn’t
. I had to be content with the lesser pleasure.

I wanted to scream and shout; I wanted to burst into tears. I did neither. I made lemonade out of the lemons I’d been handed. “Evidently,” I said, “it’s because I’m having a date.” I inclined my head at him, smiled, and winked to let him know I was joking. “The things I have to do for sex.”

He burst out laughing at my comment. His hand still covered mine, and it was warm, and all I could think about our upcoming session.
Would his hands touch me then? And this time, would he let me touch him?

To distract myself, I asked him something I’d been wondering about. “So, every time you talk to me, I’m hearing a bit of a British accent,” I told him. “Am I going crazy?”

He shook his head. “I went to university in England,” he said. “I lived in London for six years. You aren’t going crazy.”

“Why England?” I asked him, and a shadow crossed his face briefly.

“I just wanted to get out of Venice,” he said, after a few seconds of silence. “I wanted to see what the world had to offer.”

“And you are back in Venice now,” I said. “Did the world have nothing to offer then? Nothing to keep you?”

At this, he smiled easily again, and my heart skipped a beat. No. Not my heart. That was insane. My pussy skipped a beat. Because the way my body was responding to Enzo, this was just lust. It had to be, because lust was all that was possible. “The world had plenty to offer,” he said. “But it was time to come home again.”

“How long have you been back in Venice?” I asked him. I was probably being nosy, but he seemed happy enough to answer my questions.

“Five years,” he replied. “And you? Why Venice?”

I gave him a look out of the corner of my eye. “You’ll think I’m silly,” I replied.

He raised his eyebrow. “I can’t make any promises,” he said, with an amused twitch of his lips. “If for example, you tell me your psychic told you to come to Venice, I will
have
to roll my eyes.”

I laughed. “No psychic,” I assured him. “My parents were from Sicily, and they honeymooned in Venice. All through my childhood, they always talked about how beautiful it was. They never came back. They just held on to their memory of that one perfect trip.”

He looked curious. “Your parents are Italian? Tell me more. I assumed you were American?”

“I am,” I replied. “First generation. My parents are Sicilian though. They were bakers.”

“Ah,” he said, his expression clearing. “Hence the bakery here?”

I nodded. “I practically grew up in the bakery,” I said. “I’d help out before I went to school.” I took a sip of my drink. “Tell me about yourself,” I prompted. “Why did you decide to become a cop?”

He smiled.  “It’s somewhat clichéd,” he replied. “I grew up in an orphanage. It was a bit of a hellish place, where the caretakers decided the best way to discipline unhappy children was with the belt.” He frowned. “I had two friends who were like family to me, and I was the oldest. As best I could, I protected them.” He smiled. “I guess it became a habit.”

“And you offered to keep me safe as well,” I said softly, remembering his words to me last week.
You will be safe, Alice.
He’d grown up without the protection of parents, and as an adult, he’d chosen a profession where he would protect those that needed his help. I’d formed a snap judgement about Enzo Peron, based on the fact that he was a cop, but I’d been terribly wrong.

He shot me a look. “It isn’t an offer, Alice,” he replied. “It’s a fact. In Venice, you are safe.”

Our conversation was easy and relaxed. He teased me about my Italian, which was really terrible. I blushed in embarrassment. My marriage to Ian had ruined my relationship with my parents, and I had no one to speak Italian with. We talked about books and movies and music. I thought about asking if the Venice police had made any progress in figuring out who was trying to break into my apartment, but I didn’t. He was fun to talk to, and I was having a really good time. I didn’t want to spoil the mood.

When our conversation had died down into a comfortable silence, and my drink was long-empty, he looked at me intently. “If this were a proper date, it’d be time to walk you home.”

“If this was a proper date, I’d invite you upstairs,” I whispered. Desire danced on my skin.

He got up and extended his hand to me. “Since it isn’t though,” he said with a half-smile, “shall we instead adjourn to a private room at the club?”

Alice:

My flame of my arousal was already burning bright. It burned higher.

“I’m ready,” I said.

“Yes you are,” Enzo said, and I shivered at the sound of his voice, with its smooth, smoky, amused undertones.

“Have I told you look beautiful tonight?” he said. He gave me a look that clearly said
I want you
.

I let my eyes run all over his body, He wore a white dress shirt and dark grey trousers and he looked amazing. “You too,” I responded, and he blushed a little. I laughed, utterly startled. “Did you just blush?” I asked him, and he winced.

“I was hoping you didn’t see that,” he said. “I confess, I’ve never been called beautiful before.”

I chuckled, but refrained from any further smart-ass remarks. “So, tonight,” he said. “I’d normally have a plan, but since you are relatively new, I thought we’d walk around, and you could pick a room that excites you.”

I’d been given a brief tour by the staff last week. This time though, walking through with Enzo, knowing that I could pick a room and he’d use whatever instrument of pleasure and pain in that room on me?

I was aroused, I was nervous. But definitely more aroused than nervous.

We walked around the upper level, which had several private rooms, all with varying equipment. Enzo reeled out names as we walked past. St. Andrews Cross. Spanking bench. Stocks. Some of these, I’d seen on the internet. Some others were new to me.

“You’ve used all of these?” I said, looking up at his face.

He shrugged. “Mostly, yes.”

“Should I be afraid?” I asked him directly.

He laughed. “On the contrary,
gattina
, it should reassure you that I know what I’m doing. The last thing you want is someone who has no idea what he’s doing swinging a whip at you.”

Valid, valid point. I straightened my shoulders, meeting his gaze. “You pick a room,” I said. “I’m in your hands tonight.”

“Alice,” he said. His voice even sounded like dark, sensual lust. “Close your eyes,” he ordered, and I obeyed.

“Come,” he said, taking my hand and walking forward.

I kept my eyes closed, and took small steps. It was slightly nerve-racking not being able to see, but his touch was reassuring, and his hand guided me.

“Trust me,” he said. “You won’t fall.”

“I do trust you,” I replied. It was strange, given that I had only known him for a week, but I was operating entirely on instinct, and my instincts told me I had nothing to fear from Enzo. I felt cocooned in his warmth, ensconced in his protection.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and I obeyed. I took in the room I was in. It wasn’t large, and the space was dominated by a Y-shaped contraption that looked like some kind of perverted bed.

Enzo grinned at me. “One of the benefits of playing at Casanova,” he said, “is that you get to take advantage of equipment that might otherwise not fit in an apartment.”

I giggled, though the sound had more than a twinge of nervousness to it. He noticed, and his hand came out and held mine. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” he said.

I nodded. I knew.

He continued, though this time, his tone had an edge to it. “I’m going to be harder on you today, and I would like your obedience in this room, Alice,” he said.

“Yes Sir,” I responded.

“You have your safe words?” he prompted me. His hand waved in the direction of the ceiling, and I looked up, and noticed the camera I hadn’t seen last week. I stared into the red light as I answered his question.

“Red to stop, Sir,” I said. “Yellow to slow things down.”

“Good,” he said. “You ready to get started,
gattina
?”

The look in his eyes was warm and reassuring; his tone was hard. This was exactly what I wanted. Someone that I could trust, but someone who would push me to the very edge of my limits.

“Yes Sir,” I responded. I was so very ready to get started.

“In that case, Alice,” he said. “I’d like you to get naked.”

I gulped. The camera was still blinking in the corner, little blips of red light, and I was getting naked, though I had no idea who was on the other end of that blinking light. But this was Casanova, and the security crew were used to seeing naked women, women far, far more attractive than I was. I had nothing to feel self-conscious about. Right?

“Alice, now.” The words were a snap, and they propelled me to action. I quickly unzipped my dress, stepping out of it carefully and draping it over a hook in the corner. I unhooked my bra, and Enzo took it from me silently, and held out his hands for my panties. I handed them to him.

“Step in the middle of the room,” he ordered me, and I complied. He hadn’t been lying about being harder today. I felt like his sub, and he felt like my Dom. When he spoke, there was an expectation that his orders were going to be obeyed.

And I was determined to obey, to fully submerge myself in submission. This was what I’d yearned to explore, and I wasn’t going to do it in half-measures. Tonight, even though I didn’t have a lot of experience, I was going to be the most obedient, most well-behaved submissive at Casanova. I wanted to do this for Enzo, but more than that, I wanted to do for myself, for the many years that I’d spent wishing for this exact sequence of events.

His eyes swept over my body, and I shivered at the heat that shone openly from them. “Let’s get you on the table, Alice,” he said, helping me up. The surface was padded, and he positioned my knees on each of the arms of the Y, strapping them down swiftly and surely with leather straps, tightening the buckles till they were snug against my skin.

“How’s your circulation?”

“Good,” I smiled at him. “Nothing’s pinching.”

He laughed. “Yet,” he replied. “Okay, let’s get your ankles restrained.” The same procedure was repeated on my ankles, and I swayed a little, unsteady. My legs were tied wide apart, and I could feel the air on my damp pussy.

“Lean forward,” he ordered me, his hands steadying me and moving me forward so that my elbows rested on the table. He brought my forearms together and tied them to the beam. Straps at both my elbows and wrists prevented me from moving my hands at all. “Not too tight?” he asked again, and I shook my head. “No Sir,” I said quietly. As he tied me down, I sank deeper into submission. I wanted to please him tonight.

“One more strap,” he said, buckling a leather belt around my waist and attaching it to a chain hanging from the ceiling. The binding kept me from slumping, and oddly, it was helpful in taking some strain off my elbows.

He walked towards me with a ball gag.

“You won’t be able to use your safe words, gagged,” he said. “Shake your head back and forth three times, and I’ll stop.” He made me perform the gesture to confirm that I understood. “Good,” he said, watching me shake my head back and forth frantically. He grinned at me. “Let’s get going.” I was about to open my mouth obediently around the gag, when a thought struck me.

“Wait, is it even sanitary to use a gag at a sex club?” I asked him with a frown. “I’m not a germaphobe or anything, but ugh.”

He laughed. “It’s new,” he reassured me. “The way it works is that you can either bring in your own toys, or buy them from the club.”

“You don’t have any toys?” I asked him, and he grinned.

“In my world, the toys belong to the submissive,
gattina
,” he said. “Now, open your mouth.” I complied, and his fingers brushed my hair back as he fastened the straps holding it in place.

“This is where I make some joke about women who can’t talk, and what a relief that is,” he quipped, and I rolled my eyes. I’d have given him the middle finger, honestly, but I reminded myself that that wouldn’t be appropriately respectful.

Then, realizing what he had done, I smiled inwardly in appreciation. He had eased the tension building up in me with a well-timed joke, and I had relaxed.
Ah, Enzo. Nicely done
.

“Flogger,” he said, holding up the whip in front of me. He grinned, teasing. “Also new,
dolcezza
.” My gag prevented any smart-ass retorts, and I was inwardly thankful. I had some self-control, but his comment was ripe for a sarcastic rejoinder.

He walked behind me, and I felt the tails of the flogger caress my ass. I shivered. My legs were spread wide open, my pussy and ass on display, and when the flogger came down, there would be nothing I could do about it.

I could feel my nipples engorge at the idea of my imagined helplessness; I could feel myself drip.

Whap. The flogger swung crisply at my ass and heat erupted on my skin. It was such an odd sensation. It felt like little pinpricks of warming fire. There was pain, but it was a pain I wanted to experience again.

Smack. I got my wish, the flogger descended once more, targeting the other butt cheek this time.

His hand soothed the sting away, tapping my ass lightly. “Up,” he ordered. “Don’t slump. Present yourself for me. Ass in the air.”

I inclined my hips up, jutting my ass out lewdly. I could feel myself flush at I imagined how wanton I looked, tied down, sticking my ass out to be whipped.

Two more strokes, and I whimpered into the gag. The strokes of the flogger felt so strange, yet so welcome. And when he stopped and pinched my ass, I just groaned. My skin felt hot and tender, and overly sensitive.

I pushed my ass up towards him, and I tried to turn my head around to see what he was doing. He clicked his tongue in displeasure, and I stopped, and in response, he kneaded my tender cheeks, spreading them apart, letting the cool air hit my pussy.

I couldn’t help my whimper.
Please touch me,
I thought.
Please…

My unvoiced plea was answered as I felt a finger probe my slit, and he pushed a finger into me. “Dripping wet,” he said, and I heard the satisfaction in his tone. “Do you like being flogged?” His fingers pinched my pussy lips, and he tugged at them. In response, I felt myself get even wetter.

I moaned my agreement. I did like being flogged. Each time he swung the flogger, every pinprick of pleasure coalesced in my heavy, throbbing pussy.

“Let’s add something to the mix,” he said, appearing at my side. He pinched and tugged at my nipples, getting them ready, then he clamped them with a pair of nipple clamps, connected together by a heavy chain.

Oh. I exhaled as best as I could around the gag as I processed the sudden pain in my nipples. The tight grip of the clamps caused my breasts to throb and ache. But my body was responding the same way it did when the strands of the flogger caressed my skin. The pain blended into pleasure.
Ah, this was so good.

He walked back to my ass and kneaded the cheeks with his strong hands once more. “Ass high,” he ordered. “Stick it out.” His fingers were tugging once again at my inner lips, and I felt his tongue lick a path up my seam. “Such a tasty pussy,” he muttered. He licked it once again, then he growled and moved, coming back around towards my breasts.

“How are the clamps?” he asked me, and I nodded my head at him, warbling an incoherent okay around the gag. He grinned. “Well, in that case, let’s stretch those limits.” He attached a weight to the chain connecting the clamps, and I hissed. The weight tugged my nipples, and as the chain swung, prickling sensation danced through my breasts, keeping the throbbing ache fresh.

I shifted restlessly in my bindings, trying to squeeze my legs together, trying to relieve the ache in my pussy. But I was spread apart, too well-bound for that attempt to work.

He watched me with amused eyes as I tried to make myself come. “On a different day,
gattina
, when I’m feeling less indulgent, you will get punished for that,” he told me. “Stop it.”

I shot him a chagrined look, abashed at how easily he’d read me.

The flogger resumed, scouring each inch of my ass with its flaming strokes. I whimpered; each stroke caused me to move forward in my bindings, and each move set the chain connecting my nipples swinging. Every bit of my body was being bathed in sensation.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was perfect.

“I think I want to hear you,” he said, removing the gag. “Does it hurt?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

I nodded, swallowing. “Yes,” I said. It did hurt, but I wasn’t in pain. I was miles away from needing to use my safe word.

“What do you say when I flog you?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. Starbursts of desire danced through me at his unrelenting tone.
Yes
. I needed his sternness, his dominance, his hard edge.

“Thank you, Sir,” I whispered, knowing what he wanted to hear.

He gave my ass a hard smack that echoed round the room. “Thank you Sir,” I breathed, as my pussy clenched in longing.

He smiled. “Very nice,
gattina
,” he said.

He moved away, and I felt his tongue on my slit once again. Very, very nice. I was tossed into a river of sensation, and I focused on breathing, trying not to give in. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be allowed to orgasm, not yet. I needed to stay back from the brink.