Tuscan Twilight Ch. 03

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Gabriella fights Tuscan sexual tradition on her own terms.
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Part 3 of the 5 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 10/06/2006
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sr71plt
sr71plt
3,008 Followers

Ch 3: Revolt

I looked up at the Tuscan villa perched at the top of the grape vine-clad hill as I drove up from the harbor town of Marina de Massa. I was a true son of Tuscany and had returned here after my education in Paris and Florence, drawn by visions just as this—the ancient Villa Montebella, seat of the Tuscan Ghibertis for centuries, basking in the September Italian morning sun, master of all that fell under its shadow on the slopes tumbling down to the turquoise-blue Mediterranean waters of the Ligurian Sea.

I was both exhilarated at the prospect of coming up to the villa today to paint and in great trepidation, caught between my worship of—and lust for—the Conte's granddaughter, Gabriella, and the Conte's potential wrath in the face of my audacity. It didn't matter to the Ghibertis that I was an accomplished portraitist already. I was a son of the Tuscany peasantry, necessary, in a servile sense, to the Ghibertis of the world but hardly worth their notice. I was cursed not to be able to curb my pursuit of Gabriella—for my obsession about the silky triangle the raven beauty kept under those skirts of hers—even knowing that any advances I made would be my undoing in Tuscany.

Still, I hadn't been able to resist bringing my little present for Gabriella, the chocolates I knew she loved, the very expensive Leonides chocolates imported all the way from Belgium.

When I reached the forecourt of the villa, I parked my old Fiat as unobtrusively to the side as I could and approached the gigantic double wooden doors into the villa's entrance hall. The door was promptly answered by that little minx of a housemaid, Rosella, whose ample charms I had enjoyed on occasion before the Conte had claimed her as his exclusive property. She gave me a red-faced look that hinted at having been very naughty and being afraid I'd find her out, bobbed her head, and held the door open to where I could see the pandemonium that had been set forth beside the villa's ornate marble stairs to the upper reaches of the small palace.

Gabriella was in full rail at her younger brother, Paulo, who had taken leave of his seminary studies in Rome to help with the harvest of the family's grape harvest. Gabriella was a ravishing vixen when she was angry, and she was certainly at her peak this morning. Paulo was just standing there, taking her tantrum calmly, as she tattooed the floor with her pretty little feet, let her luxurious black hair fly around her head, and pounded her small fists on a terribly vulnerable Louis the Sixteenth chest leaning precariously against the staircase.

The vixen broke whatever loud complaining she was doing as soon as she realized someone had arrived at the door, turned toward me with flashing eyes, and screamed her welcome.

"Giovanni! And what the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?"

I nearly melted on the spot. She was so lovely and enticing. I loved her to death, and wanted ever so much to get inside her panties. I lifted my love offering, the Leonides chocolates, in front of me in homage to her. She just stood there, fists on hips, chin jutting out, and foot tapping angrily on the marble floor. I turned to Rosella, thinking perhaps that she might take the chocolates and deliver them across the cavernous hallway to her mistress, but Rosella just gave me a withering look and turned and left the room. I turned my attention back to Gabriella and to her brother, Paulo, who was shrinking away from us behind Gabriella's voluptuous figure.

"Well?" Gabriella challenged me again. "As if we didn't have more than enough to endure already, do we have to have the entire peasantry of Marina de Massa tromping up here to gloat? I said, what are you doing here, Giovanna?"

I wasn't listening to a word she was saying, really, which probably was fortunate, because I would have had no idea what she was talking about.

"The sitting," I managed to stammer. "Your grandfather, the Conte's, portrait. We have a sitting scheduled for this morning."

"I'm afraid the Conte won't be able to sit for some time," a cool voice, in quite foreign Italian wafted down from the staircase. We all looked up and saw, caught in the rays of the Tuscan sun streaming through the Palladian window above the entry doors, a handsome, well-built blond man in linen trousers and a billowy white, gauzy shirt open almost down to his navel. I saw Gabriella's nostrils flare in anger and heard a gasp from Paulo as they looked up at the foreign stranger, who I'd never seen in the region before, let alone on the staircase up to the private apartments of the Ghibertis.

"The Conte told me to tell you that he is indisposed this morning. I'm afraid he won't be up to whatever morning activities he had planned. And you are?" He directed this question to me, and I got the impression that he was closely appraising me, and in ways I found a bit uncomfortable.

"I am Giovanni," I stammered out. "I am painting the Conte's portrait."

"Ah yes, I saw it up in Luciano's bedroom," the stranger answered in his cool terms.

"Luciano!" Gabriella spat out in disgust, and I could well feel the wounding of the stranger's use of the Conte's personal name. No one in this region under the age of sixty would have used the Conte's personal name so familiarly.

But the stranger ignored Gabriella's outburst and turned to me and continued in a level voice. "I think your portrait is quite fine, Giovanni. I am Dakota, Luciano's new, but very close American friend. I'll be staying here for a few days and enjoying the grape harvest here in Tuscany."

Gabriella snorted again.

"And you, of course, are the Conte's granddaughter, Gabriella," the stranger said as he turned to the vixen. "You are just as Luciano described to me. And you," he went on to say as he turned now toward Paulo, "Must be the grandson who is studying in Rome to be the pope."

"I am studying for the priesthood, yes. I'm Paulo," Gabriella's brother answered in a weak voice. And I could see now that Paulo had been mesmerized by the American. Although nearly nineteen, Paulo had always appeared young, fragile, and impressionable for his age. This despite how all of the young girls in the region swooned over his statue-perfect Mediterranean looks.

"Well, hello, Paulo," the American stranger said with honeyed tones and with a broad smile. "Luciano tells me you have come to help with the harvest and that you get right in there in working with the grapes. I would like to see how that's done. Perhaps that sweet young girl who was here a moment ago might put together something we can eat in the fields and you'll show me how to harvest grapes this morning."

"Paulo!" Gabriella said sharply.

But Paulo ignored her. "Certainly, Signore—Dakota—I would be honored to do so."

Gabriella gave first the American, and then Paulo, a glare that I was afraid might melt our marble surroundings and then, shifting gears completely and eerily, turned a dazzling smile on me. "If my grandfather can't sit for you today, Giovanni, perhaps I will do. Would you like for me to pose for you, say, out in the pavilion by the pond?"

Perhaps the marble wasn't melting, but I certainly was. Gabriella pose for me? This was just too wonderful to contemplate.

"Yes, yes, certainly, Signorina Gabriella," I was babbling. I also was still holding out that box of chocolates.

"Oh, chocolates for me?" Gabriella asked in a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth voice, suddenly acknowledging that I'd been offering the chocolates to her during this entire uncomfortable scene.

"How thoughtful, but just don't stand there gawking, Giovanni. Take them on out to the pavilion and I'll go slip into something appropriate for a portrait." And, with a glare at both Paulo and the American, in turn, she marched up the stairs past the American, who gave her an amused, assessing stare as she withdrew. He then turned and looked intensely down at Paulo. I have no idea what happened after that, because I was fumbling my way out of the villa's entrance, en route to my Fiat, and planning just what paints I would need for this great adventure. How I wished Gabriella had told me what colors she'd be wearing.

When Gabriella appeared in the dappled sunlight of the pavilion doorway at last, it wasn't as significant what colors she was wearing as that she wasn't wearing much of anything at all. She was loosely clothed in only a white, diaphanous robe of some sort that barely hid the fact that everything beneath it was the rich, creamy flesh of the voluptuous beauty.

I sat on my stool by the easel, agape, as Gabriella glided over to the backless rattan sofa on the back wall of the pavilion and stretched out full length on the divan, with pillows supporting her torso at an angle that pushed her ample breasts out. The gown parted and fell beneath one of her breasts. She was pointing a very nice rosebud of a nipple at me. I gasped and tried not to drop the brush that I was preparing for the paint.

"Signorina Gabriella!" I exclaimed in a strangled voice.

"Don't you like my tit, Giovanni?" Gabriella asked in a husky voice. "Rosella tells me you are a good tit man. And here, see, I have two, a matched pair." And she revealed that she did, indeed, have a nicely paired set, as she drew the gown away from her other breast and pointed that hard, rosy nipple at me too. I took notice; my trembling hands took notice; my engorging cock, in particular, took notice.

"But, Signorina Gabriella," I repeated, being very much the loss for words and barely able to keep myself from falling on and feasting on her.

"Or perhaps you are more a cunt man," the little vixen sweetly said, as she flipped the gown back to reveal a patch of silky, curly black hair covering the V of her mound between plump, milky-white thighs. "Rosella tells me that you are an even better swordsman than a tit man. Aren't you just aching to plunge your rapier into this tight sheath?"

"Oh God, Gabriella, don't tease me like this," I moaned. "Your grandfather, the Conte, would dismember me if I dared to . . . he has strictly forbidden . . ."

"Are you a lusty, full-blown son of Tuscany, or a mouse, Giovanni?" Gabriella spat back at me. "I am fully aware of my grandfather's wants. But screw my grandfather. Screw all of the Ghiberti men and their double standards and philandering ways. I want your cock inside me; I want to writhe under you until I scream for mercy, your cock pinning me down to my backbone against this divan. What do you want? Are you a Tuscan man or—or an American stranger? Come fuck me like an Italian man would if you want me."

I sat there, in shock, my trembling hand still softening up the silky bristles of the sable paint brush, as if none of this was happening and I was just preparing for a normal portrait sitting.

Gabriella's eyes went to my brush, and she laughed a throaty laugh, edged with her frustrated anger. "Perhaps that brush in your hand is more interested in me than that piece of meat between your legs. You pose as a creative artist, Giovanni, but you are impotent before me. You are just like the rest of them."

The anger rose in me now. I lacked creativity and passion? I'd show her. I looked wildly about me, and my gaze fell on the box of Leonides chocolates that I'd opened and positioned near the divan so that Gabriella would have something to nibble on as I sketched out the foundation for a portrait. But I had laid them in the sun, and I saw now that they were melting badly.

Creativity and passion was what she wanted?

She flinched defensively and shrank from me, probably fearing I was going to lash out at her, as I sprang from the stool by the easel and went for the box of chocolates. I raised the box in one hand, holding it like it was an artist's palette, and plunged the tip of the sable brush into the center of the box, swirling it around and engorging the hair of the brush with melted chocolate. Then I went on my knees before the reclining Gabriella and started to swirl the brush around her pouting nipples.

Gabriella looked shocked, then surprised, and then a lascivious glaze crossed her eyes and she grinned at me and laughed a throaty laugh. She pulled the gown all the way off her body, arched her back, and thrust out her breasts. I swirled the brush furiously around her breasts, returning often to the melted box of chocolates for more color. And when I was finished there, the brush moved down her heaving belly. As I neared paradise, Gabriella opened her legs wide to me. I covered the lips of her vagina heavily with rich chocolate and then the brush worked its way through her inner folds and swirled around on her clit. She was moaning and sighing deeply for me now.

The last of the chocolate mingled with the sweet juices she was producing, as the brush went deep into her.

The chocolate was spent, and the brush now was replaced with my lips and tongue, as I gorged on chocolate from her breasts down to flowing chocolate, thinned with Gabriella's juices, between her luscious thighs.

She screamed out in passion as my lips and tongue found her clit and brought her to the first of her orgasms.

I let her rest then, but only briefly, as I rose from her and stripped off my clothes. My cock wanted her badly, and, with a laugh, she reached out for it with both hands and guided me into her. She held the head of it briefly to her clit and rubbed the two sensitive areas together, encircling us both with waves of sensuous pleasure. And then she turned the head of the cock toward the source of her chocolate-laced juices, and I plunged into her and rode her hard to her second, and my first, orgasm.

When I had ejaculated deeply inside her, I lay on top of her, both of us panting heavily and cooling down in rhythm. After a time, I moved as if to pull out of her and rise and see what we could recover from this situation, when she gave a deep-throated, almost animalistic laugh and rolled us both. She was on top of me now, in control, as she seemed to want to be. And now she was like a wild woman. My cock regained its interest and attention and was enjoying the ride, with me now the fucked and Gabriella the fucker.

I had never seen Gabriella this joyful or animated before. She was making a statement, one of her determination to live life on her own terms and not to be second-classed or subjugated by anyone. I just laid back and let her have her way with me; I liked this form of Gabriella. I wasn't of the Tuscany nobility. I wasn't a Ghiberti. I'd be happy to have her on any terms she specified.

Gabriella was in another world all her own now. Taking her pleasure with me, fully in control. A flash of apprehension went through me as I thought I heard someone on the path, nearing the pavilion. But Gabriella was either too preoccupied with her fucking of me completely on her terms or she just didn't care, because she just went on riding me and riding me and riding me. And it felt so glorious that I didn't care either.

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