While Fiora Cavazza was not unused to seeing naked men, it did anger her quite a bit to find one reclining in her bathtub.
First and foremost, following in her rather selfish tendencies, it was her bathtub. In fact, that entire bathroom was designated to her and her alone. Finding some large-muscled brute taking oasis in her finely crafted place of washing was enough to set the brunette fuming.
As she stormed in closer, the courtesan's gaze was drawn to the still unrecognized stranger's nether parts, only partially obscured by the murky, hot water he was relaxing in.
Or rather, jolting up and flushing in.
With her feminine figure coming into view through the steam, the man let out a low-toned noise of surprise and embarrassment and scrambled to cover up his offending region.
Fiora raises her brow at the familiarity of the sound.
"Baltasar?"
The name hung heavy in the steam-clouded room until the barber himself finally coughed in confirmation. The dark-haired man nervously flinched between gazing up at the courtesan and letting his eyes focus on something that wasn't as irritated and angered as the woman whose private bath he was currently resting in.
Fiora was not a patient woman, not when it came to finding her partner in her most private of places, leaving her bathwater soaked in dio knows what. With a hushed hiss and a threatening stalk forward, the barber was on his feet and running swiftly for the door. And hopefully from their shared barber shop, if he knew what was good for him. Baltasar was probably still as naked as the day he was born, but Fiora hardly had the mind to care. The pervert might get some thrill out of exposing himself to Roma.
She turns her attention to the barber's used bathwater, dull grey and putrid looking.
Dio, how long had that…stronzo defiled her precious bath?
It was almost enough to set her nerves aflame, to run after him in pursuit. That disgusting brute!
How pleased Baltasar must have been with himself, to soak his grime and sweat stained muscular body for so long without her knowing. He must have laughed in triumph, chuckled as he rinsed her water over his well-toned chest, soaking the thick, coarse hair he let grow there. The beads would trail down quickly over his defined stomach and abs before resting at the deep V-shape where his hips met the bath.
Fiora jerks forcibly from her dazed dream. Cazzo, what the hell was she doing?
The little shivers of awakening pleasure in her loins drew sharp, frustrated breaths from above. To clear her head, the courtesan swiftly exits the bathroom that joined her bedroom, and collapsed onto the plainly embroidered sheets of her bed.
How could she even think of that man, Baltasar de Silva, in such a way?
He was her reluctant partner, a spy with no skill at his cover, and insufferably rude and perverted.
He was filthy of mouth and body, no matter how muscled and tanned that body was.
He was irritating, nauseating, and ever so dirty.
And he aroused her greatly.
Frustrated to the point of breaking, Fiora lets her needs over ride her senses. Si, he was quite arousing, the courtesan begins to fantasize.
Eyes clothes and hands deftly peeling away at her guise, she imagines if Baltasar reacted differently to her justified intrusion.
With her skilled fingers teasingly searching through the tight curls of her garden, Fiora sees the sexy barber coax her forward to him with a single, thick finger. Obeying with a sultry sway of her hips, Fiora knees beside the man to see his thick, hardened cock already rising from the water. It throbs visibly, veins snaking their way up from the dark hair of his base, pulsating gently. Baltasar smirks arrogantly, patting the courtesan on the head to entice her further.
But Fiora seeks much more than what the man offers. Just as her tender fingers find her inner flower, she imagines herself joining Baltasar in her bath, naked form settling comfortably in his strong arms. His hands would caress every inch of her wet skin, his massaging alternating between rough and gentle, just as she loved it.
Soon, she would be lifted until her tender petals met with his flushed, throbbing tip. A gasp shoots through her lips, both in dream and reality, where Fiora's fingers have begun to stroke gently against the soaked, pink silk of her maidenhood.
"Amore, you know I'm much bigger than most of the men you've been with…" Baltasar would chuckle deeply, teasingly rubbing his tip up and down the courtesan's slit as he coaxes her to part and let him enter. At this, Fiora would close her dark eyes and sigh softly, letting him take control.
"S-Si… You know, most of my customers do not seek this far…" She would admit. And it was the truth, surprisingly. She was quite apt at this point to bringing men to climax with her lips alone.
Fiora's core burns as her smooth fingers prod into her entrance, thumb arching back to give her pulsating button a slow circle.
"Then be sure to enjoy this, mia amore… Just as I'll savor this gift you've given me…" The Barber would grin, gripping her soft hips tightly to lower her onto his length completely. Her back would arch, pressing her only further onto him, and he would groan in pleasure. Just as her index finger plunges inside her soaked entrance, Fiora fantasizes how Baltasar's thick cock would feel buried into her, throbbing powerfully against her silken walls. She knew full well he was well-endowed, and what he lacked in skill for shaving was no reflection, she imagines, of his intimate experience.
Slowly at first, and then roughly, Baltasar would force her to ride his blade, the bath water making his actions slightly easier. Fiora arches up on her bed to take in a second finger, eyes screwed shut in pleasure from the thought of the barber fucking her in such a way. Dio, she just loved being taken, yet no customer would satisfy her inner desires. They would be silent during their sessions, save a few gasps and moans. But Baltasar, a man of such perverseness, would certainly enjoy their role play.
"Si, cazzo si… You like this, huh, mia bella? Hnn…tell Baltasar what you want. Tell me, amo. Scream it for me…" Again and again he would hiss his magic words, drawing out her pleasure with his member and shoving her to the brink with his words. His hands would move with expert skill, one firmly grasping her plump cheek and the other sliding up to appreciate the rosy bud of her breast, all the while keeping the rhythm of his wide hips steady to thrust his cock into her silken flower.
"O-Ohh.. nhh…nhh…" Biting down on her lips until she fears she'll draw blood, Fiora pumps as fast as she can inside of herself, her other hand occupied with her tender bundle of nerves that made her want to scream. Instead, she sees herself screaming for Baltasar, her climax sending her sweet honey over her hands as her fantasy barber releases his seed over her back and bottom, roaring her name in pleasure.
Dizzy, the courtesan remains panting on her bed for some time, thinking about cleaning up only in passing. Her bath was still filthy, she remembers with a twitch of annoyance. Turning over onto her side, Fiora purses her lips as she wonders when Baltasar will return, if ever.
With a small smirk, she pretends to rest, thinking up the perfect punishment for her partner.
He had, after all, taken her chance for a pleasurable bath.
He would just have to make it up to her.