Again he crashed heavily down on top of her and she twisted in ecstatic fury under him, as if she wanted him to pierce her through, right up to the 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.
He felt her scream rather than heard it. His prick seemed loaded down with the weight of thunder. The thunder was preparing to burst. Relief was coming.
“Now… now…” he barked a command, and he could hear her answering gasps.
The thunder grew into a great cloud which suddenly burst. The liquid hot rain burst through and up into her belly as she screamed and jackknifed her legs up and down several times.
* * *
Madame de Corriero's heart was pounding rapidly when she made plans to escape the solicitous eyes of her devoted Dorothy. The maid had laid out a simple pearl-gray travel costume and knew therefore that her mistress was planning a trip.
But Julia's plan for deception was as simple as it was effective. She had ordered her coachman to drive her to the station, and to be sure to avoid suspicion, her maid had bought a ticket to one of the outlying towns. She ordered the coachman to pick her up at a certain time, and walked inside the big hall. Once she was sure that her servants had disappeared, she simply hailed a cab, and gave him the address of Michael Lompret.
Michael's door opened promptly when the cab drove up. An elderly servant stood at the opening and said, “Would Madame be so kind as to go inside. I will take care of the coachman.” The old man-his name was Jonathan-had carefully looked Julia over, and his gaze was one of complete approval.
Two open arms awaited Julia when she entered the artist's studio and her first thought was that this was a rather expensive home for an artist. The cottage-type house, and the fact that Michael had a manservant implied that his artistic endeavors did not exactly keep him in poverty. For some reason, Julia had not expected this home.
Michael kissed her fervently, Julia slightly protested that his servant could see it. Michael did not care in the least.
“Jonathan is my cook, my housekeeper, my father-confessor and, at times I even believe he thinks that he's my mother.” Michael laughed, and his fervent lips again pressed firmly against Julia's mouth, his strong arms encircling her.
“Listen, my darling Madcap,” he said, “we are here in an artist's home and not at a public exhibition. You can be too careful, you know.”
“That's all well and good,” Julia replied, “but I intend to keep my reputation blameless as far as the members of my own society are concerned. Why don't you give me the address of your tailor, and I will ask him to make me some men's clothes.”
“A splendid idea! Then we can be really good friends. We can travel wherever we want, go hiking, out for picnics, and the only thing people will think is that I am a queer! But for you, my darling, I would do anything. I have an even better idea. After breakfast I shall send Jonathan to my tailor and have the man come here. In that case he will never be able to find out who you are!”
Jonathan entered and announced that breakfast was ready. They walked into a small, cozy dining room. A table for two had been set.
“Oysters, truffles, and champagne,” Julia exclaimed, adding laughingly, “are you planning a two man orgy?”
“As I said, my darling, with you and for you I'll do anything.”
“That sounds dangerously like a proposal.”
“And what of it. I want to spread the whole world before your feet. My whole world! See here… the bedroom, the kitchen, the living room, my workroom, the dining room, and a splendid little garden. Dearest lady, I want you to consider it your home.”
They had breakfast. Jonathan served, but he appeared only when Michael rang for him. Michael was overjoyed to discover that this fascinating woman understood him immediately, regardless of the subject. He seriously thought about making her his life's companion. This was the first time he had found a beautiful woman who understood the meanderings of his artistic mind.
Jonathan served coffee and cigarettes, not in the least surprised that Michael asked him to put it on a little end table next to the couch.
“Thanks, old man,” Michael said when Jonathan announced that he would be on his way to the tailor, “and don't forget to tell my model — you know, the little brunette-that she does not have to come in today.”
Though nothing-in the world was more natural than that an artist would have a model, Julia could not help but feel a little pang of jealousy. A cloud crossed her lovely face.
“What's wrong, my little Madcap?” he asked.
“Why do you all of a sudden look so stern and reserved?”
Without thinking about the implications of her question, Julia asked, “What model?”
As Michael was too much of a man of the world not to understand what was in Julia's mind, he was also smart enough not to show it.
“Oh,” her,” he said. “She is a little girl of about fourteen years I would guess. I saw her yesterday walking around in Montmartre and asked her to come in and pose for some sketches. I am planning to do a painting of a little gypsy beggar, and I think that she is just about perfect for it. If you want, I'll show you some of the preliminaries I did of her from memory.”
Julia had regained her confidence again and Michael, noticing this, put his arms around her shoulder and pulled her toward him. A warm feeling flowed through Julia. She had not known this since that day Count Saski had left her to marry the choice of his Aunt Athena. It seemed ages ago now. She relaxed against Michael's strong shoulder with a contented sigh.
“Madcap… you are so beautiful,” the young man whispered.
Madcap did not answer, but Michael's hand upon her heart could feel it pound strongly.
“You know, darling, that the sight of beauty is headier than the best wine to an artist. Can't you feel how my entire heart cries out for you? Can you understand that this moment will decide whether my life is going to be happy or unhappy? I beg of you, be a woman, a real woman, and don't play with me. Please, don't let convention force you to hide your true feelings. Tell me, do you love me as much as I love you?”
Julia did not answer. Her head nestled more comfortably against his shoulders. She looked up at him, and their lips met in a passionate kiss. When they broke loose to take a deep breath, they both knew that they were in love with each other. Past and present disappeared. Time stood still, and they were both drunk with heavy passion. Michael stammered “I love you… please, be mine… always,” and his hands fumbled around with her clothing. He began to get impatient and finally ripped the buttons of the pearl-gray travel costume.
A cloud of delicious perfume came toward him. It was a mixture of pure woman smell and costly essence. It fired his passions to greater action and he simply ripped off the remaining clothes. He caressed her white shoulders with passionate kisses.-It was not the brutality of rape, but the tender caress of a connoisseur.
During this wild embrace his hands worked quickly unbuttoning Julia's bodice, stripping her stockings, her corset, and finally the last part of her clothing fell to the floor and she lay naked in his arms.
She had made one last defensive gesture; one could not call it a struggle, and he knew that it was the last vestige of convention which still had a strong hold on her. But he also knew that he was winning. She was sighing happily under his expert caresses. He became bolder. He tickled the thighs of the beautiful young woman with his blond beard.