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From: victor.field@gmail.com
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Subject: {ASSM} The Passion Of The Bellucci (Monica Bellucci, MF, FF, mF, cons, oral, anal, bond, mast, Fdom, ws)
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Date: Tue, 15 Aug 2006 09:10:04 -0400
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Monica is, of course, real (as are the Wonder Twins, though for once
they aren't the part of her body that we're chiefly concerned with),
but this story does not portray her as she actually is. At least I
don't think it does (but then no interviewer, with the arguable
exception of Howard Stern, would ask "So Monica, do you blow
16-year-old boys in real life?"). It's all not real, and definitely not
for anyone under the age of 18; fans or foes can write to me at
cindylover1969@yahoo.co.uk - I only use gmail for Usenet purposes.
(Special thanks to a Usenet poster for the title!)

This story, by the way, is set around her conceiving of Deva (her
daughter, born in 2004) and ends before she actually gave birth, since
ignoring the whole motherhood thing is out of the question. (Oh great,
I've probably gotten you all thinking about Monica Bellucci's already
impressive breasts getting even bigger...)

* * * * * * * * * *

"Stop the car!" Julio shouted suddenly.

"What for? I didn't hit any cats this time," Liselotte grumbled,
keeping the car speeding along the country road on the way back from
their day out.

"I think I saw a body back there! A human one!"

Her fiance had a lot of good qualities, but he could go overboard with
the milk of human kindness; Liselotte knew that if she didn't turn back
he'd be badgering her all the way back to Terni. And it was a LONG way
back... she swerved the car around and started back up the road while
Julio peered at both sides. He hoped he was wrong; he could have
been... maybe it was somebody just sleeping off some wine on this hot
afternoon. "There!" he yelled.

"Will you stop shouting?! There's only us here!" growled Liselotte,
bringing the car to a stop by the grass. Several yards beyond that was
a forest, but Liselotte's attention was drawn to a figure in a shirt
and jeans, lying face-down on the grass just outside the forest; Julio
had been right, and he was running towards her. "Haven't all those
years in front of the TV taught you anything?" she called after him.
"It could be a trap! Come back here and call the police or..." Nothing;
always thinking about other people, that was her Julio. Liselotte got
out of the car as Julio knelt by the woman and took her wrist; to his
relief he found she had a steady pulse, and from what he could see
there wasn't any injury.

"She's alive, thank heaven," Julio said. "I'm going to see if I can
revive her... careful now..." Liselotte, dialling the emergency
services, arrived just as he gently rolled the unconscious woman onto
her back prior to the mouth-to-mouth, and both stopped dead where they
were.

"Hello? Can I help you?" said the pleasant woman on the other end of
the line.

"Er... yeah..." replied a stunned Liselotte, as she and Julio stared at
an out-cold Monica Bellucci.

* * * * * * * * * *

The doctors at the Rome hospital where Monica had been taken had
alerted Vincent and assured him that they wouldn't let the press know.
They didn't - but Liselotte did.

Sighing as he faced the reporters and cameras outside and muttering to
himself "Not again," Dr. Lenzi asked them to tone it down and he'd
issue a statement - "Monica Bellucci is being held overnight for
observation; she's fine..."

"Is it true she was found naked?" one reporter asked hopefully.

"No. No further questions for now..."

Vincent, however, had several questions for his wife; he was relieved
to see she was fine. Woozy, having only just come to, but fine. He sat
there, holding Monica's hand as she started to take in her
surroundings, and pondered how he was going to ask her all the
questions on his mind... she was here now, safe, and that was all that
mattered for now. He wouldn't press it...

"Vincent?" Monica asked, fixing her jet-black eyes on her husband. "How
did I get here?"

"You were found outside Rome," he said gently. "You've been gone for a
week..."

"A week?" Monica repeated. "That's impossible... I only left
yesterday."

"You said you had to go and meet somebody; you never told me who it was
or what it was about, and you told me you'd be back in the evening.
That was a week ago."

"And that was all I told you?" Monica asked, as the nurse came in to
get the invalid over to the bathroom for her bath; Monica believed she
could do it by herself, but hospital rules were hospital rules, and she
WAS still pretty weak. Vincent was her husband, but he still had to get
out of the way as his wife was escorted out. She didn't have to tell
him not to leave, however; he would never have left her alone. The
furthest he'd go was back outside the room, to wait for the all-clear.
Both for her to go home, and from any lurking people with cameras.

In the small space the hospital called a bathroom, Monica undid her
gown and let it hit the tiles as the veteran nurse helped her into the
tub. The nurse hadn't tried to get inquisitive about what she was doing
out there, and Monica had been grateful for that - what she needed now
was a professional doing her job. "You don't have to rub the soap on
me," Monica told the nurse. "I won't break."

"Nonsense," the nurse said briskly as she started to lather Monica's
back. "Just doing my job. By the way, I don't usually say this kind of
thing..."

Monica had gotten used to people of both sexes complimenting her beauty
and/or saying they had never met a celebrity before, so she prepared
for the inevitable gushing.

"...but I've never seen such a plain tattoo."

This was a new one on her, but it beat talking about movies. "Where did
you see it?" Monica asked.

"Right here," the nurse said, tapping the small of her patient's back.
"Just above your bottom."

The surprised Monica wished she could crane her neck around to see what
she was talking about. "Please don't defame your beautiful, perfect
body with hideous tattoos - it's bad enough when Angelina Jolie does
it!" one of her fans had urged her, and she had assured him she had no
intention of doing so. And now this nurse was telling her she had
one...? "What does it look like?" she asked.

"Here, have a look for yourself," the nurse said, helping Monica up
over to the mirror. Dripping all over the floor, the tall woman turned
her head and studied her naked form from behind, her eyes stopping on a
small line of text, just above her bottom like the nurse had said. She
was relieved that it wasn't a dragon or something - but it just made
things stranger. Monica wasn't shy about her body, and she was
certainly proud of her buttocks, but not so proud that she'd have
"BELLUCCICULO" tattooed above them in small, neat typescript.

But evidently someone else was.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Dear Monica,

You have shown us your fabulous fully naked form so many times; it's
only fair that I return the favour.

Signed,"

Monica wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream. Back home from hospital,
assuring the producers of her newest movie that she would be there on
schedule, and reluctantly getting ready to explain to members of the
press just what had happened (if anything), she had decided to relax by
reading some post. But the first one had been from an English admirer
who had included some shots of himself in the buff. Including a close
up of his fully erect penis. And who the hell had taken those shots
anyway? His girlfriend? And why was she so understanding? Maybe it was
because he had such a nice penis... Monica studied it carefully.

It was a crystal-clear, full colour 8 x 10 glossy; his hand was wrapped
around the base as if he had been snapped while masturbating. It looked
like it was a good 10 inches - Monica's mind reeled at the realisation
that she was probably looking at a lifesize image of the guy's cock.
Part of her mind couldn't help comparing Vincent's with it, and
couldn't help realising he came a poor second. But at least she had the
real thing and not a picture. A very... interesting picture. Her eyes
taking in the veined, swollen length of cock, Monica traced a finger
along the picture before raising it to her face, and kissing it.

And then, as her other hand moved down between her legs, she began to
lick it. The image of the cock filled her field of vision; she imagined
the full item in front of her face, the owner waving it around before
her eyes, daring her to taste it, to smell it, to want to swallow it
all. Monica could practically see the cut cockhead dipping invitingly
above her lips, pink and swollen. Up and down her tongue moved along
the photo, her mind giving the owner dialogue as she took her own
little rod between her fingers; her rosy clit was itself swelling as
she started to roll it.

In and out she thrust her fingers, her body starting to roll like the
ocean waves; Monica pressed the picture of the prick to her heated
flesh and started to move it down herself, passing the picture over her
breasts and picturing the penis rubbing along the flesh - the very
thought of it made her nipples harden. She moved the picture down until
it wasbrushing along her bushy privates; Vincent hadn't been alone in
calling it a jungle he'd die to be lost in.

Monica's pussy was starting to dampen as she shoved her fingers around
inside; she thrust them against the walls of her cunt, spreading it
open as she pressed the picture against it, rubbing against the soaking
snatch. In her mind's eye she saw the inches ramming against the
opening; she kissed it and masturbated with it, imagining it inside
her, before putting it aside.

Not that it was the only one of its kind she'd ever gotten; a lot of
her fanmail came from men and boys wanting to get to know her in the
biblical sense. Like the one written on several sheets going into great
detail about feasting off her nude body before having her for dessert,
and so on. Monica shook her head; some people had so much time on their
hands, she thought to herself as she put the letter to one side.
Anyway, she needed to get a little sleep; she had a few days before she
had to be on location, but she still needed all the rest she could get.
And these sheets were so soft... nothing like hospital beds...

Then she remembered that last letter. The epic that guy had sent her.
That letter with something in it she had overlooked at first.
Reluctantly tossing aside thoughts of sleep, Monica picked up the
stapled sheets from the floor and read through them again. Yep, there
it was... right there at the bottom. Just as it had been on some of the
other letters. And on some of the pictures she had received.

Bellucciculo.

* * * * * * * * * *

"It's going," Vincent said.

"What is?" Monica asked tentatively as they lay there in bed.

"That tattoo," he replied.

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?"

"No. If I was going to make you feel better, I wouldn't say anything,"
he laughed. "It really is starting to fade. whoever put it on you must
have not wanted to mark you up forever. Maybe he's the leader of those
nutcas... of those fans."

"You were right the first time."

"They would be nutcases if they DIDN'T want to sleep with you, Monica,"
Vincent pointed out, unable to see his wife roll her eyes and crack a
half-smile. She went for the full smile when she felt his hand resting
on her butt... he was in the mood. And luckily for him, so was she...

Half an hour later, Vincent was fast asleep alongside Monica. It
usually bothered her that he could fall asleep so quickly afterwards,
though at least not during. And he didn't snore. But to all intents and
purposes, until he woke up she was alone with only her thoughts to keep
her company. And they all went back to those letters. And those
pictures... the most recent ones had arrived this morning. A whole
package of them, all by the same person.

On a sunny morning in the hills, a nude Monica was tied between two
pillars. Her head was thrown back in what was supposed to be ecstasy as
her arms and legs were spread apart; crouching between her legs, a man
had his tongue reaching up towards her sex. Standing on either side of
her were two more men, their hands fondling her and their erect penises
sticking out from their trousers; one of them was really close to her
left breast, his teeth bared as he prepared to take a love-bite. Part
of another man could be made out behind her, and it looked as if he was
doing or preparing to do something anally-inclined. It wasn't the
strangest of the pictures of that series - not when it also included a
picture of a giant version of herself watching a seventeen-year-old boy
sinking into her vagina with a contented smile on his face - but "The
Passion Of The Bellucci" stood out for two reasons.

One, it had been signed. An indecipherable signature, but it had been
signed. And two, the picture had a real clue to what was going on.

Right at the bottom, by the signature, was the address
www.bellucciculo.it.

* * * * * * * * * *

She couldn't check it out at home; Vincent had been known to check
websites she had visited ever since the time she had downloaded a virus
by mistake, and if he found out about this one there was no telling
what he might do - she wanted to find out about it herself. He wanted
to help for sure, but this was her mystery; only one person had the
right to find out why someone had a URL named after "those beautiful
booty-bubbles." So said one fan.

Thank goodness for cybercafes, especially ones that didn't have adult
content firewalls. Hunched before a terminal with her coffee steaming
by her side, Monica tapped in http://www.bellucciculo.it and pressed
"Return," expecting to see a "Web Site Not Found" sign after the usual
ten years connecting. Hoping, even. Then she'd be able to write it all
off as some weirdo's fantasy... the screen went black for two seconds,
snapping her out of her hopes.

Then it filled with a screen-capture that she instantly recognized; it
was a shot of her lying down stark naked with her back to the camera
from "Brotherhood of the Wolf." Above her supine form, the word
"BELLUCCICULO" wrote itself across the screen in large gold script,
while the phrase "The Shrine Of Monica's Behind" similarly appeared
underneath. American and Italian flags appeared to show this was a
bilingual site, along with webcounters, copyright info, and the only
other thing that caught Monica's attention - "Click on the buttocks to
enter." It figured that the weirdo who built this site would have
visitors come in by having them virtually sodomize Monica Bellucci.

Monica clicked, and was greeted by a new page - a picture of her on a
French TV show in an extraordinarily tight dress from behind filled the
screen, as words appeared. Words clearly written by someone who really,
really needed to get out more.

"Britney Spears... Jennifer Lopez... Kylie Minogue... Nicole Kidman...
Carol Vorderman... Felicity Kendal... " ("Who?" Monica said to
herself.) "...all must bow to their queen. We join here to celebrate
the true Queen of the Backsides, the number one vision of loveliness on
the planet, the ultimate test of a man's straightness, the awesome gift
to mankind that is Monica Bellucci. With her bravery in screen
roles..."

Monica couldn't resist a little preen on reading that.

"...and her willingness to share her blessings with the world, the
sultry raven-haired Monica has captivated audiences and critics. But
while many have rightly sung the praises of her bosom, a lot have
enjoyed the hirsute pleasures of her privates" (Monica shook her head
on reading that) "and some have even exulted over her legs, few have
noticed her true best feature - her full, round, flawless rump. Until
now. Join us now as we celebrate the joy, the passion, the excitement,
the devotion whenever Monica Bellucci walks and we are lucky enough to
follow." By now Monica's mind was on stalker alert, especially as the
background was constantly changing to other images of her, and always
from behind. Sometimes in dresses, sometimes in underwear, sometimes in
nothing. No stalkerazzi shots, thankfully, but...

Underneath the introduction came some links - Poetry, Prose, Pictures,
Guestbook, Who We Are, and Links. Monica wavered the cursor over each
one in turn, before clicking on Pictures - she felt the others could
wait a bit; she'd need more time and a less public place to give the
words the attention they probably deserved. Sipping her coffee, Monica
waited to see the usual collection of screencaps and magazine pictures
- and came THIS close to spitting out the caffeined beverage all over
what she saw on the monitor.

She was greeted by a whole load of thumbnails, the first of several
pages. Some of them were screencaps, and some of them were magazine
pictures. But some of them were ones she did not remember posing for...
she knew she would remember being stark naked and spreadeagled against
a wall as if she was being frisked. And she would certainly remember
feeling the hands of two young guys - almost boys - gripping her buns
and opening them, with their tongues tantalizingly close to her
asshole. Too close. And she looked as if she was actually. enjoying it?
This was what the Americans called "too much information" - Monica
hurriedly closed the window as if she had been caught by her parents,
and put her head in her hands in disbelief. That picture had to have
been faked. It HAD to be; she knew that they could do some really
convincing ones these days.

Except that Monica knew a fake when she saw one. And that was no fake.

* * * * * * * * *

One "cleaning-out" programme installation later, Monica Bellucci sat
herself down in front of her own PC, and returned to the site. Skipping
the introductory statement, and glad that Vincent wasn't here looking
over her shoulder, she behaved like many visitors to websites and went
straight for the words and pictures. Unlike the other visitors, her
reaction was a mixture of flattery and creepiness; she loved getting
attention, but this kind? Skimming through some admittedly well-chosen
pictures ("At least I'm not naked in all of them," she thought), she
decided to make her first stop the

POEMS:

"A Journey Down Monica In Haiku"

Dark and heavenly,
I want to dive into your
Wavy head ocean.

Your eyes are serene
Calm windows to the soul.
I look and wonder.

Perfect Roman nose
In one moment so haughty
The next so open.

Welcoming bosom
That you display to all men.
You prove I'm not gay.

Travel further down
And there is at least one Bush
Which I can support.

Perfect and juicy
Your wiggle will always send
Men straight to Heaven.

Your legs and your feet
We worship them forever
Who needs Page 3 girls?

- Tony Macarthur, Essex

What surprised Monica the most was that he, and many of the others
whose poems made the above seem like e.e. cummings, had no shame about
using his real name. "Single men..." she thought/hoped, and moved onto
the stories...

"Monica Gets Served"

"Honk honk! Honk honk!

"Even in the gravyeard shift people were still
impatient. I threw aside my book and went out to serve
the driver, my trusty gun nearby - ever since I got
robbed that time I never went anywhere without it.
Honk honk! Honk honk! 'Okay okay, keep yout clothes
on,' I grumbled, before I saw who it was.

"It was Monica Bellucci. Monica Freaking Bellucci. She
was at MY gas station. And she was just as hot as she
was on screen. And she was smoking too - strike one; I
hate smokers. She was still pounding the car horn like
she had somewhere to be at this time of night. Strike
two.

"'What can I do for you, miss?' I asked, switching on
my smile.

"'Fill it up,' Monica snapped. Shit, were those things
real? 'And stop looking at my jugs.'"

("Jugs?" Monica said to herself. She never called her own breasts
jugs.)

"I stuck the nozzle in the hole and started pumping
the gas into the car. Soon the tank was full, and
Monica got out to pay. 'I don't have any cash on me,'
she said. 'Do you take Visa?'

"'No.'

"'Discover?'

"'No.'

"'Then how am I supposed to pay?'

"I pulled out the nozzle and waved it in the air. 'You
do me a favour, I do you a favour.'

"'Are you serious?' Monica asked, her boobies nearly
bursting out of her top.

"'It's that, or work it off. Now bend over.'"

Monica winced her way through the rest of the sloppily written piece,
amazed that the writer had actually thought this crap was good enough
to go online. The strange thing was, some of the other stories she
skimmed through made "Monica Gets Served" look like a collaboration
between Joyce Carol Oates and Margaret Atwood - she threw in the towel
when she got to the one called "Dobermann 2" and came upon the bit
where she took the first dog and...

Gagging at the thought of canine sperm in her mouth, Monica kept
telling herself that she'd disconnect after just one more thing. She
wanted to see just how far the contributors to this site had gone; and
she wanted to see if there was any kind of clue at all for this thing
on her back. Maybe in the pictures - the Fan Club Pictures... shots of
her with fans. "Nothing strange here," the brunette thought as she
entered. Monica had posed for her share of pictures with fans; surely
here she would be on safe ground. As it happened, the first thing that
greeted her was the breaking point.

Monica saw a series of pictures of herself on the ground, naked, tied
up and surrounded by four women aged between 17 and 50, she guessed;
and they were all merrily urinating on her. Monica was rolling around
underneath their golden showers, laughing as if she did this kind of
thing all the time. Whoever had taken the pictures had known his/her
stuff; there were even giant closeups of one stream splashing onto her
nipples, and a shot of piss dripping off her spreadeagled cunt. In one
picture Monica even had her mouth open as the youngest member of the
club aimed and, with perfect precision... Monica Bellucci raced to the
toilet and threw up, both in shock at what she had seen and in terror.

"What... happened?!?" she asked herself, crouching into the bowl. "Why
can't I REMEMBER?!?" Staggering back to the computer, the actress put
the screen back to the homepage and scrolled down it until she found
what she was looking for, while getting out her digital camera-mobile
phone thing and lifting the back of her shirt up. With her back to the
mirror, she looked to see if it was still there... yep, it was fading
but it was still hanging around.

Several attempts later, Monica had the picture she wanted; one upload
later, an attached picture of the Bellucciculo tattoo was on its way
from her own personal e-mail address, with a very short letter.

The message read "Why?"

* * * * * * * * * *

TO: monicalover71@yahoo.it

FROM: webmaster@bellucciculo.it

SUBJECT: Because

If you want to know what happened that week, go to the
website and click on the fourteenth picture that comes
up. When you do, follow the instructions.

The Shrine Owner

"Anything to get people back there," Monica said to herself, re-reading
the brief letter. It was basic and to the point, but it was all the
link she had to the mystery.

She tapped in the URL she knew as well as her home phone by now, and
soon found herself facing those thumbnails again. Twenty rows of
fifteen pictures - it looked like all her movies were there, except for
one or two. Monica was surprised that the fourteenth one was from
"Asterix and Obelix: Mission Cleopatra" and not "L'ultimo capodanno" or
something else where she was nude.

She clicked, and filled the screen with a close-up of herself. And
nothing else.

"What is this?" she asked as she moved the cursor along her face on
screen. Nothing. The man had been playing a trick on her... Monica was
about to curse loudly when the arrow changed to a pointing hand as it
moved along her lips. There it was, right there... she clicked, and
watched her face dissolve, to reveal a road map of the district of
Rome, with one route shown in bright red, snaking out from the city. As
the woman traced the cursor along the route, the arrow changed to a
hand again; she was getting closer.

Moving down, the hand followed the route until it changed to an arrow
again; the cursor had traced a path to the town of Tivoli. And Monica
had been found not far from the hills of Tivoli.

She double-clicked in a hope that she'd get closer; the screen changed
once again to reveal a picture of a terraced house, with a red circle
above one window and the words "Via Platone Tiburtino" in the sky above
the building. Monica started to print the image; whatever answers she
was looking for, she knew where she had to go.

At least she could give Vincent an actual reason this time; Monica had
a couple of days before she absolutely, positively had to kill every
single motherfucker in the room for her newest role... before she had
to be on set... and her school friend Florinda was always happy to see
her; she could drop in on her and have a chat before or after this was
all cleared up. And Vincent had never been too keen to spend much time
with Florinda, whatever the circumstances, so she wouldn't have to
worry about his coming along. Husbands were funny that way.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Wow," said the tourist. "Those hills are amazing..."

"You're telling me," his friend agreed, as they snapped away, their
eyes focused on the peaks of Tivoli and unaware of the
physically-blessed brunette walking at the base.

It hadn't taken Monica long to drive down to the town; luckily for her
it was a Monday, and thus the town was closed, meaning less tourists
(she wasn't in much of a mood for crowds). It was certainly a scenic
town, but Monica wasn't in the mood to take pictures either; she was
heading for Via Platone Tiburtino. Walking through the streets, she
felt for a moment that she was back in the days of "Malena," except
that instead of a tight black dress she was dressed extra casually in
jeans and a T-shirt, with a jacket over the shirt. But she was still
silent, still no letting anyone know what she was thinking inside - and
still, though she didn't know about this one, attracting admiring
glances and instant erections from most of the men she passed. She
could dress down all she liked, but the wiggle never lied.

And here she was; a nice old building in the centre of the street, only
two stories high. Monica studied the door, thinking over what she was
in for... she didn't have to knock on it. She'd found the place, she
didn't have to indulge him any further - she could have left and
dropped in on Florinda. She should have dropped it...

She should also have dropped "The Matrix Reloaded" and "The Matrix
Revolutions." Monica Bellucci didn't do it then either.

"Come in!" a hearty male voice said the moment she rang the bell to his
apartment. "I've been expecting you..." Since no one had been leaning
out over the balconies of the building, Monica opened her mouth to ask
how he knew who she was, then decided that she'd got enough mysteries
on her plate already, and went inside.

Nothing fancy about this building at all; just regular carpeting and
stairs up to the first floor. It was cool in here, one thing Monica was
grateful for; no blasting of freezing air, just enough breeze for her
to be relaxed. Plus it wasn't too far for her to walk; she was soon in
front of the second door of the hall. Monica was about to knock on it,
but she never got the chance; it was thrown wide open, making her gasp
as how quickly it happened.

She gasped again when she saw the man standing there. Although she
should have known better, Monica honestly believed the spotty,
overweight, socially maladjusted stereotype of the Internet user; she
hadn't expected to see a confident-looking, trim, cheerful man in his
mid-twenties standing there. Even his skin didn't have any major marks,
and those that were there were very tiny; not so much John-Boy Walton
as Roger Moore before he had them removed. Monica hoped it hadn't been
misinterpreted - she was a married woman and all that... this had to be
the man who sent her that picture of his prick. If it wasn't, at least
she had the ideal face to go with it.

"Not quite what you were expecting?" the man said, ushering the actress
into his neat home.

"Well... no..." Monica admitted, surprised a second time. From what she
had noted, she had been expecting his place to be covered with pictures
of her; but no, here was a typical bachelor flat, although a lot
tidier. Not a sign of her anywhere on the walls.

"I know, you're wondering where all the stuff is. I have a lot of
visitors, and this is a small town... oh, I forgot my manners! Let me
just refresh your memory before I give you a drink - my name is
Enrico."

"That would be lovely..." Monica started, before she realised what he
had said. REFRESH...?

"Only light drinks here, I'm afraid; my parents didn't like alcohol and
I keep up the family tradition," Enrico continued as he went into the
kitchen. "I'm surprised you came back here so soon - I wouldn't have
blamed you if you had stayed away forever. Although I'd be lying if I
said I wish you hadn't..."

"So I've come here before?" Monica asked, a nasty idea forming in her
head. "And did I get this here?"

"Get what..." Enrico started as he came back holding two large,
liquid-filled glasses. His voice trailed off as he saw Monica Bellucci
with her back to him, her shirt lifted up and her jeans just under her
buttocks; there wasn't much on show, just said cheeks and the skin
above them. Enrico could also see the still-visible "BELLUCCICULO" on
the skin above Monica's ass.

The webmaster swallowed his drink in one gulp, and hers too. "I thought
he was joking..."

* * * * * * * * * *

Monica hadn't expected to be leaving Tivoli so soon; she thought that
once she found Enrico it would be the end of the mystery. But a
seething Enrico had told her en route to his car that he had PROMISED
him he wouldn't do anything like that, he had sworn it on his
parents...

"I should have known he'd have done that!" he shouted as he drove
through the hills towards the outskirts of town.

"So who is HE exactly?"

"Raphael," Enrico said. "My twin brother."

"Your evil twin brother?" Monica asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, there's nothing evil about him... he's just a little hard to take.
We'll be there very soon..." Enrico let the top down of the car and
smiled into the breeze. "Ah, that's better."

Monica enjoyed the way her hair blew back with the breeze, and managed
to relax for the three minutes it took to get to a plush field at the
side of the road. Some yards away was a farmhouse; Monica wasn't
expecting the car to come to a stop or Enrico to get out. "He doesn't
like people driving up the path; he says if he sees people coming he
can decide if he's in or he's out," he explained, opening the door for
Monica.

Not liking unfriendly guests herself, she nodded. At least it wasn't
that far, and it was a nice day, and it didn't look like she was going
to be stepping in anything she didn't want to... as she put her foot on
the ground she heard something she didn't like, and she looked down.

Two out of three...

 From his room upstairs, Raphael looked through his binoculars. Rico,
all right, but who was that with him? That couldn't be...

"YES!!!" he exulted, dropping his binoculars in delight. She was
back...! He moved back from the window, pleased that he had chosen
today of all days to change and bathe. His mother had always said you
never knew who might suddenly turn up, after all. Sitting calmly in the
centre of his room, he planted a huge smile on his face to greet his
guest as she came in. He didn't want to mess this up again...

Raphael was smiling all right, but Monica wasn't when she came in. She
was more aghast if anything at the sight of him; true, he had bathed
and he was dressed reasonably neatly, but there was something about him
that was all too much like that comic book person from "The Simpsons."
It could have been the girth with the ponytail. Or the caftan-sized
shirt. Or the fact that his generously-sized room was filled with
paraphernalia revolving around... her.

Monica's eyes took in the whole room as Raphael greeted her cheerily...
videos, DVDs, magazines, posters, the works. He had a practical
mini-museum in here; the one thing she was thankful for was that
despite his site, there were no openly displayed pictures of herself
naked. Monica really, really wanted to leave.

"You're free to leave," Raphael assured her kindly. "It won't be the
first time."

For the rest of her life, Monica Bellucci would be kicking herself for
not taking him up on it rather than asking "I asked you before; I will
ask you again. Why?" and watching Raphael beam even brighter as he
rolled his chair over to his terminal.

"Sorry for not getting up - too much effort. Come over here, I'll show
you."

"Go on," Enrico added. "He likes women too much to hurt them... you're
perfectly safe."

Physically, yes. Mentally, Monica wasn't so sure about. But she went
over to the desk with Enrico as Raphael tapped in some words on his
keyboard. "Rico and I, we're sort of a nucleus for fans of yours," he
continued. "We hear from people all over the world, hold occasional
meetings, put up news... you've got a fair few fan sites, but we like
to think ours is the best."

"It was actually his idea," Enrico added. "It keeps him busy, and I
keep him secure. I make enough for us both to be fine, so..."

"I'm flattered, but why me? And... and why are you focusing on my
backside?"

"Because everyone talks about your breasts all the time; they should,
but they shouldn't forget the rest of you," Raphael explained as if he
was talking to a neighbour about the weather. "Oh hey, I've got some
new messages in the guestbook..."

"They can wait. This can't," Monica snapped. "Look at this..."

Raphael "mmmm"-ed to himself as the actress bared her tattoo again; he
knew this would have come back to "haunt" him, but the knowledge of
having to answer for it was tempered by his having Monica Bellucci's
ample ass in his face. Nice work, very nice work. And the tattoo was
pretty good too... "I admit it, it was me."

"Go on," Monica said tersely.

"Get out the pictures, Rico," Raphael sighed. "This may take some
time... sit yourself down, Monica - "

"You call me Miss Bellucci."

"Miss Bellucci, of course," Raphael said. "And how's Florinda doing?"

"You know her?" she asked, dying to scratch chunks of skin off the
amiable pervert.

"Know her? We're family."

* * * * * * * * * *

Two weeks earlier.

The bus let off its passengers on the quiet country road; Monica had
been flattered to be told by a cheerful old woman that she looked just
like that girl her husband enjoyed so much. "These big movie stars,
they wouldn't be caught dead on a bus like this though," she added.
"Me, if I was one of them it would be limos all the way for me..."

Monica had agreed, glad that she hadn't gotten a taxi to get her out
here; the less people who knew the better. She hadn't even told Vincent
she was coming out here to attend Florinda's birthday party; he didn't
like Florinda much, but he loved parties. Even the threat of being in
the same room as a non-stop talker with garlic breath couldn't put him
off if there was loud music and plenty of food. Monica didn't mind the
things herself... she checked her bag for the umpteenth time to see
that the necklace she'd bought her friend was intact.

She walked along the lane towards the rambling farmhouse where
Florinda's cousin had told her the party was going to be held, feeling
slightly overdressed in her shirt and trousers. Too damn hot, but this
wasn't the beach, even if the note had said dress casual. At last she
got to the door and rapped on it; she hoped she wasn't too late or too
early. This was supposed to be a surprise party, and getting there
AFTER the guest of honour...

"Hey there!" Enrico grinned on greeting the guest, and delighting
Monica by not seeming the least star-struck. "You arrived!"

"Well, she is one of my oldest friends..." Monica smiled.

"Come in, come in... no one knows you're coming, so it'll be another
surprise... I'm Enrico, by the way; her favourite cousin," he preened
as he led Monica inside. "Now if you'll just step in here you can meet
the other guests..."

Monica stepped in there, and saw the banners on display; the
decorations; and the guests... and the pictures.

"SURPRISE!!!!" the thirty or forty guests yelled as one, as Monica
stared at the lifesize standee of herself in the centre of the room,
ignoring all the whooping and singing as the party got started.

"Where's Florinda?" she asked. "Is this all a joke?"

"No joke... it's a real party. Florinda wanted to throw it for you;
she's always pulling these switches, you know what she's like. Oh,
thanks," Enrico laughed as he took a passing friend's extra drink. "She
might be your friend, but she's family to me... anyway, she always has
her birthday parties on Saturdays!"

"I know! That was why I thought it would be a real surprise for her..."
Monica was still looking at the standee. "Who are all these people,
anyway?"

"Oh, you've got plenty of time to meet them later. As long as you're
here, why not make like KC and the Sunshine Band?"

Monica was still perturbed at the surprise party, and she did wonder
where Florinda was... but it looked like fun, she'd come a long way,
and it was pretty hot out there, and it was a while before the bus
would come for her, and that drink Enrico was holding did look
inviting. "I will do a little dance, and try to have some fun tonight,"
she smiled as she took the drink, "but forget about making a little
love."

* * * * * * * * * *

Several hours and more than a few drinks later, Monica was on the floor
with her latest dance partner; he was whirling her around and clutching
her tightly.

"So you're another fan?" she asked, now fully in the spirit.

"We ALL are! We met through Raphael and Enrico..." he burbled into her
bosom happily, his hands on her shoulderblades. "Ohhhhh... you smell so
good..."

"You all did?"

"Oh yeah... I wrote that thing about the petrol station..."

"What thing?"

"You didn't see it? You haven't been on the site? It's all about us..."
By now he'd gotten his hands on Monica's swaying ass, pinching it.
Before the liquor, Monica might have gotten annoyed; by now, and after
about twenty or so gropes, she was used to it.

Encouraged by that, he began to rub his hands on Monica's rump in ever
widening circles... damn, this was firm. And she was wearing jeans,
which made it even better. As the music built, he moved his hands up
and touched the top of her jeans while she held him; he felt brave
enough to take the first step into broaching the barrier between fan
and celeb. Hoping that she wouldn't knee him in the crotch, praying
that she was loose enough not to mind, he edged his fingers under the
fabric, underneath her panties, and slowly pushed them underneat to
finally touch Monica's behind. And then he took a squeeze.

Monica squeezed him back. The party had officially started...

Encouraged, he patted her cheeks. And then patted them again; and by
the time Monica had wriggled out of his arms laughing, he was well into
his Animal-from-"The-Muppet-Show" impression. "Let someone else have a
go!" she giggled. "Who wants a dance... and maybe a little more if
you're lucky?"

She was surrounded by fans; it was almost a convention in this little
Italian town. They were staring at her, some with love, others with
glee, and it seemed like all with lust. But they were all there for
her; and the looks on their faces made it clear they all wanted to be
first. Pointing her finger, Monica gave the fans a twirl and stopped
after one circle, aiming at a bluff, handsome man. "Yes, come on, don't
be scared..." she laughed. "It's party time!"

The man tore his own shirt off to encouraging whoops as he strode
forward. "Damn right, Miss B!" he boomed, grabbing Monica by the arm.
"Ladies' choice - fast or slow?"

Monica reached up and ripped her own shirt off, feeling her braless
beauties bouncing free. "Slow," she said huskily as the fans roared
their approval, their own shirts coming off with the breaking of the
ice. "Definitely slow." With the last shreds of her reserve gone,
Monica thrust herself against the guest and gripped him as they began
to dance, she luxuriating in the thick mat of hair on his chest, he
feeling a sudden rush of blood to the head and the cock on the
sensation of her breasts against him. As the two whirled around in the
midst of the other topless revellers, they both felt other people
trying to separate them - the only difference was that no one wanted to
dance with HIM...

With one jerk, Monica Bellucci found herself dancing with another. The
first one had at least kept his hands in the proper place; this one,
who looked all of 15, had eyes and fingers for nothing but her boobs.
"My dad thinks they're fake," he confided in her as they danced, and
clamped his digits on the Wonder Twins, groping and twiddling and
ignoring her grimaces. "What does he know? He likes American
football..." His eyes gleamed as he opened his mouth to have a little
lick, while Monica pondered whether to tell the boy to wait or stand
there and enjoy it; a decision taken out of her hands an instant later.

"Wait your turn, Salvatore!" And the boy was pulled aside, his wail of
lustful fury ignored by a redheaded guy who Monica would never find out
was his cousin. "That boy doesn't know his place - grownups first...
sorry about him..."

Monica's response was cut off by a kiss she felt on her neck, with arms
sliding around her chest under her boobs. "She just can't wait, can
she?" he laughed as Monica found herself being pulled off the floor and
into the nearest room; the man shook a finger at the guests. "No groups
until later..."

"Later?" a slowly more-inebriated Monica asked. "Since when did this
become an orgy?"

"Since you came to the party," the redheaded man beamed, stripping off
his shorts as the woman who Monica eventually found out was his wife
kept kissing her. "That's all we've had on our minds ever since you
came in... ever since we saw you... you've been pleasing us with your
acting and your body for years, Monica; call this returning the favour.
We've seen you naked... how's this?" he added as his wife peeled down
the guest of honour's jeans, licking his lips at the bush she had
covered.

"Not bad," Monica smiled.

"This, on the other hand..." his wife laughed, and yanked the panties
off from behind her. Like Missy Elliott, her tail went boom; the wife
whistled on seeing Monica's seat meat in her face. It was so beautiful,
and there was so much of it... the wife stayed on her knees as the
husband went on his, his face heading towards Monica's bountiful bush.

"No, no, no," Monica said, now well in party mode. "Ladies first." She
got onto her hands and knees before the redheaded guy, impressed at the
man's cock and feeling the wife's fingers stroking her round behind and
plump cunt. His cockhead looked just like a mushroom poking out of its
foreskin; Monica lightly licked the head as she touched the shaft,
eyeing him as her tongue played with the cock, rolling all over it and
tickling the balls with the tip. Monica ran her tongue along his length
one more time, her fingers stroking all the while, as Mrs. Redhead
pinched the firm flesh and nuzzled her crack; then Monica groaned as
the woman slipped her tongue into her snatch, treating her steaming and
dampening pussy to a mouth-lashing. Not all women were good at giving
head to other women, as Monica herself knew from bitter experience (as
a giver AND receiver; vaginas were shaped all wrong for her mouth), but
this lady knew what was what...

The woman sizzled with the sensation of her lover's tongue along her
cuntwalls as she took Mr. Redhead's inches into her mouth. Great meat,
filling her mouth up and feeling so great on her tongue; Monica tasted
the man's cut organ, waiting for the tastiness to come dropping out.
She swallowed hungrily and eagerly as she teased his sacs, as the music
outside swelled ever louder, drowning out Mr. Redhead's rising groans
as he furiously stroked her raven hair, pressing her head against his
groin as he eyed his wife against Monica's ass. Too bad he couldn't
munch on the wife to make the circle complete, but just seeing them
moving together was enough...

Monica thrust back, clutching his organ as it started to jerk in her
hands; he was about to fire. "Sorry, I never swallow," she said between
gasps as she pulled on Mr. Redhead's cock, itself a touch of crimson at
the tip from the come built up inside it; but at the moment she made
the last thrust, Mrs. Redhead's tongue touched a special little area of
her cunt. A special little area that always gave her a true overdose of
pleasure. A special little area that made Monica Bellucci cry out loud;
and a special little area that made her mouth shoot open just as Mr.
Redhead's cock exploded, giving her a dose of cream right into her
mouth. Some splattered elsewhere around her lovely face, but the shot
she had in her mouth was enough...

* * * * * * * * * *

"And they told you this?" Monica asked as Raphael continued.

"None of us has anything to hide," the man said. "They were very proud
of it. So was Salvatore."

"The boy? But you told me he wasn't there."

"He came back. He comes from a long line of men who like older women...
you've seen his face before, I think." Raphael returned to the first
page of thumbnails, and enlarged one. "Meet Salvatore."

* * * * * * * * * *

Monica HAD seen his face before. Salvatore was one of the two boys in
that picture of her spreadeagled gainst a wall as if she was being
frisked; he and Lucio, a blond boy a couple of years older, were
gripping her buns and opening them, with their tongues tantalizingly
close to her asshole. And getting closer every second as the others
watched and masturbated in the courtyard. Monica wasn't being held
against the wall; she was pressing herself there, the smooth finish of
the wall keeping her from any possible scratches but making it hard for
her to see what they were up to. But she could feel it. Oh boy, yes,
she could feel it. Their fingers prodding and squeezing her full rump,
their hot breath mixing as the excited boys eagerly took in Monica's
beauty up close, their little tongues touching her secret passage...
the greedy boys couldn't wait their turns, they started to go down on
her asshole together before Lucio generously let Salvatore go first,
choosing to apply his lips to her box while waiting. They were either
very precocious, or very mature for their age.

Either way, Monica quivered with delight as the boys tasted her; she
couldn't do anything but groan and breathe as Salvatore's tongue
happily circled her anus, moving as far inside the tight opening as he
could and leaving little kisses here and there. Monica gave the guys a
little wiggle as the anilingus continued, to the pleasure of the lads
and the audience...

"See, I knew she likes them young!" a beaming woman chuckled. "So do
I..."

"Forget it, Renata. You know the rules - it's all about Monica," her
friend and fellow fan said.

Monica jerked as Lucio, munching on her incredibly hairy and incredibly
sweet-tasting cunt, gave her right cheek an enthusiastic slap while he
licked, luckily missing Salvatore. Not that he, grunting happily into
the woman's meaty ass, would have been bothered if he'd been hit...
this was too good for anything to get in the way...

Lucio was groaning into Monica's pussy as he found himself quaking
between his legs; he'd left his cock alone for days in anticipation of
this, but it was too much... Monica's garden was burning him up... he
pulled his lips back and leapt to his feet, grabbing his cock and
hoping he could put it into Monica before it happened -

"HEY!!" Salvatore yelled as Lucio shoved him aside, away from Monica's
open ass. "I wasn't finished..." But his friend ignored him, and it was
Monica's turn to yell "WAITTT!!!!!" as the boy plunged his pubescent
cock deep into the woman, all the way up to the balls, just in time to
feel it shoot days and days' worth of cum into Monica.

"AAAAIIEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" both Monica and Lucio screamed as the two
coupled, Lucio having his first and greatest orgasm as he came and came
inside her, Monica less amazed that someone so young would be so quick
on the trigger than that he could have so much stuff in him... and
Salvatore, sprawled on the grass, suddenly really hated his friend.

* * * * * * * * * *

Performers like Bruce Springsteen and Gwen Stefani are known for their
stamina and energy; with the day turning into night, the partygoers
were just as eager as ever for some of Monica. And Monica, to her
delight, was still eager for more.

"We found out about this meeting from the website..." one guy grunted
atop her, thrusting his (condom'd, thankfully) cock into her snatch,
hoping he could make out anything of his face through the two pricks
she had in her mouth, which Monica was happily sucking as she played
with two more in her hands. "We've had other... meetings... but nothing
like this..."

"That's a great site there - you should make it the official one..."
another said between sighs as Monica's mouth pleasured his cock. "I bet
Charlize Theron doesn't treat her fans this way." Monica waggled her
eyebrows at that, but none of them noticed. "They even have your
addresses... did you get my letter?"

Monica nodded as she slithered her tongue along the two cocks, and
pulled hard on the other two; one cock positioned right above each
breast. As she gyrated underneath the fan's pumping, she did her own
pumping with the men on either side. Yes, yes, she could see the stuff
seeping out... not long now... Monica thrust one last time, and
"MMMMMM!!!!" She had gotten to like the taste of semen in her mouth as
one of the two in her mouth shot off; it went perfectly with the rush
of white cream shooting out of the men's pricks, splashing over her
perfect tits. Monica kept jerking them off while she sucked greedily,
waiting for the other guy to fill her mouth. This was so much more
memorable than an autograph...

* * * * * * * * * *

"And how long did this... clusterfuck go on for?" Monica asked, as the
pictures went by on screen.

"Not as long as we'd have liked," Raphael admitted. "There was still
the business with the balls - "

"Never mind that," Monica snapped, well aware of the shots of her with
a string of beads between her legs, one end inside her pussy and the
other end in her ass. "Just tell me how this got here [pointing to the
tattoo] and how I got out there [pointing out beyond the town]."

"Ah. That came before the painting. And after the big bang."

* * * * * * * * * *

The Big Bang was the ultimate celebration; the reason why they were all
there. The worshipping of Monica Bellucci's buns. The festivities were
now well and truly outside; the revellers, in between asking her
questions ranging from "What were you thinking saying yes to that piece
of shit with Keanu Reeves?" to "Why did you have to get blown up at the
end of 'L'Appartement'? It ruined the whole movie...", had kept up the
party atmosphere.

And Monica, standing nude at the top of a hill looking down at (as
opposed to on) the fans, was glowing. Those people there - they had
come all this way to see her. True, what had started as a birthday
party had turned into a full-on orgy with herself as the village
bicycle, but it was all for HER. Monica's ego one-upped the Grinch's
heart by about three sizes that day; she'd gotten enough comments on
her actual performances - not just generalised token "And you can act
too!" statements, but specific praise and comments on her work - to
satisfy every side of her being. As Raphael trudged up the incline to
stand next to her, she had no regrets of what this group had made her;
she was alive, she was lusty, she was happy. And it wasn't even her
birthday.

"People," Raphael announced, "let's hear it for Monica! For her gifts,
for her persona, for her class... and for her beauty!" Monica bowed her
head a little as she soaked up the cheers. "And in particular, her
posterior... Monica, would you mind...?"

"Of course not," Monica laughed. "It's only a body."

"Don't say that!" Raphael said as she turned. "Not everybody has one
like yours; and really, these cheeks are one of the main reasons we're
here." In spite of the fans having seen them numerous times, it still
won them over studying them so close. "And tonight, we're going to pay
tribute to them the best way we know how... wait, wait, wait!" he added
as they started to rush towards her. "One at a time... but first, I
must make your fine, fine ass mine, so that the world will know that
this - " he slapped Monica's buns - "is unique."

Raphael beckoned to some of the men to come up and join them as he
gently brought Monica to her knees. "These people here will be holding
you down so you don't move - just in case..." And he opened the case,
taking out everything he needed as the men took hold of the mostly
relaxed Monica; they certainly weren't planning to hurt her, but -

Monica winced as she felt the needle start to inject the ink just above
her swelling rump, while Raphael hummed to himself. He only had one
chance at this, and it had to be done right... he wasn't aiming for
elaborate, nothing that would gross her out like a dragon or something,
just a kind of trademark. It wasn't big, and it didn't take long, but
for Monica it felt like the longest, most unusual kind of sharp
tickling she'd ever had. That thing making... whatever it was... on her
body... "All done. You're a strong lady..." And it was over; it had
only been in a small space after all. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad when
she saw it.

"Welcome to Bellucciculo, Salvatore," she heard him say. "You're
first..."

"Um... Salvatore...." Monica turned her head to get a look at Raphael
and Salvatore; the artist was dressed, the boy was naked, both were
smiling and expectant - and she could see between the boy's legs how
expectant she was - but there was a tiny look in their eyes, as if they
were afraid she might freak out after what had just happened. (ONLY
after what had just happened?) Then she told herself she had gone too
far to go back now - it wouldn't be like she was being raped and
beaten.

"Have fun," she smiled at the boy, and assumed the position as
Salvatore took the first jar of oil from Raphael's case, the older
man's less shaky hands rubbing it around his cock. Salvatore was unable
to keep from looking at Monica Bellucci before him, ready and waiting
to have his much younger prick up her. In "Malena" the hero had only
dreamt about it; this was actually happening. Willing himself to not
burst forth at the wrong moment, he rested his little hands on the
woman's voluptuous backside, stroking and caressing it in delight.
Salvatore's fingers stopped just short of brushing over the still
slightly sore tattoo.

With his prick swollen to its maximum length, he leant forward and
looked down; dammit! Sal's cock was just a bit off from the winking
hole between Monica's cheeks; he took a hold of his rod and aimed it,
moving forward carefully as the head poked the starfish... Salvatore
took a deep breath and made the final thrust, and gasped as he felt it
sink into her. In his mind's eye he was shoving a massive length into
her; he certainly wasn't immense, but it was an okay size for his age.
As Salvatore slid his cock in and out of Monica's asshole, his high
grunts and her groans melding, he knew that it wouldn't be the best
she'd ever had, but for him it would never be the same. None of the
other girls he'd known had been on the level as this woman... this
goddess... Salvatore knew it wouldn't be long before he lost it inside
Monica's hot ass, but he also knew that it was goingtobeWORTHIT....!!!

The boy shuddered and howled as Monica Bellucci became the first woman
he ever fucked. Monica was proud that she could actually feel something
from the boy; she was glad that she hadn't had to fake the sighs and
moans from his shoving. As she felt his soft little hands be replaced
by some bigger, rougher ones, she hoped his older counterparts could
continue the tradition. She was just glad they weren't all men; Monica
wanted to be able to walk again...

"What about YOU?!?" she screamed to Raphael as the next fan plunged
into her without fanfare.

"I'm letting them go first," he told her. "Like a good host should..."

* * * * * * * * * *

Monica was raised up in the air, but she wasn't being crucified. "You
have to understand," said the first woman as she finished the knots,
"we do like you; but part of the fun is getting you in control."

In the bright sunlight of the morning, a nude Monica was tied between
two pillars, her arms and legs spread apart. Crouching between her
legs, a man had his tongue reaching up towards her sex. Standing on
either side of her were two more men, their hands fondling her and
their erect penises sticking out from their trousers; one of them was
really close to her left breast, his teeth bared as he prepared to take
a love-bite. Part of another man could be made out behind her, and it
looked as if he was doing or preparing to do something anally-inclined.

It was Raphael. Every other man there had enjoyed her butt, and now
finally it was his turn; as the other guy sank his teeth into Monica's
left tit to tenderly leave his mark, Raphael brought back the slipper
he was holding. Spanking Monica's tush had been a given, but using a
whip was out for obvious reasons, and Raphael wanted his hands to touch
her without leaving any marks. Thus the slipper - this piece of cosy
footwear would impact on her flesh but not make her bleed or anything.
One spank for each one of her movies, right up to the next one to be
released, or until Monica's bum was glowing like the sun - whichever
came first. Either way, this meant that she was due 31 smacks. And
Raphael stiffened a little more with each slap as the slipper hit
Monica's cheeks.

Monica strained as she felt the slipper land; with each slap he'd
yelled the name of not just a movie she'd been in, but the character as
well. Did this guy do nothing but watch her career? Still, as soon as
he got to "Ricordati di me" she knew they were near the end; her ass
was tingling with the spanking, but at least he hadn't given her
blisters. Not like that over-enthusiastic Bruce Willis had during
location filming... but Monica pushed thoughts of her experiences
shooting "Tears Of The Sun" out of her mind as Raphael pushed something
else into La Bellucci's well-visited back door, all his dreams finally
coming true. Surrounded by men, a slight breeze blowing her hair, this
was going to be the end of the party - Monica being practically on a
pedestal.

"What the hell," Monica said quietly as Enrico, watching the spectacle,
snapped a memento. "At least they're not urinating on me."

Enrico set down the camera on its tripod; this was far too good not to
immortalise, even if it was only a few shots. With his duty done, he
ran towards the spectacle, noting that her mouth was open and moving
again as the man's head moved between her legs, his hands rubbing her
thighs. The other men next to her had decided one dental impression in
her chest was enough, settling for nuzzling those boobs. The wind
blowing was making Monica's nipples hard and inviting, and the guy on
her left was on the verge of sucking on one of those enormous milk
jugs.

"Uuuuhhhhh..." Monica sighed, as Enrico saw his brother's hands around
the edges of her hips. No prizes for guessing what he was doing down
there; how many tongues had been around that fine crack he couldn't
begin to guess. But now it was time to plug her up; this was why they
had remembered to bring the stepladder along. Though Enrico could tell
she was approaching the "running on fumes" part of the proceedings as
he climbed it until his crotch was on a level with her mouth, he felt
she still had several good blowjobs left in her.

Monica clamped her mouth shut around his cock almost at once; she was
still up for it.

The camera clicked again and again, capturing all of her passion...

* * * * * * * * * *

"And he did the painting from that first picture," Enrico finished, as
a shocked Monica sat there.

"I posed for that," she said in a dead fashion, staring at those men.
"I let 14-year-old boys make love to me. I was pissed on - "

"Those pissing ones were fakes," Raphael assured her. "Very convincing
fakes, but fakes. A couple of them wanted to, but you have to draw the
line somewhere."

"I'm flattered that you have some boundaries - but what I want to know
is - "

"Why you didn't remember any of it? Simple," Enrico continued, ignoring
her exasperated look at how casually he was answering. "We hypnotised
you so you wouldn't recall."

"I doubt that very much. You couldn't have forced me to do that..."

"You didn't force us to."

* * * * * * * * * *

As Monica watched Enrico untie her, she felt as if she was starting to
finally run low on energy. She had loved it, and she still wanted to
have some more - she loved all the people here - but she had to get
herself some rest... and there was something else on her mind.

"You want to get some sleep, don't you?" Raphael said understandably,
walking away from Lucio after patting him on the head in farewell. "You
have to get home... it's been a long while, we know."

"Mmm-hmmm..." Monica nodded. She really had lost all track of time
around here. "But..."

"But you're wondering what to tell them."

Monica nodded again. Thinking over it all, she had loved it... but she
knew she couldn't tell anyone the truth, least of all her husband. She
would have to think up a very convincing excuse for being so long...
Florinda had had a party (which was sort of true) and she'd gotten
drunk (which was also pretty true) but how was she going to explain the
traces of that lovebite...?

"There is a way," Enrico told her. "We're doing it to the younger
people here - whenever anyone asks where they were over the past few
days, they'll say they were out camping." And indeed, Raphael had just
come from giving the treatment to Lucio - his memories of poking Monica
Bellucci would just seem like a fabulous dream. Some of the older
people who weren't so trustworthy to keep their mouths shut - the ones
who sent in messages under their real names - had also been given the
treatment. "You won't have your memory wiped, just blocked... it'll be
like this all never happened. As far as they were concerned, you just
went to a wedding party and stayed to spend time with my cousin. Of
course, if you don't want that to happen - "

"I want it," Monica said almost at once.

"Excellent..." Raphael said in a low voice. "Now, I want you to listen
to my voice... look in my eyes... and listen to my voice. Just my
voice. Concentrate... don't think about the last few days... don't
think about anything but my voice...." He continued his mantra, his
gaze fixed on Monica as her black eyes looked into him. She was
relaxing, for more than just weariness; her mind was in his hands. It
would have been so easy for Raphael to instruct her to be his sex slave
forever... but then he would be denying the world her gifts, and he
could never do that. Someone so beautiful was meant to be enjoyed by
all. No, it would be better to let her go. "Now... can you understand
me?"

"Yes," Monica said in a flat voice.

"Good... when I snap my fingers, you will be ready to go home. You will
not remember me, nor Enrico, nor anything that happened the next time
you wake up. Everything will seem like it was. Clear?"

"Yes."

"Excellent..." And one finger snap later, Monica was giving Enrico and
Raphael goodbye kisses, thanking them for a very memorable time, hoping
they had a happy Christmas with the big fest a couple of weeks away,
and meeting the man who'd save her from having to wait for the bus.
"Cristo here'll take you home," Raphael added, indicating the fellow
next to him. "It's been wonderful having you here."

"Wonderful to have been... had..." Monica laughed. "Tell Florinda I
said hello... come on Cristo, let's go."

Cristo smiled to her and everyone as he escorted her off the plains
towards his car, to take her from Tivoli back to Rome.

Or so she thought.

Half an hour later, she was asleep in the passenger seat, her energy
having given out at last, as Cristo pulled the car into a side road
near the forest. Oh, she'd be going back to Rome all right, but first
he was going to have one more bit of fun; Cristo chuckled as he opened
Monica's mouth, took out a couple of the pills he always kept on his
person in case something like this happened, and dropped them in her
mouth, tilting her head back so she'd swallow them. This would make
sure she wouldn't wake up until he was good and ready.

With her breathing now steady, he carried the soon-to-be-unconscious
woman out of the car and placed her on the grass, getting his condoms
out. Cristo liked to fuck women when they were asleep, and had always
dreamed of doing one in a coma (he hated resistance)... he wasn't about
to let this opportunity go, no sir. Monica was breathing steadily; he
watched her bosom rise and fall, his prick filling up inside his
trousers. He wouldn't even have to touch himself to get hard enough to
get the condom on; he was armed and ready within seconds, and
undressing Monica, putting her clothes neatly inside the car - he had
to get her dressed again afterwards.

Soon she was naked again, and Cristo was on top of her, his cock
besheathed with the strongest, most reliable condom on the market; he'd
used this brand on several occasions and had been so impressed by its
failure to break that he'd even written to the manufacturers. Just
resting on her made him feel on the verge of coming; she was fleshy and
warm... he lightly licked her neck and shoulders as he stroked her.
Monica was all woman, and all his, and all out cold by now; her body
gave him no resistance as he rolled her over on the soft grass and
pushed her legs apart, biting the inside of his mouth as he thought of
what lay between them.

With his stomach resting on her blushing buns and soundtracked by birds
singing, Cristo started to grind his cock into the slumbering Monica,
sighing with each little thrust within her cunt. Doing her doggystyle
was the best; slamming against that meat aside, anyone coming along
couldn't see who he was banging. With each stroke, he sank deeper into
Monica, his hands kneading the generous woman's torso as he relished
her dripping, warm pussy; Cristo wondered if she was getting aroused
even in this state. His thrusting sped up, and his grunts got louder as
he jerked in and out of her, giving her cheeks little pinches as he
found himself about to test that condom to the ultimate...

"Oooohhhhh.... oooooohhhhhhhhhhh.... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" Cristo
howled, giving one final thrust as he felt the tip of his cock flooding
the condom. Not one drop of it escaped into Monica's snatch; he knew
that somehow. Pulling it out, he studied the relaxing woman, her legs
spread apart. Even an adventurous actress like her had yet to let
herself be in a split shot like that; he cursed himself for not having
a camera as he crouched down and took a close-up look. Monica
Bellucci's snatch up close gave off a strong, musky smell; Cristo could
see her swollen button, fresh from being played with by his prick. He
gently kissed it, pleased with himself for what he had done, and got
up... he wanted to be there for longer, but it was time he got her
dressed.

This didn't take too long; soon Monica was lying on the grass fully
clothed, as if nothing had happened. Now all he had to do was...
dammit. Cristo looked down at his crotch. "Why NOW??!" he grumbled, and
ran towards the forest - he could not bring himself to urinate in front
of Monica Bellucci, or any woman, even if she was out cold.

He was just far enough inside the forest to still be able to see
Monica. And also to see a car speed by; the only one that day so far.
And also to see the car come back... and a man and woman leap out, and
run towards her, and turn her over...

Thankful that he had taken the time to park the car out of sight,
Cristo settled in to wait until they were gone.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Then it was all over the news," Enrico finished. "Raphael and I knew
that it had to be Cristo who left you there - the coward didn't want to
be caught by the police. Not even for you."

"Did you tell them?"

"Oh good heavens, no," said Raphael. "We don't betray our friends. Even
our former friends... Cristo's been permanently banned from the site
and from our meetings."

"That's not enough..."

"Well, if you're going to press charges - "

"No," Monica said, by now with her face looking down on the floor, to
avoid looking at the computer screen. She had gone to extremes in
movies, but that was in the controlled environment of a studio; this
was the real thing. "You say you're fans? I want you to prove it...
take the site down."

"But - "

"Take it down. I can't stand knowing that what I did is out there."

"Come on, Monica - no one'll believe it," Raphael argued. "We can put
up disclaimers saying they're all fakes, even the real ones; even if
some yellow press reporter comes along, everyone involved'll deny being
with you and no one'll know the truth. I mean, look at Agatha Christie
- "

"Take it down."

"But even that tattoo isn't public knowledge," Enrico added. "Okay,
that was a bad idea but who knows about it apart from us?"

"And my husband. And one of the nurses."

"It's all password protected; that link we made to get to the pictures
was only for you," Raphael replied. "And how would it look if word got
out you were shutting down fansites? Who are you, Twentieth Century
Fox?"

"I admit it was a very well designed fansite," Monica conceded. "Very
professionally put together. But it has to go..."

"But - "

"...because I don't want anything crude linked to my official one,"
Monica finished, starting to smile.

"You don't have an official site," Raphael pointed out.

"I do now," the siren replied, still smiling.

As soon as the penny dropped, so were the other two.

* * * * * * * * * *

Anyone visiting the site from the following day would be greeted by
this message:

Bellucciculo Is No More...

Coming In 2005:

MONICA-BELLUCCI.IT
The Official Monica Bellucci Website

Monica had realised that what had happened hadn't been all their fault;
they hadn't forced her into any of it, they hadn't raped her. And she
did owe it to her admirers to give something back; this was one of the
better ways to do it. The more explicit pictures had come down, but
Monica had agreed to let them keep several of the cleaner ones up (the
photographic ones were clearly labelled as photoshop creations, of
course); Raphael was particularly pleased that "The Passion Of The
Bellucci" had been kept online.

"So that's where you were?" Vincent asked as they lay in bed, still
trying to get his head around the whole thing. "You went all the way to
Tivoli to talk to a pair of geeks - "

"This isn't America," Monica said gently.

"If the word fits, use it. You went there just to talk about a
website?"

"They're very good designers, but they're a bit eccentric. They don't
like to come to big cities, and I liked their work, so..."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise; I didn't think I'd be gone so long... or
get so drunk. That was why I couldn't remember anything at all... they
told me they had called me, but I never got their messages."

Vincent had known enough actors with a fondness for the whoopee water
(and the accompanying inability to remember what had happened) to
sympathise. "And the tattoo?"

Monica blushed as she touched her husband. "That was my idea... the
alcohol, plus the younger man of the team - he was almost a boy - he
couldn't stop talking about my wiggle. At least he didn't go any
further."

"Mmmm..." Vincent chuckled, burying his face in the nape of his wife's
neck. "That's where I come in..." Monica slapped him, giggling as he
nuzzled her and gripped her cheeks. "You can't fault their taste
though..." The couple kissed, their minds away from all that; the
papers had moved on to other things, leaving them alone until next
time.

Within moments, Vincent had mounted his hot wife, his hands gripping
hers as he sliced his rod in and out of her, blessing himself for
having such a beautiful and sensible woman for a partner, and unaware
that Monica was happy to be fucking and coming loudly without an
audience for a change. Which was why she enjoyed it more than usual...

* * * * * * * * * *

About two months later, a pensive Monica hung up the phone as Vincent
continued to cheer even after saying goodbye. The tests had been
positive; she was going to be a mother in September, and he had been
the first person she had told.

Monica was looking forward to using those "meat curtains" (as one guy
on the web called them) for their natural function, for sure; but
Vincent's cream had rushed into her not that long after that boy Lucio
had done his business back in Tivoli. And for all the cocks inside all
her holes, that boy had been the only one to actually come in her
snatch without a condom. Of course Vincent HAD to be the father...
Lucio couldn't have done it. He COULDN'T have. She had been given the
disc containing the pictures that Enrico and Raphael had taken down,
one of which had the two boys near her asshole; Monica hoped that
someday in the future when the child was old enough, he or she wouldn't
look like Lucio.

"That's not going to happen, Bellucci," she said out loud, rising to go
to the bathroom. "Vincent is the father. VINCENT..." She kept telling
herself this as she disrobed and got into the shower; she wanted to be
calmer when she rang up Florinda and told her.

As she turned the jets on, miles away in a farmhouse on the outskirts
of Tivoli Raphael focused the two tiny cameras hidden inside the
shower, giving him a view of Monica from the front and behind and
smiling to himself as his dream woman covered herself with water. She
had been right; she did indeed have sex in the bedroom without an
audience... but everywhere else in the house there was one.

Just as the fans knew her home address, so did Raphael know the layout
of her house; the day after she had left the first time, he and Enrico
had entered, installed little undetectable cameras in most of the rooms
of the house (they refused to place any in the bedroom or near the
toilet - they had to draw a line somewhere), and left them ready to
capture her for their own personal use. This stuff would never be
placed on the site or anywhere... Raphael tapped the equipment making a
DVD of Monica's inadvertent nude scene, and extended a toast of apple
juice to his co-conspirator. "To Monica. And to family," he beamed.

"To family, anyway," Florinda replied. Though longtime friends with
Monica on the surface, she had secretly always been jealous of the
big-titted snooty slut making it in movies while she was stuck in the
country; she'd never let it show, however. Knowing that her cousins
were fans, she'd helped them by giving them Monica's home address, and
even by helping them gain access to the place. If this embarrassed and
humiliated the no-talent show-off, all the better.

Raphael zeroed in on Monica, letting the camera pan up her glorious
dripping body as he unzipped his trousers and started to play, studying
her all the time. The ten-incher whose picture she had used earlier
began to respond to the show Monica Bellucci had no idea she was
putting on...

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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