The Venetian Series 02: When the Snow Comes Down in Venice

Bedrich felt the fireplace exuding a pervasive warmth that glided over his skin. He lay on the plush rug nearby, feeling its whorled tufts caressing his legs, ass and back. He saw nothing, because of the blindfold he wore, but he was experiencing a feast of tactile sensations. He was particularly pleased by what he believed to be Michela's breasts, rubbing against his inner thighs, his balls, and his cock. He arched his back, felt his erect cock bobbing in the air, then felt it engulfed by an eager wet mouth.

Bedrich was excited, desperately so, and he yearned to cum, but Michela was not permitting it. Instead, he felt some fragile, prickly instrument tracing random paths up and down his legs and torso. He strained his hips upward, waving his cock in the air impatiently. This seemed to evoke some compassion from Michela, because he now could feel her body moving against his, and suddenly, from a place very near his face, Bedrich detected the unmistakable smell of her aroused cunt. He groaned, silently praying for it to come closer. His prayers were granted as he felt her sopping labia brush against his mouth.

He reached blindly for her and caught her hips in his hands, pulling her close so that he could feed on her juices. He heard her cries and knew that the teasing game was over. Now it was time to satisfy the hunger. He felt her body shift again, her cunt pressed hard against his face, and he moaned in delight as her mouth swallowed his engorged shaft. He wrapped his arms around her, moved his hips in rapture, and the two of them rapidly sucked each other to climax.

Afterward they lay there together in Michela's chambers, Bedrich with his eyes still covered, and he thought of how many times she must have played this game with other men. He accepted it; it was who she was. She didn't play favorites. But then the thought crossed his mind that, somewhere along the line, she must have shared her body with Till Acquati. What should he think of that? He didn't know.

At length he removed the blindfold and gazed approvingly at her shaved cunt, which was the color of hibiscus and only inches from his face. He gave it a slow, affectionate lick. Then he turned himself around so that he might look into her eyes.

"I think I will change my mind about the Discoteca Sotterranea," he said softly.

"Change your mind, how?"

"I would like to go there with you."

Michela smiled sardonically. "You want to become more kinky? This is not enough for you now?"

Bedrich returned her smile. "No, this is all I need." He kissed her gently. "I will go to the Discoteca to get information. If I go there alone, I won't get it."

"If you go there alone, you won't get inside."

"Yes."

Michela paused.

"Who will you ask about, Bedrich?"

He replied, "Heather O'Shaughnessy," and hoped the answer would be enough. It wasn't.

Michela sighed. "You are looking for information about Till."

"it's possible."

She sighed again. "If he killed her, he should pay."

Bedrich had dressed elegantly in black, per Michela's instructions. The muscular man at the door studied him, his face expressionless. Then Michela emerged from behind him, and the man's face lit up in recognition.

"He's my friend," said Michela.

"Benvenuti," said the man.

He directed them to a desk just inside the door where they signed papers in which they agreed to the club's rules. Then they continued into the club. Some kind of electronic trance music was playing discreetly in the background, and well-dressed people were milling around. There were attendants stationed around the room, attractive young women wearing designer suits. There were also some large, anonymous-looking men who were clearly on staff as well, detectable to Bedrich's practiced eye. The lighting was dim, except in two corners of the room, where there were people on display. In those corners, there was stage lighting. There was a naked woman in each corner, elaborately bound with ropes to frames made of wood and steel.

In one corner, a girl with artificially red hair dangled in a web of rope from a crane-like device. She was blindfolded and trussed with her belly toward the ground. The girl was attended by a severe-looking woman in a corset, who invited members of the audience to come and grope her. Michela hurried to join the group. She crouched below the dangling girl and began to suck her nipples, as others fingered her pussy and ass, and yet another man put his cock in her mouth.

Her counterpart in the other corner was raven-haired and tightly attached to a wooden scaffold. A man in medieval garb, wearing a leather mask, had placed a large, industrial-looking vibrator on a stand so that it stayed relentlessly in contact with her pussy. Now he was wielding a device which administered electric shocks to various parts of her body. Each application of the device caused a shower of sparks to fly, to the delight of the crowd, which broke into vigorous applause. The woman cried out in pain each time, but arched her body toward the wand as if to invite more of it.

Bedrich was more interested in the onlookers themselves. Although for some years he had been retired from the business of being a private operative, his professional reflexes were still functioning. He took note of the large number of customers who were members of the Venetian elite, either by virtue of being titled aristocrats, or prominent persons in the financial world. He also noted that the upper echelon of these Venetian VIPs were bypassing the displays and proceeding directly to a staircase that led to another floor. At the bottom of the staircase there was a rather vigorous-looking young man who gave his tacit approval to each party who wished to ascend the staircase.

Bedrich was considering his options. It seemed unlikely that any of these people would be inclined to assist him in his investigation. In fact, it was only a matter of time before he was recognized by one or more of these upper-crust Venetians, and made to feel unwelcome. He decided that he had nothing to lose by conducting a little experiment and bringing matters to a head. He walked directly to the young man at the bottom of the staircase.

"Buona Sera, is there something interesting upstairs tonight?"

The fellow did not meet his eyes. Bedrich could see him shift his weight to the balls of his feet. The fellow was prepared to fight him if he attempted to move upstairs.

Bedrich continued in a friendly, casual manner, "This is my first time here. I'm not familiar with the rules."

At this point, he felt someone tapping on his shoulder from behind. This surprised him; he was trained to be aware of someone approaching. He turned and recognized a man whom he knew as "Stefano." They were known to each other, because they had both been in the same line of work.

"Ciao, Bedrich. Long time, no see."

"Ciao, Stefano. Have you come here to watch the show?"

Stefano chuckled. "No, I come here to work. I am the manager here." He smiled wryly and added, "I'm called the head dungeon master. Maybe you have also come here to work?"

"I don't work anymore. I'm retired."

"Bedrich, people like us do not retire."

Bedrich laughed. "I am trying my best to do it!"

"Come, Bedrich, let's talk in my office. There are fewer distractions there."

Bedrich accompanied Stefano and another large, silent fellow who had materialized out of nowhere. They went down a well-lit corridor and into a small office, where Stefano sat behind a mahogany desk and gestured to the armchair which faced it. Bedrich seated himself. The silent fellow remained standing.

"So, Bedrich," Stefano began, "there will be people here who know you. It may make them uncomfortable, because some of what goes on here is very, shall we say, personal."

"I thought I had a reputation for being discreet."

"You have a reputation for finding things out for the one who pays you. Who is paying you to come here tonight?"

"No one, and that's the truth. I am working on something for myself."

"So you admit you are working on something."

"I do."

"What do you want to know?"

Bedrich knew that this was the moment when the cards would be put on the table. He also knew that Stefano had no reason to help him. He would learn what he could.

"Stefano, were you working here on October 31?"

"Halloween? Yes, I was. Why do you want to know?"

Bedrich reached into his breast pocket and withdrew photos of Acquati and Heather O'Shaughnessy. He laid them on the desk in front of Stefano. Stefano affected to study them, and Bedrich summoned up all his tradecraft to study Stefano.

Stefano pushed the photos back toward Bedrich, and shrugged his shoulders. In doing so, he gave himself away. Bedrich saw that the shrug was slightly lop-sided -- feigned. A genuine, spontaneous shrug, in Bedrich's experience, is symmetrical. Stefano knew something, and didn't want to reveal it. Just how much good would that do the investigation?

"One more question, if I may?" said Bedrich.

"Go ahead," replied Stefano.

"What goes on in the upstairs room?"

"No one asks that question here," said Stefano with an air of finality.

Bedrich bowed politely, and allowed Stefano to escort him out. Along the way they collected Michela, who was paying rapt attention as the medieval gent slowly fucked the tightly bound raven-haired woman with an enormous dildo. There was an array of clothespins along her body, pinching her flesh. Michela departed the scene with great reluctance. She and Stefano greeted each other like old friends.

Helmut was in his fifth hour now, glued to a chair in his hotel room, surrounded by his laptop and encryption devices. He was systematically reviewing the financial regulations in every country where Acquati did business. In North America and Europe, the regulations had been mostly decimated since the 90s, and had very little teeth. But there were some exceptions. If Helmut could match them up with some of Acquati's more arcane transactions, there might be a chance.

But now, Helmut was ready to shut down. He looked at his watch, noted the time with satisfaction, and began to switch off his devices. Fifteen minutes later he rode the elevator down, stepped out on the street and headed for Rodica's apartment. It was beginning to snow again.

For six months Rodica had been visiting the museum at the Doge's Palace several times a week. She would station herself with her easel and paints before "The Punishment of the Forger" by Paolo Veronese, and work on copying it. She stood before her copy now, in her studio adjacent to her bedroom, and wondered whether it was finished at last.

It had been a little over a month earlier that she was in the museum working on it, and Helmut had introduced himself and complimented her on her work. It was good that he had a background in art, and funny that he became a policeman. But it didn't matter -- whatever he was, it worked for her. And they had had the most wonderful sex! With Helmut, she didn't have to worry about scaring him off by being too demanding or aggressive. She didn't have to play the coquette or be a shrinking violet.

He would be arriving soon, and they would make love. Rodica was getting all heated up, thinking about things that they might do together. Her nipples were standing at attention, demanding to be touched. She hiked her sweater up over brassiere and removed it, then stood before the mirror and admired how wanton she looked with her bosom jutting out and her sweater bunched up over the top of it. Her fingers found her nipples and went to work on them, pinching, pulling, twisting.

Rodica could feel her panties getting wet, and she thought to look at her watch. Helmut would be there any second. No need to get dressed again, she thought with a grin, he'll like me better looking like this.

She made her way downstairs and sat in an armchair facing the front door. On second thought, she got up again for a moment and peered through the window, and saw that Helmut was walking toward her door. On impulse, she quickly unlocked it, and returned to her seat. She splayed her legs over the arms of the chair and pulled her skirt up around her waist. He would see how wet her panties were, and he would love it.

When she heard the knock on the door, Rodica called out, "It is unlocked." The door opened, and Helmut entered. For just a second, he let his eyes adjust to the light, then he looked at Rodica. She stretched her body and arched her back, thrust her tits out, and lay her hand provocatively upon her panties, which by now were saturated with her juices.

A grin spread slowly across Helmut's face, as he took stock of Rodica's disordered apparel and her obvious arousal. He bent down to remove his boots and his socks. Then he stepped closer to her and ran his fingers over the front of his slacks, pressing against the fabric to reveal the outline of his erect cock. Rodica's face showed intense interest, and she said softly, "Show me more, Helmut."

Helmut pulled his trousers down, allowing his cock to spring free. Rodica felt a wild joy to see it, to see how big it was, how very hard it was. She hoped he would stroke it, and he did. He wrapped his hand around the shaft and stepped closer to her, brandishing it at her face, as he began to move his hand slowly up and down the length of his cock.

"Look, Helmut," Rodica said, as she pushed the fabric of her panties deep into her cunt. She pulled her fingers out and the fabric followed, silvery with her thick cunt juices.

Helmut stroked his cock faster. He gasped, "Rodica... I need your panties on my face."

Rodica gave a little cry, rose from her chair, and wriggled out her panties. She held them up so that he could see how wet they were, then parted her thighs and wiped them along her gaping pussy, making them wetter still. Then she reached forward and began to rub them voluptuously all over Helmut's face.

"O god, Rodica, that's so good," groaned Helmut. His hand was moving fast now, just a blur as he frantically stroked his cock. Maybe he'll cum, thought Rodica. I would love for him to cum.

Helmut took Rodica's panties from her and pushed the crotch into his mouth, sucking the juices from it. She dropped back into her chair and pulled it close to him as he bucked his hips and stroked his cock harder, just inches from her face.

"Helmut," she said urgently, "will you cum for me?"

He blurted out, "Yes!" and then began to ejaculate, his semen hitting her face and breasts. Rodica fell forward on to her knees and pulled him to her, swallowing his cock and feeling him continue to spurt into her mouth. She felt excited and happy, and she knew that they would do this again and again throughout the night.

After a moment, Helmut sat down next to her, catching his breath. Rodica embraced him and placed her hand possessively upon his softening cock.

"Helmut, you are tasting so good," she whispered.

"Oh my god," he replied. He softly caressed the side of her face and said, "Give me just a minute, and then we can go upstairs. I want to see how you taste tonight, Rodica."

She smiled brightly, and got up to make him a drink. She returned and gave it to him. After sampling it, he said, "This is delicious. What is it?"

"It is called a Bellini. Prosecco and white peach purée."

"It's very refreshing." He paused and sighed. "I've been on the computer since this morning."

Rodica asked, "Are you chasing Mr. Acquati?"

"Yes."

"Is your work going well?"

Helmut replied, "Yes, I think it is."

Fresh snow had fallen during the night, and the temperature had dropped further. Later, people would say that there had never before been a winter like this in Venice. Bedrich emerged from his apartment building and looked up at the sky, which was overcast but bright. The clouds seemed high and the world was crisp and sharply defined.

Bedrich was warmly dressed in a camel wool overcoat and scarf. He was protected from the cold, and yet he hurried along, stimulated by the intense gray light and the way it brought everything into focus. He left the first footsteps of the day upon the snow in the Calle Canonico, and was entering the Piazza San Marco, when he was joined by three other men, who emerged from doorways and converged upon him. One of them was Till Acquati. Bedrich recognized Acquati's regular bodyguard as well. The other man was unknown to him.

Bedrich had not expected Acquati to react so soon after his visit to the Discoteca. He thought for a moment that he ought to be flattered. Even at Bedrich's advanced age, Acquati apparently thought that the bodyguard would still need assistance to subdue him. But then he turned his attention to Acquati, who was about to speak.

"Good morning, Bedrich. It's been a while."

"It has at that."

"I must apologize for not speaking to you earlier. I gather that you made yourself comfortable here in Venice, over time."

"It did take a while."

"Take a walk with me around the square, Bedrich. We have some catching up to do."

It did not seem to Bedrich that he had much choice in the matter. He fell into step beside Acquati as they marched through the crisp, dry snow, beginning a large circuit around the Piazza. The two silent muscle-men took up the rear.

Acquati continued. "I know that you were very disappointed in the way your... transition took place. Sometimes, Bedrich, a man in my position must be guided by long term interests, which may override my more sentimental impulses. Your fellow communists, Bedrich, the ones who were running the show in your country, they were some of the best capitalists I have met. I did a lot of business with them. I couldn't risk doing something that might offend them."

Bedrich continued to walk in silence.

"I know that the loss of your family must have been very difficult. But you are a sturdy fellow, Bedrich, and you have survived it and prospered."

For a moment, Bedrich lost control and glared at him, but he did not speak. What he was feeling did not need to be explained.

"Lately, you have taken an interest in my activities."

"You have always been a very interesting person," replied Bedrich, trying to go light on the irony. At the same time, he was fumbling for his cell phone in his coat pocket. Could he find the button to record the conversation? He cursed silently to himself, wishing that he had taken more of an interest in these electronic devices.

"You think I killed Heather in order to cause a certain effect in the management of HighPacific."

Bedrich started at this, despite himself. This did not escape the attention of Acquati, who permitted himself a hint of a smile, and remarked: "What, you think you're the only person who has sources of information?"

Bedrich groped for his phone and pushed something -- he prayed it was a button to record. Then he composed himself and looked at Acquati. "You're going to tell me you didn't kill her."

"Oh, I killed her all right. But not for money." He paused significantly. "For love."

This, too, came as a shock, but Bedrich managed not to betray his feelings. "You are full of surprises, Mr. Acquati."

"Do you think I need more money?"

"No, but it doesn't mean you don't want it."

"But I don't. Or rather, I don't care one way or the other. Sometimes the finance world is a game I like to win. But not this time." Acquati made an almost imperceptible gesture, and the two muscle-men fell back a few paces.

Acquati continued. "What Heather and I had was something most people never dream of. A passion of the purest and most potent sort."

Bedrich suppressed an urge to speak. Clearly, Acquati was going to tell his story his way.