When I returned from Germany in 1947, I was not the same woman who left two years earlier. I left as a widow struggling to make ends meet. Now I had something of a reputation as an art appraiser, a skill honed by my years in cataloguing and repatriating hundreds of pieces of artwork stolen by the German army during World War Two. That reputation opened doors to me that were formerly closed, and I took advantage of every opening.

Another, more fundamental change had occurred. When I left America, I thought my libido was dead. I was wrong. It merely needed awakening, and that happened as I told earlier. It was as an accommodating, if not aggressive, woman of the world that I returned. There was no shortage of young, horny soldiers stationed in Germany, and I never lacked for company. I would only bed the luckiest and most personable ones, and then only with the double protection of a condom and a diaphragm. I had no interest in pregnancy and, even though venereal disease was now succumbing to the new wonder drugs introduced by the War, I dared not risk getting infected, as it would have meant the end of my employment with the Army. I found to my surprise that many of my bedmates were virgins, although they would seldom admit to it, and it was my privilege to introduce them to the mysteries of intercourse. In return, I had a steady supply of nylons, candy, and wine.

When I returned, I was able to obtain employment at a large art museum in New York City, as a curator, appraiser, and restorer. It wasn't long before I was invited to a party of other denizens of the art world. It was a rather special group, as it specialized in erotica, and the parties they held were not your average soirees.

For one thing, they were held entirely in the nude. One was expected to disrobe the moment he or she arrived. And the men delighted in achieving and maintaining erections for the duration of the party. Women were encouraged to attain similar states of arousal. "Why look at erotic art, if you can't respond to it?" the party host would proclaim. But there was to be no direct physical contact among the partygoers, save for an innocent peck on the cheek by way of greeting or leave-taking.

The result is that there was a good deal of sexual tension but no release. We women took secret pride in providing the men with a show, as they took pride in displaying their hard cocks. And one could tell that the interests were not uniformly heterosexual; I saw many men admiring the other men's bodies, and found myself the object of many a woman's attention. We flirted with each other shamelessly, knowing that nobody would dare to break the taboo against touching, and that gave us license to be as wanton as we wished. There were many times when I arranged for a tryst with some of the more attractive men, and not a few women, after the party.

The other big attraction of the party was that a recently acquired work of erotic art would always be exhibited. This mostly came from private collectors who were invited to the party; the temporary loan of their artwork was their ticket of admission. In this way, we in "the trade" were able to see a great deal of art that would have been impossible to see otherwise.

The range of the art was usually fairly predictable ... the usual erotic sketches and watercolors, the statues of fauns and satyrs with oversized phalluses, some beautiful illustrations of passages in the Kama Sutra, and so on. I was often asked to give my opinion as to the provenance and authenticity of them, since these sorts of artwork are less likely to have their histories documented. My years in Germany were not wasted. Of course, I would have been delighted if that masterpiece I had seen in Wiesbaden, showing the seraglio with the four naked boys, ever showed up at one of these soirees, but it never did. I assume that it went back to the place from which it was stolen.

One party in particular was memorable for me. It began as the others did, with me arriving at the mansion of the host and stripping off my clothes in a corner of the main ballroom. I had learned to wear clothes that were easy to remove, and usually dispensed with a brassiere altogether. Watching the partygoers disrobe was part of the fun, with some participants making big productions of removing their bras or boxer shorts, but I took little pleasure in the performance, either doing or watching, so I wasted little time on it. That night, it was simply a matter of removing my coat, shoes, and skirt. I wore a sweater with no blouse underneath, which I doffed to expose my breasts. These were perfectly ordinary, except that they probably sagged more than they should and hung low on my chest. I knew that the men appreciated watching them hang and swing as I removed my panty hose and panties, and did not disappoint them.

Soon I was naked except for a string of pearls, my earrings, and a small watch. Then it was my turn to watch a newly arrived man, whom I'd never seen before, remove his own clothes as I lifted my breasts and smiled at him. The last thing he took off was his shorts, and my little show, combined with the naked flesh of the other women in attendance, had given him a head start on a hard-on, which he stroked to full erection as we applauded. It was an inch or so longer than the usual, and I knew that would be regarded with interest by the women there, along with several men who hoped that its owner swung both ways.

And so it went, with the usual flirting and lifting of wineglasses. The room was comfortably warm, and there was abundant seating. Like the other women in the room, I enjoyed masturbating in front of people and watching their reactions, and soon my labia were swollen and my clitoris peeked out from its hood. The man who disrobed after me was now staring at me with frank lust, and I saw a drop of fluid glistening from the tip of his penis. I pantomimed stroking it and kissing it, and watched it twitch. He smiled, and I smiled back. "It's nice to be appreciated," I thought. I noticed that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring and wondered what he was doing later that night.

Eventually, we came to the part of the evening where the artwork would be displayed. This time, it was a painting on an easel, hidden by a drape of velvet cloth. We all gathered around it as a middle-aged man with a paunch and a small but nicely formed penis was speaking. The man was Robert, and I'd had the pleasure of playing with that penis after the last soiree. Robert had used it skillfully, and his tongue and fingers were equally deft. As I listened to him, I caressed my wet inner lips and recalled with fondness his own lips on them.

"A friend of mine acquired this last month in Verona. It's not in any of the catalogues, so I'm hoping that somebody here might help me assess its value. My friend was told that it was Italian Renaissance, probably sixteenth century, possibly Florentine. I hope you like it."

He looked at me. "Olivia, you're the expert on Italian Renaissance. What do you think about this one? Have you seen anything like this before?" And then he whisked the velvet aside. There were gasps of surprise and admiration as the painting was revealed.

It was the picture of a young boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen. He was nude, seated on a small divan, with his legs stretched out before him and splayed wide. From the fine hairs of his crotch protruded an erect penis, elegantly long and curved, with a drop of pre-cum glistening at its tip. The boy was regarding the viewer with heavy-lidded eyes and plump lips that begged to be kissed. Unlike his crotch, his chest was hairless. The execution of the painting was absolutely flawless, with an unsurpassed mastery of light and shadow. The eye was inexorably drawn from the dark background to the rich velvet of the divan and finally to the brightest part of the painting, which was the boy's penis, bathed in a golden light so bright that the cock seemed to glow with an inner fire.

People looked at me, expecting the ready and informed opinion they knew I'd provide. For once, they were disappointed, for I'd been struck speechless.

It was surely what he had described it to be. And I had seen it before, but not with my eyes. I'd seen it in a dream, the dream I'd dreamt back in Wiesbaden after seeing that other painting, undoubtedly from the same master. The dream that opened once again the floodgates of my libido. The dream of the Italian boy Dominic.

"Livy?"

I blinked. People were staring at me. I somehow managed to stammer out an answer to Robert's question. "I haven't seen this before, but I have seen another work in a similar style. This is unquestionably the same artist. And I doubt if you'll find this one in any of the indices, either. It's definitely fifteenth century, probably Florentine. What's it worth? Who can tell? An analysis of the brush strokes might give a clue to the painter, but it isn't signed, and the other one I saw wasn't, either."

After a few more hours of small talk, the party was over. As I was slipping on my skirt, the man with the long, slender dick came over to me and thanked me for my critique of the painting. "You seem to know a lot about Italian Renaissance art. I'd love to talk to you about it some time."

"How about tomorrow morning?"

"Wonderful! When shall I pick you up?"

I lifted up my breasts by their nipples and gave them a shake, while giving him what I hoped was a provocative smile. "How about right now?" His cock twitched.

We lost no time in getting dressed and making our goodbyes. In the cab, we necked passionately, like teenagers. When we arrived at his townhouse apartment after a drive of a few blocks, we undressed in a rush, leaving our clothes where they fell. The hours of delayed gratification had turned us into animals, and it was all I could do to beg a few minutes to slip into the bathroom and insert my diaphragm. When I came out, his cock was already covered with a condom, and I threw myself on the bed and spread my legs. He was inside me in a flash, pumping his cock in and out of me like a man possessed. I surrendered to the sensation. Somehow, he was able to contain his own lust until his cock had stroked every square inch of my vagina, putting pressure first on one side, then the other. When he gave a last thrust while simultaneously biting on my nipple, I orgasmed almost instantly, with an intensity I never dreamed I was capable of. And then I felt his own cock pulsing, pulsing, pulsing as every muscle on his beautiful body tensed and his arms clasped around my back, crushing my breasts into his chest. For what seemed like minutes, we only gasped and trembled. Then, gradually, he started a low chuckle that turned into a laugh, and I laughed with him and kissed his neck. He rolled off me and, as I rolled onto my side, removed the condom and then lay behind me, nestling his body against mine like two forks in a drawer. With his arms around me, I fell asleep, and I dreamed.

The white coach, pulled by two perfectly matched gray geldings, rolled away from the Master's house, with Dom its sole occupant. He was holding a box containing all his possessions, save the clothes on his back. He was leaving his home of the past two years. But he was never going back to the life of a butcher's errand boy who was the shoemaker's son. That life was over. His new home was to be the house of one of the Master's greatest patrons, a nobleman who had noticed Dom's talent with the violin (or was it his beauty?) and told the Master that when the boy's usefulness to the studio was ended, he would take him into his own household for further training. Dom would never be noble himself, but with his skills and education he would easily find a place in Italy's burgeoning middle class.

The trip took four hours. When he arrived at the Count's palace, he was taken inside and greeted by an attractive woman named Donetta. Donetta bore a strong resemblance to her sister Antoinette, who had been Dom's constant companion for the past two years. It was Antoinette who had masturbated him every day and collected his semen, and who had taught him all the arts of love. And it was Antoinette with whom he'd spent the previous night, depositing his seed not into one of Antoinette's glass collection vials but into her womb itself. It was the happiest night of his life, and its memory made his heart rejoice even as it broke with the knowledge that it would never come again.

Donetta was accompanied by a servant, to whom she now spoke. "This is Dominic. He will be living with us, in the Count's personal quarters. Please show him the way, and see that he has everything he needs.

"And, Dominic, I will see you in my own quarters in two hours. Please be prompt, for I am a busy woman." With that, she smiled again and took her leave.

The room Dominic was shown to was small, but elegantly furnished and airy. It was a corner room with two windows that could be opened for cross-ventilation. The south window looked over a garden, and the west window showed fields, now brown with the harvest's stubble, beyond the castle wall. The servant indicated a bell pull that could be used to summon the staff, and then bowed stiffly and left the room.

There was a violin on a table, its rich red finish glowing in the sunlight. It was far finer than the one he had been loaned at the Master's studio, and he ached to play it, but felt it unwise to do so until he had permission from the Count. There were also books on a shelf, and he took one down and leafed through it. It was a psalter, and the hand-illuminated illustrations were a wonder to see.

When the time came, Dominic rang for the servant and asked to be shown to Donetta's quarters. It was not far. The servant knocked on the door, and Dom heard Donetta say "Enter!" The servant opened the door, showed Dom through and, without himself entering, closed it again.

This room was darker than his, although the last of the day's sunlight filtered through the partially open drapes. There was a bed in the center of the room. Donetta lay on it. She was naked.

"Take your clothes off, my dear boy, and come here. I have been receiving letters from Antoinette; the last one came this morning with the coach you arrived in. She has kept me informed about your ... training. The Countess has asked me to interview you, to see if you will be suitable for her purposes."

"What purposes?"

"Why, to make love to her, of course! She admires young boys, particularly those who have been trained as you have been. Come now, off with those clothes!"

Dominic doffed his clothing with relief, as he was not used to them, having gone nude for nearly two years. He stood before her, his penis engorging at the sight of the naked woman before him. So much like Antoinette! Except that her hair was a shade lighter, her breasts heavier, and her waist thicker, as if she had given birth. He climbed onto the bed, and the woman drew him close.

Tenderly, they kissed. Then Dom began a trail of kisses that started at her neck and traveled slowly down her chest, pausing at her nipples to tenderly suck and nip at them. He paid special attention to the underside of her breasts, as Antoinette and Angelina had instructed him. Down farther he went, down to her navel, which he engirdled with kisses. All the while, his hands were stroking her arms, her thighs, and her head. Donetta groaned softly and spread her legs. Downward Dom traveled, now to her mons, with its bush of auburn hair. He parted it to expose her slit, with its lips now wet and swelling. He teased them apart with his tongue while slipping a finger inside Donetta's private recess, up to his first knuckle. He felt muscles contracting, squeezing the finger. He removed the finger, replaced it with two fingers, pushing deeper, stroking the inside of her tunnel, feeling the differences in its roughness and wetness. Slowly he worked, as Donetta's breathing became deeper and more irregular. He took his time arriving at her "little bud" (as Antoinette used to call it) and when he finally began licking and sucking it, he was rewarded with a gush of fluid and a sudden shudder as the woman suddenly was swept by a climax. Her groans turned into laughter, and Dom was pleased with his work even as his own lust cried out for satisfaction.

"Oh, Antoinette was right!" she cried. "You are a very talented little boy! You will do well here! Oh, Dom, Dom, take me now. Let me feel your shaft inside me!" She spread her legs wide, and Dom positioned himself over her. With trembling hands, he guided his shaft into her opening, and slid into her quickly.

He tried valiantly to make the moment last, but the silken feel of her tunnel on his shaft proved too overpowering, and he lasted only six strokes before his semen flooded her womb. "I am so sorry, Donetta," he stammered. "I truly tried to last longer."

"Well, you are young. But Antoinette tells me you recover quickly. Let us find out." And she took his softening rod into her mouth and sucked gently. Within minutes, he felt himself getting hard again, and the sucking turned into licking. It was a sensation he knew well, from long ministrations from Antoinette and her fellow servants, and soon he was at full hardness again. Dom wondered if Donetta herself had once worked at the studio with her sister, masturbating the young boys and collecting their syrup for the Master. With a pleased smile, Donetta again lay back on the bed and spread her legs. "Now try again, dear boy," she said. "This time you should last a bit longer."

And so he did. He stroked her chamber with his long rod, as Antoinette had shown him, running it up first one side, then the other, stroking the front of the tunnel, then the rear. He would vary the lengths of his thrusts, using only a small portion of his shaft, then more. He would pump energetically, and then wait a moment before continuing, all the while kissing her neck or lifting a breast to suck on it. Donetta responded with another climax, and then another, and finally begged Dom to end it once and for all. In response, he quickened his pace to its most rapid tempo, thrusting deeply until he felt his cap pushing against her cervix. Antoinette had often warned him about this, saying it caused her pain, so he restrained from thrusting deeper. Donetta's face was a mask of lust; her fingers raked Dom's back until it bled. At last, with a roar, Dom unleashed his seed into her, feeling each pulse echoed with a clench of her muscles. He suddenly felt as weak as a baby, as if she had drained his very life force from him. He nearly swooned as his body collapsed onto hers.

They lay there for some time, limbs entwined, breathing heavily. Then Dom heard Donetta's silvery laughter again.

"Oh, yes! You will do very well indeed!"

"Did I hurt you, milady? I mean, when I thrust deeply?"

"Oh, no! You stopped at the right depth. That shows good training, and good manners. It is wise that you had both, because the Countess is very sensitive in that area, I'm told. Her last lover had a very big tool but could not be trained to use it properly, so he was discharged. That will not happen to you, I think."

"Am I to be the Countess's lover, then?"

"Among other things. The Count will explain all to you when he returns tonight."

"Then he's to know?"

"Of course! It was his idea. You need not fear discovery."

She sat up on the bed. "There is one thing, though, that has to be addressed. The Countess usually retires after the evening concert. That will be when she requires your services. I would recommend that you masturbate a half an hour or so beforehand, so that your erection will last longer in her bed. Better yet, I will come up to take care of you."

There was a knock on the door. "Enter," Donetta said, and stood up without bothering to cover her nudity. The door opened on to a young page who, unsettled at the sight, stammered as he delivered his message.

"The Count and Countess have returned. Due to the lateness of the hour, there will be no evening concert. They shall sup within the hour. The Count instructs the new boy..." he glanced at Dom " ... to meet him in his private study directly after supper. Alone."

"That is well," Donetta replied with a tone of easy command. "He will be there. Has the Countess need of me now?"

"She does. There are things to be unpacked and sorted. She is currently bathing, and requires a change of clothes afterward."

"I will be with her in a quarter of an hour. Please escort Dom to the kitchen, and see that he is fed. Then take him to the Count when he is summoned. Thank you, Gio."

As she said this, she was dressing. Dom also dressed. The page stared, but said nothing. When Dom was dressed at last, Gio led him to the kitchens, where he was given a meal every bit as fine as he had enjoyed at the Master's studio.

Later that night, Dom was received into the presence of his new patron. The Count wasted no time in preliminaries. He handed Dom a goblet of wine, took another for himself, and gestured him to be seated. "Are you well settled, Dom?"

"Yes, your Excellency."

"Very well, then. I hear that Donetta has interviewed you and found you satisfactory. She has also explained your duties to you -- that you are to make love to my wife."

"Yes, your Excellency."

"You may wonder why this is so, and why I cannot do so myself. Of course, I do, and have two sons and a daughter to show for it. But I will be on campaign soon, for God knows how long. My wife has needs that must be satisfied, and I find that giving her a lover is the best way to do so. I would rather she have one that I know is not poxed, and has breeding as befits a servant of this court."

"But my lord, how do you know if she will find me pleasing?"

"You have little fear of that, boy. It was she who selected you. She knows who you are. All you have to do is live up to your reputation, and be the person she already believes you to be."

"My lord, I will do my best, and I am thankful for the offer. But how do I ... I mean, if I should beget a child..."

"That will not happen. After she delivered our daughter, she came down with a fever. She was sick for weeks, and came close to dying. The fever burned away those parts of her that could produce children. That was twelve years ago, and despite lying with me and other men, she has never conceived. So you need have no fears of that.

"Tomorrow, I must be off again, for at least a month. I trust you will do whatever is necessary to keep her happy. If you require anything else, let Donetta know and she will take care of it. Is there anything else?"

"One thing, your Excellency. There was a violin in my room, a most beautiful one. Do I have your permission to play it?"

The Count smiled. "Dominic, you do not need my permission. It is yours! It was made by a craftsman in Cremona whose work is unrivalled. I give this to you in earnest of a long and happy career with us."

"Mine? My lord, I cannot. It is too beautiful, I am not worthy..."

"Nonsense. It is beautiful, to match your own beauty. As for your worth, that remains to be seen. I understand you have some talent already with the violin, and your lessons will continue. I look forward to your eventual entry into our orchestra. Practice long and well, and we shall see what your worth is."

The count left the next day, but the evening concerts went on as usual. After they ended, Donetta came to Dom's room, stripped him naked and masturbated him quickly to orgasm, without disrobing herself. Then he slipped on a richly brocaded robe and followed the page to the Countess's chamber.

The Countess herself was stretched naked on the bed. Although childbearing and years of indolence had left her somewhat thick in the waist and heavy in the bosom, she was still quite attractive, with dancing eyes and a ready smile. Her hair was just beginning to gray, but the thatch between her legs was still a rich dark brown. As she welcomed Dom to her bed, she lifted one of her breasts, showing an erect nipple surrounded by a wide, dark areola. Even with his lust recently satisfied, Dom found his penis once more swelling at the sight.