GIVING IN

Alison Tyler

 

“I can’t afford the airfare.”

“When will you have an opportunity like this again?”

“I can’t even afford a fucking taxi to the airport!” I never thought I’d allow myself to fail in such a spectacular manner. At 34, I was below rock bottom. I’d hit silt. Unless a fairy godmother suddenly arrived in a flutter of translucent wings, I had no way to pay rent. I didn’t even know where my next meal was coming from.

“El, I have miles.”

“Miles?” Was that a man? Would Miles help me?

“Airplane miles. I’ll cash them in. You know I don’t like traveling alone.”

I glanced around at my surroundings. The small bedroom belonged to a distant cousin—three times removed, by marriage not blood. The watered-down family connection hadn’t cut me any slack. Coldhearted Joyce loved cats more than humans. I knew she would put me out on the street as easily as any other deadbeat tenant if I couldn’t pay her rent money.

“I don’t have any cash,” I said, drawing a pattern with the quarters on my dresser. I’d changed my last few bills into coins to make the money last longer. “I mean, I can hardly afford…” The tears came then, even though I’m known for never crying. “I can’t afford New York anymore,” I said, “and I can’t afford to go back home.” Not that there was anyone waiting for me. “My next apartment is a cardboard box under the bridge.”

“I know what’s going on with you, honey,” Sasha said. “Don’t worry.”

“If you take me to Venice, I won’t be able to pay for anything. Food. Gas. Tickets. Toilet paper.”

“Uncle Stefan will take care of everything. He always does.”

“Uncle Stefan?”

“He’s the one with the place in Venice. Not really an uncle—an old family friend. He’s invited me to bring a guest to come stay. You won’t have to pay for a thing. I know you need to get out of the city. Let’s get.”

“What will I do with my stuff?”

I’d been pondering this question for the past few days. I knew I was going to have to move out of Joyce’s place on the first. And unless I got lucky with a generous one-night stand who might let me crash on his sofa and bring along my few pitiful belongings, I’d run out of options. Forget Blanche DuBois and her “kindness of strangers.” I needed the kindness of anyone.

“Box up your gear, and bring it to my place. You should have moved in with me when you first lost your job. We room well together.”

Sasha and I had met in the college dorm. But I hadn’t wanted her to know how close to the edge I’d gotten myself. I hadn’t even been honest with myself.

“I’m booking the flight right now,” she said. “I’ll be over in an hour to help you move.”

And that was my goodbye to the U.S. and my hello to Italy. Right when I needed saving.

Business class was sublime. Sasha and I floated on champagne all the way to Brussels, with my oldest friend describing the place where we’d be staying. “The villa has been in his family for generations,” she explained. “One of those grand palazzos on a canal.”

“What does he do?”

She smiled.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“He doesn’t really do anything. He doesn’t have to.” She sipped her champagne thoughtfully. “Or rather, he does whatever he wants to. With money like that, he can do as pleases.” I didn’t hear another word about Uncle Stefan, even during our layover or the final part of the journey to VCE in Venice. I conjured an image in my head: sixties, like her parents. Heavyset. I gave him a baldpate and a bit of gout.

Then I let the champagne take over and I fell asleep.

When we arrived in Venice, I felt as if I’d woken from a magical dream only to discover that the dream was real. I’ve had good dreams before—but never one that lasted when I opened my eyes. Sasha appeared as fresh as if she’d just emerged from a douche commercial. Even on no sleep, or after a drinking binge, she always has neatly coiffed Princess Grace blond hair and angel-perfect skin.

I, on the other hand, looked exactly like someone who had slept in my clothes—which I had. Sasha didn’t say anything about my rumpled turtleneck and messy ringlets. But she pulled a sumptuous indigo velvet shawl from her woven leather messenger bag and wrapped the length around me, pinning the cloth effortlessly with a rhinestone broach. In seconds, I’d captured a little of her style. Sasha is so high-end, she rubs off on the people around her. Without a word, she twisted my black hair into a makeshift bun and used a silver barrette to hold the curls in place.

A man in a suit stood at our gate. He was bald and heavily muscled with a ginger-colored goatee. Uncle Stefan, I thought, feeling pleased with myself for having so easily imagined the man. Maybe he was younger and less paunchy than I’d guessed, but I had nailed his basic appearance.

“Lou!” squealed Sasha, confusing me as she embraced the man. “Ellis, this is Lou. He works for Stefan. Lou, this is Ellis.”

Lou shook my hand, and I wondered if he could see the difference between the two of us. Sasha, effortless with her money. Me, a poor church mouse on scholarship.

“You’re just as lovely as Sasha described,” he said. His accent was distinctly Irish, and charming. I felt my cheeks go pink at his words. The scarf slid a little and I hitched the burnt-out velvet back onto my shoulders. If he could discern the fact that I was in the empty-pocket club, he didn’t show the knowledge in his expression. He treated us equally, following us to the baggage claim, not appearing at all judgmental about my battered suitcase in comparison to Sasha’s pristine luggage.

On the way to the villa, Lou and Sasha shared stories, talking about people they knew in common. Sasha had spent many summers in Italy. I stared out the window, wanting to pinch myself. Was this for real? But something in my head nagged at me. Two weeks. I had two weeks in Venice, and then I’d have to return to the nightmare that was my real life. To the Frigidaire box under the bridge.

Sasha seemed to sense my mood. She put one hand on top of mine and squeezed. “Everything will work out,” she said. “Relax.”

I saw Lou put one hand on top of Sasha’s thigh and squeeze.

“Relax,” Sasha said again, softer.

The word must mean something different in Venice, I thought.

I don’t know what time it was when we arrived. New York time? Italian time? All I knew was that I was the walking dead. In a blur, Lou and Sasha led me through the grand entrance to the villa. I saw a tree in the foyer covered all over with small squares of white paper. We stopped here, and Lou said, “There’s a tradition.”

“A tradition?” I echoed. I could hardly make my mouth work.

“Write a wish,” Sasha said. “I’ll hang the paper on a branch for you.”

I gripped the pencil in my fist and scrawled something almost illegible on the squared. Sasha smiled, and moved us on. I caught glimpses of mirrors, dreamy-looking sofas, hanging rugs. But my eyes couldn’t focus. Sasha tucked me into a guest room and told me that my mind would be clearer in the morning. “You have both a champagne and travel hang-over,” she said. “Sleep it off.”

“I haven’t even met our host,” I told her, feeling uncomfortable. I didn’t want to behave impolitely from the start. Not to someone so generous as to take me in for free.

“He’s a traveler, himself. He’ll understand.”

I stripped down to my T-shirt and boy briefs and climbed into the huge, welcoming bed. I’d been worrying for months, now. The weight of the heavy duvet lulled me. For the first time since I’d lost my last job, I felt safe. I was asleep in seconds.

But I didn’t stay asleep for long.

At some point during the night, I woke, feeling scared and alone. Was I in Joyce’s tiny, cat-smelly apartment? No. I’d never been in a bed this comfortable before. Had I landed a lover who’d taken me back to his place for a one-night fuck? No. The bed was empty except for me. Slowly, I remembered where I was, but I didn’t feel tired anymore. The excitement built with each breath.

I was in Venice! How could I sleep?

My watch read 2:00 a.m. I climbed out of bed and reached into my suitcase for my Walkman, thinking that a little Peter Gabriel might lull me back to dreamland. But when I clicked the on button, my ancient machine refused to do more than whine and sputter. The batteries had given up their alkaline ghost. Maybe Sasha had extras. Did I dare to go creeping through a house I didn’t know in order to find my friend?

Right then, I heard a noise that sounded like clapping. For a moment, I stayed still, trying to orient myself. I’d been rushed through the house to this guest room when we’d arrived. Sasha had promised me a full tour in the morning. I’d caught glimpses of canvases framed in gold, of porcelain vases taller than I was, of a central room tiled in black-and-white marble. But I didn’t have any sense of where I was in the house.

The noise didn’t stop, and I found myself compelled to investigate. Quietly, I tiptoed out of the bedroom. The scent of honeysuckle was in the air. Sasha’s favorite perfume. I strode along the hallway, doing my best to be silent. The old place was creaky. I walked on my toes down the darkened hall. I could hear the noise getting louder, and I could also hear something else: the sound of a woman crying.

When I arrived at my friend’s room, I planned to simply push on the door and walk in. But something caught my eye and I stopped. The door was open a crack. A shaft of dust-shimmered light fell on the hallway runner. I was standing on an antique rug in my bare feet. The fibers were well-worn, yet decadent at the same time. I noticed how deep and lush the colors were in the rug. Every thought in my head seemed to be moving in slow motion. Maybe I ought not to interrupt. Who was I to barge in?

Carefully, I pressed closer to the crack in the door.

What I saw was something shocking. Sasha was over a man’s lap, and her lemon-yellow nightgown was pushed up to her slim hips. She didn’t have on panties, and her long, lean legs flailed in the air. The man was spanking her naked ass with a hard-backed black hairbrush, and Sasha’s feet were kicking with each blow.

After the initial shock of the scene wore off, I took a second to stare at the man punishing my best friend. He was one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen in real life. Dark hair, dark eyes, a stern expression on his face. Not angry so much as fully focused.

The concept of what I was witnessing did not immediately compute in my mind. I’d known Sasha since freshman year of college. We’d discussed many boyfriends, dating, lovers. Kink had rarely come up before. Was I dreaming? I bit my lip hard, hoping against hope I didn’t wake up back in Joyce’s humble Brooklyn digs.

No. I was still here. In Venice. Watching my best friend receive a bottom-blistering spanking. And from what I could see, I’d missed most of the show. Sasha’s normally pale skin was cherry-hued.

“Lou’s been waiting for you,” the man said. “He wanted me to tell you that he’ll be going here tonight.”

He licked his finger and parted Sasha’s rear cheeks. Gently, he touched her asshole. Sasha shivered. So did I.

Sasha was going to fuck Lou? The man looked like a bouncer outside one of the meaner New York clubs. I crossed my legs, but kept staring through the crack in the door.

“You’re such a tease, girl. He’s been waiting since December,” the man continued, and now I watched, my mouth open, as he slowly started to push his finger into her hole. My pussy tightened as I continued to stare, as the man firmly began to finger-fuck her asshole. “And you’re going to let him, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Her response was barely audible.

“Why?”

“Because I’m a dirty little slut, sir.”

Shit. Sasha was a dirty little slut? My friend Sasha? This had never occurred to me before. The girl only dated the best-looking, wealthiest men on the market. She never slummed in Manhattan. Whenever we’d discussed sex over the years, I always got the feeling that she enjoyed the activity, but would prefer a few rounds of shopping at Bloomingdales.

Now, she was bent over a man’s lap having her most intimate regions explored, and she was telling him and the polished antique hardwood floor that she was a slut? My heart couldn’t have been pounding any harder.

“Of course,” the man said, “I’ve been waiting, too.”

I swallowed hard. Were they both going to fuck her? Where had Sasha taken me? What world had we arrived in? And why were my panties sopping wet at the center?

“Yes, Stefan,” said Sasha, shocking me even further. This was Stefan? I’d assumed the man was another employee, perhaps the major domo of the Villa. He was nothing like what I’d expected. He seemed young—not quite our age, perhaps ten years older. He had thick, dark hair and the type of face you see in magazine cologne ads. Chiseled.

While I watched, he stopped touching Sasha. She moaned. I would have, too. “Ah, my girl likes to be played with, doesn’t she? It’s been too long since you last had a good hard cock up your ass, hasn’t it?” Sasha made soft mewing noises of assent. The man flipped her around, then picked her up in his arms and brought her toward the other end of the room. Now, I could no longer see them. Fuck. I wanted to watch whatever was going to happen next. But how could I? With a sigh, I turned around, coming face-to-face with Lou.

I upgraded my mental status from fuck to Holy Fuck.

He appeared completely nonchalant, undisturbed by the fact that I was spying on his boss and my friend. “Did you require something, Miss Ellis?” he asked.

Had my thoughts been coming slowly before? They’d just hit a brick wall. No going forward. I stared at him, blinking, as if I’d forgotten how to speak. Lou took me by the hand and kindly led me down the hallway. He didn’t say a word, didn’t ask me what I thought I was doing—snooping on my friend and the host. He simply escorted me back down the hallway. I wanted to turn, to look over my shoulder, but unlike Lot’s doomed wife, I found a sliver of willpower and clung to it.

When we reached the bedroom, Lou opened the door and waited. Was he going to follow me inside? Was he going to spank me? I walked into the room. The bedside lamp gave the room a golden glow. On my bed? A new iPod with headphones and a vibrator.

I looked toward the doorway. Lou was still standing there, smiling. I opened my mouth to say something, but he simply bowed slightly and wished me a pleasant night.

Pleasant.

The word must mean something else in Venice, I thought.

In the morning, I hurried to Sasha’s room. I wanted to talk to her, to ask her questions, to find out what was going on. Were she and Stefan lovers? Had she really been with Lou? What was the true reason she’d brought me with her on this trip? Why had she never told me about the goings on at the villa before? But when I got to Sasha’s, the room was empty. The bed was made with hotel preciseness. Carnival roses, which I knew were Sasha’s favorites, bloomed in bright pinks and oranges in a vase on the bedside table. All of her clothes were hung neatly in the closet. The black, hardback brush she’d been spanked with the previous evening lay innocently on the bedside table. My stomach tightened at the sight.

Where was she?

I wandered down the stairs, listening. Would I stumble upon a scenario as decadent as the one I’d found the previous night? Or had I possibly imagined the punishment scene? I felt disjointed and disoriented.

When I entered the kitchen, a white-clad chef told me that the others were waiting for me on the veranda. She spoke English with a British accent, and she was pretty in a slightly smudged way. Her crisp shirt had one too many buttons open in the front, so that I could see a peep of her scarlet lace bra. Her eye makeup, shimmering charcoal around beautiful green eyes, seemed too dark for so early in the morning, blurred as if she hadn’t bothered to take it off the previous night.

Outside, Sasha looked same as always. Except, on second glance I realized that was not entirely true. She was wearing her traveling clothes—a more dramatic version of what she usually wore in the city. Her hair was down and straight, instead of up and pinned, and her eyes looked more alive, aglow.

“We’re sightseeing, Ellis,” she said excitedly. “Right away. I want you to love Venice.”

I wanted something else. I wanted to ask her what the fuck was going on. But I couldn’t, because just then Lou joined us on the terrace. Had she screwed Lou the night before? Had the debauchery I’d witnessed in the wee hours continued— or even occurred?

“Come on,” she said, grabbing one of my hands in hers. “We’re starting at my favorite museum.”

“What about Stefan?” I asked. I was surprised at how normal my voice sounded. “We haven’t been properly introduced,” I continued, wondering who did I think I was, the Queen of England? Clearly, Sasha had invited me into a fairy-tale land where dirty dreams came true, and I ought to enjoy the program.

“You’ll meet him later,” she assured me. “He’s busy this morning.”

Busy punishing other guests? Busy paddling his staff? The chef came outside and handed me a cup of coffee and a plate of crisp buttered French bread and artfully arranged fruit. I set the plate on the stone railing, and I gratefully devoured the exquisite breakfast. Why was I so worried? My alternate choice in life was nothing. That concept Be Here Now? I had no other options.

Maybe Sasha would tell me what had happened while we were out. I decided I wouldn’t ask any questions. She might not even have known I had seen her. Could I confess to spying without coming across as a pervert? All of these questions flickered through my mind as Sasha led me out of the villa and we began to stroll through the streets.

I had been to Venice years before, with a group of students from my university. We’d raced through Italy—not staying in any one place for more than 24 hours. But I still remembered the overwhelming beauty of the Piazza San Marco, the feel of riding beneath the bridges in a vaporetto, the magic that is Venice.

Yet although I was seeing The Floating City again, and listening to Sasha describe the sights, I could not fully focus. She chattered happily at my side, telling me of her past visits, the dinner she’d had at a special restaurant, the flowers she’d bought at a stand. I nodded, as if I were part of the conversation—but every time I looked at her, I saw her over Stefan’s lap. This was my best friend. Why could I not simply say that I’d had trouble sleeping the previous night, that I’d found myself outside her room, and see how she responded?

Because I couldn’t.

We arrived at a museum, and Sasha walked us past the glorious bronze statue of an athletic man riding a horse. The man sported an erection any man—statue or human— would be proud of. I wanted to stop and look, to figure out how one might impale herself on that metal sex toy. Clearly, I had fucking on my brain. But Sasha kept us moving. In the gardens stood an olive tree, a wishing tree, Sasha said, like the one in Stefan’s foyer.

“That’s where he got the idea,” she explained. I gazed at the paper-covered tree. “What did you wish for last night?” she asked as I stood there, staring blankly.

I wanted to tell her that she’d made my wish come true. She’d saved me, at least for a short period of time. I didn’t know how to say the fears that threatened to bubble up out of me.

“Write it down,” she insisted.

I looked at the paper. I wrote the same thing I had on the square she’d given me the night before.

I Wish I Never Had to Leave

We moved to the next exhibit, but my thoughts remained on the wish. I couldn’t see much of anything else. I was more aware of the travelers around us, the sounds of different languages in the air, the way Sasha’s hand felt on my arm, the desire to ask her about what had happened the previous night. I walked, as if through water, until finally she seemed to realize that she was the only one paying attention to the art.

“We’ll get coffee,” she said, and she brought me as if I were an invalid to a café on the canal, where I could look at her, or down at the diamond-glinting water, look at the charming little porcelain cup, or at the antique architecture all around us.

“Do you love it, Ellis?”

“The coffee?”

“Venice, silly.”

I nodded. The fears were taking hold once more with a cold fist around my heart. Where would I go next? How would I survive? I felt guilty even being unable to put down the few coins for the espressos. There was nothing in my wallet except a lucky dollar that was stamped NO WAR. At least, that’s what I’d thought, but when I fumbled with my battered wallet—in that habit people have of pretending they’re going to pay for a check—I saw European notes filling the interior.

“Don’t think so much,” she said, when I tried to ask what was going on. Who had put the bills in my billfold? “I promise, everything is going to be okay.”

Sasha had always lived life like this. With a confidence and an assuredness. I took a sip of the coffee, and I vowed to try, at least for the few weeks we’d be here, to be more like her. Including her kink.

When we returned to Uncle Stefan’s, she suggested we nap before dinner. I slipped on the headphones of my new iPod and reached for the brand-new vibrator that had been thoughtfully left for me the previous night. So Sasha hadn’t said a word about what her true relationship was to the men in the house. Maybe that would come out later. I hadn’t told Sasha the true level of my miserable existence for months. Some things are difficult to share, even with the best of friends.

That didn’t mean I simply slept. I pressed the new sex toy against my pussy and fantasized about the night before. I didn’t close my eyes after coming twice, the toy still clutched in my sticky fingers.

Waking up was one of those surreal moments. I couldn’t immediately tell from the light if it were dawn or dusk. At least, I knew where I was. The bed was becoming more familiar—the room felt like my own. I thrust the vibrator under my pillow, slid into my old shoes and rubbed my eyes. In the mirror, I saw a girl I recognized, but different from what I normally looked like. My hair was loose, curls flowing. I was actually starting to appear relaxed. Transformation. Was that the true magic of Venice?

I took a moment to write in my travel journal. I didn’t want to forget what we’d seen today, what I’d wished for. I wrote quickly, my handwriting dancing across the page, comforting in its familiarity even if what I was describing was entirely foreign. Then I set down the notebook, stood and stretched.

I’d find Sasha and talk to her, I decided.

But when I looked, she wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t in the main living room or in the kitchen. I wandered through the halls seeing no one, hearing nothing. Finally, I found a door I hadn’t seen before. I put my hand on the knob, and then I stopped. From within, I heard Lou’s deep Irish brogue, although I could not make out his words. This must be his room, I decided. I swallowed over a lump in my throat, imagining what I might find if I opened the door. Was he fucking her the way Stefan had described? Had he bound her down, tormented her in the most delightfully decadent ways imaginable? My fantasies ran wild, but I couldn’t muster the courage to turn the handle.

What if I walked into a scene like the one I’d witnessed the night before?

“Miss?” I looked and saw the chef coming toward me.

“Yes?”

“Sasha’s retired for the evening,” she said, “You’ll have dinner with Stefan. Tell me what you like, and I’ll bring you whatever you desire.”

The way she spoke the words made me think she was talking about more than food. Whatever I desired? What did I desire?

I heard a loud groan from inside the room. I could tell that Sasha had made the noise, even if I’d never have expected so guttural a moan from her lips.

What did the chef mean… retired for the evening? I was reading into everything. But I hadn’t yet asked Sasha about what her true relationship was to Lou and Stefan. Now, it looked like I wouldn’t find out until the morning.

I shouldn’t have been so pessimistic. I began to learn more about the villa at dinner. The table was set with candles and pretty pastel plates. Stefan sat opposite from me. He looked casually cultured in his crisp white shirt, black jacket and emerald silk tie. I felt as I had felt so often lately: underdressed and underdone. I was wearing a black tank dress that I hoped looked elegant in its simplicity rather than simply simple.

I wished I had dressed better.

“What did you wish for?” he asked, almost immediately as I’d had that thought.

I stuttered my answer. “What do you mean?”

“The tree…” He motioned to the one in the foyer. I realized what he was talking about and sighed. I didn’t have to tell him about the clothes. Then I thought about what I’d written, and I wasn’t sure if I should say that, either.

“You can tell me later,” he said. “I’m pleased that we’re having this chance to dine on our own.”

The chef came in then and served us from a painted wooden tray—starting with caviar on small rounds of toasted bread. The plates were as stunning as the artwork we’d seen earlier in the day. I didn’t want to disturb the arrangement, but I was hungry. Each bite was delicious. I’d been on rations for the past month. The closest I’d come to caviar was tuna salad on special.

Stefan smiled as he watched me eat. I’m sure my appetite showed on my face, even in the candlelight.

“What do you know about me?” he asked.

I knew he was wealthy, and that he didn’t officially have to work. I knew he was handsome and that he had spanked my best friend. I knew he had good taste in clothes, décor and food, and that he had stuck his pointer up Sasha’s asshole. What did he want me to say?

“This isn’t the world I’m accustomed to,” I ultimately managed to respond.

“What do you mean?”

“Elegance,” I said, made slightly more confident by the wine.

“You deserve elegance.”

Again, I wished I were better dressed, wished I could behave the way Sasha did, so refined. She always seemed to know exactly what to say in any given situation. I’ve always been better with words on paper. “What do you know about me?” I decided to ask, because the way he was looking at me made me think he had already acquired certain knowledge.

Stefan smiled, and I instantly envisioned what kissing him would feel like. He looked so different this evening. My first glimpse had been of him spanking Sasha, and his face had been set and stern. Now he appeared relaxed and magnanimous. “I’ve known you for years,” he said, and the surreal quality that seemed to follow me in this villa settled on my shoulders like one of Sasha’s fancy scarves.

“I don’t understand….”

“Ellis, I had an ulterior motive to inviting you to stay here.”

I thought about the spanking and didn’t lift another round of caviar toast. I would say my heart began to beat faster, but actually it was a different part of my anatomy that responded. When I reached for the glass of wine, my hand shook.

“I’ve been reading your words for the past fifteen years, and I am a fan.”

“My words?” I asked the question before I could stop myself.

“Sasha’s sent me your writing—the articles, the copy. You have a flow.” The fact that he’d like my work—that made me blush. “I want you to write something for me.”

“I’d love to,” I said too quickly, before knowing what he wanted, what he could be asking.

He looked at me carefully. “I’m not ready to tell you the assignment yet, but I will soon.”

The rest of the meal seemed to pass like a movie I was watching by not starring. We spoke, I know, about his life in Venice. About where I had grown up and the different careers I’d tried. I worked not to let him know about my failures— about how low I’d gotten myself right before the journey. He didn’t ask pointed questions. But the whole time we spoke, all I could think of was a job. I might have a job. The box under the bridge seemed like a distant threat now, as if I’d managed somehow to knock the cardboard flat.

At the end of the meal, Stefan led me to my room. I felt like a girl coming home from the prom, wondering if her date was going to try for a kiss. I hoped he’d try, but he didn’t.

That night, I heard the same sounds as I had the previous evening… clapping, or what I realized now was spanking. This time, I wasn’t surprised; I was excited. I followed the noise, not nearly as nervous as I had been on the prior evening. I felt as if someone was calling out to me. I had to respond.

That didn’t mean I stomped my way to Sasha’s room. I still tiptoed, as quietly as possible. I wanted to watch. I didn’t even question the desire in myself. I yearned to see everything, to hear each word.

At the door, I noticed the same sliver of light as I had on the previous night. I came closer, closer, and then peeked inside. There was Sasha. But this time, she was over Lou’s lap. He had a paddle in his hand—one that looked like a fraternity paddle, wooden, with holes drilled through in a uniform pattern. The chef was off to one side, and she seemed to be speaking to Lou, directing him. I crossed my legs and watched.

No, she wasn’t directing, she was assisting. She was holding a tray of different sex toys and a bottle of lubrication. She looked exactly the same to me as she had when offering me my meal earlier in the evening, setting items from the tray in front of me, pouring me a glass of wine. Except now, she was pouring K-Y between Sasha’s cheeks and then offering a molded-glass butt plug to Lou.

Did Venice artists blow these types of glass artifacts? That would be a souvenir tour I’d be willing to attend. I stifled a giggle. Then felt a pair of arms around my waist. I stiffened. This was not Lou, making sure I didn’t need anything. I turned to come face-to-face with Stefan, and my heart felt as if it had forgotten how to beat. He had his tie and jacket off now. His shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows, and his collar was unbuttoned.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “Come with me.”

He took me to the room adjoining Sasha’s. There was only one small light on in the far corner. I was surprised to see that the room was set up in almost the exact opposite of Sasha’s. The mirror image. Oh, the mirror. Stefan took me closer, and now I saw that the mirror looked into Sasha’s room.

“You like to watch,” he said. “This will give you a better vantage point.”

“I…”

“Don’t worry, Ellis.” He ran his fingers through my hair, then kissed me, once, on the lips, exactly as I’d fantasized about after dinner. I wanted more. I wanted him to take me to the bed and do all the things to me that Lou and the chef were doing to Sasha. But I couldn’t find my voice. “Sit here. Watch. We’ll talk in the morning.”

I looked wildly around the room, and I saw that all of my belongings had been brought to this room while I’d slept. Stefan seemed to take note of my realization, because he said, “This is where you will sleep tonight.” One more kiss. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

People didn’t behave like this in the real world, did they? Nothing even remotely like this had ever happened to me before. Not outside of the dirty fairy tales that I wrote for my own pleasure, ones that only Sasha had been privy to reading. I thought about that as I sat in front of the mirror. The stories I’d given her over the years were fairy tales set in modern times—filthy stories set in New York. Had she given the stories to Stefan? Is that what he’d meant when he said he liked my writing?

It was clear to me that he had read my words, as he walked into the room occupied by the chef and Lou. Because wasn’t this one of my all-time fantasies? I watched as Stefan bent Sasha over the bed. She had that butt plug between her cheeks, and he rocked the base of it gently. I couldn’t hear the sounds she made, but I could imagine. He removed the plug and then began to spank her once more. He was such a handsome dom, the way he stood, the way he moved. He punished my friend with hard, even strokes.

I started to touch my pussy as he spanked her. I couldn’t stop myself. I put my feet up on the marble table in front of the mirror, parted my thighs and stroked my pussy through my bikini bottoms. I was dripping wet already.

Somewhere in my mind I realized that the table on which I’d placed my feet was undoubtedly a priceless antique. But I couldn’t worry about that. I needed access. Sasha was taking the punishment well. She didn’t flinch or try to get out of the way. That is, not until Stefan motioned to the chef that he wanted something. What? What was he reaching for?

I saw her hand him a thin-looking weapon and my stomach dropped. A crop? Sasha turned to look over her shoulder, and she started to stand. There was Lou, moving quickly, holding her in place by her wrists. I realized I wasn’t breathing, and I sucked in a great breath of air as Stefan struck the first blow. Sasha definitely responded to this. Maybe the hand spanking had been more of a warm-up. She squirmed and flailed, but Lou held her in place. Stefan parted her legs, and touched her in between. I felt myself growing more aroused by the second. I was watching a dirty scenario starring players I knew, but I felt as if I were viewing an X-rated movie put on solely for my enjoyment. I’d never been part of anything like this before.

I thought of the stories I’d written over the years. The first time I’d given Sasha one to read, I’d been embarrassed. She’d never seemed that into sex before. She’d written me a note back drawing a picture of herself with the words Me and My Halo, letting me know then that although she might appear pristine and perfect, she had a slight deviant streak. But she’d never talked about putting any of the themes in my stories into play.

Apparently, she did.

Then the chef came into view, and I realized, I’d forgotten about her. She took Lou’s position, not holding Sasha’s wrists, but moving to her side, stroking her hair, kissing her. I wasn’t going to last much longer, I realized. I climbed onto the marble table so I could get as close to the action as possible. What would they say if I joined them, I wondered? What would Stefan do if I walked out of my room and into Sasha’s? Is that what they hoped for? Was this their genteel style of an engraved invitation?

For some reason, I couldn’t. I sat there, watching as Lou stood behind Sasha, and I understood when he started fucking her. I could hear the sounds, but not the words he said. The cadence, like a lullaby of how he spoke to her. I saw Stefan leave, and I wondered if he would come to my room, if he would find me up on the table and scold me or stroke me or spank me.

But I remained alone, all night, watching Lou and the chef make love to Sasha until the light in that room went out and I was all by myself.

In the morning, I found Sasha in a transparent nightgown on the veranda, standing and looking out at the water. I could see through the filmy material that her ass was still red. This brought back instant memories of the night before. My pussy clenched. Once the debauchery had ended, I’d spent the remainder of the previous night fucking myself with the vibrator while listening to my favorite songs. The iPod had been preprogrammed with music I adored. Someone knew my music tastes better than Pandora.

Sasha was drinking from a champagne flute. She didn’t turn to me until I reached her side. When she did, her face lit up.

“Did you sleep well, Ellis?”

I stared at her. Sleep? Was another day going to pass where we were not going to talk about what I’d seen? Were we going to pretend that this was some normal vacation, where we’d take a boat out to the glass factory and buy paperweights and overpriced knickknacks?

“I don’t think she slept for more than twenty minutes.”

The voice surprised me. I turned to address Stefan.

“How do you know that?” I asked before I could stop myself. Was it rude to challenge so generous a host?

“Because I watched you.”

Without hesitation, I took Sasha’s champagne glass from her and began to drink. I had to work not to chatter the rim of the glass against my teeth. Sasha was smiling at me. I’d never seen her look so peaceful before. Was someone going to tell me how he had watched me? Was there another two-way mirror in the bedroom? Were the guest rooms fitted with video cameras?

But nobody spoke. Stefan reached for Sasha and brought her close to him. While I stood there, drinking her champagne, he bent her over the stone railing and lifted the back of her nightgown, exposing her beautiful ass. I’d worked out with Sasha at the gym before—she brought me in with her as a guest, like a city mouse taking pity on a poor Nautilus-deprived country mouse. I knew how hard she sweated to keep her body in shape. Now, I knew why.

“Did you enjoy watching me punish her?” he asked.

I stared at my feet. I was wearing my last best pair of shoes. Even these were scuffed, and if you flipped them over, you’d see holes in the soles.

“The answer isn’t on your knock-off patent-leather mules,” he said.

“I know.” I liked the way he spoke, the way he described my footwear.

“How did you react?” he asked next. “What were you thinking?” While I watched, he stroked Sasha’s ass. I felt a catch in my throat. How I wanted him to do that to me. But people didn’t behave like this. Not in the really real world.

“I don’t know,” I stammered.

“Then let’s try it again so we can see.”

Part of me wanted to run back to my room, to repack my bags, to get out of this place. I had never experienced anything like this before. I didn’t know how to behave. The other part of me wanted to stay exactly where I was. Due to the fact that I truly had no place to go—this was the end of my rock-island line—I held my ground. Stefan seemed pleased.

“I’ll spank her. You watch. Then you tell me how you feel.”

I sucked in my breath. He let his hand connect with her naked ass. He didn’t hit her hard, and I was aware that something in me wished he had. He smacked her again. Then he smiled at me. He was playing a game, giving her soft little love pats. I wanted to see him let loose. What was going on inside of me? I felt all twisted and bent. I wanted to watch a man who was practically a stranger punish my best friend.

“This is Venice,” a voice said behind me. I turned and saw the chef with a bottle of champagne. She motioned to my glass and I held it out, waiting for the refill. I felt as if I hadn’t drunk a sip. Not that my head was clear, but that my edge was still sharp. Nothing in my brain was fuzzy or hazy. I craved release.

“Thank you, Bonnie,” Stefan said.

I drained the second glass while I tried to process the tableau in front of me.

“Do you like this, Ellis?” Stefan asked.

I wanted him to smack her, to give her a proper thrashing. He tapped her again. I felt like an animal, caged. “Am I doing something wrong?” he asked innocently. Anger flickered through me. He was fucking with me, and I didn’t know how to respond.

“You’re not spanking her the way you did before,” I said.

“How did I spank her?”

Was he really asking me this? I wanted to be able to talk freely, but I realized that I never had. I’d always measured out my thoughts, considered my words. And where had that gotten me? Stefan seemed to understand what I was thinking.

“Here, things are different,” he said. “You’ll get used to the way we behave. I know you will. Relax. Enjoy yourself. And answer my question.”

“That first night, you spanked her hard,” I said, “so that I could hear the sound all the way to my bedroom.”

“That was the point, wasn’t it?”

Oh, so he’d been calling to me with the sounds of his hand on her ass. I felt my pussy spasm. I could not believe that I’d be able to get off again. Not after fucking myself with the vibrator for most of the night, falling into twitchy slumber, only to wake up in a state of lust-drenched hunger once more. Bonnie refilled my glass. I sipped and waited. What was the game we were playing now? What were the rules?

“Tell me precisely what you saw.”

“You had her over your lap, and you were spanking her hard, and she was crying.”

“Did you like that?”

I nodded, embarrassed to admit how much pleasure her pain had given me.

“What did watching do for you?”

“It made my…”

“Say it.”

I sucked in my breath. “It made my pussy wet.” I felt defiant as I spoke the words, tilting my chin at Stefan. I felt both powerful and insolent at the same time. If I were him, I’d have slapped my face. But he seemed decidedly proud I’d finally found my voice.

“What else did I do?”

“On the first night, you played with her….” I didn’t want to describe what I’d seen, but the way Stefan was looking at me somehow drew the words from my lips. “You were playing with her asshole, telling her that Lou was going to fuck her there.”

“Good girl,” Stefan said, and I felt a strange flush of dignity swell over me. Bonnie took that moment to put an arm around my waist and kiss me, and I felt lost and shaky once more.

“You are my guest,” Uncle Stefan said, breaking my reverie. “You are not responsible for doing any chores, paying for any food or entertainment. There is only one thing I expect of you.” I stared at him. “You must answer when I ask you a question.”

That seemed simple, didn’t it? More than fair. Until he said, “How about you? Do you like to have your asshole fucked?”

I didn’t want to answer that. Nobody had ever spoken like that to me in my entire life. Yes, I’d had boyfriends. But I’d had the kind of boyfriends I thought you were supposed to date. Nice, sweet, with good jobs—at least, they’d all been that way on the surface. But something had gone wrong every time. Not in the bedroom, not necessarily. I’d never meshed. I’d thought it was me. This is why I’d written my stories.

Sasha looked over her shoulder. I had never seen her like this before. She was letting a man touch her, control her, debase her. The heat in her eyes showed me that she liked the situation. I knew she could answer Uncle Stefan’s question for me. I’d been honest with Sasha about all of my past relationships. She could have said, “No, Ellis has only dated men who like to do her missionary style, with all the lights out.” But she kept quiet.

“No,” I said, looking at my feet, at the marbled patio.

There was silence then, and I wondered if I’d done something wrong until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, surprised. The pretty chef was stroking my arm. She seemed to be trying to offer me comfort, or at least support.

I looked at our host. He was smiling. “Was that difficult for you?” I nodded. “It will get easier. I promise.”

I couldn’t hold my tongue. “What will?”

“Giving in.”

The chef refilled my champagne glass once more as Sasha stood up and rearranged her nightgown. The gossamer fabric billowed around her when she moved. I watched as she gave me the tiniest smile and then headed back into the villa. Stefan came over to the chef and said something to her. She nodded. I watched as he followed Sasha. I could feel my heart starting to pound faster. All of this felt like a dream. Maybe I would wake up in my cousin’s tiny apartment. I’d search for change in my drawers, in the bottom of my purse, knowing there was none to be found. I’d wonder whether I could slink back to one of my exes and beg for a few days on his futon. The nightmare of my life would make this fantasy dream fade away.

In the entryway to the villa, Stefan caught Sasha in his arms and kissed her.

Everything else felt like fairy-tale fluff, but the jealousy I felt watching Stefan kiss Sasha was real.

Bonnie pushed my hair out of my eyes. “You’ve been sad lately, haven’t you?”

“Sad doesn’t even begin to describe it,” I told her, as I saw Stefan and Sasha continue on their way. Why not be honest? I had nothing to lose. Plus the champagne helped make the words easier to accept.

“Stefan wants me to take care of you,” she said.

“Take care…”

“You’ll see.” She put her hand in mine and led me into the house. She didn’t lead me upstairs to my room but down a hallway. I noticed the art on the walls—barely. I saw the rich furnishings, knew the wealth that went into decorating a place this posh. But the chef took me to a small room in the back. The bedroom was simply outfitted—a bed that nearly filled the space, a vase on the small dresser overflowing with sweet peas, their fragrance lighting up the room. White sheets. Silver handcuffs.

I looked at her.

“You don’t have to do a thing,” she said. “Let me.”

“I’ve never been with a woman,” I lied. Why wasn’t I telling her the truth? I’d dabbled in college when I thought that’s what you were supposed to do.

“Liar.”

I stared at her.

“Sasha told us your past. I know who you are.”

“Who am I?”

“You’ll find out.”

She started to undress me. I was so shocked by her words that I let her, let her position me on her bed on my stomach. Let her cuff my wrists over my head.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted.”

My pussy was so wet that I was embarrassed. I knew I’d be making a puddle on her white sheets. “What do I want?” I asked into the pillow. The champagne seemed to have finally kicked in, and I felt lazy and slow. When Bonnie began to stroke her hands along my back, I sighed and arched my hips.

“You want me to spank your bare bottom. And then you want me to get between your legs and lick your sweet slit until you come. After that, you want me to tongue your asshole. You’ve never had that before, and you want to know what being rimmed properly feels like.”

I groaned.

“Stefan is going to fuck you there. You know that, right? He is going to take your ass the way other men have fucked your pussy. He’s big, so he’s going to stretch you open. But not until you’re ready. Not until you’re begging.”

I shut my eyes as she started to finger my pussy. Nobody had ever spoken to me like this before. I thought of my last boyfriend. The only kink in his makeup was the fact that he liked me to wear my shoes in bed: high heels, the one good pair I had. No man had ever talked as dirty as Bonnie was. She worked her fingers in and out of me, and then she brought her hand up and smacked my ass. I thought of the way Stefan had spanked Sasha—both in her room and out on the balcony. Where were they? What were they doing now?

She spanked me again, and I forgot to worry about Sasha.

“Have you been punished before?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“But you want to be, don’t you?”

It was as if she knew about the books I kept hidden under my bed. Or I had kept hidden, when I’d had a bed of my own. Books I’d gotten rid of when I moved in with my cousin. I couldn’t stand the thought of her finding my secret stash, so I’d put them, one by one, into recycling bins that I passed on the street.

“Yes,” I said into the pillow.

“Tell me,” Bonnie instructed.

Facing away from her made saying the words easier. “I’ve always wanted to be with a lover who was…” I didn’t know how to describe what I desired.

“Who was…” Bonnie prompted, her hand landing another stinging blow on my ass.

“In charge,” I said.

“Good girl.” She sounded just like Stefan. Bonnie spanked harder and faster now, and I groaned again and arched my body on the mattress. In between smacks, she used her fingers as if to test for wetness, and I could feel my juices spreading.

“You’re like a little lake,” she said, “here between your thighs. I can’t wait to taste you.”

I shivered as she climbed onto the bed and moved my body so that I was half on my knees, a bastardized yoga position. She squirmed beneath me, her mouth to my pussy, and then she began to trick her tongue in magical circles. “Oh, god,” I moaned, “that feels so good.” I wished I could say something more eloquent than that. Bonnie licked and sucked, and then suddenly she stopped. I pushed downward, unable to stop myself, wanting the sensation to continue, bucking my pussy against her mouth. She gripped my hips and held me firmly in place. Her tongue was out of reach.

“You have to earn your climax,” she said.

“What,” I panted, “what do you mean?”

“Ten strokes on your ass will equal the sweetest fucking climax you’ve ever felt.”

What did that mean? Ten strokes of what?

She wriggled from between my legs and I watched, eyes huge and desperate, as she opened up the tiny closet. Within, I saw the tools and toys I’d fantasized about for years. She had paddles and crops, a whippet-thin cane, bondage devices. But Bonnie was a tease. Before I could focus on each one, Bonnie grabbed what she wanted and then shut the door. I wished I could spend hours looking at each of her possessions, running my fingers over the handles, inspecting every angle.

“This is a crop,” she said, bringing the weapon in front of my eyes. I stared. She pushed me so that I was prone on the bed once more, wrists over my head. “This is going to hurt,” she said next. I swallowed hard. I wanted to look away, but I was mesmerized. “I expect you to count for me. Ten strokes. Can you do that?”

I nodded.

“Good girl,” she said again, sounding so much like Stefan I blinked at her. “We’ve been together a long, long time,” she said with a smile, as if reading the thought as it passed through my mind.

I didn’t know what to do next. Did I stare at her, push my head into the pillow, look at the wall, gaze at the flowers…? She struck the first blow, and the worries evaporated, replaced by a pure sensation of pain. I hadn’t known what to expect. The burning of the stroke made me forget my job. I was to count. But I didn’t. “That’s one,” Bonnie said for me.

“One,” I echoed hollowly.

She struck a second time; I managed to squeak out a “two.” I could not believe the intensity of the pain—but I also could not fully process the explosion of pleasure that followed each stroke. Bonnie landed number three. My pussy contracted with a force that surprised me. The pain was turning me on. There was no doubt.

“Four.” I thought that I might actually come with no other stimulation. Bonnie was an expert. She lined the blows up neatly next to each other. She took a breath after five, and I felt her hands on my ass, stroking the places that hurt the most. I wanted her to…

Oh, she was. Kissing me. Kissing the welts. Touching my pussy as she licked the stripes of fire on my skin. “You’re doing so well,” she said softly, “better than I would have expected. And see how wet your slit is?” She dipped her fingers inside of me, brought the gloss she gathered up to my lips. She spread my own juices on my lips and then kissed them clean. “Like honey,” she said.

I groaned. I was lost. She was hurting me, helping me, touching me so fucking sweetly that I didn’t know which way was up.

“When I reach ten,” she said, “I am going to lick your pussy until you come.” She stood and struck the sixth blow. “And then,” she continued, “I’m going to put on a strap-on, and fuck you until you come again.” Oh, god, I wanted that. I wanted to feel her pound into me. She landed seven and eight quickly, and I bucked and writhed on the bed. She took the handle of the crop then, and she slowly, gently, slid the molded tip inside of me. I almost started to cry. I wanted to be fucked. It had been months since my last hook-up. I’d almost managed to forget how important sex could be.

She let me bask in the sensation of having that handle up inside me, and then she pulled it out and landed the ninth blow. I shuddered all over. I hadn’t started crying. Bonnie seemed impressed. “You know the tenth is going to be the worst,” she said, “it has to be. But in a way, that’s the best, isn’t it? You need this.”

I did. Why? I don’t know. But she spoke the truth. I wanted everything she was doing to me. I shut my eyes as she raised her arm up. I held myself entirely still. She slammed into me and said, “Ten,” and then I heard the clatter as she dropped the crop, felt the bed shift as she moved me, flipping me onto my back, handcuff chain rattling, getting in between my legs and starting to suck my clit.

Yes, I’ve had lovers go down on me before. I haven’t been with men so uptight they couldn’t tongue a girl’s snatch. But nobody had ever made me feel the way Bonnie did. She used her fingers to spread open my nether lips. She pinched my clit between her thumb and finger and I began to moan and beg. “Let me come. Please…” The way she touched me was taunting and rough, and then right when I could take no more, she changed to gentle and soft, so that I missed the way she’d manhandled me only seconds before.

“You don’t know what you want,” she said, and she was right. I didn’t.

“Stop thinking,” she said. “Don’t concentrate. Don’t try so hard. Let go.”

She licked and sucked with such obvious pleasure that I couldn’t feel embarrassed or concerned that I wasn’t coming fast enough. Worries that I usually feel melted away until there was only her mouth and my pussy in my world. That’s the size of what mattered.

I would have come anyway. But it was Stefan standing in the doorway, staring in at us, that took me over the edge.

How long had he been there? I didn’t know. He leaned against the door frame, casually watching. I would have covered my eyes with my hands, but my wrists were still cuffed and useless. I thought of looking away, but his gaze held me firmly. Last night, I’d been the voyeur. This morning, I was the show.

Bonnie didn’t seem aware of our audience. She kept her mouth between my thighs and plunged her tongue inside of me as I started to come. I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. Even with Stefan watching, so intently, I moaned and sighed, my breathing coming faster as I reached climax. Bonnie let me ride out the waves of the orgasm, and then she reached for a key on a chain around her neck and set me free.

“No strap-on today, I guess,” she said to me as she rubbed my wrists. “She’s a sweet girl,” she said to Stefan—letting me know that she knew he was standing there. “Look at this.” She motioned and, mortified, I rolled over, so that she could show him the welts on my ass.

I heard his footsteps as he approached the bed. “Very nice,” he said. I felt his warm hand on my skin. His hand moved lower, between my thighs, feeling how wet I was. He could have been checking produce in the market with how indifferently he caressed me. And then he ordered, “Get her dressed and send her to my room. I have something to talk to her about.”

How odd, I thought, even in my hazy, postcoital state. Odd how he talked to Bonnie instead of me. But somehow I didn’t mind. There was a formality to the tone of his voice, one that turned me on.

“You and I are close to the same size,” Bonnie said, opening the second wardrobe in the room. “Do you want to choose something of mine?” I was surprised to see so many different dresses, opulent colors, gauzy fabrics. “I’m not only the chef,” she explained in answer to my unspoken query. “Stefan likes to dress me different ways for this and that.” Clearly. There were costumes of all sorts on the racks: drum majorette, schoolgirl skirt, headmistress attire.

She pulled out a cashmere turtleneck the color of ripe peaches and a flirty short skirt that looked as if it had been made of layers of translucent scarves. “These will look lovely on you.”

I started dressing. The clothes were so rich, I wanted to take my time. I’d been accustomed over the past few years to try to dress expensively without actually having money. I was focused on how luxurious the fabrics felt against my skin, when she added, “Don’t worry about wearing knickers.”

The worry was instantaneous.

“His room is at the end of the hall that yours is on,” she said. “He’s waiting.”

I slid into my shoes—the only part of the outfit that looked sad now—and walked down the long hall. I wondered where Sasha was, where Lou was, wondered what Stefan wanted to tell me. Tell. That wasn’t the right word at all, was it? Should I feel bad that I’d been invited to Venice as a sex toy? I couldn’t manage to feel unhappy about that at all. The attention made me feel beautiful, and when I glanced into a mirror, I saw a warmth to my cheeks, to my eyes, that had been missing for longer than I could remember. Fear can turn a person cold inside.

I climbed the stairs, headed down the hall I’d walked the previous evening. Stefan was waiting, sitting in a deep leather chair, sipping from a cut-crystal glass. I entered the room and then stood, not knowing what to do, where to go, how to act. His room was twice the size of the one I was staying in. I felt as I always did when I’d been summoned to yet another boss’s office after yet another merger—one that meant my job was redundant.

He smiled at me, and I felt myself begin to melt. “You know, you are exactly as Sasha described,” he said.

I didn’t know how to respond. How had Sasha described me?

“Hungry,” he said. “Get your jacket and meet me downstairs. I’ll take you out.”

I hurried back to my room, wondering if my battered old jacket would make the outfit look cheap. The first thing I saw was a typewriter on the desk. I’d always preferred working on a typewriter—and my old one had been the first beloved material object I’d jettisoned when I’d lost my apartment. This was identical to mine, a Remington. I’d sold mine for $500—trading a piece of myself for money I needed. And here was the twin, with the colored glass keys in mint, turquoise, yellow and red. Sasha must have told Stefan. There was no other way he could know. I had an urge to sit at the desk and start writing, but Stefan called out for me. I turned to grab my coat from the bed where I’d left it, but the coat was gone.

On the mattress was a raspberry-hued woven shawl, like tapestry. I wrapped the shawl around my body the way I’d seen Sasha do, and then I caught site of the little box on the pillow. When I took off the lid, I saw a glittering rhinestone broach, obviously antique, perfect for pinning the fabric in place. I was about to snag a pair of knickers from the drawer in my dresser, when I heard Bonnie calling. “Stefan’s ready, El. Come on!”

I hesitated another second, and then decided to go without.

“I’m so grateful,” I said when I found Stefan waiting for me in the foyer.

“For what?”

“You don’t know what it’s been like,” I said.

But he shrugged away my gratitude, with a simple “Prego” and then added, “You look lovely in the wrap.”

I stammered, trying to find the right words. He’d given me too much to accept with a simple thank-you.

“You say, ’Grazie,’” he said graciously, and I whispered the word as he took my hand. The touch of his skin on mine made me feel hot all over. If he noticed, he didn’t comment.

Stefan led us through tiny winding streets to the open-air market. I’d been to farmer’s markets before, of course, but I’d never seen anything as lush and colorful as this. Every piece of fruit looked perfect, as if plucked from a photo. There were bowls of the largest berries I’d ever seen—raspberries, blueberries, blackberries—bunches of chilies, purple grapes that looked so ripe they would burst when you barely touched their dusky skin. The voices of the shoppers and clerks made music to me, as I didn’t understand the words. Stefan had a hand in mine, I felt to make sure I didn’t get lost. But then he let go of my hand, and his palm caressed my ass through the filmy fabric of the skirt. I was reminded in a heartbeat that I was without underwear. I wondered if other people could tell.

In Italian, Stefan ordered several pieces of fruit for us— peaches, figs, cherries—and then we continued walking once more. I wanted to take in everything: the water, the boats, the colorful awnings, the painted buildings, the busy restaurants, bustling with tourists. Every location I admired appeared as elegantly quaint as a picture postcard.

Then Stefan led me down a tiny alley—so narrow I hadn’t noticed the space between the buildings at first. “This way,” he said. I followed him for several steps until he stopped and turned around. “Lift your skirt.”

“What?”

“Show me.”

I pulled the skirt up, a warm buzz rushing over me.

“Spread your lips.”

Who was he? Who was I? I was the girl who reached down and opened my pussy up so he could see.

“So beautiful,” he said. “Did Bonnie treat that well?”

“Yes.”

“Then so will I.” He bent on his knees, pressed his mouth to my pussy and began to lick from me. I couldn’t believe he was doing this out in the open. Except we weren’t in the open, were we? We were off on the tiniest side street I’d ever been in. I had my body pressed against the building as firmly as Stefan had his mouth pressed against me. I sighed and closed my eyes as he licked me harder, faster. Was he going to make me come here, where I could listen to the sounds of the city all around us?

No. He pushed back and told me to turn around.

I didn’t move quickly enough. He spun me, so I was facing the cold wall. He stayed on his knees, his hands spreading my ass cheeks apart. I felt a wetness around my hole, and I thought for a moment that he was licking me there. I would have pulled away if I could have, but I was sandwiched between Stefan and stone. I could not remember ever feeling this aroused and ashamed before, the two emotions warring within me. Shame won out, as Stefan stood and whispered in my ear, “That was sweet peach juices I spread around your asshole.”

I shivered.

“I’ll lick them off from you later.”

The shivers persisted. My whole body was trembling. “I’m going to fit you with a plug. A large one. You’ll wear that while I fuck your slippery pussy. It will be your introduction to having two holes filled at once.”

I sagged against him. No one had ever spoken to me like that before.

“Do you want to hear more?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take you home now,” he said, “and I’ll tell you the rest.”

The sunlight glinting on the water, the colorful mélange of people and the beauty of the city blurred together. I could not think or speak on the ride home. I was so wet and the need for climax was so large, that I felt as if I were lost in a half swoon. Stefan seemed unchanged completely, as cool as ever. He led me through the villa, and we did not see anyone else on the way.

In his room, he poured us each a drink from a cut-crystal decanter, and handed mine to me. I breathed in the scent of good whiskey.

“You seem more naive than most women your age. And you seem unhappy. Too sad for someone who has no real problems.”

No real problems? Suddenly, everything I worried and feared came back in a rush. A physical rush. I pushed back against the wall so that I would have something to hold myself up. “I have problems.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

Up until now, Stefan had been nothing but gracious to me. He’d treated me as if he’d invited me personally, as if I were his guest. I felt nothing but special. My life was not supposed to look the way it did now. Venice might be sinking, but so slowly nobody noticed on a day-to-day basis. I, on the other hand, had sunk.

“Look at you,” he said, standing and moving me so I was facing a mirror. For a flicker of time, I wondered if someone was watching me on the other side. Sasha? Lou? “Is this a woman with problems?” he asked both of us.

I started to get angry. “I have no job, no family, no one to turn to, nowhere to go.” I did what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. I took a firm step out of this fairy-tale land and into reality. “When I leave here, there is nothing else. I land at whatever airport Sasha helps me get to, and then…nothing.”

“Then why leave?”

I turned to face him. I didn’t understand what he was saying, what he was suggesting. Apparently, my confusion showed on my face, because he smiled and cupped my chin in his hand. “I mentioned a job.”

I nodded.

“But I was talking about more than some freelance gig, Ellis. I didn’t invite you for two weeks,” he said. “I invited you forever.”

I had to sit down. I pulled away from him and looked around the room. I couldn’t take his seat—it was so obviously his. So I sat on the bed, knowing as I did so that maybe this was not the best choice for me. But my brain wasn’t working well. I wished I could have slowed the world down for a moment or two, so that I could catch up.

“I told you that I’ve read your writing,” he said, “not only the copy for ads, but your real writing.”

I’d guessed this, but I had to ask, “How?”

“When Sasha would visit for the summers, and you’d trade letters, she always let me read yours. When you mailed her stories you were working on, she shared your words with me.”

I flushed. Sasha was the only friend I’d ever allowed to see my work. I’d been embarrassed to share them with her, but she’d always been supportive. Even in the brain haze I felt, I had to ask, “You liked my stories?”

He went to a desk and opened the drawer, bringing out a folder. “I’ve kept every one,” he said, rifling the papers so I could see. I remembered writing the different pieces, modern-day fairy tales set in New York. Sexy, saucy stories I’d been unable to show to anyone but Sasha.

“Your words captivated me,” he said. “I need them, the way I need you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to write about this place.” He spread his arms out.

“Your bedroom?”

“Smart-ass.” He spoke the words with a smile. “You’ll get a spanking for that. Later. I want you to write about our world here in Venice. What we do here. The way we live.”

“We…” My mind was still on the spanking.

“Lou and I. Bonnie. Sasha when she comes to stay. Our summer guests and our winter guests. And you.”

“Me.”

He sat on the bed at my side and he took one of my hands in his. “I was hoping you would be as unique as your words, that you would fall in love with this place—and with me— and I would fall in love with you. And now I only have one question for you….”

I waited. My heart was racing. I knew the rule. When he asked a question, he expected an answer.

“Have you?”

“Have I?”

“Fallen in love.”

I couldn’t breathe. What was he asking me?

“You wrote in your journal that you never wanted to leave. Did you mean it?”

I didn’t care that he’d read the diary. Aren’t all diaries written at least subconsciously with the hopes and wishes that the words will be found and revealed?

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, Stefan.”

“And have you?”

I had nothing to lose. I had truth to gain. “Yes,” I said. “I have.”

He gripped me in his arms and he kissed me. Differently from the way he’d kissed me at the market. Sweeter and rougher at the same time. I felt as if I were one of the characters in the fairy tales I’d written over the years, except this wasn’t make-believe. Was it?

“I want you to write about this. About how we behave. About what our life is like,” he said. “All the ways we play, all the things we do.”

“What do you do?” I had to ask. I thought I understood, but I needed him to explain.

“People are so caught up in what’s normal. What’s right and wrong. I don’t live like that. I don’t have to. Not anymore.” He kissed me in between sentences, and each time he did, I felt light-headed. “I used to,” he continued. “At least, I tried. I went to parties, the opera. I joined the society circles you’re supposed to be a part of if you have money. And then I realized, if you have money, you don’t have to be a part of anything you don’t want to be.”

I stared at him. He seemed to want me to understand.

“It’s different here. You’ll get used to the way we behave. If you want someone to tie you up in the middle of the night, then you come to me. If you’d rather have Bonnie eat you then you go to her. If you have a need—we will fill it. And we’ll find out needs you never thought you had.”

I sighed. This was too much like being read on the inside. Everything he was describing was everything I’ve always wanted.

“You’ll write each word in that style of yours. This is important to me. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Like this,” he said, and he startled me by pulling me over his lap, his hand resting on my ass. I sucked in my breath at the same moment that he let his hand land against my rear. “You’re a smart-ass. That’s not a bad thing.” He spanked me hard, through my skirt—through Bonnie’s skirt. “But being flippant here will get you a spanking.” Each time his hand landed, I flinched, but I didn’t try to get free. “You might be spanked in the middle of a dinner party, with everyone watching me bend you over the table.” I swallowed hard, as he described the scene. “My friends know me, they know the way I act. They’re generous and compassionate. They’ll sit and watch as I punish you, and then they’ll go on with their meal.”

He stroked my rear between blows, and then he sat me up again.

“Do you like being punished?”

My thoughts were captivated by what he’d just described, but I managed to respond with a soft “Yes.”

“Why, Ellis?”

I looked all over the room rather than look into his eyes. But then I remembered—without him having to remind me— the one rule. When he asked a question, I was to answer. “Because I don’t have to think anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

I stared at the floor. “I’m always worrying, wondering, wishing. When the sensation—that pain/pleasure mix—overtakes me, all my thoughts disappear.” I hoped he’d understand. “I feel erased, somehow. Or washed clean.”

“Yes. Perfect.”

He stood me up. He seemed to be studying me, as if he wanted to learn my face by heart. “You look good in new clothes,” he said, “but tomorrow we’ll get you your own. Not Bonnie’s. And new shoes, too. We have the best shoes in Italy. You’ll see.”

“What will I do?” I asked him, as he was leading me to the bed.

“What do you mean?”

“If I stay, if you really want me to stay…”

“I really want you to stay.”

“What will I do?”

“You’ll write, and you’ll eat, and you’ll fuck and you’ll be fucked.”

I shivered.

“Do you like the way that sounds? Like one of your fairy tales, except instead of New York, you’ll be here, in Venice. And instead of a story that’s tied up in a neat bow at the end, this one will be never-ending.”

He had my clothes off and he was spreading me out on the bed.

“Who will I fuck?” I had to ask the question.

“Me,” he said, “or rather, I’ll fuck you. And so will Bonnie. She’s got a nice, long strap-on that she likes to use.”

“And Lou?”

“If you like. If you want him to.”

“It’s about what I want?”

“Your wishes,” he said, “your pleasure.” He was parting my nether lips now and he pressed his face to my pussy. I could hardly think, but I wanted to think. The sensation was odd, as if I was fighting my own lust. I needed to concentrate, but Stefan was making thoughts impossible. His tongue tricked in circles around my clit, and then he reached his hand up to my mouth.

“Lick my fingers,” he said, “get them all wet for me.”

I did as he said, and then I shut my eyes as he brought his hand beneath me and began working one finger into my asshole. I was dizzy from longing, and I didn’t make a sound as he started to slowly finger-fuck my ass.

“You said you always worry….”

I moaned in response.

“You won’t have to worry anymore.”

He slid a second finger inside of me.

“You like that,” he said.

“Oh, yes.”

“Roll over.”

I did what he said, and I raised my hips up for him. I wanted him to do it. I knew what he was after. Nobody had ever had me there.

Stefan said, “Look at what Bonnie’s left us on the table.”

I opened my eyes and stared at where he was pointing—a jar of olive oil, sweet and golden by the bed. I watched as he opened the bottle, and I felt the river as he poured the liquid between the cheeks of my ass.

“Spread yourself for me,” he said. “Wide.”

I reached back and parted my cheeks for him.

“Now, relax.”

I tried, I sucked in a great breath of air, but I was tight and tense. Very slowly, Stefan pressed the head of his cock to my back door. I shuddered all over. He worked in the head. I had never felt anything like that before. Tears leaked from my eyes—but not because I wanted him to stop. The pleasure outweighed the pain instantly.

“You like this,” he said, biting into the ridge of my shoulder as he thrust his cock inside of me.

Yes. In my head. Yes, oh, yes. Then out loud I said, “Yes, Stefan.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you…” My voice trailed.

“Describe what you’re feeling.”

“Your cock is filling me, oh, God, you’re filling me up.”

“Where?”

“My ass.”

“Say the whole sentence.”

“Your cock—” I was panting “—is fucking my asshole.”

He reached a hand under my body so he could play with my clit while he worked me.

“But it’s different from having my pussy fucked.”

“I like the way you say that.”

“I can imagine what it would be like to be between two men.”

“Yes.”

“You in my ass, Lou fucking my pussy. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’ve thought about it, of course.” The words were coming faster now. I don’t know why. Maybe I was trying to talk at the speed in which he was fucking me. Or maybe he’d managed to unlock something inside of me that set the words free.

“I want that to happen,” I said. “I want it all to happen.”

“Such a dirty girl.”

I’d made his voice catch. This gave me a rush of pure pleasure.

Pleasure. The word must mean something different in Venice, I thought.

At dinner, Sasha stared back and forth between us. She seemed to know. What a strange group we were, I thought. Lou and Sasha were next to each other. Bonnie sat at one end of the table, eating rather than serving.

“You were right, Sasha,” Stefan said. “Ellis is everything you said.”

“Then you’re staying?” she asked me. She sounded excited.

I nodded.

“Your wish came true?”

I looked at her. “All the other papers were blank,” she said in response. “You’d see if you looked that the only wish written on the tree was yours.”

It hadn’t even occurred to me to look.

“I still have to go back home,” she continued, “but not yet. And I’ll be back to visit every few months.”

“Sasha can’t stay away for long,” Stefan explained. “Lou misses her too much.”

Lou moved closer and kissed my friend, and she sighed and leaned her head back. I saw marks on her throat from where his kisses and love bites had bruised her pale skin. I understood they were not holding back now. I was part of the group, so much so that when Sasha moved her chair back and slid under the table, so obviously giving Lou a blow job, I hardly flinched.

Bonnie left the table, and then returned with a tray of oysters. She, Stefan and I began to eat, Lou settling back and closing his eyes. He was handsome in his own way, I realized. Tough, yes, but with a sweet edge.

“Look,” said Bonnie, excitedly, “I found a pearl.”

Stefan looked at me. “So did I.”

I couldn’t eat after that. My nerves were still all jangly. I’d been living in fear for months, and suddenly that fear had been removed. My body didn’t seem to know how to respond. Stefan watched me carefully from across the table.

“Are you finished?” he asked me.

I nodded.

“Then we’ll retire,” he said, coming around to my side of the table and pulling out my chair. He led me to his room, where I saw an incredible array of devices arranged on the bed.

There were clips with a chain running between, black leather cuffs, a velvet mask. “Tonight will be the two of us,” Stefan said. “But on another night, you’ll wear the mask, and you’ll try to guess who’s inside of you.”

I looked at him, and I thought about what that meant. Stefan came closer and lifted my skirt. He dragged his fingertips between my pussy lips, coming up with the nectar that waited for him.

“Does that thought make you wet? Or are you wet because of what Sasha did at dinner?”

“Both.”

He smiled. When he smiled, his whole face softened. He did not appear stern or intimidating, simply happy.

“Lie down on the bed, Ellis.”

“What about the clothes?”

“I’ll cut them off you.”

“They’re Bonnie’s….”

“They’re replaceable.”

He bound me to the bed, cuffs on my wrists, leather thongs on my ankles. He put the mask over my eyes, and then he took cold, steel scissors and slowly slit the clothes off my body. I could imagine what I looked like in the tatters. Stefan moved with a purpose, but not with any sort of hurry. He attached clamps on my nipples and I arched and moaned. He parted my pussy lips and placed a clip on my clit, and the moans turned to begging, wordless but urgent.

Then he did nothing, and I stayed like that, for him to admire.

It was a battle, in some way, I realized. If I begged him to take off the clamps, would he? Could he wait me out? There was so much to learn, I realized. So much to understand about Stefan, what he wanted, what he liked.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said.

I shook my head. I couldn’t fathom what he was saying. I hadn’t felt beautiful for a long time.

“I’m going to love doing you every way you can think of. Every location. On the bridges outside in the middle of the night. On a gondola. In the limo. On the balcony. In the shower.” He was stroking me now with the palms of his hands as he spoke. “I will never run out of ways to make you come.”

I breathed deeply, trying to stay still.

“Now, tell me what you want.”

What did I want? I realized that I had everything I wanted. Even without the finale of climaxing, I was suspended in a state of bliss.

“Tell me, Ellis.”

“I already have everything I could want,” I said, knowing as I spoke the words, that they were true.

He laughed, and I wished I could see his face. “You’re bound up tight. You can’t move. Your nipples are pinched between clamps. Your clit must be on fire. How do you have everything?”

I was breathing harder by the second, although I tried to keep myself in check. “The worry is gone,” I said. “I can take anything else.”

He climbed on the bed then. I could feel his weight joining mine. He kissed me, and then pressed his body to mine. He’d stripped. I felt his naked chest on mine, his cock against my thigh. Quickly, he undid the clamp on my clit and sensation flooded through me. He thrust his cock hard inside my pussy, and I gripped onto him with my inner muscles. He tugged the chain between the nipple clamps, and I groaned and arched.

“So pretty,” he said. “You have no idea. In the future, I’ll take pictures. So you can see, so you can understand.”

He thrust into me in a rhythm that felt divine. Even though he’d made me come so many times earlier, I could feel my body preparing, responding. We were well-suited, weren’t we?

“I would read your stories,” he said, “the ones Sasha sent me. I would jerk off as I heard your words echo in my head.”

I clenched my eyes shut tight even under the blindfold.

“I never thought I’d find someone who would write out my fantasies without ever knowing me.”

“I never thought I’d find someone who’d make mine come true,” I said, and he slid his hand between our bodies, giving my clit the exact pressure it craved. “But then I did,” I said, “and I found even more….”

“What have you found, Ellis?” he whispered in my ear as he came. “What have you found?” I was coming, too, but I still managed to say the words:

“My happily-ever-after.”

The End

“Is your story finished?” Sasha asked, looking over my shoulder as I typed. She was wrapped only in a white sheet, her feet bare, her normally pristine appearance mussed and disheveled.

“No, it’s only just beginning,” I told her as I typed in The End. Because I understood that those two words meant something different in Venice.

* * * * *