The pool area was ornamented with Roman columns and statues of naked Gods and Goddesses and surrounded by an elaborate stone balustrade that overlooked the dark green of the olive groves in the rolling valley below and the blue Mediterranean beyond.

The air, like the girl, was hot and wet, scented with hibiscus with a slight tang of salt that drifted up from the sea, from her skin.

This was their accustomed afternoon activity. He, well proportioned and darkly handsome with strong features, dressed in a soft white shirt and sharply creased white trousers toyed with her while she, naked, her sweat-soaked black hair plastered against her wide face with high cheekbones and delicate mouth, writhed on the bench, her muscles rippling in the sun as she gasped and whimpered and moaned with each touch, each pinch and slap he administered.

"Shall I give you release?" he asked, his finger lightly circling her throbbing clitoris.

"No," she gasped. "No...." Her fingers clenched the carved stone edge of the bench, her body arched upward then collapsed. Through gritted teeth she again whispered, "No!"

"Then let us continue," he said but, before he could begin the torment anew, he was interrupted by the doorbell, an ancient thing that clanged with a dull iron sound.

He stepped away from her. She rose shakily and wrapped herself in a sheer negligee that instantly plastered itself against her oiled skin, concealing nothing.

She padded barefoot into the house, across the tiled floor of the sun room and down the corridor to the door.

There was a boy from the village -- perhaps 16, with large dark eyes, full lips and the stamp of two thousand years of Roman history on his features -- standing on the stoop holding a delivery basket from the local green grocer.

He was slim, as were all the boys of the village, and wore what seemed to be the requisite yellow sleeveless T shirt with red piping and somewhat scruffy white shorts that might have been hand-me-downs.

From where he stood on the step below the door, he could not help but look directly at her firm breasts and her dark, erect nipples clearly visible through the negligee. He stood open-mouthed, unable to tear his eyes off her until the man called from the pool, asking who it was.

The boy hurriedly lowered his eyes and held out the basket but, as he did so, his gaze fell upon her slit and engorged vulva. He froze again.

"A delivery from the village," she replied over her shoulder. Taking the basket, she told the boy, "Wait here." She walked slowly toward the kitchen, affording the boy a prolonged view of her high, tight ass.

Returning, she walked slowly back the length of the corridor to the open door. She could see that the boy was clearly trying not to stare at her and trying to conceal the throbbing erection in his shorts. And he was failing both magnificently.

As she returned to the door, she held up two 10 Euro notes, as if making a grand gesture of presenting them to him, but in reality it was so that his eyes would follow and then fix on hers. She held his gaze for a moment then let him see her equally frank appraisal of his body, lingering on the large bulge in one leg of his shorts that threatened to jump free of the hem.

"Grazi," she said as she handed him the notes. They both knew it was an exorbitant tip but she closed the door before he could object or even thank her.

The every-other-day deliveries from the green grocer became part of the afternoon routine, unvaried except for her choice of covering. Sometimes it would be a negligee, sometimes a mesh chemise and boy shorts, sometimes a baby doll nightie that rode up and clung to her belly, exposing her engorged vulva completely. But always it was something through which he could see her charms.

The boy's agitation grew with each visit. He saw the man lurking in the background, heard his harsh commands not to linger at the door, saw the disapproval in his stance. And yet, he could do nothing but stare at the girl, unable to tear his eyes off her, unable to free her from the man who obviously held her captive.

The pattern continued throughout the Spring and into the Summer until, one day, the man answered the door. The boy nearly fled in terror. But instead of anger, the man merely smiled. "She is beautiful, is she not?" he asked.

The boy could only nod dumbly.

"And you appreciate that she had the body of a Goddess, do you not?"

Again, the boy nodded, quivering in fear yet emboldened by the man's frank approach. "She is the embodiment of Venus herself," he breathed.

"Then," the man said, taking the boy's arm firmly and pulling him inside, "you should do homage to her properly."

The basket dropped to the floor unnoticed.

The man lead the boy to the pool where she lay on the mosaic tile, propped up on her elbows, one knee bent so that she was completely exposed to his view.

She rose, her eyes fixed on his, and walked slowly towards him, her breasts bouncing slightly, her nipples tightening and darkening. She stopped less than an arms-length from him, crossed her wrists behind her back and waited, her eyes glittering with dangerous desire.

The boy was breathless, speechless, as if too shocked to believe what was happening.

"And do you wish you could touch those breasts, suck those nipples, experience the warmth and wetness of her body?" the man asked.

The boy could only nod.

"And you," the man said, turning to the girl, "what do you want?"

She did not move her eyes from the boy. "I wish to stroke his cock, to take it into my mouth, between my breasts, inside me. I want for him to possess me completely, to serve his every need and desire."

The man considered this a moment then nodded.

"You," he said to the girl, "may stroke his cock through his shorts. And you," he said to the boy, "may fondle her breasts and suck her nipples."

The boy hesitated but the girl did not. Her hand slid down his belly and followed the hard, hot bulge in the boy's shorts, lightly tracing it up and down until the boy, unable to contain himself, reached out and cupped her breasts then buried his face between them, sucking and kissing them in a frenzy of delight.

"Enough," the man said, pulling the girl roughly back. "For every pleasure," he said, "there is a punishment."

The boy's eyes grew wide and he looked wildly around.

"Not for you, boy. For her."

The man pulled the girl backwards between two of the pillars to which ropes had already been attached. He bound her wrists and ankles so that she stood, spread-eagled, exposing the wetness between her legs, her obvious readiness for sex.

The sun glinted off the sweat on her body, moving in hypnotic patterns as the muscles of her thighs and belly rippled and twitched as she strained against the bonds.

The man walked slowly around her, his hand dipping into the wetness between her legs before smearing it roughly across her face.

The boy stood in frozen horror as the man picked up a buggy whip and positioned himself behind the girl.

"No!" the boy whispered but his protest was drowned by the first crack of the whip. It cracked again and again. Each time the girl stiffened and sagged in her bindings, each time crying out in pain yet never taking her eyes off the boy.

"No!" screamed the boy. "You must not! The fault is mine! Mine!"

The man ignored her, wielding the whip with a dispassionate efficiency that brought the boy to his knees, sobbing.

At last, the man released the girl and she fell to her hands and knees, angry red lines criss-crossing her back.

"And you," he said to her, "do you still want the boy?"

"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, I want him to take every kind of pleasure with me."

The man cocked his head then turned to the boy.

"And so, boy, do you still want her?'

The girl crawled towards the boy, eyes imploring him to take her mouth, her pussy, her soul. Her breasts swung free as she crawled towards him and he could not take his eyes off them.

His erection throbbed even more urgently against the flimsy fabric of his shorts and the head of it, hot and red in the bright sunshine, finally popped free. A trail of pre-cum trickled down his leg, certifying his need in a stream of reflected light.

"You! Boy," the man demanded. "Do you still want her knowing that for each pleasure you receive of her she will receive an equal punishment?"

The boy's eyes darted between the whip in the man's hand, her imploring eyes and her swaying breasts.

He edged backwards.

"No," he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. "No!" He scurried backwards, not looking at either of them, till he reached the shade of the villa's wall, then jumped to his feet and fled.

The man followed slowly, closed the door, picked up the basket of vegetables and took them to the kitchen before returning to the pool.

The girl sat on the stone bench, wiping the boy's spittle off her breasts. "I think that went rather well," she said with a pleasant sigh. "And you were very convincing with that whip. I am pleased -- although once it did actually touch me."

He said nothing.

"Oh, please," she said dismissively, "don't pout. At least he got to squeeze my tits and suck my nipples. And I've given him a lifetime of masturbatory fantasies.

"Now wipe the lipstick lines off of my back," she added curtly.

He came over to her, applied baby oil to her back and gently scrubbed away the fake lash welts. When he was done, she lay back and he began stroking her body as was their custom. This time she responded with a fierceness that had been lacking in their accustomed sessions.

She arched and writhed and whimpered and moaned on the bench. His face grew hot, his breathing labored.

"Shall I give you release this time Mistress?" he implored. "Please?"

"No," she whispered. "I want to savor this." She reached up and stroked the front of his trousers. He groaned in agony.

"Why don't we let that little thing out into the sun for a change?" she said.

Obediently, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, letting them fall down around his ankles. His erection, caged in a series of steel rings and leather straps, strained against its painful restraints.

"Later, perhaps," she said lazily, "I shall whip you properly. I know how very much you need it. And," she added with a sly smile, "if you are very, very, very good today, I may even let you make me cum tomorrow."

"Oh! Thank you Mistress!" he said, nearly falling to his knees in joy. "You know I only wish to please you."

"Oh," she said, smiling, "you do. You do. The pain in your eyes when I do not allow you to give me release pleases me greatly."

She grabbed his cock and twisted it, bringing him to his knees with tears of pain and joy in his eyes.

"I do so like to see you suffer," she said sweetly.

But that did not matter to him. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would let him give her an orgasm. He stared into her strange silver-grey eyes with the violet flecks and knew that he lived for that day -- and it would be that way for the rest of his life.