The only people seated at the marble-topped bar counter were Gina and Geoff. They had struck up a friendship on an internet dating site and at Geoff’s suggestion had decided to try a weekend break in Venice, which neither of them had ever visited.
With a flourish, the barman finished the elaborate preparation of the two special cocktails which Geoff had ordered. “Signora, signor – due Bellinis!” he proudly announced. Their iced Prosecco and puréed peach concoctions were presented in tall glass coasters, emblazoned with the bar’s distinctive logo: ‘Harry’s Bar’.
The couple tapped their glasses together, saying, “Cheers!” to one another with a smile. Imposing studio portrait photos of Alfred Hitchcock and Orson Welles (both former patrons of Harry’s Bar) gazed down on them.
“So where shall we go for our first supper together in Venice?” Geoff asked. “Want to try somewhere smart, such as one of the hotels on the Grand Canal, or would you prefer a quiet pizzeria off St Mark’s Square?”
But before Gina could answer, the barman turned around from tidying up his cocktail-making equipment and offered the couple a suggestion. “If I may permit, senor, a very good pizzeria is to be found on the Via Syracuse, not ten minutes walk from here, close by the famous Arsenal shipyards, which you have doubtless read about.” He placed a card on the counter and Geoff gave Gina an old-fashioned look, as if to say: ‘I bet he works on commission!’ “It won’t be busy at this hour, signor,” he added reassuringly.
“Thanks. We might just give it a try,” said Geoff, pocketing the card. “But first let’s have two more of your excellent Bellinis.”
“Certainly, senor.”
The forlorn and brooding Venetian shipyards were clothed in darkness, but the brightly-lit pizzeria they had been directed to looked very inviting. A young manageress seated the couple in a cosy candle-lit alcove and handed them each a huge menu. They ordered their pizzas and side salads from the waitress and asked for a large carafe of Chianti.
The clientele was largely locals. “Looks like our barman’s recommendation was a good one,” observed Geoff, pouring the wine.
Over their leisurely supper, the English couple began tentatively to explore each other’s past lives. Both were divorcees and neither of them had dependent children; Geoff’s only son was now a successful economics graduate working in the City of London. Before they could dig any deeper into their backgrounds, it was time to order the deserts. Two large glass goblets filled with three layers of ice cream, laced with a local liquor arrived.
Declining the offer of coffee, they were about to toast each other with the complimentary glass of house brandy, when a shadow fell across the table. They looked up to be greeted by a cheerful smile from the young barman at Harry’s Bar. “You found it ok?”
“Yes. Thanks for the excellent recommendation,” replied Geoff. “We’ve both had a wonderful supper. Do please have a seat?”
“Thank you, senor. I am gratified.” A glass of brandy was produced for the barman.
“Salut,” said all three.
“So how come you know this place?” Gina asked their visitor.
“I use a club just around the corner, senora. It is members only. Mostly Venetians.”
“A drinking club?" Asked Geoff.
The barman fluttered his hand from side to side. “Not exactly, senor.” Then added mysteriously: “More of an exclusive establishment of – how would you say – private entertainments.”
“What’s it called?” asked an inquisitive Gina.
“Casa de Infamia.”
“I’m sorry my Italian’s not that good.”
The barman gazed sheepishly into his brandy glass. “Roughly translated, senora, I suppose in English you would say ‘The House of Extreme Naughtiness.’” The remark was greeted with a stunned silence by the English couple.
It was Gina who broke the silence. “Eh… are non-members such as visiting tourists permitted to use this club of yours?”
The barman gave her an inviting smile. “Only when introduced by a member. Such as myself.” Turning to Geoff he asked: “Would you and the senora care to join me in a visit to Casa de Infamia, perhaps?”
Cautiously, Geoff shot a glance at Gina, who nodded. “Tell us a little more about these ‘entertainments’?”
The waitress appeared to replenish their brandy glasses and to leave a folded bill.
“My English is imperfect, senor, but I have heard La Casa described as ‘a high-class brothel for swingers’. Its reputation is legendary throughout Italy. Your Aleister Crowley was once a member, as was Oscar Wilde. And two ministers in the present government are also regular visitors.”
Gina leaned forward, eager to learn more salacious details. “Do they do things like bondage and spanking?” she asked eagerly.
“For sure. I believe La Casa has a special dungeon for such practices, senora, though I myself have not been down there. Many of our lady members like to use it.”
“What else?”
“There are nearly always private rooms on the first floor being used for mixed threesomes and couple-swapping.”
“Wow – now that sounds really hot,” exclaimed Gina, barely able to contain her excitement. She turned to Geoff and ran a hand seductively up his knee. “Oh, please let’s give it a try, Geoff?”
Although they had already had intercourse since arriving in Venice, Gina’s ‘hand signal’ indicated to Geoff that his holiday companion relished the experience of a hot night out, possibly even sharing her favours with a stranger. “Fine by me,” he said.
Casa de Infamia was barely five minutes walk from their pizzeria. It was a tall imposing early-18th century palazzo overlooking a small quiet piazza. Its classical front was a stone portico, flanked by life-sized statues of gladiators. Atop the portico was the figure of a sleeping lion. The bell of an adjoining church struck 11 o’clock. “It is still early for La Casa,” the barman apologised, “but around midnight things should start to get lively.”
He led them into a spacious reception area and swiftly completed the paperwork to make Geoff and Gina temporary members. “The Ladies Powder Room is at the far end of that passageway, senora,” the barman told Gina. “There are robes you can use once you have undressed and stored your clothes in one of the lockers. We will wait for you in the Gladiators Bar.”
As she headed towards the Ladies room, Gina flushed with excitement, sensing the toxic sexuality within the old building. The corridor’s walls were lined with highly erotic paintings, prints and photographs. She paused to observe a Victorian-era etching of a busy bordello, where a trio of buxom women were ‘face-sitting’ their joyful male partners. One of the women was also expertly masturbating her companion who could be seen ejaculating over her exposed breasts.
Gina felt a female hand gently glide over her bottom. “Hot action even in those days, wasn’t it sweetie?” She turned to face a tall svelte Italian lady, clad in a figure-hugging floor-length black latex ‘body stocking’, which minutely detailed the contours of her hourglass figure. Her stark white make-up and scarlet cupid’s bow lips contrasted with her long jet-black hair. A leather riding crop hung from one of her writs. She gave the Englishwoman a half-smile, but didn’t remove her hand.
“You can say that again,” was all Gina could stammer out as the talon-like hand continued to stroke her posterior.
“Are you planning to visit our dungeon?”
“Errr… well, I’m due to meet two male companions for a drink in the bar. Perhaps later?”
“I do hope so, darling. I’d like to spank your lovely backside and make it bright pink!” So saying, the stranger sauntered off towards a spiral stone staircase signed: ‘Sotterraneo’.
Gina hurried to undress and store her clothes in a locker, hastily wrapped herself in a cream-coloured towelling robe and headed for the bar. Their barman had saved a place for her at a corner table and Geoff arrived with a long brandy cocktail. “Dino here recommends you try this, honey: it’s the speciality of the house. What kept you?”
Gina took a long swig and gave a giggle. “I got waylaid by a lesbian bondage enthusiast, a Doppelganger for Morticia Addams. She says she wants to spank me down in the dungeon.”
“Lucky you.”
“Can we come and watch?” Dino asked with a cheeky smile.
Gina gazed thoughtfully down into her drink. “I was hoping perhaps we could find a quiet private room and have a cosy threesome. How does that grab you two gentlemen?” As if to add interest to the suggestion, she let her robe fall open so that both men could see that she wasn’t wearing any panties.
“I’m in,” said Geoff. “How about you. Dino?”
The barman nervously adjusted his dress to try to disguise a semi-erection which was forming inside his trousers. “I’m fine with that too, senor.”
Gina decided to take advantage of the secluded corner they were seated in and gently placed one hand between her legs, at the same time moving along the banquette towards the young barman until their thighs were touching. “Could you get another round in, sweetie?” she coyly asked Geoff, offering him her empty coaster. “That brandy cocktail was something else. I’m feeling quite light-headed.” At the same moment that her companion got up and headed for the bar, Gina felt Dino’s index finger gingerly slip inside her moist quim. She pressed her hand reassuringly against his and whispered: “Mmmm… is it safe to frig me here?”
“For sure. People do it all the time. I’ve seen couples openly fucking in this bar. Remember, senora, this is The House of Extreme Naughtiness.” As he finished the sentence, he slid his zip fly down and inserted Gina’s hand.
“Oh, my goodness – what have we got here?” she asked in mock amazement as she clutched hold of an extremely large cock. “How big are you, darling?”
He pressed his hand on top of hers. “Eight inches, and still with my foreskin attached. Is that to the senora’s satisfaction?”
“Mmmm, more than. I adore a man with a ‘hood.’” Giving his growing erection a gentle squeeze she added playfully: “I bet you’re a heavy cummer too, aren’t you?”
The expression momentarily baffled the Italian. “I’m sorry – my English is limited. What is that you speak of?”
Gina stopped stroking and giggled: “It’s a very naughty expression we English girls sometimes use. It means a man who can produce extra-large amounts of spunk when he cums.” She blushed a little at her own candour.
“Oh yes. For sure, senora – I am most certainly a ‘heavy cummer’, as you call it. I think you will be gratified later.”
Geoff returned with the drinks and immediately took in the ‘under table action’ “Well, I can see you two are getting acquainted!”
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Gina assured him with a giggle, “You’ll get a turn soon.”
The second round of drinks was soon consumed by the trio. “What say we go in search of one of these private rooms you mentioned, Dino?”
“Certainly senora. Is there any type of group activity you would especially like to experience?”
“Bukkake!” came the instant and enthusiastic response. Geoff seemed quite taken aback.
Unabashed, Dino gave her a wicked smile and hastily adjusted his dress. “Let me go and have a word with the barman – he usually knows what’s going on in the rooms upstairs.” Geoff took the barman’s place in order to continue with Gina’s ministrations.
Dino returned after several minutes, clutching three more coasters. “Well, senora, it seems your wish has been granted. Giuseppe over there says that a group of six members are looking for a lady to join their Bukkake circle.” He handed the couple their drinks. “So, if Geoff and I accompany you upstairs, we can begin. Salut!”
They followed Dino up a long winding stone staircase, arriving at the Casa’s cavernous first floor. An open loggia along one side overlooked the piazza. Facing the balustrade was a row of panelled doors, some solid and others with inset inspection windows. Many bore gilded names. Dino halted before a pair of double doors inscribed ‘De Sade’ and peered through the glass. He smiled, turned to Gina and beckoned her to take a look.
In the lofty candle-lit interior the young Englishwoman saw six bulky middle-aged men – all naked – uncoiling lengths of rope, attaching them to four iron rings set into the stone-flagged floor. Within the square formed by the rings was a cluster of velvet cushions, on one of which was a black mask. Seeing Gina’s face framed in the window, one of the group beckoned her to enter. Geoff and Dino followed. A large log fire burned at the far end and the room’s interior was suffused with the heady aroma of incense.
The barman briefly conferred with the group’s leader and then approached Gina. “All is prepared and awaits your attendance, senora,” he told her in a reassuring whisper.
“What do I have to do?” she asked nervously.
“Take off your robe and lie on the cushions. Then my colleagues will attach your wrists and ankles to those iron rings in the floor, so that you are spread-eagled. Then I am to fit that silk mask over your head.”
“Why must I wear a mask?”
“That way your pleasure will be greatly heightened, senora, for though you will be able to hear us all masturbating, the moment of our ejaculation onto your naked body will be a big surprise.”
Pecking Geoff on the cheek, Gina let her robe fall to the floor. She walked naked into the centre of the room and settled herself on the cushions, eagerly watched by the group, who were able to admire her trim figure and small perfectly formed breasts. Moisture still glistened between her legs.
Geoff and Dino undressed and joined the circle. Two men began fastening the young woman’s wrists and ankles to the floor rings, ensuring her legs were splayed open. Finally, Dino stepped forward to fit the silk mask over her face. Though her wrists were now roped to the rings he clasped one of her hands and whispered: “Don’t be scared, senora. You will really enjoy the thrill of being drenched by our warm creamy cum. It will be like a spunk shower!”
Gina gave a nervous giggle as Dino as tightened the mask. “You said you were a heavy cummer: shoot it all over my cunnie, will you?”
