Dressing Phase 1 A Holiday in Venice
- 3 years ago
- 12
- 0
The Venetian Series 01: When The Masks Come Off In Venice free porn video
Gentle readers: welcome to my entry for the Literotica Halloween Contest. It has benefited immensely from the invaluable editing of the lovely and talented legerdemer. I hope you will enjoy it.
*
On this particular October morning, Helmut was pretending to be someone that he was not. He was assuming the role of a savvy investor with money burning a hole in his pocket. Helmut had spent most of the previous year living in Hong Kong under the name ‘Helmut Pagel’. He had spent plenty of the German government’s money on various financial deals, in order to make his disguise convincing, and he had done well with them. It was necessary to make trades on a large enough scale that it would make him interesting as a potential client. He had made quite a splash in Hong Kong. But now he was in Venice. His nostrils were full of it.
It was a heady mix of aromas, and a confusing one, at first. As Helmut strode deliberately along the paving stones next to the canal, he was gradually able to sort it out — the omnipresent smell of salt water, plus the sharp (Helmut did not find it unpleasant) scent of the fumes from boat motors, and finally the heavenly aroma of freshly baked bread that wafted from the nearby shops. He liked the olfactory cocktail, he liked the way that his path was alternately brilliant with the morning sun, then subdued with the deep shade of the buildings he passed, he liked the feeling of the espresso he drank in place of breakfast, assaulting his central nervous system.
Helmut walked close to the water’s edge, smiling to himself as a bright yellow, red and blue ice cream vendor’s boat glided past on his left. He wore his blond hair stylishly long, and had worn it that way over the past year as he had grown into his identity as Herr Pagel. He was wearing a pricey geometric-patterned polo shirt, Santoni shoes, and slacks. He could pass for a member of the Schickeria, the fashionable set, but he was still, at heart, a cop.
His years of experience as an investigator for the Financial Intelligence Unit of the Bundeskriminalamt, the Federal Criminal Police of Germany, had prepared him well. Helmut knew the world of finance, and he knew that the line between clever investing and criminal activity was often difficult to discern. Nonetheless, Helmut was more than able to discern it.
Helmut looked out across the green waters of the canal, watching a gondola skim through them with the grace of a swan. He was on his way to meet his new quarry for the first time, Mr. Till Acquati. Acquati was a leading executive of the famous Assicurazioni Generali, the giant Italian reinsurance firm often referred to simply as ‘Generali.’ He was known to be a specialist in the complicated world of financial derivatives, the convoluted system of financial ‘hedging’ that often devolved to nothing more than complex wagers. Derivatives traders hired whiz-kid math PhDs right out of college just to try to follow the twists and turns of the bets they were making.
Acquati had a reputation among derivatives dealers. It wasn’t that he was quick about understanding the details of the bets (although he was). It was that he always knew who was making them, and why. He was a strategist, said to possess a prescience that verged on clairvoyance. This reputation inevitably attracted the attention of criminal investigators, because it smelled like insider trading, or some related practice that was just a few steps to the wrong side of that line between what is legal and what is not. The amounts of money that passed through Acquati’s hands on a daily basis were legendary. However, if Acquati were doing something untoward, it had thus far escaped the scrutiny of law enforcement investigators.
Generali would have state-of-the art security and intelligence capabilities, so Helmut had lavished a lot of care and expertise on creating a false identity that would stand up to scrutiny. Now it was time to put it to the test.
Helmut crossed over a small tributary canal on an arched footbridge, then entered the lobby of the Metropole Hotel. He passed through the glass doors into the palatial interior, admiring the geometric tiled floor. He cast his eyes around the lobby for a minute or two before he spotted Acquati, who was relaxing inconspicuously in a corner with a large, sober looking man whom Helmut took to be a bodyguard.
Acquati had an aquiline nose, intelligent brown eyes and an impeccably barbered mane of iron-colored hair, swept back from the forehead and ending precisely at collar level in the back. He wore a dark suit from a tailor too exclusive to be in the men’s magazines, and a silk shirt open at the collar.
Helmut was halfway across the lobby to him before Acquati raised his eyes and acknowledged him. He rose courteously and offered his hand. ‘You must be Mr. Pagel,’ he said.
‘That I am,’ said Helmut, accepting his handshake. Both men spoke English, the language of business, confidently and with almost no trace of an accent.
‘Well, I’m delighted to meet you, sir. I understand that you have an interest in derivatives.’ Acquati’s smile was a perfect balance of accessible warmth and professional decorum.
‘I do. I have had some experience with them, but I increasingly feel that I am out of my depth, and I’m hoping to benefit from the experience of yourself and your firm.’ Of course, Generali’s intelligence division would know exactly what Helmut had done with derivatives.
‘Well, I hope that we may be able to assist you.’ Acquati was inscrutable. ‘Mr. Pagel, I’m guessing that perhaps you are German?’
‘Yes. Does it show?’ Helmut smiled wryly, or at least, he hoped that he did.
‘Well, your name does suggest it. My mother was Austrian, which is how I came to be named Till. My father was Italian, of course.’
Of course. Helmut, in turn, was already fully aware of these things, having done his own homework. Seeing no perceptible sign on hesitation on the part of Mr. Acquati, he launched into a discussion of the business relationship he hoped to establish, a discussion which continued cordially for 20 more minutes, until Acquati excused himself and promised to soon develop some proposals that Mr. Pagel would find interesting. Acquati rose, offered his hand once again, and made his way through the lobby to the hotel entrance, accompanied by his silent companion (who, Helmut realized, had remained standing during the entire encounter). Helmut watched through the hotel windows as the two of them strolled to the canal outside and boarded a sleek powerboat that materialized just as they reached the water’s edge, then carried them off into the distance.
Haven
- 18.01.2023
- 5
- 0
