5 comments/ 44944 views/ 4 favorites The Sculptor By: Amitriptaline 1 FIRENZE Standing at the bar in the local café a small, slim woman, in her twenties, sips an espresso. Her expression is hidden behind serious-looking reading glasses. The woman, whose name is Gina, finishes her coffee and runs a hand nervously through her short, dark hair. Leaving the bar, she turns awkwardly, and the large bundle of papers she is holding drops onto the floor. As she stoops to pick them up, a woman bends to help her. "Oh thank you...grazie," stammers Gina. "My pleasure. It looks like you've got a big subject there." Gina is surprised to hear the woman answer in English. "Oh, yes, it's my thesis. I'm trying to write about pre-Etruscan art...it's for my PhD." "Pre-Etruscan art, a difficult topic to keep hold of." "You're right," Gina replies with a smile, "just when I think I have a grip on it, it seems to slip away from me." "Well, if you'd like a new handle on it, I'd be happy to help. I've learned quite a bit about Italian art over the years. I'm married to a local sculptor, Giacomo D'Angelo...you may have heard of him." Gina studies the woman. She's tall and willowy with long frizzy, greying hair, barely controlled by a ponytail. She's the first person in Firenze who's spoken to Gina in English for months, and her offer of help is irresistible. "Oh, I'm Patricia, by the way, Patricia D'Angelo." "You're married to Giacomo D'Angelo?" "Yes." "So you must live at Cipressa?" "That's right, we do." During her research Gina has heard about Cipressa, a sixteenth century monastery on a hilltop just north of Firenze. She knows of Giacomo's work in marble and bronze. His clients include many of Italy's most influential collectors and galleries. "It must be an inspiring place to live," says Gina. "The place certainly is charming although it's largely in ruins," replies Patricia. "Years ago we restored one area, to make a liveable space. And Giacomo has converted the barn into his studio." Patricia explains that while they were working on the renovations, she spoke to a retired priest who lived nearby. He told her that Cipressa had been built over an older site, believed to date back to the Etruscans, and possibly much earlier. Patricia and Giacomo were sceptical until one day, when they were clearing away some rubble, Patricia picked up a small, heavily eroded and interestingly shaped piece of limestone. About the size of her fist, it was a headless female figure with a narrow waist, broad hips, and plump thighs below. They recognised it immediately as a venus, an ancient pre-Etruscan fertility icon, precious and unique. Gina is fascinated by Patricia's story. "What did you do with it?" she asks. "Well, we decided to keep it," Patricia replies. "We thought it might be a good omen. You see, we'd been trying to start a family for several years without success, so we put it on a shelf in our bedroom, in the hope that it might bless our efforts." "And did it?" asks Gina. "No, unfortunately we were never blessed." "I'm so sorry." "Don't be. We have a happy life together. Giacomo's work is the most important thing in both our lives. It turns out that he has the problem, not me." "Anyway," she continues, "I'd be happy to give you a look at our little pre-Etruscan treasure, and some advice on your thesis, if you'd like to come up for lunch some time." Gina eagerly agrees and Patricia offers to pick her up the following day. --- Cipressa is situated at the end of a bumpy dirt road. Alighting from the car, Gina is delighted by the breathtaking views stretching to the distant alps. She looks at Patricia with admiration and envy. "You really are blessed here," she says. "I'll just go and check on Giacomo," says Patricia, "Then we can eat." While Patricia is busy with Giacomo, Gina wanders around the garden. She is completely captivated by the quiet, decaying beauty of the place and the fragrant breeze that rustles the old trees. It stirs up cool, damp air from pockets of deep shade and mixes it with warmer air rising from the valley below. It feels to Gina as though the distant past is being mixed with the present. The heady potion makes her feel slightly dizzy. In her wanderings she comes upon groups of quirky bronze figures dotted around the garden. Some are animals, some are human figures, and some leave her wondering. She finds them all fascinating. Patricia serves a delightful lunch on a table in the garden but Giacomo doesn't join them. The two women chat happily and enjoy several glasses of local wine. Giacomo finally arrives just as the women are finishing the meal. He is an impressively tall, heavily built man with large hands, black hair streaked with grey, a tanned, lined face and a dark, rather forbidding expression. He wears dusty overalls and workman's boots. Patricia introduces Gina. "Buongiorno," nods Giacomo in a gruff voice. He seems preoccupied. He grabs a plate and piles it with bread, prosciutto, gorgonzola cheese and fruit. He mutters something to Patricia who excuses herself from the table and follows him back to the studio. Once again, Gina is left alone to ponder. She is looking forward to seeing Patricia's little venus. While she has studied many Etruscan and pre-Etruscan treasures in glass cases in museums, she has yet to hold one in her hands. When Patricia returns several minutes later she smiles brightly but looks tired and a bit sad. "Is everything OK?" asks Gina. Patricia sighs, nods silently and sits quietly for a few minutes. Finally she says to Gina, "He's a brilliant man, my husband, but he exhausts me." Gina says she understands that highly creative people can be moody and difficult to live with. "It's not so much his creativity or his moods that are the problem," Patricia replies. "Oh?" "No, it's mainly his appetite." "He eats a lot?" "No," says Patricia with a weary smile. "Well, actually he does eat a lot, but that's not the problem." She takes a generous sip of wine. "He fucks a lot." "Oh I'm so sorry," says Gina, embarrassed. She's not used to hearing such intimate problems so crudely expressed, particularly from someone she has recently met. "I used to have a boyfriend like that. He was so unfaithful, I eventually had to leave, I just couldn't tolerate his lies." "Oh, Giacomo's not unfaithful to me," explains Patricia. "It's just that he wants to have sex several times a day, and often during the night as well." "And he is totally selfish about it, all he wants is to relieve himself...he hardly thinks about my needs at all. For him sex is just another essential bodily function like eating, sleeping and breathing." "I must admit I thought he'd mellow with age but he's sixty next month and if anything, his desires are becoming more demanding." "And yet you stay with him?" asks Gina. "I love him. With all his appetites and moody brilliance, I've never once thought of leaving. But I'm not so young anymore either....I'm over fifty. Just once I'd like to be able to sleep through the night, or spend a whole day without being fucked." Gina is surprised to hear that Patricia is so old. And to hear an older person talk so frankly about sex. She doesn't look her age. She looks slim and lithe. Yesterday when they met she had noticed that Patricia had had a spring in her step, a youthful, expressive face and a quick smile. "Well something's keeping you looking young, Patricia. Maybe it's all the sex!" Patricia laughs. "It's possible I suppose. Anyway, enough about my problems. Here's what you've come to see." She puts a wooden box on the table and opens the lid. Inside the felt-lined box is an oddly shaped piece of limestone. The little figure is heavily eroded but Gina recognises it as definitely pre-Etruscan. She reaches out a hand to touch it, but then pulls back. "It's OK, you can pick it up," says Patricia. Gina holds it in both hands, a cool, heavy weight, both smoothly textured and sadly broken. A pair of chubby legs are surmounted by broad, swelling hips, a round belly and ample breasts. "I've always wondered what significance these figures really had," says Patricia. "People will tell you that they used them to symbolise fertility but I must admit, I'm inclined to suspect they were more to do with lust." Gina laughs. "You mean, this little figure was an ancient form of pornography. Well, men didn't have the internet in those days...I suppose pre-Etruscan men were pretty much the same as modern men..." "You mean with all-consuming sexual appetites and no shame whatsoever." They both giggle. "Here's to men..." says Patricia. "May they forever keep us on our toes!" The women continue to talk as the afternoon sun creeps around and the garden grows hot and still and quiet. Gina explains the problems she's having completing her thesis and how, with the difficulties and recurring home-sickness, she's been thinking of giving up and going home. Patricia is sympathetic, having been persuaded to come to Italy by Giacomo twenty years ago with no knowledge of the language and no friends. "I should be heading back to town," says Gina, stretching and yawning. "Before you go, you must have a look at Giacomo's latest work." "Oh, I don't want to disturb him if he's busy." "He won't mind, he asked me to show you around." The studio is large and airy with tall windows overlooking a breathtaking vista of distant mountains and biscuit coloured fields. Giacomo is working on a life-sized plaster figure of a satyr...a mythical beast with the body of a goat and a human head. The head is unfinished but Gina thinks it's probably female, given that a pair of roughly hewn heavy breasts hang from the creature's chest. Patricia explains that this piece has been commissioned by a local collector. The plaster figure will be used to make a mould which Giacomo will fill with bronze. "It is dream creature," says Giacomo, in halting English. Gina looks around. A fine white dust covers everything in the room. Several shapes are covered in sheets and Patricia explains that these are works in progress. A collection of old dusty wooden chairs, an oak dining table and an old bar fridge cluster around a huge stone fireplace at one end of the room. They take their leave of Giacomo and walk down a cool, shady path cut into the side of the hill. Gina can hear water trickling nearby, and soon they come upon a spring, running out of the hillside and splashing into a long narrow pond. "This is our water supply," explains Patricia. "So far it has never run dry but in the summer we are always careful. It's also supposed to date back to pre-Etruscan times." The two women cup their hands under the spring and taste the water which is cold and pure. "Well, that's Cipressa, says Patricia as they walk back to the driveway. What do you think?" "Oh it's just fascinating," replies Gina. "You're so lucky to live in such a beautiful place." That night back at her small rented room in Firenze, Gina settles down to work but her thoughts keep drifting back to the strange couple she has met, to the little venus and to Patricia's unusual problem. It was refreshing to be taken away from her own difficulties for a few hours. Patricia was so forthright about her sexual difficulty. For Gina, sex has been absent for so long, and the memories of intimacy so painful, that she has learned not to tease herself by thinking about it. Gina had parted company with her first boyfriend when she went away to uni. Since then she had only had one lover. One night, on the eve of the first semester break of her honours year she had been invited to a dinner party with the other honours students and some members of the facility. She remembered feeling tired and ambivalent about the dinner because she was more focused on the long drive home to see her family she would be making the following day. That was the night she had met Rick. She had been gazing absently at reflections of candlelight in her glass of red wine when she noticed a tall man being seated directly opposite her. She glanced up casually at him. Then she did a double take. His eyes were looking at her with what seemed to be a piercing gaze. For a second she felt extremely uncomfortable, like someone had just caught her out in a lie. Then he smiled, a broad smile that completely transformed his face. "Hi, I'm Rick." "Gina. Pleased to meet you." He was a forensic pathologist with an interest in archaeology. He explained to her that the university was trying to recruit him to lecture the history students about the role of forensics in archaeology. Rick looked to be in his early thirties, with curly light brown hair, beginning to recede. His ready laughter, spiky wit and rather bizarre jokes made her relax and respond in kind. At the end of the dinner they left together. Gina didn't drive home next morning. Instead, after a night of thrilling lovemaking, Rick invited her to join him on a trip to Flores in Indonesia to work on a dig where some interesting human remains had been discovered. Up until that day Gina had always taken a planned and considered approach to her life, but after wrestling with guilt about letting down her family for about ten seconds, she agreed to go. She had never worked on a dig before and the idea of combining it with two weeks of Rick was irresistible. Over the next two weeks Rick had her climb a mountain — not just the mountain of Flores, near the peak of which the dig was located — but a mountain of desire and infatuation that often left her weak-kneed and trembling. By the time their return flight left the runway, their hands clasped, her head snuggled blissfully on Rick's shoulder, she realised she had fallen head first in love. Unfortunately, the Flores trip turned out to be the pinnacle of the affair. Soon after term started, Rick stopped returning her calls and she heard from friends that he had been seen dating someone else. She was furious with herself. How could she have been so blind, so taken in? To add insult to injury, Rick accepted a post at the university and Gina had to sit in his lectures. One afternoon he called to her as she was leaving the lecture theatre. "Gina, I'm sorry things didn't work out after our trip.." he began. Gina shrugged, choking back tears, "It can't be helped. I guess I just expected more than you did." "I think you're a very special girl, Gina," Rick went on. "But since I'm lecturing this semester, I can't be seen dating a student, — but what say we get together when the term's over?" Gina was torn. He had broken her heart once. Was she going to give him a chance to do it again? The answer was yes. She was. In fact she gave him two more chances at smashing it into smithereens before some deep-seated survival mechanism finally kicked in and she accepted an offer of a posting to Firenze to complete her thesis. Now, as she turns off her desk light and slips into her narrow creaky bed, with the noise of Vesper motor scooters bouncing off the old buildings of Firenze, she wonders what happened to the happy, optimistic girl she used to be before Rick. Next morning, just as Gina's percolator begins bubbling on the stove, her mobile rings and Patricia's on the line. "Can I come and see you?" She asks. Gina is surprised to hear from Patricia so soon. She is even more surprised when she hears what Patricia has to ask from her. 2. CIPRESSA It's the most outrageous idea. But for some reason she doesn't understand, Gina agrees to it. Patricia has persuaded her to move up to Cipressa and stay with them. Her board and lodgings will be completely taken care of. She will have her own space to work in peace and the use of Patricia's car if she needs to visit the museum in Firenze. Patricia will work with her to help her finish her thesis. The outrageous idea is Patricia's proposal, with Giacomo's agreement, that Gina takes over Patricia's wifely duties each evening and night, giving Patricia a much-needed break. From dusk to dawn she will be on call to meet Giacomo's need for sexual release. Only after packing her things into Patricia's car for the trip does Gina begin to have second thoughts. Giacomo is virtually a stranger. He's married. He's a big strong, mature man and Gina is a small woman, still a girl really, with limited experience of men. After her disastrous affair, the idea of having purely physical sex, without all the romantic complications is strangely refreshing to Gina. But with another woman's husband? Patricia senses her unease and gives her a gentle hug as she climbs into the car. "It'll be OK," she says, "I'll be there to smooth the way, I promise to make things easy for you." On arrival at Cipressa, Patricia shows Gina to a small study with a desk and chair, and a little window looking over a cobbled courtyard. Patricia explains that there is only one bedroom in the restored part of the monastery and that she will be sharing it with them. "But it's a big bed," she says, come and look. The bedroom is large and bright, overlooking the valley. The bed is vast and crowded with brightly coloured pillows. On the stone walls hangs an interesting array of beautifully drawn botanical illustrations. "My hobby," explains Patricia. "Here, I've made room in the wardrobe for your things." 3. THE SCULPTOR As evening approaches, Gina becomes quiet and begins her nervous habit of running a hand through her hair. Patricia sits her at the kitchen table and pours her a large glass of prosecco as she chats happily away and prepares dinner. When the meal is in the oven, Patricia takes her hand and announces that it is time to visit Giacomo in his studio. Gina walks uncertainly with her down the stone path to the studio. Giacomo is already waiting for them, sitting in one of the chairs, drinking a Peroni. He looks carefully at Gina as if they had not met before, and speaks to Patricia in Italian. "He wants you to undress." Gina takes a deep breath, hesitates for a moment, then pulls off her t-shirt, unzips her jeans and steps out of her sandals. She feels Patricia's hands at her back, gently undoing her bra. Her breasts swing free and she instinctively covers them with her hands. Giacomo waves his hand in the direction of Gina's only remaining clothing, her panties. Patricia slides them down and Gina stands there a few feet from Giacomo, completely naked. Patricia takes Gina's hands away from her breasts, holds her shoulders and gently pushes her towards her husband. Gina is both terrified and aroused. "Sit," says Giacomo, indicating his lap. Gina sits gingerly on his lap and Giacomo puts down his beer and wraps his large hands around her breasts, kneading them firmly, then sliding them over her hips and down her thighs. She smells his beery breath and feels his hands exploring her neck and shoulders, appraising her, familiarising himself with her body. He mutters again in Italian and Patricia steps forward. She leans down and undoes Giacomo's fly. Giacomo's cock springs out, trembling, bluish on the tip and absolutely enormous. "Oh no!" Gina exclaims in horror and jumps to her feet. He chuckles and places her hand on it. Her fingers only just fit around it and she strokes it gingerly. "What have I agreed to?" she asks herself. "Patricia," she cries, "I can't do this. I really can't. This is a mistake. He's far too big." "He understands...he knows he needs to be gentle." Gina is in tears now. "I really don't think...." "Just a little bit at a time. Stand over it facing him...that's the way. Now, in your own time just sit down a bit on it." Gina lowers herself, sniffling and fearful onto Giacomo's giant cock. Patricia reaches down and eases her buttocks gently apart. The Sculptor It wasn't a hard decision. In art school, I had taken many Life drawing classes which used a nude model. I didn't really have an qualms about my body so I figured it was no big deal. Besides, you try making a living as a potter. I really needed the extra cash, and it was a lot for a couple of hours lying around naked. I arrived at his studio in my ripped up blue jeans and black Dresden Dolls t-shirt. I normally would have worn a dress or something when I knew I would be hanging out with someone that adorable, but I figured what was the point. I would be taking my clothes off soon enough. Where's the mystery in that? He smiled as he opened the door and waved me in. His black, silken hair was pulled back with just a few sexy strands falling in his face. His deep brown eyes gave me a quick once over, making sure I would do for his model. He seemed satisfied and gave me a reassuring smile. He led me in to the room and showed me where I could disrobe. He had left a nice silk robe for me to put on until it was time. I came out as he was pulling mounds of clay out of a cabinet. He told me to just relax while he got finished setting up. As I sat there waiting, I looked around the room at the sculptures he had made. They were all so wonderful. Every little detail seemed to pop and give life to the piece. He was quite talented, and I felt privileged that I was about to become his next sculpture. When he was ready, he asked me to sit in the chair he had set. I was nervous, but I tried to hide it as best I could. I think he knew this and gave me another of those reassuring smiles. He was so beautiful. I started to think he should have been the model instead of me. He asked me to slip the robe off over my shoulders and let it fall down around my elbows and waist. This left my breasts exposed, but nothing below the mid-line was showing. He gently positioned my body the way he wanted it, turning my shoulders a bit one way, pulling my chin up the other. His touch was so gentle and yet firm enough to show me exactly what he wanted. He didn't speak much, but the intensity in his eyes showed everything I needed to hear. He knew exactly how he wanted things and would work until he got it right. He had positioned me so that I was looking at him while he worked. This pleased me beyond measure. He was so focused and purposeful, and I loved watching how he moved the clay around until he got what he wanted out of it. His eyes would squint as he observed the angle of my nose or the roundness of my cheeks. His eyebrows would raise as he stood back and contemplated the next step. I was mesmerized. But what intrigued me the most was his hands. They were so strong and yet could make the most gentle movements. His fingers were long and graceful, and his whole body often moved in sync with what his hands were doing. It was like a dance. We took a break and I got up and stretched. He offered me a drink and a snack. He didn't say much, but was warm and friendly. I walked around and looked at the rest of the work he had. It was all so incredible. I was really jealous of his talents. We went back to work and he told me that now he would be touching me a bit, to get the feel of what he was trying to accomplish. I was so excited that I would get to feel his hands on me that much more. He put his hands on my face, probing and feeling along the ridge of my eyebrows, then down along my cheekbones. He softly stroked over my cheeks and down to my jawline. He closed his eyes as he felt my jawbone and mouth. He worked his hands back up to my forehead and felt along my hairline, ever so slowly. He moved down to my temple and through my hair to my ears. Feeling my ears he paused and smiled, his eyes still closed. Then his hands went into my hair and massaged around in my scalp. This felt so amazing to me that I had to close my eyes and surrender to the tingly sensation that was now wandering down my spine. He finally stopped, but it seemed like an eternity that he ran his fingers in my hair. He held my skull a minute, as I brought myself back to the room. I think he didn't want to disengage without me acknowledging his presence. I opened my eyes, sort of in a haze and I am quite sure with a stupid grin on my face. He smiled at me when I saw him and held my gaze a moment. This was starting to become the biggest, longest tease I could have imagined. He went back to sculpting. I saw him staring at me, but somehow this felt different than just trying to visualize a piece of art. It was more like he was looking at me... smiling at me. It was time to call it a day. My back was sore and I needed a rest. He said goodnight and sent me home. On my walk to the car, I felt as if he was watching me from the window above. I didn't look back, but I was quite sure he was there. The next day started off much the same. He was still quiet, but somehow friendlier. I got into my "wardrobe" and sat in the same position. This time he was working on my torso. After the initial first bit of working up the general shape, he came over again to do his "feel-through". He started this time on my neck, gently probing his way around the muscles and flesh. He slowly worked down to the collar bone, out through the shoulders and then came back and started to feel my upper ribs. This was all a slow build up to where things started to change. Ever so softly, he worked his hands down to my breasts. My nipples hardened was he felt around the soft, roundness of my tits. He stopped, tentatively and asked, "Is this okay?" "Heh," I stumbled for an answer, "Yeah, it's fine.". Better than fine. Perfect, actually. Oh Christ. He fumbled for a minute, touching, feeling my nipples that were now pointed up towards the sky, ready to be sucked and pinched. It was about then that I realized my pussy was dripping and I was getting so unstoppably turned on. This was bad. He stopped and I opened my eyes. He was staring at me, and if I could read him right, longingly. My heart was beating like a drum. He broke our gaze and went back to his work station. I watched him, intent on trying to determine if he was feeling what I was. Once in a while, I thought I saw him blush a bit when he looked at my breasts. He would look at them, and then look me in the eyes for a second, almost out of embarrassment. It was quite a turn on for me, but then, I didn't really need any help in that department. The rest of the day I felt like I was on a razors edge. I couldn't sit still and the day dragged on forever. I was so horny and here was a really sexy guy staring at and even grabbing my tits! This was so unfair! When I got home for the night, I had to break out the vibrator. There was just no getting around it. I let the shimmering sensation glide along my clit and pushed it deep into my cunt until I came in such a wave that it made me shiver. But I knew this wasn't going to be enough. I knew I had to have him, and this desire wasn't going to end until I did. When I returned the next day, he had not pulled his hair back from his face. He was wearing a tank top and a pair of faded, almost broken through jeans. He smiled coyly at me and said hello. He still didn't say much when he spoke, but I didn't really care, it wasn't his voice I wanted, it was something far lower on his body. He sat me down and got me set up, this part had become routine. This was the first time I had really seen his arms as they were always covered in longer sleeves. They were strong and lean. The definition in the muscles was clear. Even if I didn't know what he did for a living I would have been able to tell he worked with his hands in a strong capacity. And I could just make out the outline of his abs under the shirt. So strong, so sexy. My imagination was getting the better of me. He went back to work behind the sculpture, pushing and pulling the clay to make it what he saw. His hands were gray with mud and he sometimes wiped his hair from his face with them, leaving behind a streak of gray on his cheek or in his hair. I wondered why he didn't pull it back like he had the last few days, not that I mined - it only made me want him more. After a while, he came over and started feeling my waist. He rubbed his hands along my ribcage, staring at my torso, studying it. I was starting to feel like he knew my body better than anyone. As he felt, I looked down and saw the streak of gray mud left behind on my naked flesh. This made me feel like I was his clay, his medium to mold and push and pull the way he wanted me. I couldn't stand it any longer. He looked up at me after I took a trembling breath and, when he did, I kissed him. He kissed me back, but only for an moment. Then he pushed me away. I sat there, rejected and embarrassed. I got back into my pose, but I knew I was trembling. I couldn't control it. My leg was shaking and I felt nauseous. I tried to breath to calm myself down, but it was very difficult to do. I couldn't keep still. He worked for a moment and watched me. He saw that I was struggling. That much was clear. After a while, he realized that we couldn't brush this off. He came back and knelt before me. He touched my waist again, just as before. I closed my eyes, wanting to feel his touch and not wanting to see his eyes on me. His hands were covered in wet clay and he rubbed them along my sides. I trembled, trying not to let him see. His hands worked their way back up to my breasts. One gently probed and the other moved around to my back. Then he pulled me in, closer. I thought he was trying to adjust my position, but then I felt his lips on mine, this time he was in the lead. I didn't open my eyes. I thought it would be better to believe this was a fantasy. His kiss became more forceful and then he pulled back and I felt his tongue following the line of my top lip. The hand that was on my breast now moved up and grabbed the back of my head. I felt him push his tongue deeper into my mouth again and the kisses became more fierce. My hands slipped out of the sleeves of the robe and felt for the bottom of his shirt. I got my hands up underneath and finally felt the muscles of his stomach. So warm... So strong... I brushed my hands up and found his nipples, giving them a little rub as I went. He pulled back and let me pull his shirt up over his head. I finally opened my eyes and saw the beautiful man before me. He smiled, gratefully at me then pulled me back into him, our bare chests now pressed together. I let my robe fall open the rest of the way, exposing the rest of my body to him. He kissed me, and then licked his way down to my nipple. He suckled my breast, adding a little bite as he worked. I knew I couldn't wait much longer. I slid my hands down to his jeans. I first tried to slip my hand inside, but soon found there wasn't enough space for my hand and what else was going on in there. I fumbled open the buttons and pushed the pants down his hips far enough to release his manhood into my grip. He was as hard as I was wet. I loved wrapping my hands around it. He felt strong and ready. He kissed me again, this time with increasing force. He wanted me, and I was going to give him what he wanted. I pushed his pants down farther and massaged his balls. He sighed with pleasure as I tugged and then pumped his cock a few times with my other hand. He was so close to me and we were both ready. He ran his hands down to my hips and moved me to the edge of the chair. I still had his cock in my hand, and I was stroking him firmly. The head was near my vagina at this point and I spread my legs farther and brought him close. He reached his clay covered hands down and grabbed his cock. He rubbed the head on my clit. It was so warm and soft; I was so wet and slippery. He rubbed it a few times while he kissed me lightly. I tried to bring my head up to kiss him harder, but he pulled back. He was again in control. He gave me a devilish smile as he teased me with the head of his cock almost in my cunt. He knew I wanted him deep inside me, but he wanted to know I wanted him more than anything. I wasn't waiting any longer. After a few false starts, I reached around, grabbed his ass and pulled him deep into me. He moaned as his balls hit my ass and I moaned as his cock pressed deep into my cervix. He started off slow, making the longing grow, making me want him harder and deeper with each push. I brought my right leg up, knee to shoulder, trying to give him the most access I could. I had always been limber, so this position felt amazing. In he went, deeper and deeper. He built up speed until he was slapping hard against my bottom, making that lovely whacking sound that you know means you are being fucked good. I felt my first orgasm building. I took a few deep breaths and asked him to slow down a bit. He did and as I got closer I moaned "Deeper!!!" I felt the full force of his weight press into me and then pull out, and again, all the way in, and then back, and again... Then it came. I started shaking underneath him as my pussy started sending out it's waves of pure pleasure throughout my body. He pressed harder as he heard me cumming, more motivated now hearing and feeling my pleasure. When he knew I was done, he pulled out and motioned me to turn over. I gladly obliged. Now on my knees, i bent forward against the chair and grabbed the sides as he held my hips and put his penis head on my clit. He let it rub against me for a minute, priming me again. I spread my legs a bit farther apart for more access. He straightened up and pressed in again and began to pump me from behind. I pressed back with my hands making the force greater, fucking him back with all I had. He let out a sigh as he pumped and ground his way harder into me. I squeezed my pussy muscles as hard as I could as he pumped, trying to give him more pleasure. After a few minutes like this he pulled back and sat in the chair. I straddled him and kissed him as I sat down on his cock. I moved my hips forward and back a few times, allowing his cock to massage my insides. He pulled me closer and held me as I enjoyed this feeling of being filled up inside. He seemed to enjoy seeing me derive so much pleasure from having him inside of me. He smiled as he watched me arching my back and riding him in ecstasy. I felt another orgasm building so I placed my feet on the ground and pressed my hips up, rising almost off of him and then coming back down hard on his cock. He made a face, and I knew he was trying to hold back his orgasm, so after a few more bucks, I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I want you to come with me and I want to know you came hard..." I then increased my thrusts and took my breaths. He reached up and pinched my nipple and that put me over the edge. I came; loud and strong, and feeling me come pushed him to a very intense orgasm. He moaned at the top of his lungs, pressing his hips up to meet mine in a strong, deep orgasm that lasted minutes for both of us. I kept feeling waves coming over me, even as I collapsed over him in an exhausted heap. We sat there for a while, him holding me like a baby. When finally felt I could move, I sat up and looked at the mess he had made of me with his clay covered hands. I dismounted, and surveyed the damage. We both were covered in gray streaks and clumps of muddy clay. I turned to pick up the robe, when he let out a little chuckle. I looked at him, quizzically and he said he had "Left his mark," on my ass. I turned my bottom towards the mirror, and sure enough, there was a hand-print there. I laughed and asked him if I should get it tattooed on. He said no, but he did have some paint... Needless to say, the sculpture came out beautifully, and in tribute, his hand-print was placed on the butt cheek of my likeness. He has kept it for sentimental reasons. And I have kept him for... other reasons... The Sculptor But he's not finished yet. "Put arms around neck," he orders. No sooner does she hug the statue than he pulls the stool away. She grasps with all her strength, afraid of slipping and impaling herself more deeply. He lifts her left leg and indicates that she should wrap both her legs around the statue's waist. This leaves her clinging to the statue, unable to escape because she is so thoroughly impaled. "Please, Giacomo, let me down now. I've done what you wanted." But Giacomo hasn't finished. Instead he moves behind her and she hears him open his fly. He rubs his rough hands against her arse cheeks which are now spread wide, then she feels his penis pushing insistently against her tiny hole. She knows there's no point in pleading with him to stop. "Giacomo, if you must do this," she begs, "Please at least use some oil!" He curses and stomps off, returning with the bottle of olive oil which he splashes over her rump. She remembers Patricia's advice about relaxing. Not so easy when you are already impaled on a cold bronze phallus and an angry man with a huge penis is pushing into your arse. The pressure on her arse becomes exquisitely painful before the muscle finally gives in and lets his penis enter. Even then, it continues to contract painfully until he is deep inside. With two penises she has never felt so stretched and open. Then Giacomo starts pumping, gently at first and then with a ferocity she has never felt from him before. It brings tears to her eyes. He is pushing up into her with all his strength, grinding her against the cold statue and the unyielding metal penis inside her. Finally she can bear it no longer and she lets out a loud, desperate cry. "Noooooo!" Her cry echoes around the room. In her agony she doesn't hear the door open and Patricia rush in. She has no recollection of Patricia pulling Giacomo away from her and helping her off the statue. When she does begin to make sense of things, she realises she is curled in a ball on the floor, with a sheet covering her. Patricia is cradling her head in her hands stroking her hair. "I'm OK," she says finally. "Don't worry, I'm OK." Patricia offers her a drink of water and she sits up. She feels bruised and sore but eventually manages to stand. "Lets put you to bed," says Patricia. "What about Giacomo?" asks Gina. "He's gone down to the town for a drink. I don't expect him back till late." --- 8. THE VENUS Giacomo doesn't return that night and next morning Patricia helps Gina pack up her things. The thesis is all but finished and they have booked her a train to Rome and a flight home that afternoon. Just as Patricia is starting the car, Giacomo arrives home. He looks tired and miserable. "Bella," he says to Gina, holding out his arms to embrace her. He has tears in his eyes. "Giacomo," says Patricia, "Its OK. She's fine. Gina, wait in the car for a minute will you." Gina watches them talking in the rear view mirror, then Patricia gets in the car. "He's really sorry," explains Patricia as she starts the engine. "He has these black spells from time to time. He'll be back to his normal self in a few days. I feel bad...I shouldn't have sent you down to him, knowing the state he was in." "It's OK Gina, really, I'm fine. I had a really great time staying at Cipressa, and thanks to you, my thesis is in the bag." "I'd like you to come back some time," Patricia says. "Just as a friend, next time...no extra duties." Gina laughs. "The duties were a pleasure, and I was glad I could give you a break. I'd love to visit again, thank you." Firenze railway station is noisy and smelly after the peace of Cipressa. The women hug and cry and promise to stay in touch. "He's not always like that, Gina," whispers Patricia. "I know. He's a wonderful, talented man. Don't worry, Staying with you both was an experience I'll always remember. Testing the limits like we did is something I think I needed to do. I hope we do meet again, I really do." Somewhere over the Mediterranean, Gina reaches up to take a book from her bag in the overhead luggage. Out slides a wooden box that she didn't pack. She opens the box and inside is the little stone venus with a note in Patricia's hand. Dear Gina, Look after her for me. —Patricia. She hugs the stone figure to her chest, snuggles under the blanket and falls asleep.