— Venice, capital of love-Choisy had told her- what an imposture! she thought bitterly.
Although she had been residing in Venice for more than two years, she knew the town rather badly and was very little informed about the Venetian intrigues. She would at least never have imagined that her friend the marchioness was ready to put into effect a very bold plan for which she risked defiling her honour as a great lady of rank. But there is no knowing what some passions can work in a woman's breast, and the marchioness's itching curiosity to find out for herself about Choisy and the riddle he was setting them all, had the better of her wisdom and virtue.
One evening, hidden in a hired gondola, she followed Choisy as he took a gondola and she saw that he stopped in front of Francesca's palace and entered it. The marchioness gave a girlish giggle of satisfaction-she had discovered Choisy's secret.
The following day, before visiting time, as Choisy had just come out of his bath, Bouju announced the visit of a masked lady.
Choisy was flattered and wondered if that lady would not by any chance be Charlotte de Ransac, piqued by his indifference and wanting to tackle him in his very den. He combed his hair and brushed his clothes carefully, sensing that he would have to appear at his best for yet another conquest.
As the mysterious lady came in, he saw that it would be impossible for him to recognize her, as, besides being masked, she was wearing a very wide cloak.
— Whoever you are, Choisy said affably, make yourself at home-you are welcome.
The lady sat down and said:
— I am very much interested in you-but don't ask me the reason why, please-or at least not just yet.
Choisy did not answer. He was too busy trying to recognize the voice of the mysterious visitor, which was a difficult thing to do, for she was trying her best to disguise her voice.
— Since you have been in Venice, she went on, there has been some hostility against you.
— Hostility? exclaimed Choisy unbelievingly, and just what are they reproaching me with?
— With everything and nothing in particular. You are French and even Parisian. Your behaviour defies criticism but…
— Go on, prompted Choisy.
— But you have an independent spirit and a certain liberty of language which have hurt, or at least, displeased a few persons.
— I didn't know there were such susceptible persons here.
— The people of Venice are very proud of their rank and cannot tolerate that anybody should speak about them without respect.
— Does the Council of the Ten intend to turn me out of the town? asked Choisy.
— I don't think so, but you had better be on your guard-about your nightly outings in particular, she answered pointedly.
— Am I being spied upon? This is annoying, and I don't know how to express my gratitude to you for warning me thus so disinterestedly.
On hearing his last word, the masked lady could not repress a titter, and Choisy recognized her. Standing up, he said:
— You are well informed, my dear Marchioness, and I really don't know how to express my gratitude to you.
So saying, he had come near her and he was smiling broadly, for he had succeeded in discovering her identity. She had been clever, but had neglected a significant detail:-that of her unmistakable perfume which he would know anywhere. It was a musky, heady perfume, which acted strongly on his senses-he felt his penis start swelling at each whiff of her perfume intercepted by his dilated nostrils.
Still, she was reluctant to admit her defeat readily, and persisted in her anonymity. So he told her:
— Marchioness, do put yourself at ease-you must be stiflingly warm with this heavy cape of yours.
At these words, he himself took the initiative to take off her mask and her cloak, and she finally appeared as the splendidly attractive woman she was, and the slight note of confusion that could be read in her face, made her more exquisitely beautiful. Before such majestic beauty, Choisy knelt down.
— How could I ever suppose that there would be in Venice such a high-ranking guardian angel for poor little me!
— Sir, the marchioness answered, now with her natural voice, the person you pay visits to every night has a very vindictive protector.
— I know it… and Francesca — Hush!
— Pardon me, but since you know everything about me Choisy had come nearer his graceful visitor, and she felt his voluptuous mouth on the nape of her neck.
— Sir, I shall regret the boldness I had to come here and warn you-a boldness that was inspired by Choisy closed her lips with the tips of his delicate fingers, while with the other hand, he started fingering her swelling bosom.
Then he declared in a voice full of a tenderness which he knew was a very effective weapon:
— I am ready to do everything possible so that you should not feel sorry you came here to warn me.
He pulled deftly on an aglet of her bodice and there sprung out one of her breasts. Its wonderfully smooth skin felt warm and scented under his face and he kissed it avidly. She tried to wriggle away from his grasp, but now her passion was aroused and her struggle was not really sincere-it was a parody of defense.
There was a bed, placed strategically nearby, and she opposed no resistance when Choisy drew her towards it. Her bosom was heaving with passion. Feverishly, but with an expert touch, Choisy undid her bodice, and managed to continue kissing her throat the while. And at each of his kisses, she gave a little quiver of delight. Her eyes were closed and her lips open and wet-he covered them with his own, and, oh, how that woman could kiss! Her lips were full, yet not thick, her teeth were regular, and — Choisy thought-her salivation while kissing was just right, not too excessive, like that of some women he had known. With the marchioness, it was really a perfect kiss, and he felt his heart melt and his penis grow and grow-he freed it and there it stood in all its splendour, tilted up with desire.
It was just a question of time now. At the stage where she had arrived, she would have to go the whole hog.
She lay on her back on the bed and shut her eyes in ecstasy. He got up and pulled her skirt down and she opposed no resistance. To take off her chemise, she would have had to get up, and that may have aroused her from the state of bliss she was in, so Choisy decided to disturb her as little as possible, so he lay down on top of her and kissed her again full on the lips which had now become warm-a sure sign that a woman was ready for love. So now he did not hesitate and, lifting up her chemise just enough for the passage of his prick, he drove it home, and, far from opposing him, she had drawn her thighs apart in eager anticipation of the inevitable.
Her cunt was as soft and juicy as her mouth, and with as much perfection: not too soft but with a certain firmness of flesh, and how thrillingly she could use her inner muscles to constrict her vagina and squeeze his penis like a dagger in a well-greased sheath.
As he moved in and out, she helped his movements, keeping in perfect time with him, and, at each of her upward thrusts, he felt the thrill of her warm belly against his.
Her musky perfume, which was blending marvellously with the warmth of her flesh and the perspiration of her body, made him sniff deliciously as he kissed her on the breasts, on her throat and on her warm pungent armpits.
After they had both come together, he paused just a little, kissing her the while, but he would not let her go yet-he wanted to give her a sample of what a Frenchman was capable of. Not that he was urged only by a feeling of pride for his country's reputation as wonderful lovers-he felt a genuine desire to make love with this woman as much as was possible now, for perhaps it was a unique opportunity. He realized she was a woman of high rank, who would perhaps later feel ashamed to have given way to a man in his own home, and she might never come back to him.
These thoughts crossed his mind in the space of a second, and then he did not think any more, and plunged himself body and soul in his passion.
He kissed her again on the lips, then, gently and tenderly, on her eyelids. Then, suddenly, he crept down arid, under her thin chemise, groped in the dark with his tongue for the sensitive point.
