The party was held on the other side of the hill at the Villa Cagagni. It was situated close to the town and commanded a view of the sea. Reached by a twisting road, the villa was built on arches and was a sprawling place with over a dozen rooms, two kitchens, a library, sitting and dining rooms and an immense salon.
As they drove up in the Mercedes the villa, all ablaze with lights, reminded Hugh and his two passengers of a glistening diamond resting on a background of blue velvet.
The party was already on, the guests making noise. A tall, blondish young man, elegant in a tuxedo, came forth and shook each of their hands in turn. Maurier introduced Hugh not as the chauffeur but as a friend, staying with them.
"This is our host, Doctor Leasor."
"I know you from somewhere, I think." The good doctor displayed a splendid set of teeth in a smile. "Do come in. And how are you, dear Countess, looking as young and beautiful as ever, I see."
The Countess ran her long fingers through her rich head of dyed hair. "I can't afford not to."
The doctor lowered his voice, speaking in a very confidential tone. "The guests are weird tonight. And the girl I am keeping, a jewel. Simply beautiful, a dancer. But the bitch is bleeding me dry. Honestly, I am unable to save a penny with her around."
Hugh had chosen his own suit to wear rather than cover his body with the gifts of the Countess, but as yet he had not given her to understand that they would all be returned.
He followed the three people into the villa and the first sight greeting his eyes was that of a couple, a long-haired brunette in a green gown of shimmering sequins stretched out on the couch next to a flaming-haired man in a gold suit.
Maurier looked about. "Do I know anyone here, doctor? They all seem to be strangers and you said we would encounter old friends."
"So I did." The doctor strode toward the couple, sank his fingers into the long, dark tresses of the sequin-gowned girl and yanked. The girl screamed and clapped both hands to her head while the doctor held what appeared to be a wig, shaking it from side to side.
"Voilа!"
"Doctor! You devil" The girl, who was actually a bald-headed man, squealed.
"Do you see?" The doctor turned to his three new guests. "That proves that you must not believe everything you see. Here you are, Leonard." He tossed the wig at the red-faced transvestite and led his guests further on.
It seemed to be more bedlam than a party. A fat man in a sailor suit whose belly hung down like a deflated balloon was before the piano, playing and singing at the top of his lungs: "I'm mad about the boy!"
Four people, all girls were whirling out a beat rhythm while a middle-aged, heavy-faced man dressed like a rocker in leather stumbled among the dancers, begging one of them, just one, to be his partner.
Everyone was drinking cocktails, but. Hugh opted for a double scotch on the rocks. His companions, the good doctor, Maurier and the Countess, had disappeared. He moved about, sipping at his whiskey, trying to figure out who in hell these guests were.
He sensed that some were Britishers living here on pensions, some college boys on vacation, some gigolos preying on men and women alike, some bored people willing to try anything, and others the type to be found in every country except their own. At one time, long ago, the Americans would have been easy to tell by their height and short haircuts. But the average young European today was quite tall and long hair was a world-wide style. The Germans seemed to have newer clothes, the Italians were easy to spot because of their well-cut suits and air of conceit. The French, of course, were bored, having been to many parties like this.
Thus the mob was international, talking in half a dozen tongues, all smoking, drinking, shouting and running through the villa at top speed, smashing glasses, careening into tables and not caring that everything, food, furnishings and pride were scattered in their wake, A tremendous man whose head was square and bald plowed through the guests like a tank to stand before Hugh. He wore a uniform, the origin of which was not easy to identify.
"I have been watching you." His accent was guttural, somewhat Balkan.
"I hope you like what you see."
"Indeed. How would you like to be in films?"
"Are you a talent scout?"
"A producer. Talent scout! Bah! I make films in Yugoslavia. Westerns. Better than Hollywood. That place, bah!" The big man revealed a mouthful of bad teeth. "You sign a contract with me at once."
Suddenly a girl appeared in their midst. She was tall, round-faced, brown-haired, pretty in a farm-girl way but a little too plump, almost fat. Her breasts were huge balls and her buttocks even huger balls.
"Daddy, are you bullshitting strangers again?"
"Get away from me."
The girl pressed herself against Hugh. First came her stomach, followed by the overlarge, squash able breasts. "My daddy is a terrible liar. He designed that uniform himself. Where he picked up the accent only heaven knows."
"Daddy," somewhat embarrassed at being found out, bowed low, and, still speaking in the guttural Balkan accent, apologized to Hugh, stressing the fact that he had to discuss business with a few actresses.
Hugh found himself dancing with the girl "Who are you, anyway?"
"Do names matter if one lives for the moment? Tomorrow I can be a stranger."
If the father was psycho then his daughter was too dramatic. But what the hell, this was a party, so Hugh figured he would go along with her game. He had a name for her, however, one that she would not approve of: fatso.
The girl went on talking. "I haven't found the man yet who will be my partner for the night."
"What game will you be playing that forces you to look for a partner?"
"Sex, silly boy."
"Oh, I see."
"You appear to be a likely candidate but I think I ought to look around some more, don't you?"
"That might be best. For you, that is." The zipper on the girl's silk pants had come undone and two of the buttons on her too-tight shirt had popped off. Obviously she believed in squeezing herself into clothing several sizes too small.
She smiled brightly and insisted upon pressing her face and body to his in a slow dance. She felt quite warm and squeezable, like a child's favorite stuffed doll. It was an age since he had bedded down with a plump girl and Hugh would be willing to tumble this one. But he might be sexually drained and when he returned home that night Claudia would be furious.
"Do you like my figure? I seem rather fat but I'm not, you know."
"Who said you were? I'd call you a Rubens type."
"Exactly. I am voluptuous and if you saw me in the nude at once you'd admit I am very round. I don't know how men can go to bed with models, girls built like sticks with pimples for breasts and no asses."
"Some men do, but count me out of that group."
"Would you like to go to bed with me?"
It was a direct appeal, almost innocent the way it was put with her eyes so bright, her unrouged lips parted and those sparkling white teeth. Sure he would, but not at the moment, and Hugh told her this.
"I ought to get some partying in, some more drinks, a little more dancing. Then we'll see."
"All right." She slipped out of his arms and backed up a foot or so. "You may examine my breasts if you like, to sort of put you in the mood."
Hugh squeezed one breast and murmured approvingly. The globe was too big but deliciously firm, and he assured the girl he would be in the mood, "later."
A swift kiss from her soft lips and the fattish girl left. Hugh sighed, looking around for another drink, but nothing was available. White-jacketed servants were kept on the hop from the kitchen to the salon, but guests' insisted upon sweeping as many drinks from the tray as they could carry.
Across the salon Hugh was watched by the Countess and Maurier. The platinum-haired woman selected an unfinished martini and, winking at her companion, carried the glass over to Hugh.
"Here, my darling."
Hugh wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "What is it, a cocktail? I've been drinking scotch."
"Take what's available."
He swallowed the mixture and watched a girl who was dancing atop a table. "Who is that?"
"Her name is Leda. That is the young girl who's draining Doctor Leasor of every penny. He gave this party to satisfy her. A beauty, isn't she, but a bit too big."
The girl Leda stood at least five eleven in her stocking feet and weighed not one bit under one seventy-five, none of which was fat. Her black hair was cropped short and her round, baby face was devoid of make-up. Her body, covered by a man's shirt and beach shorts, was big, wide-hipped, heavy-breasted and too overwhelming with round, strong thighs and buttocks packed with solid flesh. An amazon, her best feature was her legs, which were long and shapely with slim ankles. As she danced, causing every muscle in her body to vibrate, her jutting breasts bounced up and down, their nipples erect.
"She is just too much woman," Hugh told the Countess.
"Would you like to sleep with her?"
"For novelty, yes." He thought about his remark seconds after making it. The people here were too concerned with sex; it governed their actions, seeming to be the goal that carried them through life.
He had left behind wealth and a life of ease to seek hard experience, but all he was finding was sex. It wasn't the way, not the way at all. He was surprised that, during the time he had been in Maurier's employ, he had not given the direction his life had taken any serious thought.
The Countess pressed another martini into his hand. "Here. Your glass is empty."
Hugh took the glass without thinking, automatically drinking the potent liquid. Some of the boys were beating their palms on the table top and the man at the piano played a strange rhythm for the black-haired Leda to dance to. It was a sensuous dance, with the girl's hips undulating to the tempo of the improvised accompaniment.
At once she dragged forth an audience, stopping all conversation. Men put down drinks, women left new partners and food and cigarettes were forgotten as Leda swung her delightful rump in all four directions of the room.
"Eeeee," said a loose-lipped homosexual, "this is one time I wish I were a man."
"So do I," said a fellow at his side, a skinny little pansy with a brassy yellow streak in his otherwise black mane of hair.
The crowd applauded with enthusiasm and Leda, shrieking, responded to their cries by stripping. Perspiration washed her baby face as she removed the now wet shirt and tossed it away. Her generous breasts, unnaturally white against her sun-blackened body, were awash with sweat, bobbing in different directions.
Drawn to the table, Hugh stared with wide, round eyes at the girl's breasts, hips and long legs. For a wild moment he had the urge to climb up there and get his hands on this whirling, large-bodied girl.
"She will take someone on, count on it," said the Countess, pressing another martini into Hugh's hand.
He drank it down without thinking. "Won't the good doctor have something to say about this?"
"He's not jealous. She'll have perhaps a half-dozen different men and then she is his again."
Hugh put the glass to his mouth and made a face upon finding it empty. "Some woman. I didn't think that nature made them that way anymore."
"Wait, I shall find you another drink." The Countess slipped away.
Hugh, sweating like a pig, kept licking his dried lips. The girl, Leda, still up there dancing, was a sensation. Her body, weaving in time to the piano's in-creasing tempo, was unrestrained, and there was pure craving in her eyes.
"Here." The Countess had successfully located still another martini.
With a sudden scream Leda stopped dancing and crumpled on the table, her long legs thrashing as if she were the victim of a seizure. Men broke forward, clambering to climb on top of the table.
The drinking took its effect and Hugh really did not know where he was. He looked into the Countess's eyes, seeing them very wide, quite pale now and definitely serious. Her voice was but a murmur as she took his hand. "Darling boy, you are coming with me."
Startled, moving like a sleepwalker, Hugh was taken out of the party room, down the hall to an empty room. The moment they crossed the threshold the woman embraced him, tearing at the same time at his clothing. He kissed her hard, rubbing his mouth back and forth across hers.
After what seemed an eternity he was naked and so was she. Swaying like a drunk, lie staggered into a small bed and lay back, his head heavy on the pillow, his eyes closed, feeling her take his hands and guide them over her breasts. He encompassed them, finding them still firm and shapely, despite her age.
He tried to keep his mind clear but the drink was too strong, and this woman's body an aphrodisiac, and he squeezed her arms, stroked her hips and palmed her buttocks, feeling out of breath from the long kiss.
The Countess's eyes were swimming in her head and she let out a short laugh that was like a dog's bark. She touched his penis, sending a tingle racing through him.
"Drunk but still capable. Good."
On her side, with her breasts sagging, she rubbed her thighs together, showing him a pubic bush that was quite hairy, blondish and damp. One leg went up as she rolled over on her back and her bottom, flexible and muscled, revolved.
Hugh swung himself right on top of the woman, going directly into her. She shouted that it was great and sighed as he rose up, pulling half of himself out and sobbing as he returned in a deep thrust.
It went on and on without his climaxing due to his somewhat advanced state of intoxication. But the volume of the woman's passion was limitless. He marveled at her sensual talent even as his lunges, upward, forward and inward, quickened.
She came, clinging to him with all her strength as the come bubbled up in her passageway. Her rump bucked frantically as she exploded. He held fast to the spreading flesh of the clenching bottom; she was shooting up.
Again the laugh came, so like the bark of a hound. Then, hissing like a cat, she held him, crying out that he was a superb screw. He struggled with her, locked with her as one, splashing about in the seas of lust and sensation.
At last it was over and she demanded a soft, rather gentle kiss. Hugh, still embedded in the woman, felt her fingertips brushing lightly along the surface of his back.
He tried to inch up but her hot flesh had closed around his member. He exercised another movement and her eyes lost their color momentarily as raw lust stung her.
"Oh, oh, oh!"
Passion pulsed in the woman's veins and she bent her long back, tightening her' rear end and gripping the hard thing with her vaginal muscles.
At first, when he just held her by the buttocks and moved her body up and down, keeping her firmly impaled to his steel-like penis, she allowed him his way, only arching her back occasionally. Then another orgasm built up and the Countess fell upon the bed, writhing and wrapping her strong legs about his waist.
"Yes, yes, YES!"
He was drunk, he was insane and he plunged in and out of her recklessly. It took no time, perhaps three seconds, before the Countess, completely switched on, started to flow. It was torture, this constant ramming with his penis and, whining, she dug her heels into the bed and lifted the man up high.
She came and cried for him to kiss her full, twisting mouth. Even as she climaxed, burning his joint terribly, her hips were always active, meeting every one of his downward strokes.
Then Hugh stopped, raised himself up and fell down, shattering the woman's vaginal walls as he exploded. Her little rubbery clit went into a wild dance as his seed, roaring in, slammed against the dead end of her opening and was blasted back.
"Nooooo!"
The thick, creamy hot fluid made her body a pyre. She let out one hell of a yell, for the hard, erect thing was ploughing even deeper as it shot and shot.
Hugh rolled over in the huge bed and nearby the Countess, her body gleaming like melted gold, groaned and borrowed deeper into the bedclothes. "Give me a cigarette, please."
At hand was a night table upon which stood a lacquered cigarette box and a silver lighter. He reached over, selected one of the cigarettes, lit it and, after one rather unwelcome puff, handed it to the woman.
"Thanks." She sat up in bed, flinging her hair back, looking now every bit her age. Circles ringed her eyes and with all her make-up wiped off during the hot-blooded sexual struggle, the wrinkles caused by a lifetime of sin and pleasure were obvious.
Hugh was surprised his head was not hammering from a hangover. Across the room wind flowed in, fluttering the gauze curtains, and parts of the hills were shadowed with darkness, but the highest portion was yellowed by the new sun.
"Hell, it's morning!"
"But the party has not ended."
He left the bed, cursing. Once again he had made a wrong move. Hell, why was he so determined to louse up his life like this, always selecting the wrong trails. It reminded him of a railroad junction wherein a yard-man throws a switch, tracks are shifted and the course of the train is altered.
Sleeping with this woman! When would he realize the outcome of this act? In a few hours, a few days? Claudia would certainly stamp finish on their relationship.
He saw a cloud of cigarette smoke float toward the ceiling and turned to look down upon the smiling Countess. Like Maurier, she was rich and spoiled but most of all corrupt, easily at home in this house of evil belonging to a weird doctor.
Abruptly the woman threw back the covers, exposing her tanned, shapely body covered along the thighs and legs with a golden down.. "How are you this morning?"
"Amazed at myself."
"I am the one to be amazed, darling boy. Oh, my dear, I am here to tell you that your ability, your bedmanship so to speak, whether practiced or natural, is downright amazing. In fact it is nothing short of sensational."
He reached for his clothing. "I am going."
"To Claudia, the maid? She is beautifully built but I think Leda, the girl who danced on the table last night, is superior. But of course she is a common slut. Tell me, is Claudia as good in bed as I am?"
He was dressing. "I do not wish to talk about Claudia."
Her answer, a whisper, was unheard due to the noise from the party room. Women were screaming, men shouting and chairs could be heard tossed against the walls.
Hugh bounded from the room and saw that some of the guests had gone berserk. Glass was crashing, linen being ripped and people fighting savagely. Punches were tossed, chins got slammed, more viscous blows were returned and the recipients of these went to the floor.
Doctor Leasor, of all people, naked as the day he left his mother's womb, was jumping up and down shaking his fists. "Stop it, stop it, you are wrecking my villa."
On the floor next to an overturned couch was the baby-faced dancer, Leda, out cold and still nude. Two of the male guests, an Italian and an Englishman, slugging it out, brought the fight close to where she lay, but Leda slept on.
"Take that, Carlo, you rascal," grunted the Britisher.
The Italian, even if his name was not Carlo, was certainly a rascal. He took what the Englishman offered and went down and out, right next to the sleeping beauty.
The melйe, taking on the serious aspects of a brawl, ranged from room to room, along the hallway, into the kitchen, out of the bathroom; porcelain was being broken, chairs destroyed, bottles smashed, pictures torn from the walls, expensive tapestries trampled underfoot and priceless rugs ruined forever.
Hugh saw his employer, Maurier, sprint through the front door. He turned again in time to see the Countess, a bed sheet wrapped about her naked body, hop and skip through the battle, leap ballerina-like over fallen bodies and follow the same path taken by Maurier.
The wail of police sirens was distinct and those few guests not beaten to their knees started a mad rush to flee the premises. Not all could get through at once and some smashed the windows to make their escape. But the police cars were numerous and a flock of carabinieri blocked the mob, catching most out there in the garden, letting just a few slip through. Screaming, the refugees re-entered the villa en masse, clawing and fighting their way back into sanctuary.
Hugh caught on at once and while the police blew their whistles he sped down the hall to the servants' quarters and climbed through a window. He wore just his trousers, having left behind everything else, and now, as he raced away from the villa, sharp rocks tore into the soles of his feet.
Exhausted, looking like a man who had just broken out of jail, Hugh staggered into the house rented by Maurier. The first sight that met his eyes was that of the once-proud Mercedes Benz now reduced to crumpled metal. It must have crashed into a tree, for the entire front had been pretzelized while the tree remained firm and upright. In the back seat, apparently unhurt and snoring away, was a guest from the party.
There was the sound of a motor turning over and Hugh looked toward the garage just as the white Al! a Romeo sports car shot off. He started toward it, his hand upraised.
"Hey!"
Behind the wheel was the Countess, with her passengers, Maurier, and in the back, pieces of luggage jutted up. The small car turned and was lost from his sight. Pausing, still able to hear the police whistles and screams in the distance, Hugh knew that the two people had fled to avoid being arrested.
In the kitchen he found Claudia serving coffee to a rough-looking black-haired youth with the arms of a blacksmith. This person sat at the table dressed in a once-white cotton pullover and beach shorts. Upon Hugh's entrance be merely looked up.
Claudia, her eyes reddened from lack of sleep and her long hair snarled, moved silently. She wore a cotton robe and Hugh sensed that under the robe there was nothing except her warm body.
"What in hell is going on?"
"You ought to know since you were one of the guests at that dirty party. Orgies are not allowed, my friend, not in my country or any country. Every guest who attended is liable for arrest. Yourself included."
"Huh?"
"Yes, huh. Maurier got out. Your new girlfriend, that old bitch the Countess, got out. I suggest you do the same."
"You didn't waste much time, I see," he said, referring to the black-haired young man.
Proudly and somewhat defiantly. she threw her shoulders back, causing her breasts to rise. "No, I did not. At least with a fellow like Salvatore here I know where I stand."
Hugh did not answer and Claudia, flaunting her awesomely shaped behind, left the room. Salvatore scratched his ear, wiped his mouth with his palm, looked rather foolishly at Hugh and left the kitchen, taking the direction of Claudia's room. Less than one moment later whispers drifted out and the sound of naked bodies rubbing together was heard.
He listened to Claudia's groans and the squeak of the bedsprings, knowing this was all for his benefit. The beautiful red-haired girl that was almost his was getting her revenge. The cries of passion as Salvatore possessed her were upsetting and Hugh imagined her body with its imposing breasts and buttocks mauled by the strange young man.
Abject, Hugh slumped upon a chair and rested his elbows on the kitchen table. Well, he had certainly made a mess of things.
Claudia's squeals turned to shouts, and were followed by Salvatore's pig-like grunts. Then all went silent. Then the girl came into the kitchen again, the cotton robe floating open to show the body just used, the breasts burned so brown by the sun, the shapely thighs rubbing together.
She was after a bottle of wine and opened it with her back to Hugh, slowly, drawing the robe together so that it tightened over her buttocks, clearly outlining the dynamic thrust of each cheek.
On her way back to her new lover she paused. "Get out. I have warned you. The police will go to all the houses in the vicinity and make their inquiries. If they come here I shall speak the truth."
She left an odor that had been so familiar to him, the scent of her luscious body and the fragrance of her perfume, the two blending, lingering in his nostrils.
At length Hugh stirred, went into the bathroom, removed his trousers and stood under a hot shower. He remained stiff as a statue for long minutes before finally soaping himself, then washed the lather off with cold spray.
As he toweled himself dry he noticed that the house was still. Frowning, he stepped out, wetting the floor in his search for Salvatore and Claudia. But they had gone, taking themselves and, to his dismay, even his suitcase filled with clothing.
He was alone and naked, except for his dirty trousers.