Tuscan Twilight Ch. 02

Ch. 2: In Service

I opened the door to Signorina Gabriella's bed chamber softly and slipped into the room. I hoped that I could do my morning duties there and be gone before the mistress awoke. She was sure to see my swollen eyes and would want to know why I had been crying. But it was just too awful; I didn't want to be the one to tell her.

I passed close to the big four-poster bed in the center of the room on the way to the French doors to the small balcony overlooking the motor court at the back of Villa Montebella. The signorina was lying peacefully in the bed, although the sheets and spread were tangled about her, as if she'd had a fretful night. Her luxuriant black hair cascaded around her head and flowed over the pillow. She was a beautiful girl, no, now a woman. Her ample breasts rose and fell regularly as she slept; her diaphanous white peignoir had pulled off one of her breasts, and I stifled a sigh of desire as I saw the perfect, erect rosebud of a nipple rise and fall with her breathing.

There had been a time when I had enjoyed the charms of Gabriella's rosebuds—a time when we both were very much younger and experimenting with our bodies and before I had been claimed by her grandfather, the Conte. Seeing her like this, though, in vulnerable repose, was all the more troubling for me in my plight, and I turned from her and quietly stole over to the French windows and drew the curtains back.

The room was immediately flooded with Italian sunlight. I put my forehead to the warm glass and drank in the beauty of the Tuscan hills rising behind the villa. I loved this view, even though Gabriella often told me how much she hated it and resented it, claiming that it symbolized the difference in her status in the Ghiberti family, where all of the males in the family had rooms on the front, looking down toward the Mediterranean waters of the Ligurian Sea. Well, she should see the view from my room, in the dusty attic of the ancient villa, where I spent any night her grandfather didn't send for me.

A tear fell on the window pane, and I watched it spin its way down the thick glass as I thought of last night. The Conte had gone to the springs at Val d'Orcia that day to take in the healing waters and had told me before he left that I would be sharing his bed last night. But he had not called for me when he returned, and when I had performed my opening duties in his chamber this morning, there was a stranger in his bed. What did this mean for me? A servant in the villas of the rich Tuscan families had to be in constant wariness of their positions. Was I about to be discarded by the Ghibertis?

"Rosella! I asked you why you were just standing there mooning at the window?"

I was jolted back to awareness of where I was and instinctively turned toward the bed, not thinking to shield my face.

"Why, Rosella," Gabriella was now saying, "You've been crying. Tell me what's the matter."

"I'm sorry, Signorina. It's nothing. I'm sorry. I'll finish here and leave you."

"No, don't leave me. Come sit here beside me and tell me what's wrong."

I trudged over to the bed and settled down beside Gabriella, who had sat up on the side of the bed, her peignoir barely covering her curvaceous young, pampered body. My dejection was obvious; my head and eyes were downcast, and my chest sank toward my knees.

"It's about my grandfather, isn't it?" Gabriella asked with an edge of exasperation in her voice. "And that stranger he brought home last night."

"Yes, Signorina," I managed to mumble. "I went in to open the Conte's room this morning, and the stranger was there—in your father's bed."

"Pig!" Gabriella spit out. "All of the Ghiberti men are pigs. They think Tuscan nobles can do whatever they want, can hurt whoever they please. Here, let me comfort you. Poor, dear Rosella."

She encircled me in her arms and stroked my head. We were rocking back and forth, and I felt safe and warm. In truth, I was feeling very warm. She was kissing the side of my head, and her loose-flowing breasts were rubbing against my arm. I could feel the taut rosebud nipples of her breasts, and, as memories of our experimentation as young women came back to me, I felt my juices begin to flow in the crevice between my thighs.

She was murmuring and humming in low tones to me now, comforting me. Her lips moved to my cheek and then to my swollen eyelids, her tongue licking away my tears. And then, before either of us were aware of having crossed the chasm, her lips were on mine, opening my lips with hers and putting our tongues into play. The taste of her was still as sweet as I had remembered.

I shuddered at her touch and at the wetness I felt in my secret place. I broke from the kiss, breathless, and fought to regain control of myself. "No, Signorina. We mustn't. Your grandfather. . ."

"Screw my grandfather and all of the Ghiberti men," Gabriella exclaimed with a rich, challenging laugh. "They think nothing of their women. Well, whatever is good for that old goat is good for us as well."

She rose from the bed, threw open her peignoir, and turned to me. She was unbuttoning my frock from the neck to the hem and pulling it from my body. I was only in my bra, panties, and garter belt holding up my gauzy white cotton stockings now. She took my head between her hands and buried my face between her breasts, throwing her head back and giving a throaty laugh.

Her breasts were fuller, firmer, yet more pliant and milky, than they had been when we'd been exploring girls. I gasped at how beautiful and soft they were and couldn't keep myself from covering them with kisses and sucking on her rosy, erect nipples as she reached behind me and unfastened my bra. She lifted my chin from her breasts, and we went into a long, lingering, searching kiss as her hands covered my now-free breasts and rolled and pinched my nipples to erection.

I knew we should stop, that there would be hell to pay—mostly for me, the servant—if the Conte walked in and discovered us like this. But I was defenseless before Gabriella, who was so satisfying as a young girl, but who had turned into a raving, ripe beauty as a young woman. And how could I stop her anyway? She was a Ghiberti and I was a mere servant in the archaic, rigid Tuscan social structure. My lot was to provide the service my masters and mistresses demanded of me. At least this was the most pleasant of services.

Gabriella was pulling at my panties now. I was ashamed at the notion that she would see how wet they were, but when she had stripped them off me, she raised them to her face and sniffed in the essence of my womanhood. She gave me a languid, broad smile and then kissed me deeply on the lips again, clearly pleased with the woman I had developed into.

She came back on the bed, but rather than sitting beside me, she moved to behind me, her breasts pressed into my shoulder blades and her legs enclosing my hips between her thighs. I felt the silky hair of her pubic V against the small of my back, and I was surprised to find that she was as wet against my tender skin as I had become.

She was cupping my breasts in her hands, as if she were judging melons in the market. One hand then came up and guided my chin so that my head turned to her face and my lips found hers again. As that hand returned to my breast, the other one glided down across my belly and cupped my mound. I sighed deeply as her searching fingers entered me and found my hooded clit. I shuddered as her fingers pushed the hood aside and found and began to stroke and rub the treasure spot. I was flowing freely now. Her hand briefly left my crevice and spread my legs wider, placing my thighs over hers, and then the searching fingers were back with a vengeance. She had me moaning and writhing within her embrace as her fingers did magic things to my secret spot. The Conte had never excited me like this; no one had aroused me like this. Our earlier girlhood experimentation had been nothing compared to this.

Her hand left me again, and I saw it moving in the folds of the coverlet of her bed. I gasped when I saw her extract a phallic-shaped vibrator from the folds and move the tip of it to the lips between my thighs. I weakly tried to struggle away from her then, but her lips had full possession of mine, and I was a captive of her body as well when I began to feel the vibrations on my clit. All of my attention and feeling went to that very private love button and the lustful music the tool was playing there, a concentration of sensual sensation that no man's cock ever had, or, I thought, ever could focus and intensify there. I repeatedly cried out in ecstasy as Gabriella held the vibrator to my clit, squeezed my breast tightly, and whispered endearments in my ear. After a short time, the vibrator tip moved away from my secret spot, to be replaced by the pressure of a slick rotating finger, and the tip moved slightly southward, positioned just inside my vagina. And then it was slowly, but relentlessly moving inside me. The vibrating phallus was pushing inside me, sending waves and waves of pleasure through me, making the very center of me undulate and scream out my surrender to the invading body. I pulled myself from Gabriella's lips and arched my back, with my head resting between her ample breasts, as I felt spasm after spasm of glorious multiple orgasms coursing through my body and felt my juices flowing from me in a strong, steady stream.

"And does the Conte do this for you?" Gabriella was whispering in my ear. "Can he make you spasm and flow like this? Is his old cock the equal of this tool of mine? Or do you have, perhaps, a young stud of a lover whose cock does this for you?"

"No, no, a thousand times no," I moaned back to her.

"Then let the stranger in grandfather's bed have him for the short time it lasts. Come, show me how liberated you feel," she said, and she pulled away from me and scooted up on the bed, her head on the pillow, and me sitting below her until she pulled my face down to the soft, wet mound between her thighs and set me to searching and servicing the glowing, sweet-smelling warmth of her with my lips and tongue.

I was not a fool. This wasn't liberation. This was the exchange of one servitude for another. But a very pleasant servitude it was. Gabriella moaned and stroked my hair with a hand and rocked her pelvis back and forth against my face as the strong rays of the Tuscan morning spilled through the window and bathed us in light and warmth.