The Venetian Barn
Copyright© 2026 by Paul Darkblue
Chapter 1: How It Started
I’m Maurizio Bassetti, 45. I’m a farmer; I’ve always loved working the land, putting on my boots to walk through the fields, and driving my New Holland T8 Genesis tractor.
I’m six-foot-two tall, with broad shoulders, a six-pack forged by the heavy daily work on the land, black hair, and brown eyes. Well, there are a few grey streaks in my hair now, but that is the price of age and experience. My hands are large and calloused from the hard work I do every day.
On working days, I usually wake up around 6:00 am and go to sleep at 10:00 pm. Sometimes I have to wake up early on weekends and holidays, too. The land has its own rules, and you must respect them to get the most out of it.
I also have a degree in Agricultural Sciences, and I am the first male graduate in my family.
I come from a family of farmers. My great-great-grandfather was a farm labourer here in Veneto, the north-eastern region of Italy, in the late 19th century. He was the first in our family to own a small piece of land and farm it himself.
Family legend says he worked for a very rich landowner who owned half the province’s land. One day, a horse escaped from the stable and galloped in fear towards one of the landowner’s young children. My great-great-grandfather threw himself into the path, pushing the child away from the horse’s hooves, saving his life, but that cost him a fractured leg and some broken ribs. He was left with a slight limp, and to thank him for saving his child’s life, the landowner gifted him a small piece of land, handing over the property deeds.
I don’t know if any of this story is true, but one thing is certain: over generations, the Bassetti family has turned that small piece of land into a 600-acre estate. In my region, this land is worth about 12 to 13 million euros.
My father retired two years ago, leaving me in charge of everything. He is 72 years old and wants to enjoy the rest of his life with my mother. They have been married for 50 years. They travel a lot now, making up for the long, tireless working days of their youth. Their other main goal in retirement is to spoil their grandchildren. Still, during the harvest and sowing seasons, my father sometimes wakes up early to help me, and I always ask his advice about our business.
I have a sister, Silvia, three years my senior, who is a paediatric doctor here at the local hospital; she is married to a good man, also a doctor, has two teenage children, and has no interest in farming. My father has already drawn up his will: I will inherit all the land and everything on it; she will receive ownership of several houses, flats, and shops that my family owns in the city, all of which are rented out to families and businesses.
We are now effectively a small business, employing 10 full-time staff and an additional 40 during the sowing and harvest seasons.
My father taught me to invest most of our earnings in land and real estate. He was the first Bassetti to diversify the business beyond agriculture. When a good bargain is in sight, I buy new land, a flat, or an entire building to expand our portfolio. I always keep our agricultural machinery in good condition; periodically, I buy new equipment when the old machinery reaches the end of its life cycle.
There is one thing I don’t like spending money on: temporary things whose value disappears the day after you buy them.
I drive a ten-year-old Toyota Land Cruiser, and I had the exact same model before this one. It’s practical and safe when I need to move quickly across the dirt tracks on my land, but it’s a far cry from the luxury German or Japanese SUVs many of my friends drive around town.
I don’t own the latest trendy smartphone either: I have a mid-range Korean phone, and I replace it only every five to six years.
I don’t waste money on designer suits; what matters to me is fabric quality and practicality. I have never worn a tie in my life, except for formal occasions: weddings (my own included), graduations, and a handful of other events.
I did one crazy thing in my life: spending a substantial amount of money, far beyond what was necessary, but I’ll tell you more about that later.
During my university years, I was very active in the dating scene. As I tried to explain earlier, I’m not bad-looking. I was outgoing, had plenty of friends, and had decent family money in my pocket, so a lot of girls hit on me. It didn’t hurt that my cock is well-proportioned to my height: short of 8 inches, straight, veiny, about 6 inches in girth. Many of those girls were just gold-diggers, looking for a “golden boy” or “Prince Charming”, if you prefer; a few were just looking for mutual fun. Some were already engaged or in relationships; a couple were even married. Eventually, I got rid of them as quickly as I could once I got what I wanted. The longest relationship lasted three months.
Not all the breakups were painless. Some girls kept stalking me, begging for more time together and claiming we were soulmates, but I had my own lifestyle. I’m not proud of it now, but that’s how I was in my early twenties.
Then I met Marzia. Beautiful, blonde, blue eyes, large breasts, narrow hips, a great ass, two years my junior. Essentially an Italian Pamela Anderson lookalike. She was the queen of the party scene, standing out amongst all the other ordinary girls. And she was my nemesis, or my clone, if you prefer, on the female side. Her body count was as high as mine, if not higher. Just to give you an idea, her nickname was ‘Sam’, which was not a fancy nickname used by her friends, but the Italian short for ‘anal sex Marzia’. Yes, she liked anal sex and big cocks. And she was infamous for how quickly she would dump guys after using them to satisfy her needs
We met by chance at a mutual friend’s party. I was 24 at the time. Actually, she hit on me first: I was talking with some other guys when she approached me holding two beers.
“So, you’re the infamous Maurizio Bassetti. I’m Marzia Nelli,” she said, smiling as she introduced herself and handed me one of the bottles.
I already knew who she was; my mates at the party had already given me a heads-up about her assets and her skills in bed. She was wearing a short black party dress with plenty of cleavage on display and no hint of a bra underneath. Her magnificent breasts bounced under the soft fabric as she walked over to our group. I was more than happy to take that amazing body for a ride.
We started talking and drinking, which soon led to dancing, where I could feel all her curves pressing against my body. She enjoyed the way I grabbed her, guided her through the dance, and let her feel my hard cock grinding against her stomach and arse. A couple of hours later, we were in the back of my car. As soon as we climbed inside, she started kissing me, well, not just kissing; she was practically sucking my tongue like a blowjob. The actual world-class blowjob and swallow followed a few minutes later, which I reciprocated by going down on her until she screamed through an orgasm. Then we fucked, a lot, in the back seat, the windows completely fogged over by the heat coming off our bodies.
Sometimes, I still ask myself what kind of chemistry was at play between us. The simple truth is, we just connected.
After that night, we started dating almost every other week. On our third date, I fucked her ass, and it was even better than my mates had described. Marzia was a total queen in bed, never shy about anything.
I didn’t get rid of her, and she didn’t dump me after a few dates either. After a year, our relationship was much like that of a real couple, even though I was still on the market, and so was she, so to speak. We considered ourselves more like friends with benefits than a proper couple. It was a mutual understanding between us: we both knew we were the best fuck the other could get, yet there was no exclusivity.
But ... when I was with other girls, I couldn’t help but compare them to Marzia, and it was very difficult to have as much fun. There was always something missing that only Marzia could give me. I’m sure it was the same for her, because she made the first move.
One night, after a wild sex session, after I had fucked her ass once again and come straight in her mouth right after, she spoke up:
“Maurizio, we need to talk.”
‘Okay, this is when she dumps me; she must have grown tired of this whole setup,’ I thought, a strange wave of sadness washing over me at the idea of losing her.
So, letting out a heavy sigh, I replied, “Alright, Marzia, say what you need to say and let’s skip any pitiful goodbyes; there’s no need to be dramatic and make things difficult. Have you found someone else, or are you just tired of fucking the same guy almost every week?”
She sat up on the bed naked, annoyed, hugging her knees to her chest and looking me straight in the eye: “You are an asshole, you know that? Actually, I’ve grown tired of this lifestyle, but not in the way you think. It’s the exact opposite. When I’m with someone else, I can’t stop thinking about you, how you talk to me, how you get me, how you fuck me. I feel empty when you aren’t around, and I can’t stand the thought of you fucking other girls.”
Well, that was a surprise! I stopped to think about her, only with my cock, and the cogs in my brain started turning. I realised I was feeling the exact same way. That was the uncomfortable sensation I’d had whenever I fucked other girls. Not only was I comparing them to Marzia, but I wasn’t happy at all with the idea of her fucking other guys either. I wanted her all to myself, too.
I replied, “Well, Marzia, maybe I feel the same. As far as I’m concerned, I can easily walk away from this lifestyle if we’re together. But we both know how much you love sex and how tempting it is for you to give every new big cock in sight a go. How can I ever trust that this exclusivity won’t be a one-way street? I don’t want to spend every day checking if my girlfriend is fucking around with other guys.”