Gustav Schlling: Memoirs of a Baron

The moment we arrived in Florence, I went to Signor Battioli's home. The family was still mourning about the loss of their daughter. After a few banalities had been exchanged, I mentioned offhandedly that I had just contracted the services of a young Italian manservant who had told me something about a young signorina being abducted from Florence.

They instantly begged me to summon this young man, and I wrote a hasty note. My beautiful traveling companion arrived soon thereafter, but 'he' was too weak to play 'his' role well; the moment 'he' entered, 'he' fell into 'his' mother's arms.

From my own experience I would say that Italian women are very lascivious. Their temperaments are passionate, hot, and very often insatiable. Their entire bodies seem to have one purpose only, namely the pursuit of voluptuous pleasures. I am sure that such debauchery exists nowhere else in Europe.

It is not at all difficult to make conquests but it is far more demanding to satisfy them and one has to be extremely careful with the breaking of a relationship without any dangerous results.

The Battioli family insisted on a prolonged stay in Florence and their hospitality knew no bounds. Her father had always refused her permission to marry but in the joy of having found his daughter safe and unharmed he now granted her deepest wish. Young Vargendo practically smothered me amidst thousands of thank-yous and other praises, because thanks to me he could lead his bride to the altar while she was still a virgin.

The newlywed Madame Vargendo came to my room one afternoon. She looked as lovely as the dawn and she wore a simple white dress.

“Beautiful Madame Vargendo, your visit is an honor to me.”

“I came here to thank you, though I deserve your scorn; can you please forgive me?”

“My scorn? And why?”

“My husband has thanked you. I must tell you that he considers you a demigod for having delivered me to him untouched. He was very apprehensive when we went into the bridal bed and…”

“Why do you hesitate, my dear?”

“My husband is right when he says I would not entrust him with a woman.”

“Maybe he is wrong.”

“No, he is not. I would not want to make another trip with you.”

“And why not?”

“It's very simple, really. If I had not liked your attentions, I would have resisted. And if I had resisted you would have doubled your attentions.”

“Unforgettable Vargendo.”

I took her in my arms and kissed her tenderly.

She answered my kisses with fire.

“You are right, my dear. In this manner, restraint would be impossible to ask from me.”

“Isn't it? My dearest Baron, I love you and I would have given in to your endearments long ago if it were not for the fact that my bridegroom… you know what I mean.”

“And if I were to implore you now about reciprocating my love for you?”

“If I didn't, I would not have deserved being saved by you.”

I pulled her down with me on the sofa and my hand reached the temple of her love without any obstacles. The very lips seemed to breathe passion.

We emptied the cup of passion three times, each time with as much pleasure and delight as the previous one. I assure you that my whole being has very seldom experienced so many ecstatic delights.

However, it was Signora Dievelli who gave me a taste of what a truly voluptuous Italian woman is like. One night, a little old woman picked me up from my home around midnight and delivered me-Lord knows after how many dark stairways, corridors and portals — into a beautifully decorated room. Finally, a masked lady, dressed in a floor-length cloak entered, sat down next to me and talked about the enormous risk she took and the enormous risk I was about to take if I could not keep a secret. Meanwhile, because of her love for me, she would not drop her mask till she had received from me the strongest reassurances possible as to my secrecy, because she loved me too passionately and would rather burn in her own passion than endanger my life in any form or manner.

Since I had already gone this far, I saw no reason why I should not give her those hotly desired assurances.

She dropped her mask and the cloak slid down to the floor. An incredible beauty stood before me. I was so dumbfounded that I could not move and I just stood there while she walked up to me, embraced me and pressed a voluptuous kiss upon my lips. I encircled her beautiful body and felt voluptuous ripples go up and down her spine.

I took off her clothes and was agape with admiration. She had by far the most beautiful body I had ever seen. I let my face rest upon her heaving bosom. She played with my hair and kissed my forehead. Her breath was voluptuous. Every single one of her movements was voluptuous. Every muscle in her body stretched voluptuously and beckoned me toward her. We stretched out upon the soft bed; she held me floatingly even before my prick had touched the entrance of her grotto. She embraced me fiercely, groaned and sighed and her eyes glazed voluptuously when she felt the god of love. She received him with a joyful quiver; her entire body took on a rose-colored blush and as soon as she felt the approach of the sacrifice she stemmed herself on hands and feet and held me floating. My staff emptied his vessel and she groaned lightly. Her movements be-came convulsive and when her fountain of passion opened it flooded down in great gusts.

We took our time recuperating, then got up and had some refreshments. I could not get enough of seeing, feeling and exploring her marvelous body. I kissed, fondled and caressed it. She rewarded every one of my touches with an outburst of passion. I sat on a chair and she stood next to me; I played with her Venus mound and the curls of the surrounding bushes. Both shores of her passion river were high, and a gleaming pink framed them. The god Hymen stood at the entrance, longing.

My signora curled her arms around my neck, kissed me, nibbled my lips and sucked my tongue and ere I knew what was happening, she sat on my lap and pressed her full bosom against my chest. I lifted myself a little and my staff visited Hymen. They barely touched each other when she started to jump up and down in my lap; her full milky globes gamboled like spring lambs in the meadow; she groaned, quivered, closed her eyes, and finally collapsed, her head lolling on my shoulders.

“Oooh… I can't anymore!”

And a quick burst flowed out of her fountain.

I struggled out of the chair, carrying her to the bed where I ascended the throne of love. I guided my prick into its proper place, crossed her legs behind my back, lifted her buttocks, played with my fingers in her cleft and started the battle all over again.

My sweet signora closed her eyes, her breathing changed into a wild choking sound, and when I sacrificed my life's juice, a marvelous fragrance exuded from her body, headier than the finest wine.

We savored the same pleasure with as much intensity another four times, the highest pleasures of mortals, ere we drifted off into the arms of Morpheus. It seemed as if we gained strength after each encounter rather than losing it. The burning, passionate fire was finally extinguished.

My entire stay in Florence became doubly pleasant because of my affair with this woman and we never were together anywhere without bringing at least one sacrifice to the goddess of love. She was of a very passionate nature and even if the place happened to be uncomfortable, she was inventive enough to find a position or a new twist so that our pleasures were in no way diminished.

Once we were in the theater, the contents of the play had inflamed her imagination. I sat next to her, noticed her heaving bosom and went with my hand under her skirt. No resistance. On the contrary, she got up and made it possible for my voluptuous hand to stray wherever it wanted. When the act was over and the music started, she pulled the curtains of the loge down, stemmed one foot on a chair, and, amidst the jubilant tones of the orchestra, we brought our delicious sacrifice to Venus.