The Tower

"Visitor!"

I am interrupted in my reverie. Once more, my daughter appears. Today she wears green, and once more I am struck by her beauty, her lissom young desirability. She embraces me and I eagerly enfold her tightly in my arms, squeezing her tight, feeling her body's warmth beneath the silk. I kiss her scented hair, her face, and, unable to resist the temptation of those rosebud lips, and remembering Cat's delicious kisses, I kiss her on the mouth. She does not pull away, and for a moment that feels like an eternity, we kiss each other on the mouth for the first time. Our lips remain closed, but we both enjoy the sensation as the kiss perhaps starts to transcend that which father and daughter should exchange. I pull away, look into her eyes. She smiles lovingly at me.

"Father -- it is so good to see you. All we have now are each other!"

"Yes, my darling daughter. And to see you and hold you in my arms brings me joy!"

I can see that some sad news clouds her perfect visage.

"Father -- my uncle has told me that..."

She hesitates.

"What has my brother said?"

"I -- I am to be married!"

The news is like a hammer blow to me. Yet it could be worse. It is perhaps inevitable. Marry my only heir off to one of his allies, neutralise what little threat she might pose, and cement an alliance -- this is how these things are done. It will perhaps be better for her than to be made to enter a nunnery. Still though, I am filled with anger and -- I admit it -- jealousy. I ask myself for the first time if perhaps she has remained unwed so long, into her early twenties, not because as I told myself I was waiting for the best match politically but because I never wanted to relinquish this captivating beauty to another man. Now though, the choice has been made for me.

"And to whom will my brother marry you off, child?" I force myself to ask. She is ashen-faced as she answers in shame and horror, "My father, you will not believe this! He says he will marry me -- himself!"

"What? But you are his niece; the laws of consanguinity forbid it!"

"He has had those laws annulled! His pet creature, the Cardinal, has announced that those laws no longer apply to those of royal blood in this principality! Oh, people are shocked, but he has the power to do as he wishes, and everyone knows it! I shall be my uncle's bride!"

I take her once more in my arms, and she begins to weep, sobbing softly as I hold her. My anger is immense, immeasurable. If only I had him here, I would kill Rodolfo with my bare hands. But of course he is a coward and keeps me trapped in this grey tower far from his palace, sending Angelica, my beautiful golden Angelica, to me only so that her news may hurt me further. I caress her hair as she cries, kiss her cheek in comfort. She turns her tear-streaked face to mine, kisses me softly on the mouth.

"Oh, my Father! I cannot bear the thought of my wicked uncle, my brothers' murderer, taking me as his wife! If the laws of consanguinity must be annulled, then it is not to him I would desire to give myself! Not to him, but to a man of courage and honour, the man who raised me with much love and honour, who has always shielded me and guided me. Yes -- I would rather be your bride -- my father's bride -- than that of my uncle! There -- and now I have said it! I have confessed my secret love for you! Am I wicked, Father? Am I sinful?"

"Yes, my daughter - for this is a most wicked sin! But I am a sinner too!" I cry, and I bring my mouth down upon hers once more. This time, our pent-up emotion and lust overcomes us both and we open our mouths to each other, our tongues seeking each other and our kiss becoming a long, passionate, unspoken declaration of love. We kiss like this, in the French fashion as they say, for long minutes, my cock growing hard and erect as she presses herself against me urgently.

We are saved from further sin only by hearing the footsteps of the fearsome jailer. We step hurriedly apart, compose ourselves.

"I shall visit you again tomorrow, Father" Angelica says coolly. Only a smouldering desire awoken in her eye hints at what has happened between us. A look she shoots me as she glides out through the door which gives a promise of more kisses -- and perhaps even more. If only I were not a prisoner, if only we could be free to explore our newly-confessed though sinful love!

My day passes in hopeless plans of escape and revenge. My dreams are a fevered admixture of memories of Cat fucking me into exhausted satiation and the imagined pleasures of sinful congress with Angelica. I awake drenched in sweat and tormented by desire. After washing and shaving, eating my meagre breakfast, I try to assuage my lusts by thinking of another of my favourites. Violetta, the Virgin-Whore.

She caught my eye at an Easter service. She was a young novice in the entourage of the abbess of a great convent. There was something arrestingly erotic about her pouting, succulent beauty enshrouded in a nun's habit and wimple. I discreetly enquired of her, discovered that she was a young noblewoman of a minor family, a third daughter, married to the church rather than find a dowry. I decided to indulge my whim and bought her from the abbess. Officially, I was endowing a new chapel and incidentally gaining the services of a member of holy orders for my household. In fact, the chapel represented a large sum in gold paid into the abbess' private coffers in exchange for the little novice to do with as I wished.

To begin with, I had her transferred to a very different "nunnery". She was sent to the finest brothel in my city, where I gave strict instructions to the madam. For six months, she was to be trained there. The other girls were to arouse and inflame her desires with sapphic caresses, though never to completion, keeping her hungry for physical pleasures she would learn only from me. She would be trained thoroughly in the arts of pleasure while kept virgin. Her mouth would take cock after cock, and she would learn how to excite and satisfy a man with lips and tongue and fingers, while she remained inviolate.

After the time allotted, on the eve of her nineteenth birthday, she was brought to my palace. The madam proudly assured me that she had never trained a more consummate cocksucker. Men paid good sums in gold to have her kneel and perform with that lush, sensuous mouth. I had Violetta -- Sister Violetta in public -- dress once more in the habit and wimple of a nun. And in public she was a model of religious virtue. In private, though, she lived the life of a whore and a slut. I liked to have her keep on the wimple and a rosary I had made for her of gold and rubies, and nothing else. Her body was nubile, compact, with sweet curves and white skin in contrast to the black wimple. She kept her eyes on mine as she knelt prayerfully before me and used slender fingers to unlace my codpiece, free my cock and caress it delicately, teasing me with her soft touch. When she was satisfied that she had teased me into full hardness, she opened that sweet innocent mouth wide and sucked my cock between those full, ripe, naturally red lips. The feel of her mouth on mine was heavenly. Her lips glided over my cockhead, bringing delight. Her tongue began to work at my most sensitive flesh -- gently at first then more vigorously. Soon I was transported to ecstasy by this exquisite combination of virgin and whore. She worked me expertly, knowing I could not hold out against her erotic onslaught. Her vide violet eyes fixed on mine, she probed a finger between my buttocks as she sucked and slurped noisily, then drove it slowly into my arse, wickedly teasing me until I came uncontrollably inside her mouth. She gulped down every drop of my spunk hungrily, then withdrew her mouth from my cock, looking up still on her knees with an attitude of both triumph and submission.

I delighted in the oral talents of this delicious little minx, in knowing the depravities she so willingly performed in private while remaining pure and virtuous in public. Of course, she still was truly virgin -- in body, at least. Taking her virginity was a pleasure I withheld for some time, until after q political success I decided to treat myself. I had her come to my chamber that night. She wore her nun's habit as always, and as always she stripped it off but the wimple and religious jewellery when we were alone.

I led her to the bedchamber. There, I began to kiss and caress her, enjoying the knowledge that I was the first man to feel that superb body under my hands and tongue. I slipped down so that for once I was the one on my knees. She looked down in wonderment and expectation. I began to kiss between her thighs, enjoying the shaven flesh of her mons, then dove my tongue between the lips of her sex.

The girl cried out, began to gasp, to moan, then finally to scream as for the first time a lover brought her to orgasm. I rose up, led her to the divan, laid her down. Again I kissed and caressed her exciting young body, until she was moaning and begging for me. I parted her thighs, entered her and took her virginity.

She screamed piercingly, then started to feel the pleasure of a man's cock inside her. Instinctively she fucked back, her body thrusting up to meet mine.

"Oh, My Prince!" She cried out as her arousal mounted, and she began to surrender to the orgasm my cock forced out of her. She clawed, writhed, and came explosively as I spurted my seed inside her.

We fucked again, as I taught her the dancer's position on top of a lover that Cat favoured. Then after many hours of caresses and fondling, I turned her over and positioned her on all fours. I teased at her clitoris with expert fingers as I slowly, cruelly, forced my cock, wet and slick from our fucking, into her arse. She cried out once more as she willingly surrendered her final virginity to me.

After that night of sexual awakening, Violetta became an even more delicious concubine. Hungry for my cock, rivalling Giulietta in her appetites and Cat in her stamina, she proved more than capable of fucking me into exhaustion. Still though, my favourite memories of her were of her on her knees, a nun turned whore, gazing lovingly into my eyes as I fucked her mouth.

I allow myself to self-pleasure, wanking my long hard cock off as I think of Violetta. And of Angelica, and of what her rosebud lips would feel like, of how she would look kneeling obediently at my feet to give me oral pleasure.

The day goes on, and there is still no visit from Angelica, until I am almost despairing of seeing her this day. But towards late afternoon, she is let into my cell.

Today she wears yellow. Her gown is simple, its cut modest, but it clings tighter than the others to her body. Too tightly for her to be wearing anything beneath it.

As soon as we are left alone, she flings herself into my arms. We kiss feverishly, long and lovingly, exploring each other's mouths and running our hands over each other's bodies. We are breathing heavily when at last we draw apart.

"I am sorry I could not see you earlier, my Father, my love. But I had to attend my wicked fiancé. He had me listen as he told me that on my wedding night he would ravish me with tongue and fingers before giving me his prick. That I would be unable to resist, that by the morning I would be begging him to fuck me, to make me his whore. That I would be a slut, at the mercy of his prick. Is it like that? Is that how it is between a man and a woman?"

I think back to how Violetta had been so easily and willingly corrupted.

"It can be. But only when the woman is complicit. When she is a willing slut. As all the best women secretly are."

I kiss her throat, making her gasp and stiffen in excitement. I guide her hand between my legs, to my erect cock. She instinctively begins to stroke it, teasing as she starts to kiss my neck and nibble at my ear. She delights in how she excites me. In turn, I slide a hand below the hem of her dress and run it up the smooth skin of her leg.

Angelica moans softly as I caress her. Her breathing quickens as I start teasing between the lips of her sex, fingertips probing and exploring. She slips her hand inside my breeches and grasps my cock, starts stroking it steadily until I am barely able to contain myself. I finger her clitoris relentlessly as she wanks me. We torment each other with our caresses, until we both come at once, kissing open-mouthed like lovers as we bring each other off.

We hear the jailer approaching and once more leap apart and tidy ourselves.

"I may not see you again after tomorrow, Father", says Angelica sorrowfully as she is led out. "Is there any small gift I may bring you?"

"The keys and my rapier would be good!", I joke. "But I know there is little you would be permitted to bring. Perhaps some flowers from our garden?"

She nods in understanding. Then she is ushered out and the cell door closes once more.

Another fitful night passes. My dreams are tormented by visions of Rodolfo and Angelica. Of him training her to pleasure him as I have with my many lovers. Of him corrupting her into another willing slut. Of the degrading acts she will perform for him, with him, on him. Acts I want her to do with me instead.

The next morning, as I look out over the garden below, I spy two figures. One in black, one in red. Rodolfo himself, and -- yes -- my Angelica. They walk hand in hand, arm in arm. She laughs at his jests, she hangs on his words, she kisses and caresses him as she caressed me yesterday. He explores her body with his hands, and she yields willingly. He brings his mouth to hers and she kisses him back hungrily. I am aghast. So quickly has she become his slut.

I look away. Try to put the sight from my mind. But dark thoughts will not leave easily. I think instead then of the darkest seduction among my harem of lovers. I think of Teresa the Bitch.

"Signora Teresa Di Ambroglio!", the page had announced. I saw her enter, recognised her at once. The wife of a man I had ordered hanged for treason. The most respectable and upright of women. Attractive, too. A tidy, well-proportioned body, and tall with it. White blonde hair and fair complexion. Not exactly beautiful, too stern-faced for that. But handsome, certainly. She wore dark blue, I remember.

"My Prince, you know who I am?"

"I do."

"Then you will understand that I come to plead for clemency for my husband. I do not expect you to pardon him, but perhaps permit him to go into exile with his life?"

"There can be no clemency for a man who betrays his prince."

"Will you not have pity then on his loving wife? Will you not let her do what she can to sway you?"

"And how could you sway me, Signora?"

"My Prince, I know your reputation. I know how you have your way with any willing noblewoman, how you keep your pet harlots in this palace to satisfy your bodily pleasures. Yet for all your willing courtesans, have you ever had the satisfaction of enjoying a woman who hated you? Who despises you utterly, yet who will give herself to you completely? The haughtiest, most unattainable woman at your court, your implacable enemy, giving herself to you to do with as you will, like the lowest of whores? Tonight, that is what I will offer you. I will let you take me to your bedchamber and there is nothing -- nothing! -- that I will not do or allow you to do to me. Bind me, hurt me, use me -- until dawn, I am your whore and your slave. And in return, all I ask is that you spare my husband's life!"

I was, I acknowledge, intrigued. She was indeed unattainably upright and proper. What she offered could be a very interesting night.

"Very well, Teresa -- your night is about to begin!"

I took her not to my bedchamber but down to the dungeons, to the torture chambers. I wanted her to understand the seriousness of the matter. She stripped as I commanded her, then allowed me to chain her spread-eagled facing the stone wall. I took a lash from the rack, held it to her mouth.

"Kiss the whip, Teresa!", I ordered. She did as commanded. Then I flogged her. Gently at first, then harder, I lashed her pert white buttocks until they glowed fiery red. She was strong-willed, resisted crying out as long as she could, but eventually she was begging for mercy. I softened the blows, but to my surprise she cried out:

"No! Harder!"

I laid on again, until she was sobbing at the onslaught. Then I came up to her, caressed her injured bottom gently, soothing her, as I began to nuzzle her neck. My hand slipped between her arse cheeks, cupped her sex which was wet and warm. She gasped in pleasure. I moved behind her, slid my cock between her buttocks and entered her hard. She squealed as I first violated her arse, then started to slam herself back against my thrusting cock. I reached up to grasp her firm proud breasts as I buggered her. She shuddered helplessly in climax and soon I was coming inside her.

I unchained her, had her kneel. She unquestioningly took my cock into her mouth. Her expression was of distaste, but her eyes revealed a strange, dreamlike wistfulness. She was not the most experienced cocksucker, but she was extremely willing and her submission to the degradation was arousing. Soon I spurted my seed out, withdrawing my cock from her mouth and shooting it over her prim face. After satisfying myself for this second time, I had her mount a torture bench then used silk ropes to bind her tightly down. She writhed deliciously against her bonds, seeming to enjoy her own helplessness. More whippings, then I satisfied myself for a third time on her long strong body. I had a servant bring us food and strong drink, and untied Teresa to allow her to recover and to refresh herself. Then she eagerly knelt and begged me for further torments...

The next morning, I had her husband hanged.

Later that day, she came to see me again. Dressed in black, her widow's weeds, she accosted me:

"My Prince. You did not fulfil your side of our agreement!"

"No. There can be no mercy for a man who betrays his prince, as I told you!"

"And you were right to do so!"

I looked in surprise at her.

"Yes, My Prince. I understand now. I saw what a weak, cowardly man my husband was when he went to his death begging and sobbing today. But you -- you are a strong man. Last night, when you had me up the arse, I came harder than I ever have before. I cam again, over and over, when you whipped me. You are strong and I desire only to surrender to you and your cruel lovemaking. I desire only to know pain and pleasure at your command! Have me, My Prince, the widow of your enemy -- have me as your slave!" And she flung off her gown to reveal her body white and exciting, clad only in a pair of high black riding boots and a broad black leather belt. One of my hunting dog bitches was sniffing around, and Teresa reached down and unbuckled the spiked black leather collar she wore. Kneeling, the once-proud lady offered the collar to me. I took it, clasped it around her neck, buckled it firmly in place.

"You are my bitch, then?"

"Yes, My Prince, my Master, I am your bitch!", she breathed in delight. And spent the rest of the day and the night proving her utter submission to my will with her body, as I exploited the limits of her endurance.

I set her up with apartments more dungeon than bedroom and took to visiting her when I needed to exorcise my darker moods. Together we explored the strange, twisted places where pleasure and pain coincide. She proved to have a taste not only for receiving pain but for inflicting it too. Especially when it coincided with her jealousy of my other lovers. If Giulietta or one of the others displeased me with her wilfulness, I would have them spend an evening under the tutelage of Teresa the Bitch and her whips and chains.

I think of Angelica disporting herself with Rodolfo and imagine her chained and naked as a leather-clad Teresa the Bitch punishes her. I imagine her begging for mercy, looking for me to fee her. But in my fancy I do not, and the lash bites deeply into her wicked flesh, followed by her being made to kneel and use her tongue first on Teresa and then on me...