STORIES FROM THE DARKNESS: EPISODE 3 - VENICE
Mar 15, 2023
Episode 3:
What happened so far:
Episode 2.
Seven weeks had passed. I had heard nothing from Ekaterina and had no way of reaching this stunning woman, because in Paris she had left so suddenly after our adventure in the park that I no longer had any way of asking for her number, and in the dating app her profile had disappeared. So I had to content myself with whining to my best friend over a beer or two or five about what a heavenly woman I had lost.
Then one Friday, I was in Villach, Austria, for a report on links between a right-wing party and Russian oligarchs, when an unknown number wrote to me from Italy. "If you still want breakfast in bed, visit me in Venice today. The train leaves from Villach main station at 19:29, I'll be waiting for you at midnight on the bridge in front of Santa Lucia station. -E". Again, she had managed to get the E colored red. How the hell did she change the color of a letter in a text message? Then I realized that the bigger mystery was how she knew I was in Villach. I glanced at the clock. It was 5:43 p.m. I would make it to the train station, but I had an appointment in the evening with a local councilor who wanted to give me crucial information "under two" (which was German journalism talk, meaning: the information was quotable, but the source had to be anonymous). I counted on the facts, the politician would provide. One thought of Ekaterina's amber eyes and the local politician had his signal message asking for a postponement until Monday. So I spontaneously went to Venice.
Once there, I left the Santa Lucia station. It was midnight, the train was exceptionally on time. My gaze roamed over the hustle and bustle of the station forecourt, on the left was a café, in front of me the moorings of the bus boats of the Grand Canal. The salty sea air immediately exuded relaxation and vacation. Despite the late hour, the seagulls were holding a concert. I looked around and headed for the first pedestrian bridge I could glimpse. Halfway across the Ponte della Costituzione, I caught sight of her. She was leaning on the railing - apparently - lost in thought, looking out at the canal reflecting the moonlight of the full moon. She was facing away from me, which gave me the opportunity to examine her stunning body, which I must confess I did at length. The long legs with the unusual birthmarks were uncovered, only just above the buttocks began her very revealing dress, whose silvery material reflected the moonlight here and there. Her feet were once again in sky-high high heels which were thin like a rapier. The hair, her black bob, was unchanged. "There you are," she said, turning around in her heels with far too much style despite the cobblestones, hypnotizing me with her beautiful eyes. I had been sitting on the train for four and a half hours just to look into those eyes. In me burned only one thought: to kiss her stormy on this bridge in the city of love, while in the background the full moon shone. I did that and she let it happen willingly. Even when my hand began, as if automatically, to caress her buttock in the meantime.
"I'm glad you're here," she attested. "I suggest we take advantage of the balmy night for a walk, eat some italian gelatti, and then go to my place." I just nodded. We set off through the maze of Venice's alleys and bridges, me having fun kissing her passionately in the middle of each bridge. I tried again in playful small talk to find out who she actually was, what she did, and how she knew so much about me. She has to be a secret agent, I just thought to myself and wondered what role I played in her game.
"You were going to tell me your story," I began. "Yes, and you will write it down for me" she said confidently. "We'll see about that" I said. "Suddenly I saw fear in her gaze, "No, please, you have to!" she said. Nervousness had brought back her cute Russian accent. Her voice was shrill. "Ekaterina, you are the most stunning woman I have ever met, but even if I wanted to, not only is my reputation at stake, I also have various superiors such as the chief of staff, editorial director, publishing director, etc., who have to sign off on the story, and it also has to fit the editorial policy. It's not so easy to get a story into a newspaper." Ekaterina looked disappointed. "At least swear you'll try. Really!" she said, looking me in the eye without blinking. "Sweetie, if the story is good, we can keep talking, but I'm not buying a pig in a poke," I said. "Yes, please, you have to promise me you'll do everything you can to get it published," she pleaded. "You have to promise me now!" she seemed at that moment like a teenage girl begging her parents to let her go to a punk concert. "Why should I promise you a story in advance? That's completely crazy and nonprofressional from my perspective and that's not how this business works.", "I know how it works, Lutz. But in this case, you have to trust me and promise because the story is so unbelievable that if you don't, you'll just turn around and leave. I'll tell it to you and you'll publish it, right?", "No, babe," "Okay," she said. If you just promise to listen, if you promise to meet with me one or two more times until I tell you the story all the way to the end, then I'll let you do whatever you want with me tonight," "That's crazy, you're into it anyway, you little bitch," I said, but in a joking tone. "Yeah, that may be. But you're so into playing games with me that you skipped your other extremely boring story with the provincial politician (how did she know all that?) just to see me, or maybe just my ass," she said very confidently. And she was right. "Okay, I'll listen to you. And then I get to do everything to you, right?", "Well, nothing that will leave permanent damage, okay?", "Yeah right, I'm not that much of a psycho either," I replied. "Good, then our deal stands."
We went on, ate some ice cream, and she began her narrative. "You must know," she said, "that beneath the world as you know it, there is another. A world in hiding that very few people know about," she looked at me appraisingly. "Okay?", I said. "Well, in this world there are different parties, secret societies, so to speak, power struggles that-" I interrupted her. "Is it about organized crime? Mafia? Human trafficking?", "No, no, not la familia, or yes, but not the ones you know. I'm talking about a secret war, powerful houses, orders, organizations and immortal bloodlines that are in constant competition for dominance on this planet." That sounded nauseatingly like conspiracy-theory lunacy, I feared. For that I might as well have stayed in Carinthia. But I decided to show her how professional I was and remained serious. I wanted to listen to her and - no matter how unreasonable what she would say was - I would take her seriously during the conversation. Because that, to me, was good journalism. She looked at me, spreading her arms as if she were carrying something heavy in front of her chest to show how big the conflict she was talking about was. The movement caused her breasts to slide to the side and out of her dress by a hair. She was obviously not wearing a bra. And even though her gesture, which almost revealed her flawless breasts, seemed random and naïve, I was pretty sure that this was exactly where she wanted my thoughts. "What is the war about and who are the parties," I asked professionally. "Well," she looked away for a moment as if doubting whether she should really say the following sentence, "on the one hand there is the Church and the Knights Templar, on the other hand there are several families who call themselves Houses or Clans. I know of half a dozen.", "and these clans, they are families? Like the Gomorrah?", "No, different. Ancient bloodlines. Children of Cain and Lilith. Vampires, demons, and other creatures of the night," she said. "Tough stuff," I thought. Images rose in my mind of lightly clad women in belly dance costumes and little chainmail bikinis fighting gritty muscular bare-chested warriors in distant desert cities. "Could it be that you watch too many fantasy movies?", I asked with a smirk. "Why?" she replied seriously. "Whatever you're imagining right now, I can't help the images in your head."
We arrived in the early morning hours at a beautifully furnished old apartment in a palazzo on the Grand Canal. "Yours?" she replied in the negative: "No, unfortunately not, the apartment of an old acquaintance. He's only here three or four days a year. I almost always get to stay here when I'm in Venice." I looked around curiously and finally sat down expectantly on a noble chair. "Honestly, I don't regret coming to see you, but to move an enormously important source of my report for some nonsense? I think you must be kidding me. Don't take me for a fool. On your knees, it's time you held up your end of the bargain!", I commanded. She sank to her knees. I grabbed her by the hair, led her to one of the huge windows behind which the nighttime Grand Canal shimmered, pressed the back of her head against the glass, took out my penis, and began fucking her mouth as I watched smaller boats bustle on the waves in the early morning hours. Eventually, I discharged into her mouth.
"That's it?" asked Ekaterina, wiping the corner of her mouth with her index finger and her perfectly manicured nail. "You get to do whatever you want to me, and you decide to face-fuck me in front of the Grand Canal? I would have thought you'd be a little more creative." This triggered me enormously. "You know what? You're right," I said. Stay where you are but bend down as far as you can." She got down on her knees. "No, stand up, stretch your legs, just your torso down!" I looked around. A skull on a little table? Creepy. Picture frames, a lamp, a classy wine bottle.
I took the bottle in one hand as I began to finger her, who was bent forward, presenting her exposed crotch to me. When I noticed that she was getting wet, I gently but firmly began to rub the neck of the wine bottle against her labia and gently penetrated her. She moaned softly. The bottle was now well moistened. I had been waiting for this, because now I began to carefully push the bottle into her ass. Further and further until the full diameter of the bottle spread her anus. She clenched her teeth and pressed her eyelids tightly shut, but let everything happen to her. A part of me was plagued by a guilty conscience, that wasn't me, was it? Another part enjoyed the situation, let herself fall in the frenzy of what was happening, surrendered to the hustle and bustle and pushed her the bottle first slowly and then faster and faster in and out, until I myself had a powerful hard-on again. I pulled the bottle out of her buttocks, pulled her up, grabbed her by the neck and maneuvered her - stumbling along on her high heels - to the large armchair. I settled down and ordered her to mount. She mounted and rode me, we kissed wildly as she did so, she rubbed her pelvis on me, controlling the beat. She came, I came again.
Finally, we fell into the spacious bed, dead tired. Remorse overcame me. What had I done again? I whispered an apology in her ear. "I'm not like that. I don't know how you jinx me into going so crazy when we make love.", she lay in my arm, stroking my cheek with her finger, and finally said, "Yes, you are exactly like that. Deep down inside of you. I don't do anything to you at all. But I'm letting you do it. That's what reveals you." She looked me in the eye. "But it's okay, if I didn't enjoy it, I wouldn't let you, and believe me, you'd get that."
We fell asleep.
Tbc.
Metatalk: I'm all excited after writing this because I just get incredible pleasure from writing this nonsense. I'm not trying to depict sex realistically here. I've enough of realistic sex in my life, fortunately. This story here is also not a dream full of unfulfilled fetishes. I don't want to put a bottle in anyone's butt, and I don't want to treat anyone the way Lutz treats our heroine. This story is the joy of the outrageous, like a fin de ciecle novella in a way. Not an attempt to depict reality, much more a pornographic fairy tale or pornographic gothic novella set in the present. I'm also about playing with breaking taboos with my own real values. I'm having enormous fun writing and rendering it, I hope some of you like it too. As always: In reality, people talk about sex, decide beforehand what is allowed and what is not, communicate, laugh, embarrass themselves sometimes, have fun, get scared, they come - or they come not -, yes, there are even people who have fallen asleep during the process. And yes, sometimes it's not even that cool or you don't feel like it. That can happen too. Whatever, communication is the key. Fuck responsibly, be nice to each other Unless everyone agrees to not being nice.
