Later, after a glass or two of wine, from which his passion flamed again to meet hers, already kindled, they stood at the foot of the bed, embracing fiercely, brokenly.
They were both alive with the desire of at last joining as one. There was no necessity for preliminaries.
Her thighs were open against him as she clung around his neck. Her warm flesh rubbed up on him, catching his penis between the tops of her thighs, so that it reached right through, rubbing against the lips of her vagina.
Cesare caught her under her rump, holding a buttock in each hand, and lifted her off the floor. She put her arms firmly around his neck and brought her legs up on either side of him, hanging around him as he held her.
He moved to a table in one of the corners of the room. He sat her on its edge, reached under her upraised thighs with his hand and guided himself toward her vagina. He needed to bend his knees a little to get down, and when he straightened, his penis rushed in up to its hilt in one long movement.
“Oh-oh-oh-oh!” she cried out in a staccato chatter of gasps.
His knob felt the softness of flesh up at her cervix. The walls of her channel were tight but moistly prepared against the huge expansion of his desire-bloated organ.
Panting, he pulled her right onto the edge of the table and drove up into her with a pressure that came up from his toes and made his abdomen flop against her crotch. His hairs mingled wetly with hers.
She clung, gaspingly, to his neck, her breasts brushing against his chest, her hair swaying across her face, touching his. She bit his neck and moved her trembling lips around his face to fasten them on his, with her searching tongue flopping out in willing surrender into his mouth, keeping her eyes open for a moment and then closing them as his penis crushed up into her so hard that it brought a spasm of pain into the joy.
She groaned in an orgy of passion, her hanging, floating tongue in his mouth was a symbol of the way she gave herself for him to do as he wished, to hurt her, to give her pain, pleasure, ecstasy, to take her body, her life in his hands.
He slid his hands under her buttocks, so that they rested and flowed around his hands. He lifted her in ecstatic fury off the table and walked away around the room, jogging into her, feeling her rise and fall on him, the two of them working together to produce that white-heat which would blaze out and smother them both in the end of everything.
He flung her down on the bed, coming down heavily on top of her and she twisted in masochistic fury under him, swinging her legs up to her shoulders as if she wanted him to pierce her through, right up to her neck.
He straightened up from her, leaning at an angle, pulling her behind off the bed so that her hips were the highest point of her body. He crashed in and in and up and up, tearing her moist flesh with his great rifling cannon. “Oh, oh, darling!”
She gasped and the gasps became meaning, less words and then sometimes crude, filthy words which were pulled out of her in the effort to express what she felt and which couldn't be expressed.
He flopped onto her and bit her neck so hard that she screamed and a little perforation of the white skin exploded and drops of blood oozed through.
Her body was a live animal, active and straining. She opened her eyes one second, looking at him in a smoldering agony and then, closed them as if the upthrust of his great prick had forced her to do so from sheer weight of sensation.
Cesare could feel his climax approaching again. It was that much more agonizing the second time. It would be relief to unload his store of sperm. A relief that he didn't want to come because he wanted this agony to go on forever.
“Darling, darling,” she screamed. “Now, nearly, now, nearly…”
He felt her thighs squirming and wriggling, enclosing his hips in their heat. He felt her little belly brushing hotly against his. She caught his face again and thrust her tongue into his mouth, pushing it out and out as if she wanted to transfer it totally from her own body to his.
He bit it and felt her scream rather than heard it. His prick seemed loaded down with the weight of thunder. The thunder was preparing to burst. The relief was coming.
“Now, yes!” he barked and heard her answering gasps.
The thunder grew into a great, black cloud and suddenly burst so that the liquid, hot rain came thundering down and burst through and up into her belly as she screamed and jack-knifed her legs up and down several times.
This was merely the beginning of their night of love.
CHAPTER 15
The winter sun had watered away, black skies had held bruised dominion over the northern plains and spring had come again with a great flowering of oleanders. By the time young men's fancies had led them into woods and dales to suck the nectar of their loved and lust-ed-after ones, Cesare was sufficiently lord of the northern provinces to be able to declare himself Duke of Romagna and return again to Rome in even greater pomp and glory than before.
But greater campaigns were afoot and it soon filtered to the Vatican, to be followed by official notification from the ambassadors, that by the Treaty of Granada, both France and Spain had come to agreement about the division of a long disputed territory? the Kingdom of Naples, to which both claimed the right of sovereignty through heritage.
The two claimants, it was revealed, had agreed to undertake the conquest together, sharing the spoils between them. Puglia and Calabria would go to Spain, and Naples and the Abruzzi to Louis.
Pope Alexander immediately declared Federigo of Naples deposed for disobedience to the Church, a charge which was not difficult to fabricate under a number of pretexts.
Cesare, it was decided, should join the French troops, marching through Italy from the north, taking with him a fair proportion of his own troops.
At the same time Gonzalo de Cordoba, the great Spanish soldier, landed a Spanish army in Calabria. Resistance was put up, strong in places, weak in others, but the territory was ravaged and stamped underfoot by the two mighty armies moving inexorably to meet. Within a few weeks they had met at Naples and the days of the House of Aragon were over. Nevertheless, Naples itself put up a stiff resistance and with well-directed cannon fire played such havoc with the lines of the Spaniards who, in enthusiasm to finish the campaign in record time, had permitted themselves to approach too close too soon, that Gonzalo de Cordoba swore a terrible vengeance when the city was taken.
The inevitable breach was made and the waves of the invading armies stormed through. Carnage followed. No quarter was given. The defenders were driven back and back and if they lay down their arms or fled they were slaughtered. This would have been against Cesare's policy. But for once he commanded only a small section of the attack and commands could be issued over his head by the generals of the two main forces, French and Spanish.
Every human being was butchered. The streets of Naples ran with blood as if an animal sacrifice of unheard-of magnitude had been offered for several days running.
But it was with the women of Naples that the invader took the most sadistic vengeance. Women, fleeing, screaming, were seized and raped and massacred. While soldiers ran, searching for victims through the streets, they would pass prostrate huddles of women, their clothes ripped from them by the sword, screaming and weeping, while shaggy soldiers thrust their pricks brutally up into bodies whose thighs they held wide by force.
Gonzalo de Cordoba had some of the most noble families of the city rounded up and saved from the slaughter. He had them taken to the center square of the city where the men were tied so that they couldn't move. He then had the women stripped, surrounded by soldiers wielding whips and forced to dance in front of their menfolk and his army of gawking soldiers, to the accompaniment of light lashes around their legs, which grew stronger and stronger and rose around their hips and breasts until many of them fainted and blood had welled out from under their tortured skins.