Nights in Black Satin

by Noelle Mack

  “She is wanton,” Marco said admiringly.

  The redhead arched, enjoying the sensation of having her ass fondled by so many. The hands that touched her were gentle, stroking and probing as the men commented on her naked beauty.

  One of them dropped to his knees behind her, spreading her buttocks and tenderly thrusting his tongue in the tightly puckered hole between them.

  She sighed, and those who were watching sighed with her. Sarah drew in her breath. The heat of shared sensuality was enough to make her forget her bad mood for the moment.

  Others rolled a table on its edge to where the redhead stood. Sarah couldn’t see who was behind it. Several men righted it.

  The woman, completely naked except for stockings—Sarah could see now that they were tied with rosebud garters at the knees and that she wore high-heeled silk shoes too—was lifted up onto it. She let her unseen lovers guide her into a submissive pose, her head resting on one folded arm, and her white ass in the air.

  Her hair was still pinned high on her head, but a few tendrils had come loose and straggled down her back to her narrow waist. Reaching back underneath her body, she inserted a finger into the juicy flesh between her legs as if daring one of the men to do the same.

  “Oh boy. Now what?”

  Marco’s erection was about to burst out of his breeches. “We shall see. They can use their tongues on her, fuck her with a hand, or whatever they like.”

  The man who had licked her pussy began to do it again. Then he put his forefinger into her anus, and slid it in and out. She pushed back to enjoy that, giving little feminine murmurs of pleasure.

  “And wherever they like, evidently.”

  Lustful murmurs of admiration at the woman’s shamelessness ran through the crowd. She enjoyed the attention she was getting as the man behind her slowly moved his finger in and out of her asshole.

  He pulled it out, and she whimpered with disappointment until another man, tall and broadly built, came up to take a turn, putting big hands onto the white buttocks that the redhead was so proud of.

  He spread them completely apart, standing aside so that all could see the glistening flesh squeezed between her plump thighs.

  He held up two thick fingers and the crowd applauded. He slid them into her pussy, fucking her sensually and thoroughly, then slid them out. The redhead wriggled her ass. She was putting on quite a show.

  The man held up four fingers to more applause. He fucked her with those until she began to moan with pleasure, then pulled out, teasing only her clit. She rocked on the table and pushed back into his hand.

  Two men came to either side of the table to play with her breasts, which hung down, full and plump. The man who had sucked them first stood in front of her, seizing a kiss from lips that were parted in ecstasy as the redhead’s whole pussy was massaged by the tall man behind her.

  She cried out, and the man kissing her captured the sound. The man behind her made the redhead come into his hand, rubbing her into a frenzy that made more than one man pull out his cock and come with her.

  Finished, satisfied, her eyes half-closed when she pulled off the mask, the redhead let her admirers help her down and collected the money they tossed onto the table. So it had been a show. She scampered off into the crowd, which had doubled in size when hidden couples came forth to watch the raunchy fun.

  Sarah didn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t have wanted to be the woman on the table, but watching her had been interesting. Porn was porn. Live sex with willing participants…OK, what the hell. She would watch.

  Her pussy was wet, but the only man she wanted in it was Marco. She reached out and stroked his erection under the glove-soft leather of his breeches, not minding that he was so aroused. She really couldn’t blame him.

  “Is that all?”

  He looked at her with sensual interest. “No. There are other rooms and other such entertainments. There always are. Do you want to watch them too?”

  She nodded. “But that’s all I want to do.”

  “I understand.” He rose, taking her hand and leading her from the alcove into a corridor behind the ballroom. The music had begun again, and the crowd was larger still. Faintly, very faintly, she heard the midnight chimes and wondered how long the night would be.

  He brought her to a room whose walls were shrouded with dark velvet. Men and a few women had already taken their places around a small arena when Marco and Sarah slipped in, finding a place to sit that was somewhat apart from the others.

  Two naked men, young and beautifully built, stepped into the light coming from above the arena directly into the center. It cast dramatic shadows over their oiled, nude bodies as the men circled each other, waiting for the right moment to catch the other and wrestle.

  A handsome older man leaned forward, his eyes on fire with lust. His companion was female, which surprised Sarah.

  “His wife,” Marco whispered. “The men are Sagredo’s slaves, and they are lovers of men, like him. Sagredo picks them for their beauty. One fair, one dark. They are friends, but the winner of this contest will go free, and the other will remain in bondage.”

  She nodded.

  One man, the blond one, caught the other around the waist and threw him down onto hands and knees, straddling him from behind. He strained to get free, writhing against the superior muscle power of the dominant man above him, and succeeded, jumping to his feet.

  The dark man reached out, lightning fast, took the other’s cock and squeezed hard, pumping it and making him erect. The blond man dropped to his knees to escape but his erection stayed up, oiled and hard. He grabbed the standing man by the knees and got him down onto the mat, legs thrusting between his as he struggled to gain some advantage.

  Bodies shining with sweat and oil, the men grappled with each other. Sarah just stared. The close contact was exciting both of them: their stiff cocks slid along thighs and buttocks, and she didn’t doubt that Sagredo wanted to see it.

  The blond man, dominant once more, trapped the other’s head between his thighs and reached over to grab his vulnerable buttocks. Sagredo’s wife stared at what hung between; Sarah, on the other side, could only imagine the swaying balls and big cock.

  But the oil made him lose his grip, and the man on the bottom flipped him onto the mat, pinning him before he could catch his breath.

  On all fours, the dark man who had been underneath was now on top. His erection hung within an inch of the other’s lips. Keeping his elbows and knees on the other man’s arms and legs, he lowered himself until the blond man on the mat opened his mouth and took the throbbing length of him.

  The thick rod and large balls moved up and down as he sucked—he had to. The dark man on top had him by the balls. The sheer strength of the wrestlers, straining against each other like fighting animals, mesmerized Sarah. She had never seen two beautiful men go at it, and their mingled power was breathtaking. It was far more exciting than watching the woman on the table.

  “This is not enough for Sagredo,” Marco whispered. “The loser must submit fully to the other.”

  The man who was being fellated lifted up, and his cock slid free. He hung on to the blond man’s balls, his hand deep in the light-colored pubic hair, forcing him to roll over onto hands and knees, head down, his buttocks up.

  Sagredo leaned forward again, watching intently as his slave positioned the head of his cock at the tight hole he was about to take.

  The dark man let go of the other man’s balls and eased in. It was not a rape. The man on the bottom moaned softly with pleasure, aroused despite losing the battle—or perhaps because he had. His cock trembled between his legs. The man on top reached around to stroke it as he pushed in and out, bringing him close to orgasm but stopping before he could. He fucked his blond friend long and hard with vigorous thrusts that left no doubt as to who was the victor. Close to climax, he dropped over the other man’s back, grabbing him around the waist with both arms, allowing his partner to masturbate.

  Hi
s buttocks tensed and he came in the next few seconds, ramming wildly as the other man came too, bearing his dark lover on his back, spraying the mat beneath them in pulsing white jets. They collapsed together and the light overhead went out, leaving the small arena in semidarkness.

  Marco shook his head. “Next year the slave will be the winner. Sagredo is considered an honorable man for freeing one every year.”

  Sarah looked around at the spectators, most of whom wore cloaks and masks. She could not tell if they were men or women; she guessed that they were mostly men. Their eyes glittered with lust.

  She rose and Marco did too, edging out of the room before everyone else.

  The intensity of the sex she’d witnessed was getting to her. The wanton woman on the table and the desperate abandon of the wrestlers were like something out of a fevered, lust-soaked dream, the kind you woke from with your man by your side if you were lucky, but wanting to be loved much more than you wanted to get laid.

  Marco led her on. She followed silently.

  They went from private room to private room, watching erotic play that stirred her physically but not otherwise. And all the wine she was drinking didn’t help. Sarah wondered if the spell was wearing off. If she’d simply wished to be with Marco, they would be back in the twenty-first century version of his palazzo with halfway decent plumbing, living in a world where civilized people generally didn’t buy and sell each other, and women didn’t have to play the game of love to make a living unless they wanted to. She didn’t want to be his courtesan or anyone’s courtesan. She had unthinkingly made the wish from hell.

  They had to find that book.

  4

  They went home. The festive mood had completely evaporated. He didn’t seem too pleased that she hadn’t enjoyed the ball, grumbling about the expense of the gorgeous dress, ungrateful courtesans in general, how he didn’t get a chance to play cards with his good-for-nothing friends, and a lot of other things she didn’t want to hear.

  “Shut up. Please shut up. I have a headache.”

  He closed his eyes. “A woman’s excuse of last resort. I suppose you will withhold your favors next.”

  “Wait a minute—that’s my line.”

  He laughed rudely. “Are you going to? I shall find myself another woman before the night is over.”

  “No you won’t. I told you I didn’t want to catch any eighteenth-century cooties and that does include syphilis.”

  “You can only get that from French whores. I seldom patronize them.”

  Dumbfounded, she just stared at him for a long moment. “The book,” she said at last. “We have to find it. You’re turning into a real Venetian man. An ignorant, self-centered, gambling, skirt-chasing hedonist like all the rest of them.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “For you, maybe. Not for me,” she snapped. “I really do have a headache.”

  A little drunk, he slid down in the seat and rested his boots on the side of the gondola. “I can cure it.”

  “How?”

  “I know a potion or two.”

  She folded her hands in her black satin lap. “Oh, right, you have that mage DNA. I almost forgot. Use your fabulous powers to find the other mage, the man who wrote that book. You said he was in Venice. Or find a copy. I don’t care. There must be a counter-spell.”

  He laughed loudly, and the sound echoed between the buildings. As usual, the gondola moved swiftly and the laughter died away. “Sarah, I’m not sure I want to find that book.”

  She sat bolt upright. “What?”

  He patted her hand. “We will return to our time when I want to and if I want to. I find that I am enjoying myself in this one.”

  Sarah couldn’t think of a thing to say for another minute. She studied his face, shadowed in the moonlight. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes and wondered if they were as warm as she remembered. “You have to be able to find the mage. You said he was your cousin, seven times seven removed.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can find him.”

  She pummeled his chest and tried to slap him, but he pushed her away.

  “Sarah, you will find that the expression do not rock the boat was invented for gondolas. They are stable when they are moving swiftly, not so much otherwise. Especially not when a woman gets too excited.”

  He smirked and got her by the wrists, gently but tightly. Sarah looked wildly out at the water ahead and the barely visible wake behind them. The gondolier was ignoring their quarrel, rowing vigorously home, singing under his breath.

  “Isn’t this romantic?” Marco asked. “You and me and the moon above.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she hissed. “Are you trying to provoke me?” She remembered the bratty kid who’d gotten what he deserved from the alley cat. “I scratch, Marco.”

  He didn’t let go of her wrists. “I know. You had your elegant claws in my behind when I first fucked you. It felt very nice.”

  Sarah stopped struggling, suddenly not sure if he was entirely serious. Was this a typical going-home-from-the-party spat and was she being teased? She looked at him warily, and he finally released her. But he kept an equally wary eye on her. “What’s this all about, Marco?”

  “You seem to think that all men are inherently bad.”

  “No no no. I said that Venetian men were—”

  He held up a hand. “No need to repeat yourself. But I feel compelled to defend the honor of my sex.”

  “Hoo-hah. That’s a tall order, dude.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, too dignified to answer.

  “Anyway, I want to go home. If you won’t look for the mage or the book, I’ll find—well, I bet I can find the book. There are lots of bookstores in Venice.”

  Marco closed his eyes. “I wish you luck.”

  In another few minutes, they had reached his palazzo, and she clambered over him to get out of the gondola first. Truly, Sarah wasn’t sure if he was even going to let her in. Weren’t wives chattel in this era? Courtesans had no legal standing at all. The servants would obey him: he was the one who paid them, not her. She couldn’t speak their language, and she hadn’t made friends among them; there hadn’t been time.

  She went to the door and stood with her back to him, hoping that he would do the decent thing and let her in. She could sleep on the sofa and let him have the white-lace-and-velvet nest o’ love. Hell, she would sleep in the straw with the servants if she had to.

  Marco conversed in dialect with the gondolier. She waited and thought.

  Going back to Brooklyn had never, ever sounded so good. Her favorite coffee shop on Myrtle Avenue came to mind, and she got all choked up just remembering the cracked laminate tables and smeared vinyl upholstery. Nothing posh about it but it was where she always had breakfast. Alone.

  He turned to go into the palazzo and put his hand on the small of her back to guide her inside. His touch was light, almost…loving. “Go to bed, Sarah.”

  She heard the weariness in his voice. “With you? Where should I sleep?”

  “In the bed. Where else?”

  “What about you?”

  He grinned at her wolfishly. “I have seen you safely home, and now I am going out to the Ridotto to gamble and drink. I might even fondle a willing female if I can find one. I promise to steer clear of the French ones.”

  “You—” She stopped herself from saying anything more. Where he went was no longer her business, if it ever had been. Sarah was exhausted, irritable, and overwhelmed. She hoisted her black satin skirts and stomped up the marble staircase, hearing the door close halfway up and not even looking to see if he had gone.

  She made it to the bedroom and kicked off her shoes, flinging herself on the maroon velvet comforter, enfolded in its voluptuous softness. She wanted to cry but she couldn’t. She wanted to sleep but the moonlight pouring in the high windows made that effectively impossible. Most of all, she wanted to know how to turn him back into Nice Marco. Thoughtful Marco. Sensitive Marco. She suspected the Studl
y Marco option was still available, but that wasn’t going to be enough.

  Yanking and twisting and untying everything she had on, she got out of her clothes, crawled into bed, and pulled the comforter over her head. That didn’t help her foul mood. She also wanted to breathe.

  Someone was rubbing her butt when the sun came up. Sarah barely stirred, liking what was happening too much to stop dreaming and open her eyes. She was curled up naked, having thrown the comforter off because it was too warm.

  A big hand slid over her ass cheeks, patting and stroking. Still dreaming, she yawned and stretched out one leg. The hand stopped. Then another hand joined it, cupping and squeezing both sides of her ass very gently.

  The dream she was having was morphing into an erotic fantasy. The hands on her ass didn’t stop. They parted her cheeks once, taking a peek at guess what, then squeezed them together, making the most of her voluptuous curves.

  The hands moved up over the small of her back, sliding up either side of her spine, rubbing and squeezing her shoulders very slowly and carefully. They stopped. The hands took her limp arm and rubbed it between them, then did the same to the other arm.

  Sliding back down between her shoulder blades, they eased the last trace of sleepy stiffness out of her flesh. The hands moved in caressing circles over her upper back, then slid down either side of her spine and resumed the sensual ass rub.

  She was semi-awake by now. Oo. Ooo. Oooo. She kept her moans mental, not wanting Marco to know how much she was enjoying this. But a lot of her pissed-off-ness had been dreamed away, a funny dream that had involved San Teodoro actually wrestling an alligator in a Florida roadside attraction.

  Marco’s hands pushed her hips gently and repeatedly down into the soft bed she lay on. Mm. Mmm. Mmmm.

  She turned over and smiled up at him. Surrender, done right, with no apologies, was very sweet indeed. His black hair was all messed up, and he looked like a rock star. Bare-chested. He even looked suitably penitent.