“You can, and you will, my barbaric little bitch,” he growled at her. Two more blows followed. “Now on your knees, and service me!”
The Moorish slave girl fell upon her hands and knees. Her bottom was burning from the beating he had inflicted on her with his leather strap. She elevated her buttocks and waited for him to plunge himself into her. He did not disappoint, for once aroused he was a most satisfactory lover. The thick, lengthy peg of hot, smooth flesh probed deeply, and she enjoyed a surge of pleasure before remembering her duties. “Oh yes, master!” she cried to him. “Your weapon is mighty, mightier than any I have known before you. Do not send me away when you take your new bride. I live but to pleasure you, my lord!” She squeezed him with the well-trained muscles of her sheath.
His fingers dug into her scalp, and grasping a handful of her long hair he yanked her head back, demanding, “Who told you I was to wed, bitch?”
“The household is filled with gossip, my lord. If I spoke out of turn I beg your forgiveness,” the Moorish slave girl whimpered.
Releasing his hold on her hair, his two hands gripped her hips. “I have no intention of sending you away, Nudara,” he assured her. “You will soon have other duties, my pet. You will teach the little virgin I am marrying how to please me.” Sebastiano Rovere laughed darkly. Then he concentrated on pleasuring himself with his slave girl, fucking her hard and deep until his lust exploded in an unusually fierce burst of excess that left him—as well as a surprised Nudara—extremely satisfied.
Afterwards, as the slave curled herself into her master’s lap, Nudara spoke daringly. “It is said she is the most beautiful girl in all of Florence, my lord. Is she?”
“I have no idea,” he responded. “I have never laid eyes on the wench. I want, I need, a blood tie with her family. Marriage is the most powerful bond I can make. The girl is ready for marriage. She has begun to walk out with her mother, and in the process has attracted a number of admirers. Before one of them soils her, I will have her.”
“A virgin of unimpeachable lineage will be worthy of you, my lord,” Nudara said.
“Aye, she will,” he responded.
Nudara began to caress him, her skillful fingers slipping beneath his robe to stroke him. “Take me again, my lord. Think of the girl’s beautiful, silken, smooth, ivory flesh beneath your hands; her hitherto untouched breasts, their little nipples puckering with your kisses; her plump thighs opening for you, and you alone,” the slave girl purred in her master’s ear. Then she licked it, blew softly, and feeling his new arousal beneath her buttocks, she quickly mounted him, her back to him, drawing his hands around to her large, full breasts.
He grasped them, half panting, half moaning in her ear as he began once more to piston her. The images she had raised in his mind with her words had surprisingly aroused him. Was it possible that a new young wife would restore his vigor? Untouched flesh. He licked his lips as he strongly fucked Nudara. The Pietro d’Angelos would have kept the girl pure. He would be the first man to touch her. He would be the only man to touch her. She would be fearful that first night, and he would see she was. The thought of her fear was, in itself, arousing. He fucked Nudara harder, enjoying her moan of surprise at his renewed potency. He suddenly felt as if he could go on like this with her all night.
But of course he couldn’t. He was expected shortly at the silk merchant’s house to be formally introduced to his bride-to-be. He would want to bathe before he went, and dress in his finest robe so that the little virgin would be truly impressed by his magnificence. Let her begin to understand the honor being done to her, to her family. While the blood tie was a matter of safety for him, it was a great honor for the silk merchant and his kinsman to be allied with the Rovere family.
Releasing his lust a second time, he pushed Nudara from his lap. “Enough, you greedy little bitch,” he grumbled at her. “I will be too weak to go to my appointment.”
Turning, she smiled at him. “I have pleased you today, my lord, and I am glad.”
He said nothing more to her but shouted for his body servant, Guido, to attend him. The man came quickly, not wanting to cause his master’s good mood to fade.
“Your bath is ready, my lord,” he said leading the way to the special chamber that was set aside for bathing in the Roveres’ palazzo. Not all houses, not even those of wealthy and important men, had such places set aside for just washing. It was much like a Turk’s home, but Sebastiano Rovere was a meticulous man in all his habits.
“What do you propose I wear to meet myfidanzatafor the first time, Guido?” he asked his servant as the man took the garment he had been wearing and handed it to another servant for disposal.
“I would suggest that new, rich brown velvet robe you recently ordered,” Guido said. “It is trimmed with gold on the sleeves and neckline. The sleeves are also trimmed, as is the hem of the robe, in a pale, gold-brown fur. It is both elegant and impressive, master. An innocent maiden would be dazzled by a man who came before her thus garbed. Actually, any woman would be.”
“Yesss,” Sebastiano Rovere murmured slowly in reply, picturing the garment and then seeing himself in it. “An excellent suggestion, Guido. Go and get it out while I am bathed. It will also do honor to her family if I am so grandly dressed, which should please the silk merchant and his wife. I am told she is the daughter of Venetian nobility.”
“So it is said, master,” Guido agreed. Then bowing, he hurried off to prepare his master’s garments for this evening’s visit.
Sebastiano Rovere gave himself over to the ministrations of the servants whose duty it was to bathe him. His vanity assured they were female, three Greek slave girls who always admired his male form and made complimentary remarks about his body. He knew that, despite his thirty-six years, he was in excellent physical shape, for he was usually careful in his diet, unlike most Florentine men, and he exercised, working with his fencing master several times a week.
His new wife would have no complaints about marrying a paunchy old man. And if she were like most gently raised females, she would have been taught that fucking had but one purpose. Procreation. Since he wanted no more children, he would leave her mostly in peace after their wedding night. He had Nudara to serve his darker needs. And he had a beautiful and very expensive mistress who was paid lavishly to take no other lovers while she was under his protection. He was envied for his mistress, which pleased Sebastiano Rovere quite well. Now he would possess the most beautiful girl in all of Florence, and would be doubly envied.
Having Bianca Pietro d’Angelo for his wife would add to his status as an important man. Her father was head of his guild, and as such served in the government from time to time, like all important men. But Sebastiano Rovere wanted one day to attain the elected position of chancellor. Rovere might not know it yet, but Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo was going to help him gain that post eventually.
The slaves bathed him, washing his hair as well. They massaged his body with sandalwood oil. He left the bath, but not before pinching the buttocks and nipples of the slave girls, who giggled and made lascivious gestures at him, which caused him to laugh. His mood was buoyed even further when he saw himself in the fine new robe in which Guido dressed him. He was a handsome man, he had to admit to himself.
And even as Sebastiano Rovere prepared to meet Bianca Pietro d’Angelo, the girl was being dressed in a new gown of the finest rose-colored silk. The fabric molded itself to the line of her graceful young body before blossoming into a full skirt. The neckline was low-cut and square. The sleeves were full. The bodice of the gown was decorated with silver embroidery, and the sleeves edged in delicate silver lace. Her long dark hair was left loose but held back by a rose-and-silver-striped ribbon. Pale pink pearls set in silver hung from her ears. About her neck was a dainty rope of pink pearls from which hung a silver and gold crucifix.
“I’ve never had such a gown,” Bianca marveled.
“The color suits you,” Francesca said ruefully. “It wouldn’t suit me at all.”
“You are many years away from such a gown as this,” their mother said. “Do not be in such a hurry to grow up, my daughter.”
“But if I can grow up quickly,” Francesca said, “I can marry that Venetian prince you were considering for Bianca before Signore Rovere asked for my sister. Our grandfather must be very disappointed to have that match stolen from beneath his very aristocratic nose.”
Orianna sighed. “You are too outspoken, Francesca,” she scolded. “And you must stop listening at doors. Do not deny it, for we both know it is the truth.”
