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From: " LaGatta" <LaGatta@comcast.net>
Subject: {ASSM} {LaGatta} Bella_Strega (M/F rom)
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Date: Sun, 18 Jul 2004 06:10:05 -0400
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{LaGatta} "Bella Strega" (M/F, rom)





   Novel in "progress ".





   Bella Strega (Beautiful Witch)



   Prologue



   by Frances LaGatta



   Venice 1690 La Casa Innocenti, school for orphan girls



   "Father forgive me for I have sinned.  I am guilty of the sin of lust,"
young Miranda whispered into the tiny slot inside the confessional box.  "
I love you.  I shall always love you.  I can't help myself."



   The man inclined his head towards her, but the priest hardened his
heart. It was impossible to save her soul.  "All witchcraft comes from
carnal lust, which in women is insatiable,' retuned the learned man of the
church.  In her confession Miranda had all but admitted to being the
devil's women.  Fearing eternal damnation , Father Antonio mourned his love
for Miranda.  His duty was to God.  He should renounce her to save others
from iniquity.  But betraying Mirada for what she was was a feat beyond the
priest, for without a doubt, he knew her inquisition would destroy him.  .
. .





   * * * *





   Night was so easy; darkness cloaked every vice and shrouded every sin.
The night was another world, another place, utterly removed from the
demands of day-today living.  In the dark all fantasies were possible, one
could give life to one's clandestine self, and no one would ever tell.  And
in the dark, all secrets were sacred, cloaked in the benediction of
silence.



   Miranda lay awake, deep into the night, her body betraying her yet
again. She could count on nothing.  She wanted everything.  And she was
past the point of regret.  Her body was tense with wanting, almost as if it
had a memory apart from her own.  She felt the ache to be touched, to be
kissed, to lie stretched out against a hot hard male body that would.



   Oh, but she didn't want to think about that.  That path was futile.  She
was not as entitled as a man to seek her pleasure.  She was only empowered
to know how she could.



   It was so horrendously unfair.  That and the emotions that went hand in
hand with it.  Men could buy anyone on the street for an evening's
pleasure. And walk away.  But all the powers of Eve, what use were they in
the end, when she was left squirming in bed, and nothing more to be had.



   She was an innocent orphan once with dreams of becoming a nun and now .
. .  and now she didn't know what she was except a woman in heat who knew
exactly how to satisfy her lust. . . .  with no one to accommodate her. 
And now her determination to never again unleash that carnal,
uncontrollable part of herself had all gone to smoke , irretrievable,
irrevocable, and irredeemable.



   And with Father Antonio.



   It was enough to make a saint cry.  And yet she didn't want it any less.



   And she wanted it with him.



   Her cross to bear.  Her sins of the flesh.  She should be wearing a hair
shirt.  She should be flagellating herself like the nuns in the convent to
remind her that her body was weak and she was more powerless than most.



   Ah, but she could never have envisioned this.  Him.  Them.



   She ought never to have come here seeking refuge.  And now she didn't
know how she could ever leave.





   He had watched her covertly in the parlor the whole evening; the cool
haughty expression on her face, the fire in her dark eyes, how, in every
light, the opaque black of her gown made her seem more sensuous, and even
more unobtainable.



   But he knew better.  He knew that body naked and rocking with
indescribable pleasure.  He knew those breasts and the strength of those
hips, the taste of that mouth and tongue, and the hot slick satin between
her legs.



   But the last thing he wanted was to be enslaved by that body.  The last
thing he needed was to be dependant on her caresses, on the expert tug of
her mouth on his cock.  He didn't want to know her; he only wanted to have
her.



   And so, he came to her in their dark netherworld where nothing had to be
said or admitted.



   They could live for this; the heated touch of his hand on her silky
skin: her instant luxurious response, her body stretching opulently and
seeking his caresses.



   All he wanted to do just feel that voluptuous response; just slide his
hands all over her, lifting her gauzy gown to get at her thighs, her
buttocks, and the small of back that sensually curved into the flair of her
hips.



   She was a beautiful witch who was made for such pleasure; she couldn't
wait for it as she shifted herself and spread her thighs so that he could
tantalize the wet heat between.



   And then he turned her boneless body so he could caress her breast. 
Such breasts-so firm and weighty with those hard prominent nipples that
drove him to distraction.



   He wanted to drive his cock between her breasts and spew all over those
nipples, he was so engorged by the thought he almost came.  But a man
needed to cultivate restraint, even under such provocative conditions.



   He undressed himself with precision as she watched and he watched her
naked body writhe and arch to entice him back to her bed.  Nothing could
have kept him away.  He climbed onto her, straddling her yearning body and
began his deliberate seduction of her nipples.  All he wanted, just those
hard succulent pleasure points in his mouth, first one, then the other,
back and forth, back and forth, until she was ready to scream for mercy,
and he was on the verge of eruption.



   And then, he shifted himself so he was positioned between her breasts
and she immediately pushed them up and around his towering erection so that
he was pillowed between the fleshy softness, just where he wanted to be.



   Her eyes were bright and knowing.  Her hands cupped her breasts so her
nipples were erect and in his line of vision.  And she licked her lips in
anticipation and he began to move.  Long strokes, long almost to her mouth;
he pushed himself hard so that the very tip of his cock barely grazed her
lips, once, twice, the third time she caught him, taking the sensitive tip
right between her lips and squeezing.



   And again, to a long lush lick of her tongue.  And again, to an aching
need, the suction of her mouth and her hot flicking tongue, devouring him,
eating just the luscious tip of him, all hot wet sucking licks and tugs
while she cradled him between her billowing taut-tipped breasts.



   He kept going back for more.  Each stroke took longer and longer as her
expert mouth worked the tip of his cock toward ecstasy.



   And she loved doing it.  She loved him between her breasts, his rigid
manhood craving her mouth, and her succulent kisses.



   And he adored the lush low sounds she made at the back of her throat as
if she couldn't get enough.  It became a game: would he thrust deeply
enough for her to catch him?  And if he didn't, would he miss her juicy
sucking?  And could he ever get enough before he exploded . . .  he felt
like he could go on and on forever between her breasts and her hot eager
mouth.



   One more thrust, one more, one more again, between her lips and into
paradise, and one more still . . .  he pulled back for still another lusty
plunge into the heaven of her mouth, and his potent sex erupted with the
force of a volcano-wet and wild and pumping everywhere, all over her
nipples, her breasts, her mouth, her face, her hair, bathing her in the
sweet cream of his desire.



   He couldn't move; didn't want to.  Could have died and gone to heaven
right then.  But she immediately began rubbing his ejaculate into the skin
of her breasts, her face, her body as if she loved and craved it; into her
taunt nipples as she looked at him with those dark unfathomable eyes, as if
she had known all along his secret fantasy.



   He had never known anyone who loved it like that.  Her body arched as
she continued to caress the residue, so much, it was drying fast, she
wanted it so much.  she rubbed it on her legs, on her dark thatch, on her
belly, all the while watching him, watching his manhood respond to the
caressing strokes of her fingers rubbing the essence of him into her own
body.



   "I'll be wearing it tomorrow," she whispered, brushing her lips with her
sticky fingers.  'I'll be clothed in your cream." She licked the tip of one
finger, and he wanted to cram his cock into her mouth and come all over her
again.



   She was primed and ready for him, he could feel the warm wet heat as he
explored between her legs, and she opened wider and invited him in.



   "Bella Strega," he hissed before he sank himself deep.



   She went off like a shotgun, hot shuddering spasms one after another as
he delved deeper and deeper into the velvet of her sex, making her bear
down on him harder and harder, and then pumping faster, until she cried out
for mercy.











   "You bewitch me," he gasped accusingly at dawn, settling himself against
her after making love to her again.



   "And what have you done to me priest?' she demanded playfully, raining
kisses over the side of his face, and nestling into his arms more tightly.
"I was a virgin, pure and unblemished, until you seduced me.  You are
wicked - an evil angel" she teased, but he tensed against her.



   She merely laughed and began to kiss his uneasy chest, licking one
nipple, then the other, her mouth and lips eventually traveling down his
belly, her tongue fluttering, a hummingbird seeking nectar in his navel. 
His manhood arose like a morning glory, his stamen seeking the warmth and
moisture of her. . .  He could not resist her and lay back in resignation.
He had not the least desire to forbid her mouth on his cock.



   She tantalized him until he believed he would die of pleasure.  She
tortured him delightfully, discovering his body to be a fertile plain of
glorious sensation, everywhere her lips and fingers trailed she left him
burning with increased desire, and what had made her tremble with fear
weeks before now thoroughly enticed her.



   At first she teased his each testicle lightly with her tongue, lapping
with long luscious strokes, then gave quick nipping kisses up the shaft to
the head; and then took him fully into her mouth, discovering a kind of
pleasure that only yesterday she would have sworn impossible.



   He nearly lost control; not even vaguely aware of how much enjoyment her
explorations brought her, nor did he have any wish to stop her.



   When she finally sought his lips again, his blood was searing in his
veins.  He grasped her hips and drew her down on him, impaling her with a
single-minded determination to satisfy the feverish need she had created.



   He squeezed her buttocks until she winced and gasped again, demanding
that she ride him vigorously, and she moved at his biding, greatly excited
by his passion, until, abruptly, he stilled her wild bucking, groaning with
a deep sigh of savoring restraint.



   His heart raced.  He closed his eyes and waited to regain his breath. 
''You have a talent no one within these walls imagines, " he managed with a
hard swallow.



   "And you my strict and able teacher, " she replied, her breathy voice
quite serious, "have yet to test me fully."



   Almost warily, he opened his eyes and took a long look at the young
woman who was his musical prodigy.  He drank in her beauty as she straddled
his rampant manhood, her tight core clutching him like a fist.  Her skin
reminded him of the satiny petals of a fragile flower, her bright, dark
eyes its deep contrasting center, her mouth a delicate blossom, and opening
to its full perfection.



   Earlier he would have described her lips as gentle, but now, parted
slightly and moistened by a dab of her tongue, they were hungry and wanton.
She was small boned, her narrow shoulders surrounded by a heavy cape of
rich black hair that tumbled obediently to her waist.  While she seemed
fragile, delicate, gentle, there was something exuberantly vigorous and
strong about her.  She would never collapse in the mist of a strenuous
fucking.



   She smiled back at him with tiny keyboard teeth, a little impatient with
his lengthy scrutiny.  "You keep me waiting in suspense," she cajoled.  "Or
is it, now that you've had your pleasure, you are tired of me?"



   'It's certainly possible to be exhausted rather than rested in your bed,
but I doubt I'll ever tire of you," he countered leisurely, and gestured to
the window where the morning light was growing strong, already sparking
diamonds upon the waters of the Venetian canals.  "It's late, and I am
weary still.  And you are to blame."



   "Father forgive me!' she pleaded, unconvincingly, a devilish smile
playing on her lips.  "I promise the next time you come to my bed, Father,
I will leave you to slumber in peace."



   "And leave me is what you would have to do, for I'll never have any
peace with you in my bed," he said, his wicked smile matching her own. 
'But peace, Bella Strega, is something I've reluctantly disavowed now that
I've made love to you."



   "You're regretful , Father?  " Miranda asked, matching the sadness of
his pensive voice.

   Antonio gazed at her in cold appraisal.  He touched the coveted nipple
of a breast that beckoned his fingertips even as his mind dwelled on deeper
issues.  "Regret?  I regret only that I am not free, '" he said, and before
she could reply, he thrust his cock deep, satsififying her longing.

   Copyright 2004, Frances LaGatta

   More of Frances LaGatta's erotic romances may be found at:
http://www.eroticabyfranceslagatta.com

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