M. Debreyne - The Ribald Monk

But Choisy was determined to give her the whole gamut of love a la Francaise, so he did not go in yet, but proceeded to make her come several times with his tongue.

And how she responded to his clever love-making! She had never had such a lover before. Choisy had opened up new vistas of sensual pleasure to her.

As a good strategist, he kept attacking on all fronts at the same time. Thus, while he was sucking her off, with one hand he pinched her nipples in turn, and he used one-or sometimes two-fingers of the other hand as a penis, driving them deeply in and out of her warm juicy pussy.

He finished off by going into her himself, and timing it so that they came together in an orgasm so violent that it left them both dazed in blissful forgetfulness for a moment.

With some pauses for sleep, their love feast lasted long through the night and, in the morning, Choisy left Francesca's apartments dressed as a woman. He continued to adopt this disguise and it was funny to see that nobody ever suspected anything was afoot between him and Francesca.

At times, he even crossed in his path Francesca's lover-the rich merchant-and Francesca had a good laugh when he told her once that her elderly lover was making eyes at him, taking him for an attractive woman.

Charlotte de Ransac began to feel puzzled by Choisy. She expected him to try his hardest to seduce her. She remembered how pressing he used to be in Paris, and the satisfaction she got out of keeping him on a string. But here in Venice, although he paid her a visit practically every day, he was polite, witty and full of compliments, but still kept his distance.

First, she supposed that Choisy was taken up by other women, and was rather piqued by the idea. She looked at her voluptuous body in the mirror, and she was pleased with what she saw. How come Choisy did not seem any longer to appreciate her beauty to its full merit?

She tried in vain to get information about Choisy — even all the gossip failed to show that he was anything but a courteous gentleman and, so far, there was no sign of his having an affair with a Venetian lady.

So she opened up her heart to the marchioness of Rubo, who had the reputation of knowing more about intrigues in Venice than any other woman.

— Who has he fallen in love with? she asked her.

— Maybe his reputation is overdone, replied the marchioness.

— I can assure you that in France one could not keep count of his conquests.

— Well, in that case, he's probably indifferent to the Venetian type of beauty.

— He? Oh, no, that can't be. I know he can hide his game quite expertly, but can a love affair remain unknown for a long time in such a city as Venice?

After a pause, the marchioness spoke:

— You know, since he arrived in Venice, one has not yet solved the riddle of his real sex.

— He does arouse our curiosity, admitted Charlotte.

— Yes, it would be fun unmasking him. But who will do that-a man or a woman?

— We shall let chance decide it, Charlotte de Ransac suggested.

The marchioness smiled enigmatically.

— We shall help chance… she said. At carnival time it would be very easy and all of us women would be very glad of the opportunity.

All? Charlotte de Ransac thought that the case of Choisy interested too many people, and she would have preferred to have only one rival, for Choisy was, at least to her, a man who had wooed her and showed by his assiduous court that he was really a man. She could fight against a rival. But surely not against a whole conjuration of women.

She was thinking too much of Choisy, she realized. And that was not the worst. The truth was that her flesh was disturbed by her thoughts of him, and she found no longer any sexual satisfaction with her husband. She chose all sorts of pretexts to avoid his approaches. The sight of his big prick, all stiff and throbbing with desire, which used to make her twat shut and open and become all wet, now filled her with revulsion. And he was of course becoming more and more amorous with her continued refusals to satisfy his desire. He was even accusing her of cruelty, but women do not give a damn about hurting a man, when they have ceased to love him.

— Venice, capital of love-Choisy had told her- what an imposture! she thought bitterly.

Although she had been residing in Venice for more than two years, she knew the town rather badly and was very little informed about the Venetian intrigues. She would at least never have imagined that her friend the marchioness was ready to put into effect a very bold plan for which she risked defiling her honour as a great lady of rank. But there is no knowing what some passions can work in a woman's breast, and the marchioness's itching curiosity to find out for herself about Choisy and the riddle he was setting them all, had the better of her wisdom and virtue.

One evening, hidden in a hired gondola, she followed Choisy as he took a gondola and she saw that he stopped in front of Francesca's palace and entered it. The marchioness gave a girlish giggle of satisfaction-she had discovered Choisy's secret.

The following day, before visiting time, as Choisy had just come out of his bath, Bouju announced the visit of a masked lady.

Choisy was flattered and wondered if that lady would not by any chance be Charlotte de Ransac, piqued by his indifference and wanting to tackle him in his very den. He combed his hair and brushed his clothes carefully, sensing that he would have to appear at his best for yet another conquest.

As the mysterious lady came in, he saw that it would be impossible for him to recognize her, as, besides being masked, she was wearing a very wide cloak.

— Whoever you are, Choisy said affably, make yourself at home-you are welcome.

The lady sat down and said:

— I am very much interested in you-but don't ask me the reason why, please-or at least not just yet.

Choisy did not answer. He was too busy trying to recognize the voice of the mysterious visitor, which was a difficult thing to do, for she was trying her best to disguise her voice.

— Since you have been in Venice, she went on, there has been some hostility against you.

— Hostility? exclaimed Choisy unbelievingly, and just what are they reproaching me with?

— With everything and nothing in particular. You are French and even Parisian. Your behaviour defies criticism but…

— Go on, prompted Choisy.

— But you have an independent spirit and a certain liberty of language which have hurt, or at least, displeased a few persons.

— I didn't know there were such susceptible persons here.

— The people of Venice are very proud of their rank and cannot tolerate that anybody should speak about them without respect.

— Does the Council of the Ten intend to turn me out of the town? asked Choisy.

— I don't think so, but you had better be on your guard-about your nightly outings in particular, she answered pointedly.

— Am I being spied upon? This is annoying, and I don't know how to express my gratitude to you for warning me thus so disinterestedly.

On hearing his last word, the masked lady could not repress a titter, and Choisy recognized her. Standing up, he said:

— You are well informed, my dear Marchioness, and I really don't know how to express my gratitude to you.

So saying, he had come near her and he was smiling broadly, for he had succeeded in discovering her identity. She had been clever, but had neglected a significant detail:-that of her unmistakable perfume which he would know anywhere. It was a musky, heady perfume, which acted strongly on his senses-he felt his penis start swelling at each whiff of her perfume intercepted by his dilated nostrils.

Still, she was reluctant to admit her defeat readily, and persisted in her anonymity. So he told her: