sag of her breasts, low down on his chest and the bush of hair around her cunt. The fat thighs were hot and met his like bastions.
“Kiss me?and then beat me until I scream,” she said fiercely.
He kissed her and she held his prick, squeezing it gently so that he felt the blood running into and expanding it. He was surprisingly excited. It occurred to him that she'd be the oldest woman he'd ever fucked.
She dragged him to the bed, pushed him down, flung off her gown and threw herself face down, sinking into its soft depth. For a moment he gazed at the fat, flabby buttocks which quivered like jelly, so fleshy were they. He glimpsed her breasts, large and hanging down toward her waist. There were rolls of fat at her waist and lines across her thighs. He could see the fringe of a tuft of black hair protruding between her buttocks.
Well, she should have her money's worth. He'd make fine play with that fat, soft body.
He knelt beside her on the bed, holding her down in the small of the back with one hand. He brought his other sharply down across her buttocks, feeling it sink, stingingly into the flesh, leaving a red and white mark as he lifted it again. She winced and muffled her gasp in the bed. Her buttocks quivered with that jelly-like helplessness and she winced with her whole body.
He raised his hand again and smacked it down in the wake of the first blow. Again she smothered her gasp in the sheets. Again and again he brought down his hand, until she was writhing and squirming and her buttocks were fiery red. Sometimes he stopped, thinking from her stifled scream that she'd had enough, but then she'd raised her smarting bottom up toward him to indicate that she needed yet more.
When her rump was glowing in a single smoldering flush, he took hold of the cane, swished it once in the air and then brought it down with half-force across her backside. It made a single deeper weal across the blush of her puddings. She cried out, made as if to escape, and then pushed her loins hard into the bed, remaining where she was.
Cesare held her firmly with his left hand and brought the cane down with all his force. This time she shrieked with pain and the weal came up immediately, bruised and angry-looking. Three more times, holding her fast as she squirmed and struggled and screamed with the pain, he lashed the flickering stick down across her fat behind and then she cried out in a loud voice.
“Screw me now! Stuff me up, quickly?oh now!”
He pulled her up onto her knees and slipped between them. His prick was stretching and in excitement, invigorated by the thrashing he'd subjected her to. He eased back, directed his organ and surged forward into her, pushing the walls of her vagina aside like earth under a pick.
She quivered and screamed. And he caught those tender buttocks in his hands and began to punish her with his prick, ramming in and in with strong, rough thrusts which jerked her forward on her face every time he reached the extremity of her passage.
She cried out again and again and at last she was laughing and sobbing with joy at the same time. He wondered through his teeth-gritting labor how long it was since she'd had a young man's prick up her cranny.
Every time he jabbed it in a long, breath-sucking stroke, the friction of his loins against her fat pink behind set off her buttocks wobbling furiously. He separated them in rolls of fat and plunged his fingers between their great curves. He pulled on the tuft of black hair he found, making her shriek with ecstacy and skewer her unsupple body against him.
He reached right under her with his other hand and felt through the sticky juices which were beginning to flow. Her clitoris was as hard as a nut, and big, too. He pinched it, hurting her and then held her fat wobbling belly in handfuls, feeling it heave and jump under the emotional and physical turmoil through which she was passing.
“Oh, oh,” he heard her cry. “I can't… can't bear… it.”
He slashed her buttocks with his hands, making them roll and squirm and drubbed her harder and harder, pulling his lips back from his teeth in the bone-splitting fury of it.
He could hardly feel anything now, just a light slippery stroke as he thrust in and up. Only at the very end was there sharp sensation for him. But she was racing to a climax. A climax, it seemed, such as could hardly be imagined.
He had difficulty in holding her upright on the bed. She seemed to have lost all control, was emitting lost, soul-rending cries, which made him realize why she'd dismissed the servants, and was swaying and pitching on the end of his penis like a wild young horse.
Of a sudden she shrieked out:
“Oh, love, love?uuuuuuuugh!”
And her body seemed to petrify in a tense pushing orgasm and even Cesare could feel the added warmth surround his prick. Having controlled himself to some extent to the point where he was waiting for her to be satisfied, he now let himself go and within seconds was discharging his venom into her wide, vanquished quim and subsiding over her gross behind, which gradually lost its quiver as she calmed.
On the way to the tavern with one of the woman's servants who carried a message from her to the master of one of her ships, Cesare was waylaid by one of the Count's men.
“Quick, Sire, off the road.”
The man took hold of him by the arm and dragged him into a doorway while the servant stood uncertainly, watching them in astonishment.
“What's up?” Cesare demanded. “Quick man?I've got a boat.”
“Too late, Sire. Someone's talked out and the King's men are scouring the town. They have the port under close surveillance. It would be impossible to get through.”
Cesare cursed furiously. He could hardly believe in such shocking luck.
“I'd like to get my hands on that old dog!” he snarled.
“Sire, our horses have been brought to a stable a little way from here. The men are waiting. Your only chance is to ride for the frontier as you foresaw.”
Cesare lost no further time with his fury. He dismissed the servant, telling him to say to his mistress that circumstances had arisen which made the passage unnecessary but that he considered himself, taking everything into account, not to be at such a great loss.
He smiled grimly as they ran through the streets toward the stables. The experience had been more amusing than he'd expected and she'd practically abased herself before him on his departure, even offering him a permanent pension if he'd stay in the region and visit her no more than once a fortnight. He had been forced to explain the urgency of his leaving this part of the world.
In the stables the horses were ready, champing at the bit, and they made no secret of their departure as they clattered full pelt through the streets toward the open country. For once it was more haste, more speed.
CHAPTER 23
So it was to Navarre that Cesare managed at last to escape from Spain, to the court of his brother-in-law, King Jean. His arrival threw the kingdom into confusion and as far off as the Vatican, hearts were quaking at news of his escape.
He was given asylum and every attention and wrote to the King of France offering his services in any capacity which would provide him with an army in the service of Louis.
After some weeks he received the cool communication that as he had for a period joined the camp of Gonzalo de Cordoba he could no longer be considered a friend of France. Just that and no more. A bitter pill, which retarded, it seemed, indefinitely his hopes of reconquest of his former territories in Italy.
Cesare champed and chafed and wrote to friends and his sister to seek intelligence of the situation in his homeland. He wanted action and instead he had to remain, tucked away in Navarre eating fruit and drinking wine all day long while he listened to interminable lute-playing.
It was at this time that trouble grew in the teacup of Navarre, a small storm in which Cesare would have taken not the slightest interest had accident of circumstance not held him in the country at the time?a gratuitous, irrelevant involvement which, it seemed, by some prank of destiny, making a mockery of man's aims and ambitions,
