Monica Bellucci ‘s story

“CANNES, which is in France…” – Joe Bob Briggs

Monica Bellucci flipped through some of the messages
she had been left from people who had seen
“Irreversible” and wanted to know how she could agree
to appear in such a movie – “I’ll never have any
respect for you again!” “How could you degrade
yourself like that?” and so on. She had known that
this would upset people, but not to this extent.

It wasn’t like this was the only problem the stunning
Italian actress had in her life; she and her
co-star/husband were on the verge of separating, but
she could wipe out the pain of that with work. Still,
it did bother her that there were people who couldn’t
see that it was only a movie (and in the eyes of many
people not a very good one at that). But there would
be others.

She needed a drink.

* * * * * * * * * *

Laetitia Casta was also at the world’s most famous
film festival, but on behalf of L’Oreal instead of a
movie (she was going to be shooting a new one soon,
but in the meantime she still had work to do). Smiling
for the cameras, she had succeeded in putting the lack
of success of “Rue des Plaisirs” behind her; her life
was still pretty good anyway, and a few box-office
flops weren’t the end of the world even in Hollywood,
and certainly not in France.

After this evening’s engagements were done, she was
going to go back to the hotel and her brood. But first
she needed a drink.

* * * * * * * * * *

Laetitia and Monica arrived at the same bar at more or
less the same time, but it was the man sitting between
them who realised his good fortune.

“Excuse me,” said the man in the middle of the two
beautiful ladies, “but I was just wondering if
you’re…”

“Yes, I am,” Monica replied, without any real
arrogance. “The question is, who are you?”

Laetitia had finished her drink, and recognised that
voice. She craned around curiously, and got her first
look at Monica Bellucci. She was dressed fairly
casually, but nothing could hide those perfect
Mediterranean features – the finely sculpted face, the
tresses of black hair, the curves in all the right
places; a waif this woman was not. Laetitia couldn’t
help but wonder if, were the man to stand up, there
would be a slight bulge in his pants.

“And do you have any message?” Monica asked.

“Oh, no… you can write whatever you like,” he said
casually, trying to find a pen. “Dammit, I haven’t got
a pen… you wouldn’t happen to have a OHMYGOD!”

He had turned to the other side and discovered
Laetitia was there. She beamed at him, nodding and
handing him one. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever
sat between two women before?”

“Not like the two of you,” he stammered. “This is
unbelievable.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Monica agreed, surveying
Laetitia. She was looking very lovely, as always;
great hair, sweet features, healthy body (she had what
Americans called “a great rack,” for openers).
Hardly dressing to impress, but her beauty was
impossible to hide. Monica was willing to bet that he
would be sporting an impressive bulge in his trousers
were he to stand up.

“If I could…”

“Of course,” Laetitia agreed, taking the napkin Monica
had signed and preparing to add her signature.

“That too, but it would be my privilege to buy each of
you another drink.”

“I wouldn’t pass it up,” the bartender commented.
“He’s a regular here and he’s never bought a round for
anyone before. I’d say the chances of Madonna winning
a major acting award just increased…”

* * * * * * * * * *

Laetitia Casta had a slight headache when she woke up
the following morning. She must have had more to drink
than she had planned last night. Luckily she had no
major engagements until the evening, so she had time
to get over it.

Moaning, she turned over in bed, to be greeted by
Monica Bellucci’s bare ass protruding right in her
face.

The sight of those voluptuous, perfect buttocks
brought back the previous night’s events in a rush.
“Oh, FUCK,” Laetitia said out loud (in French)…

Laetitia and Monica had decided, after having had more
than one drink, to go back to the latter’s suite and
let the alcohol work itself out – it was closer.

“So what was it like doing…” Laetitia asked as she
walked around the main room.

Monica tensed herself – she was getting tired of
having to talk about that rape scene. Laetitia was
lovely, but…

“The sequels to ‘The Matrix’,” La Casta finished, as
she found her words. “Must be strange working with a
big Hollywood star like Keanu Reeves.”

“I’m not allowed to talk about the movies,” Monica
replied, relaxing. “But it’s good to work wider.
Especially if you can handle the language.” (Note:
This discussion was in French.)

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Laetitia demanded,
hands on hips as she faced Monica.

“Well, I’ve seen you on television in interviews…
your English… could do with some work, let’s leave
it at that.”

“I am learning, I’ll have you know. But at least I can
make it through a movie without taking my clothes
off.”

Now it was Monica’s turn to say “What’s THAT supposed
to mean?”

“You know what it means. Not exactly the bashful type,
are you?”

“You’re just jealous because my Asterix film is better
than yours.”

“Well, at least I was closer to the real Falbala than
you are to the real Cleopatra. I mean, an ITALIAN
Cleopatra? Come on!”

Monica threw her drink into Laetitia’s face. “Brat!”

“Bitch!” Laetitia cried, and leapt onto Monica. The
room turned into an arena as the two tugged and clawed
each other, chairs and tables rolling asunder as they
fought, filling the room with choice Italian and
French swear words. As they attacked, they heard
fabric ripping – Monica had rent Laetitia’s top clean
off. Laetitia countered by tearing her opponent’s
shirt open, and each was soon down to bra and panties.

“Okay, here’s how it goes,” Monica panted. “Whoever
holds the other down for a count of three has to lick
the winner’s ass.”

“Enjoy my bum, Bellucci,” Laetitia growled, and the
fight was on. The two crashed into each other,
grappling like mad and almost dancing around the
floor. Laetitia tugged, Monica twisted, each tried to
kick each other off balance. But neither was willing
to give in to the other…

Finally, hair matted and bodies sweating, Laetitia
pressed two fingers together and drove them into
Monica’s dark cunt. Monica jerked in surprise, and it
was enough for Laetitia to get her off balance.
Quickly she shoved, and before you could say Gaumont
Miss Bellucci was on the carpet, and Laetitia was
sitting on her face. Monica struggled and bucked, but
Miss Casta held firm, joyously shouting “ONE!…
TWO!… THREE!… FOUR!… FIVE!”

Sulkily admitting defeat, Monica kissed Laetitia’s
left buttock. Then her right one. Then her left again.
Then her right again. Then the cleft in the middle.
That last kiss was a lingering one… Monica’s sulks
gradually turned into something much less angry, as
she rubbed her head against Laetitia’s firm, soft,
round behind. Laetitia positioned herself so Monica
had a better vantage point, and waited to feel her
Italian lover’s tongue.

She didn’t have long to wait; Monica worked it up and
down the cleft and then along each cheek until
Laetitia’s ass was covered, and then she began to eat.
The French model was smiling from ear to ear as
Monica’s tongue poked deep into her asshole, licking
away at the brown opening and probing inside. She
wondered if Monica had ever done this to her hsuband
in exchange for his going down on her.

“Like it?” Laetitia asked. Monica answered by finding
la Casta’s hairy box and beginning to fondle it.
Laetitia slapped them away. “Finish down there first,”
she said mock-angrily.

“But I am finished,” Monica pointed out.

“Oh, all right,” Laetitia sighed, turning around and
straddling Monica from the front. She was exquisite.
Hot, voluptuous, and hungry. Laetitia lowered herself,
took the Italian actress in her arms, and they kissed
and began to make up.

Monica and Laetitia rubbed each other on the floor,
happy in each other’s arms as they repeatedly kissed,
each enjoying the other’s heavenly body.

“You’ve done this before,” Monica murmured, stroking
Laetitia’s huge breasts.

“That would be telling,” Laetitia replied softly,
licking her lover’s neck and wishing she could tell
her about her time with Cindy Crawford. “But have
you?”

“That would be telling,” Monica told her with a laugh
as she sucked each swollen nipple. “Call this practice
for a lesbian love scene.”

“That reminds me…” Laetitia left it unfinished as
she slowly kissed her way down Monica’s body. Monica
closed her eyes and waited for Laetitia to do what
came naturally; “Aaaahhhh….!” she gasped as her
French lover’s tongue found the opening. And for the
next few moments it was silence, as Laetitia tasted
the wonderful Italian fruit between Monica’s legs.

“Raise yourself,” Laetitia mumbled. “I need to feel
that ass.”

“You sound like my husband,” Monica smiled as she did
so, and relaxed as Laetitia’s hands spread over that
spectacular ass of hers. The two women let themselves
slip over completely into the delight of each other’s
bodies, as Monica felt herself about to come sooner
than she had expected. Or wanted…

Laetitia licked the juices of Monica’s pussy off her,
and smelt the delightful perfume of it. “Let’s go to
bed,” she smiled.

In the bedroom, Laetitia and Monica waited all of two
seconds before clutching each other and falling onto
the sheets. They couldn’t get enough of each other…
this was only a little fling, a little experiment.
They told themselves.

Monica held Laetitia down as she tasted her lover’s
pussy, cursing in Italian as she found out just how
good a woman could feel. Her husband was the farthest
thing from her mind that night – all she knew was that
she enjoyed being with this French woman. Her hands
clutched her lover’s thighs as if she was drowning and
needed something to cling on to… in a sense, she WAS
drowning. Laetitia was damp and sizzling below…

Laetitia almost tore the sheets apart as Monica’s
mouth took her up to heaven. She never, ever wanted
this night to end…

… but it had. Her gaze stayed on Monica Bellucci’s
beautiful, perfect bottom. Monica’s body was rising
and falling rhythmically; she was still asleep.
Laetitia couldn’t resist; she stroked her warm lover’s
hair and back, fondling the full, flawless rump.
Laetitia gently kissed her, whispering “I love you,
Monica.”

Monica said nothing, just breathing as she slept.
“Wake up,” Laetitia said softly, sliding down her body
and pressing her face into la Bellucci’s behind. Sheer
perfection; Laetitia gently began to rim her lover,
stroking the tender meat around it.

Because Monica was still fast asleep, and Laetitia was
too preoccupied, neither noticed a shocked Vincent
Cassel watching until it was too late.

Some months later.

Monica Bellucci had finished shooting for the morning,
and after lunch had retired to her trailer. Some of
the cast and crew had offered commiserations over her
divorce from Vincent, but as one had suggested “That’s
Hollywood people for you.”

“Yes,” Monica had agreed, playing along with the
general perception that it had been Bruce Willis’s
involvement that had written finis to their marriage.
(Vincent was more willing to let this out to the media
than the truth – his ego couldn’t let him admit that
his wife had left him for the charms of another
woman.)

In her trailer, Monica flopped onto her couch and
exhaled. “Rough day?” Laetitia asked sympathetically.

“Not so much rough as dull,” Monica admitted to her
friend and lover. “Too many dialogue reshoots.”

“Never mind, there’s still the afternoon. The love
scene and all that.”

Monica nodded, smiling. She did love doing them. In
fact, she liked her shoots more now that she and
Laetitia Casta had an arrangement – though Laetitia
wasn’t about to leave her partner and set up with
Monica (not yet, anyway… Laetitia had told her she
would if only she’d ask, but Monica had refused to
have the breakup of two couples on her conscience, and
pointed out that Sahteene needed a stable family),
each one visited the other when shooting a movie.

“That reminds me,” Laetitia continued. “My agent told
me about your next project…”

“And?” Monica asked hopefully.

“And I said yes, of course I’d do it!” Laetitia sat on
Monica’s lap and put her arms around her neck. “When
are you back on set?”

“In about twenty minutes,” la Bellucci answered
smokily, knowing what she had in mind.

“Then we’ve got time to practice our love scenes,”
Laetitia cooed, and they kissed. Monica felt wonderful
underneath her crisp white clothes; Laetitia ran her
arms along her lover’s form, searching for the zippers
that would let her in.

“Not yet,” Monica breathed. “The director can tell
when someone’s had a quickie – he doesn’t like it.”

“He obviously isn’t getting any,” Laetitia said
between kisses.

“No, he IS,” Monica replied, as she stroked Laetitia’s
back and buttocks. “He doesn’t like anyone else to do
it. Two-faced German motherfucker.”

“Men,” Laetitia agreed, closing her eyes in delight as
Monica lifted her dress to get access to her lover’s
flesh, almost wishing the director could be here.
Getting fired would almost be worth it to spend more
time with Laetitia…

” ‘Destiny,’ the controversial French movie starring
Monica Bellucci and Laetitia Casta, scored the highest
opening weekend in the history of France, with close
to a billion Francs in box-office returns. The movie,
a love story-thriller about two women who fall in love
while being hunted by the police for a crime they
didn’t commit, has drawn ire from commentators who
claim the three sensuous love scenes shared by the
actresses led to Bellucci’s divorce from her husband,
fellow actor Vincent Cassel – a charge denied by
Bellucci, Casta and Cassel. The intensity of the sex
scenes has also caused trouble with the French
censors, leading to two versions being released – a
trimmed version and the complete version.
Unsurprisingly, the complete version has reported the
higher grosses. Several critics have been positive
about the movie, with the male writers in particular
writing effusively; some have even commented on the
acting of the principals. ‘Miss Bellucci has drawn
somehing out of Miss Casta that no one suspected was
there,’ the critic for ‘France-Soir’ mooted. ‘Destiny’
opens in Italy and Germany this week, and in Britain
and America the following month…”

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