The slow sideways rocking of the narrow black boat and the silvery shimmers of the canal water under moonlight made her shoulders shudder in anticipation. She tilted her neck and felt a night breeze course along her bared skin and lightly flutter through her hair. Her lips parted in a wide smile and she could not herself: sliding a cupping palm beneath her own warm breast. She felt the nipple stiffen but resisted the growing urge to even graze it with a fingertip.
The native gondolier plied his pole in the dark waters quietly and murmured an obscene Venetian song in a guttural hoarse whisper.
"...sempre è qualcosa di osceno di più nei sogni altrui."
She blinked her eyes slowly in agreement to the lyric. Yes, she thought, "a stranger's dreams always seem more obscene." She took a deep breath. The cool air had the scent of the sea in it, but there was another aroma at play: earthy, crumbling wet stone. She let her eyes drift upward to the dim hulks of antique palaces along the canal and then to the wisps of gray bridges overhead. Her eyes misted for a long moment as her imagination flashed through centuries of romance and sex here, played out long before she had even heard of Venice. She inhaled sharply again and fumbled out a cigarette from her clutch-purse. Lighting it and taking a deep drag only slightly alleviated the pang she began feeling between her thighs.
The night before, at a masquerade, he'd kissed her passionately with his hand in her panties. She clenched her thighs together remembering the heat of his palm cupping her, two of his strong fingers quickly raking along her pussy lips, opening her mouth to cry out and feeling his tongue rasping against her own. And then, with a whispered "I must go", he rushed away. But not before pressing into her limp hand a crumpled note with his name and the words "I will send for you tomorrow night."
Her hostess had witnessed it all and stood smirking at her side in a heartbeat of time. "Just a hint, my dear. He likes begging, you know?"
She watched as the woman placed her hands together as if praying and then licked the fingertips before stuffing two of them in her mouth roughly.
Playing back the memory, she imagined herself as the hostess and the fingers as his rigid cock sliding into her mouth. A flash of heat coursed down through her belly to her pussy as she played the mental movie of herself. She'd almost reached down to feel her own wetness when the boat rocked harder and she grabbed at a rail.
"Here," the gondolier said in a hush. He looped a rope over a striped stanchion and rapped on a stout old wooden door facing the canal.
The door opened and a cloaked shadowed figure took her hand, leading her out of the boat and through the doorway. A powered lantern further down a square hallway made her blink and shield her eyes after the inky darkness of the night outside. As they approached the light, she saw there was a small table and a hatstand on which hung a long silk cloak the color of dark red blood. On the tabletop lay a matching half-mask of deep red lace. She looked at the cloaked figure's face but drew back with a gasp, recognizing her hostess from the party. The woman leaned close and smiled wickedly.
"Take off everything. You're only to wear these, nothing else." She gestured at the mask and hanging cloak. "Bring the lantern when you are ready." She listened as the woman's footsteps faded down the hallway and she vanished into the darkness.
She undressed.
