by Evie Blake
It is one of the negatives from Theo’s black book that has given her the idea for tonight’s scenario. The image she was able to enlarge today was of a pair of naked breasts with a see-through lace scarf bound around them, almost flattening them, although she can make out the nipples emerging through the material. She had a memory then of a chest of old clothes her mother left behind in the attic. They belonged to Valentina’s great-grandmother, and Valentina is sure she saw a similar lace scarf among them.
To her surprise, the chest isn’t locked, even though she spent ages going through her bureau looking for the key. She opens the lid and sits back on her heels in delight. How could she have forgotten about this treasure trove of costumes? A powerful scent emerges from the chest. She recognises it but she can’t identify it. It is a pungent aroma, like blooming roses. It must have been the perfume her great-grandmother once wore. She pulls out one delicate, exquisite garment after another: silk blouses, evening gowns of chiffon, velvet jackets and skirts, and a cloche hat in felt. There is even underwear, a pearly chemise and black silk stockings, along with frilly white garters. And there is a scarf. It’s perfect. An absolute dead ringer for the one in the photograph.
Valentina dresses less severely tonight. She is nervous, no doubt about it. If only she had someone to come with her. But of course she can’t tell a soul about what she is doing. She is not sure how some of her colleagues in the fashion world would react, although she suspects most of them would think it was fantastic. She likes to keep her creative work private. She puts on a little sixties suit that belonged to her mother. The skirt is very short, but then these ladies are going to be naked, so really she has no need to feel self-conscious. As she goes down in the lift in her apartment building, she wonders if she will see the man she saw yesterday, but as she steps outside her door, all is quiet on Via De Amicis.
The club feels different when she arrives this time. It is no longer empty. There are people now in those rooms, enacting their fantasies. Leonardo is nowhere to be seen, and she is greeted by a buxom blond woman clad in corset and suspenders.
‘Oh you must be Valentina,’ she says warmly. ‘I’m Raquel. You are very welcome.’ She has a sweet, almost childish smile that looks incongruous with her corset outfit. ‘The girls are waiting for you. They’re very excited.’
Valentina catches her breath, tries to calm her beating heart and follows Raquel down the staircase. This is her last chance to back out. Once she goes into the Atlantis Room tonight, there will be no way she can return to her old way of looking at things. But she has no intention of going home. She is here now, and she always sees things through.
Raquel stands outside the wooden door, waiting for her.
‘Ready?’
Valentina nods and walks into Atlantis.
Sitting on the daybed are two young women about the same age as her. Leonardo is right: they are both stunning. One has long curly red hair; the other short peroxide blond hair. Both girls are still dressed. The redhead is wearing a red dress to match her hair, stockings and high heels. The blonde is more casually dressed in a short blue dress with cap sleeves. Her legs are bare and she has no shoes on. They both look gorgeous. Their lips are moist and glossy, and their skin dewy in the fake sunlight streaming in from the skylight. Probably models, Valentina thinks, although she doesn’t recognise either of them.
Raquel introduces the girls before departing, leaving Valentina alone with her subjects. She has set up shots so many times in her day job, yet for a minute her mind goes blank. Finally the redhead, Rosa, speaks.
‘So what do you want us to do?’ she asks, smiling at Valentina coyly.
‘Well, I am a little new at all of this,’ Valentina explains, not catching her eye.
‘At photography?’ asks Celia, the blonde.
‘No, no, I’m a professional photographer.’ She puts her bag down on the big black desk, opens it and takes out her camera, still unable to look either girl in the face. ‘What I mean is, I don’t really know what you do . . . I’ve never been into S and M . . .’ She thinks it is best to be honest with the girls so that they don’t make assumptions.
‘For real?’ Rosa says, and Valentina catches her exchanging looks with Celia. ‘So why are you here?’
Valentina fiddles with the light meter. She feels gauche, and a little stupid.
‘I’m interested in what you do . . . I want to understand.’
‘Well the only way you will understand is by experiencing it.’ Celia gives her a penetrating look, as if she can see her naked beneath her clothes.
Valentina ignores her, and turns to Rosa. She needs to remain businesslike, otherwise she is just going to look like a fool.
‘Maybe you could start with what you were planning to do, and I have a few ideas with a prop I brought with me that we could possibly introduce at some stage. I might ask you to hold a pose, if that’s okay?’
‘Sure, no problem. Shall we start?’ Rosa asks. Celia is still staring at Valentina, making her feel uncomfortable.
‘Yes . . . do . . .’ Valentina says, fumbling around with her camera, her heart in her mouth.
Protected by the camera, Valentina keeps her distance at first. The two women seem to go through a kind of mating ritual with each other, taking on roles. Surprisingly, Rosa appears more dominant, with Celia doing things to please her. Rosa sits on the desk, her legs apart, and Celia balances underneath her, pushing her head up beneath her dress so that she must be kissing her, although Valentina can’t see her lips. Now Celia undresses for Rosa, as the redhead reclines on the daybed, watching her. She takes off her dress and stands on her toes for Rosa, her arms raised above her head.
Celia has peeled off her dress so naturally, without any kind of artifice, that Valentina finds she is not embarrassed at all. In fact she is almost enjoying this. The women are so focused on each other’s pleasure. She sees no place for pain in this scenario.
A moment later, however, Rosa strides over to the desk and takes a chain from the bottom drawer. She binds Celia’s hands to a beam above her head. What will happen now? Rosa stands behind Celia and begins to caress her between the legs. Valentina watches the expression on Celia’s face as she responds to Rosa’s touch. It is hard not to feel turned on as she watches Rosa fondling the other woman. She can’t help wondering what a woman’s lips and tongue might feel like on her own body. Celia goes up on her toes and raises her left leg in the air like a ballerina doing an arabesque, but to the side, and higher than ninety degrees. Rosa crouches and curls her arms around Celia’s right thigh, and licks her between the legs. Valentina watches each minute detail of expression on Celia’s face. At one moment she is the cool dancer; now the sensation of Rosa’s lips passes through her body, so that Valentina can see the tension in her raised leg and pointed toes, she can see her teetering on the edge. Rosa knows just how long to stimulate her for before she pulls back and Celia drops back down on to the soles of her feet, breathless and potent with desire. Valentina takes a close-up of her face, her blue eyes electric and her expression open and yearning for Rosa, her mistress.
Rosa releases Celia from the beam and leads her to the daybed. Celia climbs on to the bed and allows Rosa to chain her wrists to the bedstead. She lies back with her legs open, waiting. Rosa takes off her red dress and her panties, although she keeps her stockings on, just like Valentina would. She walks back to the desk, shooting Valentina a provocative look, opens the top drawer and pulls out a large toy that looks to be a sort of vibrator. Valentina doesn’t remember seeing it when she was here with Leonardo the day before.
Rosa curls up on the daybed with Celia. They kiss, and Rosa begins touching Celia again with her hands. Valentina watches her delicate fingers, the tiny half-moons of her pale nails, as she gently kneads Celia’s skin. Slowly, slowly, Rosa circles her thumbs as she presses deeper into Celia, who yields herself completely in response to her mistress. Valentina moves closer and closer to the two women, certain that they are so lost in
their ecstasy that they have forgotten she is there. She is a few inches from them now, taking a shot from behind Rosa of Celia, her eyes closed and lost in pleasure.
Rosa lies on her back now, so that the two women’s legs are spread, the soles of their feet touching. She turns on the sex toy, and Valentina can see that it has two round massaging heads. It is some kind of twin clitoral massager. Rosa expertly fits the heads into herself and Celia, and Valentina sees Celia jolt with pleasure. Sounds begin to weave around Valentina, the noise of the toy mixing with Celia’s high gasps and Rosa’s low moaning. Valentina wonders which woman will come first, or will they orgasm together? Can she catch that on film . . . or is that too much of an invasion?
To Valentina’s surprise, Rosa opens her eyes and looks at her. Her pupils are so dilated that they are pools of black desire. She switches off the toy, and Celia opens her eyes as well, as if stirring from a deep sleep. She looks at Valentina with the same expectant expression as her mistress. Valentina senses that they want her to do something with them. She pulls the lace scarf out of her pocket and approaches the two women. She takes hold of Rosa’s hot hands and pulls her towards Celia. She unchains Celia’s hands and without saying anything begins to wrap the scarf around their torsos so that they are brought together, their two pairs of breasts touching. Rosa looks up at her again, a question in her eyes, and Valentina can feel Celia brushing the back of her bare leg with her hand. She steps back, a little unnerved, and starts snapping away, but the scarf has slipped and she has to retie it. She approaches the two girls again, and leans over, trying to tighten the lace scarf. They look like twins of passion. Young modern women bound by vintage lace. This will look so good in black and white, Valentina thinks, as she avoids looking at Rosa’s beseeching eyes.
‘You’re so pretty, Valentina,’ Rosa whispers. ‘So gamine.’
Valentina looks at her, and at the same time she can feel Celia’s hands tracing up her thighs. She freezes, unable to step away as the sensation of Celia’s touch begins to affect her. Celia tiptoes her fingers all the way to the top of Valentina’s legs, and pushes one of her hands underneath her panties. Valentina is trapped, unable to do anything, she is so rigid with anticipation. Why doesn’t she push Celia’s hand away?
‘I think she wants to join us, Rosa,’ Celia says. ‘I can feel it.’
The two girls wriggle out of Valentina’s lace scarf, and make space for her between them.
‘Come on,’ Rosa cajoles her. ‘Why not?’ She takes a blindfold from behind one of the cushions on the daybed. ‘If you prefer, you can wear this, and we will make your dreams come true.’
‘No,’ says Valentina, yet still she doesn’t move. Celia’s hand is massaging her gently, and she can feel herself beginning to throb inside, despite the fact that she has never wanted to make love to a woman before.
She looks at the two girls and everything is in soft focus, just like one of her dreams. She sees three spirits of sensuality weaving together like divine ether. And so Valentina steps forward. She cannot help herself.
Belle
SIGNOR R. WRAPS BELLE’S LACE SCARF AROUND HER TORSO, pulling it tighter and tighter so that her breasts are almost flattened. It is a little itchy on her nipples, and Belle wishes she had suggested something else with which to bind her, but it is too late now. Signor R. has turned his back on her and picked up the bottle of oil on the dressing table. Belle reaches out for his trousers, which he left on the back of the chair, and pulls them on. The first time she played this game with Signor R., she was surprised at how much she enjoyed it. For once she was wearing the trousers. She was amazed at how different an item of clothing could make you feel. Certainly her client changed completely once he attired himself in his costume.
Signor R. is a wealthy and well-connected young banker in Venice. One can always hear him a mile off at social gatherings, his booming voice and rather uncouth manner. Yet he’s not an unpleasant man. Belle knows that he has set up a philanthropic organisation to help the unfortunates of Venice. He has a heart, that is for sure. He is obviously desperately in love with his tiny little mouse of a wife, who is as shy as he is confident. You can’t say a word to her but she blushes crimson. So it is quite clear to Belle that in his household Signor R. rules the roost, just like her own husband. However, unlike Signor Brzezinski, her banker friend has a need to reverse the roles sometimes. Something he could never ask his fragile little wife to do.
Signor R. swings around to reveal his transformation. Belle has to admit that he looks every inch her love slave. He has lathered his hairless, muscle-bound chest with one of the aromatic oils Belle purchased from the Abyssinian traders down at Ponte di Rialto. Signor R. has the most perfect physique, and as he stands before her, she takes in the symmetrical triangle of his bare chest, following the contours of his body across his firm stomach and down to his hips. He is wearing part of her Egyptian costume. Just the silk overskirt, which hangs low on his hips so that she can see his pelvic bones provocatively exposed. The silk skirt clings to his firm, powerful legs. The fine slinky cloth does nothing to conceal what lies beneath, and the sight of his erect penis pushing against his feminine attire only serves to make him even more manly.
It is quite specific what Signor R. wants to do. He doesn’t want to look like or be a woman. He just wants a break from being an alpha male. He wants to be Belle’s slave, stripped down and vulnerable in her most delicate skirts. It gives him pleasure, and why not, thinks Belle as she fastens his cufflinks on to the starched shirt she has now put on. She glances at herself in the mirror and is delighted by her reflection. With her black bob slicked back, she looks quite androgynous. It is a delicious sensation.
She walks over towards Signor R., feeling powerful and in control. She puts out her hand and massages his oily chest, watching his muscles ripple in response. She can see his erection pushing through the silk skirt, and she rubs it with her other hand, as Signor R. groans softly before speaking.
‘What would you like me to do for you today, Belle?’ His voice is unusually subdued, and husky with desire.
‘I would like you to sit down on this chair.’ Belle picks up a chair and places it in the centre of the room. ‘And pull up your skirt so I can sit on top of you.’
‘Can I please take off your trousers? Will you let me?’
She raises an eyebrow and stands over him, then nods sternly.
Signor R. leans forward eagerly and unfastens the buttons of her trousers. They slip off Belle and fall around her ankles. She steps out of them. Underneath she is completely naked. Signor R. admires her, twisting his fingers in her curly hair.
‘Touch me,’ she directs him, as she unbuttons her shirt. She imagines telling her husband to do this, and the thought of it makes her want to burst out laughing, which would be a disaster. She knows how upset Signor R. would be if she laughed at him.
Signor R. reaches forward with his fingers and begins to caress her. She feels so naughty and bold. It is wonderful to give orders for once. She stands over him as he buries his face in her and begins to lick. She pulls her nipples out through the gaps in her lace binding, licks her fingers and touches them herself, sighing with pleasure. She lifts his head up and away from her.
‘You can stop doing that,’ she directs him. ‘I am going to sit on you now, and you are not to stop until I climax. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Belle,’ he says humbly.
She takes his penis in both hands, hovering over him, then sits down on his lap, pushing him deep inside.
Oh, it feels so good.
She can feel herself quivering, his length reaching deep into her. She goes on to her tiptoes and rises, falls back down again. Signor R. groans, and closes his eyes.
‘Come on, harder,’ she says, her voice suddenly harsh, and she thinks that if she had a riding crop like her Russian, she would maybe use it now.
He lifts himself up against her and they are riding together, faster and faster, until she is climaxing
gloriously without caring whether he is experiencing the same pleasure. Signor R. doesn’t mind. Sometimes he climaxes and some days he doesn’t. For him his visits are not about sexual gratification; they are more about escape. Today, however, he is with her all the way. As she collapses on top of him, cascading again and again, she hears him cry out and make one last dramatic thrust inside her.
After Signor R. leaves, Belle is still feeling rather manly. No doubt she will get a couple of slaps later for answering her husband back. But for now she has plenty of time to explore this sensation. And she feels like going out.
She flings open her wardrobe and flicks through her dresses, all the fantasies of her clients. Long, elegant evening gowns, along with her maid’s outfit, her virginal nightdress, an array of corsets in different colours and textures, purses and stockings, boots, boas and feathers. At last she finds what she is looking for. She pulls it out and lays it on the bed. It is a simple sailor’s outfit: flared white trousers, blue and white striped top, a red kerchief for round her neck, a long naval jacket, and a sailor’s cap to top it off. Once dressed, she looks at herself in the mirror with satisfaction. With her breasts still bound, the hem of the jacket concealing her womanly bottom, and her long legs and slender frame, she could pass for a young sailor boy. All she has to do is tuck her black bob up into the hat and remove her lipstick.
She has never actually left her apartment in these clothes, but it has always been her fantasy to do so. Today she feels like being brave. With all the new arrivals in Venice, the city is buzzing with exotic and strange faces. She will fit in perfectly.
