Isabella Awakening Ch. 05

Chapter 5

Isabella remembers a musical evening and pirates take Isabella and Thomas from the Della Virago.

Thomas poked his head above the hatchway to survey the activity on deck. Sailors were struggling with ropes and pulleys to move cannon across the deck while the officers supervised their clumsy efforts with curses and kicks. Clearly this was no place for Isabella right now. He signaled to young Simon who stood nervously beside the Captain on the foredeck. Simon leaped a cannon and ran to him. Simon, Signora must eat, and I have some small tasks for someone with skills at tailoring," he said over the hubbub.

"Yessir!" said Simon. "Captain has ordered lunch be served for the Mistress in his cabin, and I'll get Black Ambrose for you. He was a dressmaker in Porto de Fiona before he joined the Della." Simon ran off.

Thomas stepped back down the ladder and turned to Isabella. "The Captain is making preparations for confrontation," he said. "You should go to his cabin and eat. I will join you directly."

Isabella nodded and turned down the short corridor to the Captain's door. The cabin was empty of company but the central table had been set for lunch. She sat and collected her thoughts while waiting for something to happen. Hopefully, that something would be lunch. She was famished.

Looking around the Captain's cabin, Isabella realized that she had not previously noticed Bertrand's small bookcase standing beside the door. Its tall shelves held thin, ribbon-bound folios that she at first assumed were maps or navigation tables. Rising to have a closer look, Isabella found, to her delight, that it was in fact sheet music that the Captain collected. She then remembered from his periodic visits to her father's house years ago that Captain Bertrand played the violin and was an avid concert-goer.

She removed a sheaf of papers from its shelf and sat to browse while she waited for lunch. Pulling on the ribbon, she found music by several well known composers of the former era -- Grillo, Cesis, Rossi and Frescobaldi among them. Isabella could read music, another of her self-taught talents that had been fostered by both the nuns and Anton over the years, and she hummed the main lines to herself to remind her of these pieces. It was when she turned to the last folio in the set that her heart stopped briefly. It was Lo frate 'nnammorato -- The Friar in Love --an opera by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi that had premiered in Naples only a couple of years ago. Isabella had been there on opening night in circumstances that she remembered as perhaps the most erotic and transcendent she had ever experienced. Pergolesi's name alone brought those memories flooding back and as she started to read the music to herself, it was as if she had been transported back in time.

It had been Anton's doing, as with all her most enlightening sexual experiences. A week before this much anticipated opera was to have its premier at the Grand Theater, Isabella had visited him. Henri was, of course, away, and Isabella had taken the opportunity to sneak into Naples one evening to renew her "Lessons", as she thought of them, with Anton. They made love well into the night and Isabella had exhausted him with her demands and successful attempt to keep him hard for several hours. She had become an expert lover by this stage and was even introducing Anton to new and exotic delights she had dreamed of during her lonely nights on the farm. As they lay in each others arm some time after midnight, Isabella mentioned the new opera in passing. Anton responded enthusiastically, saying he had tickets already and was very much looking forward to the event. He casually let slip that he had discussed it recently with the composer, Giovanni Pergolesi

Isabella sat up, "You know Pergolesi?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, my dear. Giovanni is delightful young man. An intelligent and sensitive boy who is, I must assert, a true genius."

Isabella was open mouthed. "But Anton, I adore him! His music, I mean. It takes me to heaven! May I meet him, please?' She was babbling like a schoolgirl, but then added, "I would love to fuck a great composer, you know."

Anton smiled. "Yes, of course Isabel, and I am sure that you will fuck many great men in your life. But Giovanni is not a physical man, I am afraid. He is sickly and quite weak, and very shy, while possessing such a refined sensuality and great knowledge. It is a great sadness to him -- and to many of the women who crave him."

"I would still love to meet him, Anton," frowned Isabella. "He may be weak and sickly, but the sensuality of his music speaks volumes about his true nature. Perhaps a gentle hand could coax him to express himself in other ways?" She raised her eyebrows cheekily.

Anton was deep in thought but smiled.

"Oh Anton, I was only joking! I promise if you let me meet him, I will keep my hands, and my mouth, to myself. Don't be cross, please"

"My lovely, I am never cross with you. In fact, your suggestion is not at all a bad one. Let me think it over and discuss it discretely with Giovanni before we say any more. I cannot promise anything -- except a pleasant night at the opera next week. You will accompany me?"

"Of course, Anton. Henri is away for god knows how long and an evening at the theater with you is always allowed anyway. I am sure he suspects nothing." Then she added, "Or if he does, he doesn't care. Not much of a pussy man, is my Henri." She winked at Anton and they both laughed.

That weekend, Isabella was busily preparing for evening at the Grand Theater, washing her best dress and cleaning her shoes, when a messenger arrived by horse from Naples. The note was from Anton, saying that she should try to arrive at his house as early as possible on Wednesday to prepare herself for the opera that evening. Strange, she thought, but Anton was obviously up to something. She hoped her early arrival was so that she could meet Giovanni Pergolesi before the performance.

She did as instructed and arrived a little after 9.00am. Anton was waiting for her.

"Welcome, my dear," he beamed. "Thank you for coming so early, there is much to do." He ushered her into the drawing room. Half expecting to see Pergolesi himself, Isabella was surprised to find an old woman sitting in Anton's chair by the fire.

"Isabella, allow me to introduce Signora Regina Argento, an old and dear friend and my darling Serena's most talented seamstress." The women acknowledged each other with a smile and Signora Argento rose from the chair.

"Clothes off now," she said waving her arms and without pausing for pleasantries.

"I beg your pardon?" said a shocked Isabella, looking to Anton for an explanation. He smiled broadly at her momentary confusion.

"Let me explain," he said, still smiling. "Perhaps Regina might bring us a coffee while I do?" Signora Argento took the hint, laughing quietly to herself, and left the room.

"I am sorry about that Isabella, but I had no time to explain," Anton began. "You see, I took your suggestion of a ... gentle .... liaison to Giovanni and he agreed that such a thing might be possible -- with the right woman. I assured him of both your passionate nature and your understanding. I also told him of your beauty, of course. He has consented to meeting, on several conditions that I believe you will find acceptable."

Isabella listened intently and now crossed her arms in front of her. "Go on, Anton. You have my undivided attention," she said.

"I have told you of Giovanni's unbearable shyness and of his condition. He insists that any liaison be, how shall I put this, anonymous. That is, you will not see his face or even look at his body, and nor will you speak to him directly during the entire time you are together. Do you consent to this condition?"

She thought for moment and responded, "I do, Anton, but I am unsure how such a thing can be arranged."

Anton raised a hand and continued. "Giovanni is an inexperienced lover -- naturally I suppose, given his youth and history of ill health, not to mention the influence of the priesthood. His great passion, of course, is his music and he can only achieve ecstasy in the presence of great music. He says he can only take you during the performance, in his private box at the Grand Theater. Do you consent?"

A thrill ran through Isabella's body. "Yes, I consent." But she wondered how a sexual act in such a public place, in a theater full of Naples' elite, would be possible.

Anton went on. "Giovanni may be unable to perform as a healthy man would, despite your obvious charms and skills. What he desires is your lust and your response to him. He wants to play you as a musician would play a beautiful instrument. Tonight, Isabel, you are to be his instrument. Do you agree?"

"Oh, yes Anton, of course I agree! Just tell me how all this is to happen!"

Anton held and kissed her. "I knew you would see this for the great moment it will be," he whispered. "You of all women are fit to be the instrument of a genius. I am sure that his hands will be more than you could possibly imagine."

At that moment, Signora Argento walked through the door carrying a tray of cups and Anton's coffee pot. She bustled over to the little table and deposited them. Rising, she looked at them both, waved her arms and said, "All finished now? Good. Clothes off please, now."

It transpired that Anton had devised a way for Isabella to take on her role as Giovanni's 'cello that evening with as little trouble as possible. Regina was to fit her with one of Serena's "special" dresses, a one-piece opera gown that allowed the wearer to slip completely out of it with the twist of two buttons. It was not only ingenious, but also very beautiful. Of blue satin and fine white lace, it was flecked with small gems and brocade and it fell with a grace and line that Isabella found stunning. Even without Regina's work, it fitted Isabella beautifully, but Regina was a perfectionist and with small tucks and a few minor alterations, Isabella felt it fit her like a glove. Its low neckline emphasized both her beautiful neck and the swell of her breasts. The flared waist showed her figure to perfection. Regina even made a few small changes to the sleeves and hemline to bring it more into line with the prevailing style.

Isabella practiced slipping in and out of the dress, easily mastering the hidden buttons that held the bodice together. Once unfastened, the dress simply fell away, allowing her to step out of it completely naked.

After a light lunch with Anton, who looked as proud as a new father, she noted, Isabella rested in his bed. At 3.00pm he woke her and introduced a new friend, also an older woman, who he introduced as Maria-Vanessa, and who he had assigned to prepare her for the concert.

Maria-Vanessa was a wonder. She bathed Isabella, shaving her legs and armpits, and then set out to prepare her face and her hair. She wrapped Isabella in a towel and sat her on a straight-backed chair. Maria-Vanessa then opened a large box and placed it on the table beside her. First, and in the only uncomfortable procedure of that afternoon, she used tweezers to carefully pluck Isabella's eyebrows into fine arches. For the next hour she brushed and rubbed creams and powders onto Isabella's face, neck and cleavage then took up small vials of colored potions that she applied with delicate paintbrushes to Isabella's lips and eyelids. Finally, she combed Isabella's hair and wound fine gold wire along individual strands, which she then wound into a tight and elegant spire-like bun rising from her crown. And, as a parting touch, she used a fine blown-glass bottle and a little hand pump to spray Isabella's entire naked body with the most sensual, delicious perfume Isabella had ever smelled.

Maria-Vanessa took her leave and Isabella was left alone with Anton, who poured her a tall glass of delicate white wine. She dropped her towel to let Anton appraise the overall effect. As she turned slowly, he toasted her and told her that she was the most beautiful, arousing sight he had ever seen. It was the first time in their long relationship that he had not compared her to his beloved Serena and she saw in his eyes a genuine humility and meekness, and pride in her, she had never before observed.

He helped her into her gown and brought out a beautiful pair of dark blue, silver studded shoes with high heels and open toes. When she was dressed, he removed a package from his pocket, turned her around and placed around her neck the most perfect diamond and silver necklace. It contained at least 20 small perfect diamonds and a massive teardrop stone that hung just above the dark crevice of her cleavage. She was shocked by the gesture, and even more when Anton handed her a pair of matching earrings with similar teardrop diamonds. She put them on and kissed him, careful not to smudge her rouge or lipstick.

"Anton, I do love you," she said. "Where these ...."

"Yes, my darling, they belonged to Serena. But they belong to you now." He took her by the hand and walked her down the stairs and back to the drawing room where she had started her day. There he had placed a full-length, gilt-edged mirror on a stand in the center of the room. To the light of the chandelier, he allowed her examine and assess herself.

The effect amazed Isabella. She hardly recognized the woman looking back at her. The dress was so beautiful and her hair and face shone with subtle color. The lips and pale rouge and the eye makeup under the thin brows had transformed her face from simply pretty or fair, to beautiful and, she admitted, totally alluring. She objectively appraised the effect as a blend of princess and whore, and she loved it.

"Now, my darling, your composer awaits. We must leave soon. I have a few more instructions for you which I will reveal in the carriage." With that, Isabella left Anton's house on his arm.

The entrance and foyer of the Grand Theater was crowded with men in dark suits and women in a kaleidoscope of colored gowns. But the crowd parted as Anton and Isabella walked arm in arm up the broad stairs and through the massive doorway. Conversations halted as they passed, turning to awed whispers in their wake. Anton had always been a handsome man but he positively shone on the arm of this unknown goddess. Isabella carried herself with such grace that the effect was of genuine royalty. Anton struggled to keep his dignified smile from spreading too wide. An officer of the guards, himself handsome and tall, left his own consort open mouthed to fetch Isabella glass of wine. She took it with elegant charm and thanked the man with her eyes. He was clearly affected and his consort had to retrieve him before he made a total fool of himself. Dignitaries and ambassadors sought her out and questioned Anton privately about her. He introduced her as his niece, Francesca, from Venice. Many of the younger and unattached men, along with several who were neither, whispered to him their wish to meet with him later, clearly in relation to this Francesca. As the crown thinned out and the main hall of the theater filled, Anton directed Isabella to a narrow stairway hidden behind a curtain at the far end of the foyer. He helped her ascend, past several small landings and doorways to the very top. He opened a narrow door and ushered her into a small dark booth directly overlooking the stage. Heavy drapes covered all sides of the booth and the only furniture was a strange chair, no arms and a long padded seat. She immediately realized its purpose and also saw that she would have a full view of the orchestra but that no one in the audience could see into the booth. The shadows and the angle would also mean that even someone on stage could only see her head, if that.

Anton kissed her on the nape of the neck and bade her farewell. He told her he would be nearby and would see her as soon as the performance ended. She smiled, wondering which performance he really meant, her's or the orchestra's.

As soon as he had closed the door behind him, Isabella prepared herself according to Anton's instructions. She unhooked the buttons holding her dress and let it slip to the floor, stepping out of it and picking it up to hang behind the door. She then positioned herself forward on the chair, legs slightly apart, and watched the orchestra and choir taking their positions on the stage below her. The next few minutes passed slowly. Isabella felt both expectant and frightened. She had never felt so exposed and alone, and yet the thrill of what was to occur, as unclear to her as it was, made her tingle. Her heart was thumping and she knew that her pussy was becoming wet. She was deliciously aware that the fabric of the seat was arousing her and that it would soon be soaked with her own fluids.

As the orchestra finished tuning and the lights in the theater were doused, Isabella felt, rather than heard, the door behind her open and close quickly. She was forbidden to look around but she knew that she was no longer alone. She heard breathing and a stifled cough. She closed her eyes and raised her head high as the man she assumed to be Giovanni Pergolesi slipped behind her and positioned himself, legs apart, on the chair. His chin rested on her shoulder and one hand found her neck and the other gently brushed her tummy. He moved his body into her, molding himself to her back and pressing his parted legs gently to her own thighs. She thought she heard him utter a whispered "oh" as she melted into him.

As the first chords drifted up for the orchestra, the opening lines of the Overture, his hands lightly began a feather-light caress of Isabella's skin. So light was his touch, it was like a butterfly gently raising and lowering its wings on her neck. As the music increased in tempo, so too did his fingers subtly change their pressure and they moved more widely across her skin, fluttering and stroking across her collar bone and upper arms as his lower hand moved in long lateral stokes across her tummy and hips. Isabella began to feel a deep vibration with her, as if the stings of her soul were being awoken. She opened her eyes briefly and saw the orchestra below her. Almost directly across the stage, facing her, sat the first cellist, his instrument held between his thighs while one hand stroked the fretwork of its long neck and the other drew the bow across the strings of its body. It was like looking at a mirror image of herself and her young composer in the darkened booth. The music moved on and the cellist and her own player became more and more central to the work. Stronger strokes, firmer work on the frets, complexity blending with simple themes. Her player's fingers and palms moved wider still, brushing a nipple and landing lightly on her parted thighs. The intensity was building and the music and his touch took Isabella into a place of pleasure and rapture, not along a single path, but rising and falling and diverging and converging in ways that opened new vistas and promised a splendid vision of power and love. As the Overture slowly wound its way down, he brought her back to this world with long and thoughtful strokes, not releasing her but quieting the inner music as the outer spent it its images and approached perfect silence.

The next movement began imperceptibly but built quickly from Adagio to Andante. The harmonies and counterpoint reflected in his touch, now more resolute and potent, holding and tenderly enfolding her breasts, touching her nipples and working his other hand across her mound, delicately allowing a finger to apply pressure to her hooded pearl. Elliptical trails of finger tips, the pressure and release of his palm, a wrist allowed to rest on a breast and then moving on. To Isabella, now head back and sighing softly, there many have been twenty hands, or a hundred, she was loosing her ability to differentiate one touch from another, all was becoming one beautiful dance of knowing flesh. She was vaguely aware of the voices of the choir, baritones touching her deepest parts while sopranos accompanied his fingers across her body, tenors speaking directly to her sex. Her lover had departed from the strict harmonies and patterns of the music now, still part of the whole but phrases grew organically, with little ornaments and decorations, accentuation and other effects happening without apparent calculation. He was playing her as no musician had ever played a nonliving instrument. His fingers found her wetness and incorporated her own gentle thrusts into the libretto, giving her cunt a voice of its own, singing his praises and the glory of the universe. She came, he responded with different, comforting, affirming stokes until her spasms abated, then took her straight back to paradise, over and over again. Isabella no longer recognized her own reactions, she was both his instrument, his living 'cello, and at the same time she contained the entire orchestra, the theater, Naples itself, and it filled her with joy and abundance. The heavens opened for her and she spread her being to its farthest corners, bringing her passion and love to the darkest reaches and absorbing the timeless oneness that infused all creation. Isabella saw God and She was beautiful and She was good. She was music and light and wonder.