(This story is not suitable for people under 18.)
It was stifling in the ballroom and she needed to get some air – to breathe some cool, sweet air, before she passed out. The Venice Masked Ball was always a popular annual event and this year it was more crowded than usual, with elegant and sophisticated women wearing exotic feathered masks and glittering gowns. The men accompanying them seemed almost plain by comparison, in dinner jackets and simple black masks, except for a few who gave in to their taste for the exotic or macabre and wore black cloaks, masks shaped like birds of prey or mythical monsters, and even artificial scars down their face to give an added touch of terror to those forced to look at them. These were the frustrated actors.
She found a door leading on to a terrace, overlooking the canal, some fifteen feet below, where the gondolas waited to take their passengers away from a night of exotic pretence and back to their real, perhaps mundane, existences, and breathed in the night air deeply. She was restless, in need of an adventure. That, after all, was the purpose of such an evening. She felt totally anonymous behind her mask and craved…something…anything…to make her feel alive and vibrant. She placed her glass of champagne down and leaned over the terrace wall, looking down at the reflection of lights flickering on the surface of the water.
A slight noise behind her made her realize that she was not alone. She shivered. There was someone in the shadows in the corner. It was a man, dressed completely in black, almost invisible in the darkness. He had a black and gold wolf-like mask covering the top half of his face and wore a black velvet smoking jacket over black trousers. The woman exhibited no fear, however, and remained still as his eyes travelled over her, from the top of her elegant mask to the tips of her gold sandals. His voice, when he spoke, was rich and velvety, like his jacket, and he spoke in English, with an Italian accent.
“Stay there, my dear, don’t let me disturb you. I was so enjoying seeing you bent over that wall, silhouetted against the water. You have the most glorious body and I am happy to admire it from a distance.”
The woman, fortified by champagne and intoxicated with the romance of the evening, felt brave and bold. She turned back and again leaned over the wall, but this time bent a little further, so that her tight, shimmering gold gown stretched over her rump just a little more than before, outlining what she believed was her greatest asset. She was not going to ask the man to approach verbally, but if he could read and understand her body language, then so much the better. Her breathing became just a little faster as did the beat of her heart.
She heard footsteps as the man approached, and stopped a few feet away. A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke.
“You know, a man could go to war over a bottom like yours.”
She replied without looking at him.
“Don’t worry, there is no one here you would have to kill for my bottom.”
“Well that is a relief, for I left my trusty sword at home tonight.”
She felt bold and wanton. There would be no going back now.
“Would you like to touch it?”
She held her breath, wondering if perhaps she had misjudged the moment, and made herself seem foolish or worse, then let the breath go upon hearing his response.
“I rather think I might.”
A warm hand touched her bottom and slid over the satin material, from top to bottom and from side to side.
“As I thought, no panties.”
“No, they would have showed.”
His hand continued to roam and she had to restrain herself from letting out a groan as her inner slut came out to play. Would he continue? Or would he hold back? And did she want him to continue, or would she back down at the last moment? No, she had decided that tonight was to be the night for adventure, and here it was.
“So, do you like my bottom? Is it to your satisfaction?”
“Well as bottoms go, I would say that it is in the top echelon. What man would not be satisfied with a bottom such as this?”
“Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, I rather think that I would.”
She took her arms from the top of the terrace wall, and slowly lifted her dress, revealing her body inch by inch.
“You know how to torture a man.”
“I believe that a reveal such as this is best done slowly, so that it can be appreciated a little at a time.”
The hem of the dress reached the crease of her bottom and then began the slow climb over the rounded mounds above. The man’s voice became deeper.
“Please allow me to complete the task, my dear.”
She allowed him to take the bunched material into his hands and she returned hers to the top of the wall, as he slowly lifted the dress to her waist, as though he was revealing a grand work of art, and let out his breath.
She allowed him to tuck the sides of her dress beneath her body, which was pressed to the wall, and heard him step back a little, away from her.
As if in answer to her silent question he said “I just want to stand and admire what is before me. Such a body as this can only have been designed by Michelangelo himself.”
A few seconds passed before he stepped back towards her.
“May I touch you again?”
“I would be very disappointed if you didn’t.”
His hand was warm and smooth against her bare skin. His palm travelled over every inch of her bottom, caressing it as though it was a priceless antiquity. She trembled with uncontrollable sexual need and he knew what she wanted so desperately. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the shoulder, whispering into her ear, from where her sparkling emerald earrings hung.
“It would be a shame to stop now, mysterious masked lady, wouldn’t it?”
Her voice was husky with need.
“Yes, it would be such a shame to stop at this point.”
His hand slid down and into the hidden place between her thighs, now wet with desire. His fingers gently stroked her secret places until eventually they breached her body with practised ease, and he reached the magic button that was the key to unlocking her sexual core. She gasped a little as his finger so expertly massaged and squeezed her clit, increasing the lust that was rapidly reaching the point at which she might explode. Her breathing became faster and she closed her eyes in sexual ecstasy. She could die right now and be happy that she had lived. He leaned over her so that his hard manhood pressed against her, revealing the extent of his desire for her, and he kissed the lobe of her ear.
“Look down, my dear. I am the subject of much envy.”
She looked down as a gondola passed quietly, the gondolier looking up at them. He grinned and winked his eye in a secret signal of approval, and, she, feeling bold and utterly carefree about being seen, blew him a kiss, which he caught and brought to his mouth, as the gondola passed them.
The man pulled his hand away from her and next moment she felt a sharp slap across her right cheek. She gasped, but made no attempt to move away from him. It awoke even more passion within her, and she wanted him to do it again. He read her mind and his hand came down hard again, this time on the other cheek. He leaned over and spoke quietly into her ear.
“You love this don’t you, you little harlot, exposing yourself to the world, having your bottom slapped while bent over a wall? Tell me you love it.”
She was breathing heavily now.
“Yes, yes, I love it. It makes me feel so wicked. Do it again please.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.”
He raised his hand several more times and slapped her bottom on alternate cheeks with each stroke, then plunged his fingers inside her with some force – first one, then two, and finally three fingers inside her. She circled her hips and pressed her body back towards him.
“I want you inside me.”
He was in a mood to tease.
“Didn’t your mother tell you when you were young, that I want does not get?”
“Please, I want you…please.”
“That’s better. I think you should be rewarded for your politeness.”
She heard the noise of his zipper and a momentary feel of his hard, warm member, pushing against her bottom. His hand went to her slit and parted her folds so that he could slide between them and into her depths.
This time it was he who called out as he entered the beautiful woman before him and plunged his full length into her, until every inch of her was filled. She pushed back with each of his thrusts, keeping pace as he entered and withdrew in turn, her movements urging him to take her hard. The time for tender touches was over. Now was the time for raw sexuality and passion as his wonderful cock thrust deep within her, again and again. She was reaching up…and up...and up…in a seeming endless bursts of pleasure, until she knew that she could hold back no longer and exploded into a wonderful crescendo of ecstasy, putting her fingers into her mouth, to stop herself from screaming out to the world. Once he felt her climax, the man too reached the limit of his endurance and released himself within her, with a groan, continuing to thrust until he was completely sated.
He lay on top of her for a few moments, while he gathered himself together, then lifted himself and kissed her tenderly on the shoulder, before rolling her dress down to cover her again. She stood and turned.
She paused, searching for the right words, her mind still in that hazy, post-orgasmic state.
“Words are not necessary, my dear. You have made this jaded and world-weary man into a joyful being once again. Thank you. I will not forget you.”
The woman reached out and touched his face, below the edge of the mask.
“Thank you,” she whispered “you have brought me to life again. It was wonderful.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it. Then he turned, and without another word he walked off towards the door and back into the masked ball. The woman made sure that she was presentable, and followed him back inside. She felt intoxicated, but it was not from champagne.