Cesare, with the situation out of his hands, was indifferent to the suffering. He watched and felt a chill of sensuality course through him as he watched the women pathetically trying to dance, being savagely tickled as soon as they lagged by those stinging lashes. What a variety of breasts and buttocks. And as they fell one by one into a swooning helplessness under the agonized gaze of their helpless husbands and sweethearts, each was seized at the Commander's orders by a rude soldier who proceeded to bury his prick according to his taste, right there on the square in full view. Some of the women remained unconscious throughout the whole proceedings, unaware of the brutality with which they were being shagged or their menfolk's crying fury.
CHAPTER 16
By the time Cesare returned to Rome, richer in money and in French favor, an event of some importance in the Borgia family had taken place: his widowed sister, Lucrezia, had become betrothed to Alfonse d'Este, young son of Duke Ercole of Ferrara. It was a marriage of convenience, although it is probable that the young Alfonse nursed an infatuation for the beautiful Lucrezia.
Into the midst of celebrations, salvoes of artillery, and after dark illuminations, Cesare arrived, crowned with fresh glory from the war, fired still by memories of the spectacle in Naples, desiring the orgasm, coveting his sister.
“Darling, Cesare,” she greeted him, when he went to her temporary rooms in the Vatican to invite her down to the supper which was being prepared by the Pope for intimates. “Darling, Cesare,” she said, “are you never going to make love to me again? I think you prefer fighting to fucking.”
Cesare pulled her to him. He kissed her fiercely on the lips and felt her tongue slide like a snake into his mouth.
“I want you tonight!” he snapped.
“But, darling? I'm married. I have to offer what I have to my new husband. It's his right you know.”
She laughed long and merrily and Cesare couldn't help but laugh with her.
“You mean you'd prefer that stripling?”
For answer she sank to her knees, seized his erection which was pushing hard through his clothing and bit it. She got quickly to her feet again and he forced her, panting, back into the room.
“No, Cesare,” she said, “not now. I'll come to you tonight? you'll see.” a€? “Do you promise? How can you? Will you leave him on the wedding night to finger his own, unloved cock?”
“He's very young, my sweet, and I think if he's fed a little wine he'll be in no fit state to benefit from the delight he might expect. After all, I don't want to get to bed with him and then find I've only a limp piece of rag trying to squeeze into my vagina.”
Cesare laughed. He was delighted with his sister and she still excited him as of old? and he was always certain, absolutely certain of a skillful, satisfying, entrail-tearing fuck with her.
He bent down quickly and lifted her skirt. She wore nothing underneath, which made her feel more natural.
“One kiss until later,” he whispered.
“Oh, no, Cesare? you're just trying to excite me!”
But he'd already whipped up her skirt, thrust his head under, pushing aside her thighs and licked his tongue all along the powdered, perfumed folds which hid her sweet tunnel. He felt her thighs rub against his shoulders and pulled the folds aside with the tips of his thumbs. He kissed the moistening flesh hard and heard her gasp.
She broke away from him with a stifled cry.
“Oh, Cesare, stop!”
Kneeling, he grinned.
“I bet you'd love it now,” he said.
As he escorted her down the stairway toward the banquet room where they were to dine, she said, softly, looking into his eyes with love: “You are a devil, Cesare, you've made me all wet.”
As they descended, she added: “Perhaps he'll go silly with the first glass.”
“One can always hope,” Cesare answered, smiling.
But it took more than one glass to put young Alfonse in a stupor. As soon as his glass was half-empty, Lucrezia had it solicitously refilled. The meal progressed; there was music and talk and laughter among the dozen or so guests. There were toasts and good wishes and sly winks from the Pope at his daughter, as if wishing her fun in bed tonight.
Throughout the evening, Cesare's eyes met those of his sister. Sometimes he would nod at her husband's glass to indicate it might be topped up just a shade. Over the dessert, with Lucrezia almost in despair, Alfonse became very talkative? he was usually rather silent? and the sign gave her hope.
Servants carried away the debris of the meal and Alfonse suggested quietly that they retire, but not so quietly that some of the surrounding guests were not forced to suppress grins of amusement to say nothing of more embarrassing indications of envy.
“Oh, but we haven't heard the other orchestra, yet,” Lucrezia insisted smoothly. “It's a beautiful orchestra. It will make a fitting goodnight.”
Alfonse sat back, slightly disappointed, but prepared to wait for something that he knew was inevitably his.
Lucrezia filled his glass again.
“What excellent wine,” she said, and took a sip.
The suggestion produced the desired effect. Alphonse automatically picked up his own glass, sipped it and then emptied it in three long gulps. It was quietly refilled.
As the “other orchestra” began to play? in a manner which hardly justified her description? Alfonse seemed to grow silent. A little later he made a slight effort at conversation with his neighbor, but then his head sank down, he gave a little belch and his eyes glazed over slightly.
Cesare smiled to himself. His clever sister. No difficulty at all.
But Alfonse came drunkenly to. He caught hold of Lucrezia's arm and stood up, lurching a little.
“Well… we… must… retire,” he said, slurring each word and waiting for long concentrated pauses.
Those other guests who had heard stood up politely and Lucrezia, so as not to make a scene, found herself obliged to stand up, make her excuses and retire with her drunken husband who hadn't once released his hold on her arm. She was quite taken aback by the sudden reversal of her plan. One minute he'd looked as if he'd have to be carried to bed, the next he'd made a comeback like some punchdrunk fighter who won't go down.
On Cesare the effect was even worse. He saw the image of his night's exhilaration slipping away. No other woman would do. He loved his sister, had more feeling for her than for any other woman, and he had to unite with her tonight.
Thinking furiously, he waited for them to reach the doors of the banquet hall. None of the other guests seemed inclined to leave so early.
Cesare stood up.
“If you'll excuse me father…”
“What, my son? we have some saucy dancing to follow. Why, it's not yet midnight.”
“I'm sorry father, but I have a bad head. I got a knock in Naples, you know, and they've been recurring, these headaches, ever since.”
“My poor boy. We'll have the physician in first thing tomorrow.. ”
“Oh, it's nothing serious, father…”
“And you'd better have one of the servants get you something.”
The Pope called to an attractive female servant, who had ceased to be a virgin the moment he'd discovered that she was one.
“Carlotta, the Duke needs a brew for his head.”
The woman moved off to obey and Cesare took his leave of the guests and followed her. The plan had fallen into his lap if the drink had caught up on Alfonse as much as he thought it should have done by now.
He caught the girl, walking through the corridors, and took her by the arm. She turned toward him, smiling. She was a well-known libertine and Cesare remembered that he'd yet to try her.