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longer, releasing his spunk in an explosion of orgasm, pumping into the condom with an inward shout of satisfaction as she sagged back against him. He knew that she hadn’t come, she hadn’t made any noise, either with pleasure or in pain, but he was confident that she had liked being buggered.
    “Let’s go in, sweetheart,” he said, “I’ll run you a bath and pour us a drink.”
    Letting him lead her inside, Eleanor didn’t reveal that she’d found the arse fuck surprisingly pleasurable. She didn’t intend to tell him how fantastic it had felt, not yet anyway.
    Later, as they shared the enormous Jacuzzi bath, sipping Champagne, she rested against the cool sides and considered her luck. Earlier that evening, she had been thrilled when he’d presented her with a fabulous pair of diamond earrings and a matching choker.
    “Much nicer than a dog collar, sweetheart but maybe not quite as much fun,” he’d said giving her the magnificent jewels. “Don’t put them on tonight. I want you to wear them for me on our last night in Venice.”
    “Oh, Matthew they’re breathtaking, thank you,” she’d said, “I will.”
    The next day Matthew phoned down to order breakfast in bed. The waiters arrived with a laden table, which they wheeled inside. The aroma of coffee filled the room, mixing with the warm scents drifting in from the gardens. He hadn’t missed the fact that one of the young men lingered, it certainly wasn’t for the tip, which Matthew had already generously provided. Following the direction of the lad’s stare Matthew realised that his gaze was fixed on Eleanor, propped up in bed reading a guidebook.
    Hmm, thought Matthew, she did look sweet with her tousled fair hair and those lovely creamy shoulders, the promising breasts snug beneath the luxurious coverlet. He looked back at the lad, who realising that he’d been caught staring, flushed bright red, and started to back away towards the door.
    “Grazie.”
    “Mille grazie.”
    “Prego.”
    “Servirci anche domani per favour,” Matthew called after him.
    “Si, Signore, Si.”
    “He seems like an eager lad,” said Matthew.
    “Mmm,” replied Eleanor, getting out of bed to join him for breakfast. “I’m ravenous.” She tucked into a bowl of fresh fruit salad, guidebook propped up beside her, and while Matthew poured their coffee, they discussed their prospects for the day ahead.
    “Listen to this,” she said as she read aloud from the book, “‘The island of San Michele, located in the lagoon close to Venice, has been the city’s cemetery (cimitero) since the early nineteenth century. As Venice is an island community, it is not surprising that its graveyard is also an island, although the notion may seem odd at first. Formerly two islands, which are now joined together, the Isola di San Michele (St. Michael) is dedicated to the dead and is occupied only by churches and by long ranks of tombs.’ It sounds fascinating, Matthew.”
    oOo
    They spent the day sightseeing. Matthew asked the driver of the launch to go past the cemetery island of San Michele, which Eleanor had mentioned over breakfast when she had been reading about the island community of Venice. Now, as they glided past the wall which encircled the island, large gates dominating the centre, tall trees visible behind, she was deep in thought and seemed pensive. Matthew didn’t want to dwell too long and nodding a signal to the driver they picked up speed and headed away from San Michele toward the island of Burano. Matthew wanted Eleanor to see some of the quieter, less visited islands of Venice, the pretty island with its colourful houses would be ideal for a quiet lunch. They disembarked, and he arranged that the driver collect them later.
    Eleanor was enchanted with the island’s little lanes, alleyways and small canals, the shops selling unique, locally produced lace fascinated her, many of them had women sitting outside their doorways making intricately delicate items.