sore.
Cesare stretched out, tensed his buttocks and jutted his organ massively up toward the gloomy roof of the dungeon. The fire had begun to diminish and the glow was now a centralized one, surrounded by a half-pierced gloom.
When he tensed his behind, a live desire moved like a solid thing along from his loins to the base of his reaching rod.
For a moment the Countess looked at him. She ran her fingers softly up his hot tube of flesh and then swung herself painfully astride him, poising above his prick, arranging her vagina directly above it. She leaned forward, resting her hands on either side of his face while she positioned herself. Her knees brushed his ribs. And then with a long-drawn moan of deliverance, she sank down onto the prick that seared up into her belly like a jet of oil.
Her head rolled on her neck and she felt giddy and out of control as it raced up inside her and she sank down, until her buttocks met his thighs. Her movement was mechanical, dictated only by the feeling brain in his loins. She rose up and sank again with a broken sob of relief. She began to squirm and skewer her buttocks on his thighs, feeling the point of his prick at its summit pressing and poking at her cervix. She rolled about on his body like a puppet, a puppet crazed with human desire for the orgasm which was so agonizingly slow in coming.
Cesare brought his thighs up from the horizontal and contained her buttock and hips in them. He reached down with his tingling hands and grasped her thighs in which he could feel the light muscles flexing and unflexing with her movement.
My God, he thought, this woman was made for one thing only and all her life by all accounts she's lived a lie.
Her breasts swayed and jumped over her heaving belly and her mouth hung open, under flared nostrils and closed eyes. Her long, fair hair swung across her face each time she descended and with her uprise she shook her head so that it swung away.
Cesare tensed his buttocks and felt sensation tremble and palpitate at the base of his prick. All the way up, his organ was alive with pinpricks and the knob almost hurt with the treatment, the ferocity she was subjecting it to. He knew he wasn't far off and he dug his fingers into her thighs so hard that he brought a murmur of shock from her puppet lips.
As she bobbed on him, the Countess tensed her loins, aching for the sensation to flee. She couldn't stand it much longer, that yearning, bursting ball of flame inside her. She had to have release.
She clasped his hips with her thighs and squirmed her bottom from side to side as she fell. She had forgotten the pain of her thrashing, all sensation was in that long, wet channel in which his prick was like a great, drumming barge-pole. His penis was spreading and battering her belly. It hurt, it was wonderful, it was hateful, it was necessary to be over or she would die.
As if she were drowning, her past life seemed to mist into the sensation that racked her. This moment seemed to be what she had always lived for, this moment when thinking was painful and the only thing that mattered was the prick in her quim and the manflesh consuming her in its embrace. If there were only this moment it was all that she had ever desired, this acuteness of sensation, this beyond-reality that she had never truly experienced with her tired, frightened, fawning, subservient husbands of before.
The name of the man who had subjected her fused with her gasps of pain and love: “Cesare, Borgia, Cesare Borgia…” It was inevitably this man that everybody had said was just the way he was? and she had thought to feel differently from everybody else.
There were times when she'd wondered what it was that would tie her to a man so that she felt no longer free and strong. It was no physical beauty, it was not intellectual strength? both those had been embodied in various of her husbands. It was?what could one say??a je ne sais quois which was nothing more than an animal force in a man, an understanding in a man that he would lead, a lack of fright in a man, of doubt, of hesitation in his certainty that he would stand by his acts.
These thoughts moved through her head like a phantom, not clear, felt rather. In a feeling connected like cause and result with the wide, scourging opening of her loins which was beginning to happen now, now, now. In a maze of wild, swimming confusion in head and loins, she heard, like a distant train, his breath growing under her, recognized his climax trembling. With a great giving thrust down in which she contracted her loins and concentrated them on the pole down which she slid, she felt the fire within her burst out into a great conflagration as she moaned in delirium and seemed to die and die and die again…
She was aware after some seconds which were like darkness, that he had held her up with his strong arms and that his staccato gasping was flailing the cooling air of the dungeon as his prick jerked quickly into her in its fading heat.
Her last thought before she flopped exhausted along the length of his hot, strong body was that she was his for as long as he wanted her.
CHAPTER 8
It goes without mention that Cesare Borgia, Duke of Valentinois, carried more than military glory back with him to Rome. Maria the gypsy was already established in Imola, well provisioned for his return in a few weeks or months, and in his train, strangely changed to anyone who knew her, the Countess Caterina Sforza-Riario dressed in stark black and white, sat her horse, impressive and emotionless but a willing captive.
All those cities which had refused to pay their fiefs to the Holy See had been subdued and Cesare's fame?as much his personality as his achievements?had spread throughout the whole of Italy.
Small wonder that on his return to Rome, the city was the scene of wild enthusiasm. There is nothing the crowd will take to its heart more than a strong man who has a reputation for magnanimity.
Alexander, himself, overflowed with pride at his son's victories and the glory of his reputation. He dispatched a deputation, which included two cardinals and a number of dignitaries, to meet his son on the road beyond the gates of Rome. A huge reception was prepared for him within with prelates, ambassadors, generals and officials of the city waiting eagerly to receive him.
When he made his entry through the northern gate, wave upon wave of thunderous cheering filled the air above the seven hills; people threw garments and flowers into the air; there was a salute of cannon fire.
His train was splendid enough to inspire awe and devotion. In the van were the baggage carts, splendidly caparisoned, and immediately followed by several thousand foot soldiers in full campaign apparel preceded by trumpet-blasting heralds in the livery of the Duke and the King of France. The Duke, who followed next on horseback, was surrounded by a guard of fifty mounted men simply clad and with the Borgian bull emblazoned on their breasts.
The Duke, plainly dressed in black velvet with a gold chain about his neck, was followed by several thousand cavalry with halberds and banners. A posse of trumpeters, blowing hard enough to reduce the walls of Jericho, brought up the rear in a fine flourish…
With Cesare, within his protecting body of men-at-arms, rode the deputation which had met him, broad smiles on their faces, happy and proud to share in his glory for a brief moment.
And not far behind him rode the Countess, unsmiling, severe, but hiding deep thoughts of unbelievable incidents.
Around this vast cortege, the city was en fete. Guns continuously thundered salutes, banners floated from the Castle of St. Angelo.
The Pope, tears of joy in his eyes, watched from the loggia above the portals of the Vatican as his son approached. He remembered that son of his, that athletic, gawky boy who had been initiated in the art of love by his young sister Lucrezia, he remembered that panting embrace, guilty and half-afraid beside the pool in the grounds of his mansion. And he thought: This is my son, Cesare Borgia, riding in triumph through the streets of Rome with the whole world as far as the French Court listening to tales of his exploits and success.
It was only a couple of nights ago that Alexander had, himself, stuck his prick up his daughter's cunt and fucked and fucked her until they had both been paralyzed with inertia?and Cesare had, indirectly, shared in that. It was with him, under the Pope's guidance, that the young girl had lost her virginity and started on that path which made her such a bone-shaking joy to men.
