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Isabella Awakening Ch. 01

By: Paul T



Being the opening chapter of Isabella Silverto's story of remembrance and awakening in which a funeral brings back memories of a dark family secret and Isabella renews an acquaintance.

*

Naples June 1736: The family of Alberto Silverto was in mourning. The family matriarch, and Alberto's aunt on his father's side, Donna Elvira Del Malachi Silverto had finally passed on and the extended family, now scattered widely over the Southern states of what we now call Italy, was gathering in Naples to pay their last respects. For Alberto, his wife Marisa and his now adult children, Gustavo, Maria and Isabella, the event put great pressure on their hospitality. Upwards of forty family members, distant cousins, uncles and aunts, would descend on their home in Palazzo del Coere and consume their bread, wine and whatever nourishment was not locked away. For Maria and Isabella in particular, the event was a great strain but, as good daughters and women of the church, they performed their duty without complaint. The older Maria had married well and her husband, a trader from Palermo, helped provide servants and food. For him, the funeral presented a useful opportunity to make connections with some of the family's more influential members.

Isabella, although also married, was living with her parents after her husband had "failed to return" from one of the former regent's interminable military escapades into the neighbouring province. Whether he had been killed or simply decided that the grass was greener somewhere else was not officially known, but Isabella had her suspicions and was in fact secretly relieved that the preening, prancing oddball was no longer around. Of course, she said no such thing and had dutifully worn her black dress and shawl and officially mourned her departed husband with daily prayers and candles for the requisite year following his disappearance. Her mourning clothes had been packed away these eighteen months when Donna Elvira's funeral caused them to be brought out again. Isabella secretly smiled as the dress was brushed and ironed. She knew she looked good in black.

Her long black hair, almond coloured eyes and sharp wit, not to mention her fair face and figure, had attracted admirers and suitors from near and far during her blossoming from an awkward girlhood in her late teens and early twenties. Only when her father had insisted on a match with Henri Jousta, the youngest son of a wealthy Florentine spice merchant, had Isabella's hopes of true love, or at least exciting romance - and perhaps some traditional Italian wickedness - been dashed. Henri was not to Isabella's taste at all. Short, slightly rotund and given to extravagant facial gestures, he proved to be an unexciting and somewhat irritating husband. 

Perhaps worst of all for Isabella, he had very little interest in what the matrons called the "physical side" of the union. Isabella had spent most of her adolescence guiltily fantasizing about such things and after four or five months of marriage was wondering whether or not she had needlessly jeopardised the eternal life of her soul with all that sinful thinking. Henri was neither passionate nor well equipped for such things and spent much of the spring and summer high in the hill regions with his extensive sheep flock, and his shepherds. More than once, Isabella had wondered why her husband insisted on employing so many young shepherds. His military exploits also puzzled Isabella. Every year he would volunteer enthusiastically for one of the local prince's brigades and march happily over the mountain passes to subdue whatever rural province was this year's enemy. Henri always specifically volunteered to lead the brigade made up of the younger villagers and the son's of farmers. His failure to return from the last of these adventures was conveyed to her by an absurdly pretty, lisping youth from his former brigade.

Isabella knew that as soon as her year of mourning was over, her father had petitioned the local Bishop for the annulment of her marriage to Henri and had spent many hours since then plotting her engagement to the offspring of some strategically important trading ally. She sometimes wept at her prospects. At 34, she was now too old for the most eligible of bachelors. The best she could hope for was yet another weak but moneyed second son who, perhaps with luck this time, would at least show some carnal interest.

So, despite the work and the press of relatives, Donna Elvira's funeral came as something of a welcome distraction for Isabella. She piously received the pity of the women and did her best to remain appropriately sad and quiet during the week before the funeral. She was however enlivened to see her brother Gustavo return and take up his old room near hers on the second floor of the house. Gustavo was only a year older than Isabella and they had shared many childhood adventures. Gustavo had become a trader, just as his father had wished, and now sailed the Mediterranean making deals and, most likely, breaking hearts. Like Isabella, Gustavo had his mother's jet-black hair, Roman nose and brown eyes. He had the rugged good looks of their father and more than a hint of the animal nature that Isabella had wished her own lovers would possess. Behind the closed door of Gustavo's old room, away from the mourners, they now hugged and laughed with the joy of seeing each other once again. Questions bubbled from Isabella's mouth –where had he traveled? who had had seen?, was he happy? Gustavo just smiled and held her by the shoulders at arms length. "You are still Isabella the Talkative, I see," he said, "But you grow more beautiful every year!" 

Isabella blushed and as Gustavo released her she turned away to wipe her eyes. She knew that her embarrassment, and her excitement at being held and admired by her brother, was rooted in her own adolescent fantasies and from her knowledge of a secret that she alone had kept all these years. She kissed Gustavo quickly on the cheek and left, excusing herself by saying that she had a great deal of work to do and that they would catch up later.

Late that night, Isabella lay on her bed, exhausted from the work of the kitchens and the endless formal socializing with relatives. She remembered Gustavo's words and his touch and the memories of fifteen years ago came flooding back. Memories of a series of events, she now knew, that held the key to all that had befallen her family ever since and of which she was supposedly blessedly ignorant. 

It had started with normal adolescent curiosity. Isabella had been a studious young girl with a flair for languages, history and drawing. She had just seen her eighteenth birthday and naturally curious about the ways of men and women. Isabella's family, particularly her mother, had never been secretive or prudish about matters sexual but Isabella had never seen a man naked and, despite the number of nude statues and paintings in the town, was perplexed by the whole concept of a man's sex organ being both alive and soft in his pants and hard and erect when "doing it". The gossipy girls of the town swapped stories and theories which even Isabella, naïve as she was, could tell were often no more than childish supposition. She had resolved to see a live naked man for herself and it was her brother Gustavo, then a boy of nineteen, who was to provide her opportunity. 

One afternoon, after Gustavo had returned from school, Isabella hid in a cabinet in the bathroom they shared on the ground floor of the house. It was a large, sunken tiled room with a rough stone floor, terribly cold in winter but cool and pleasant in these summer months. The bathroom was structurally separate from the main house, perhaps a relic of an older dwelling on the site, but a covered portico with a large wooden door joined it to the main house and a narrow stairway led from the rear corner to an alcove on the second floor where Isabella and Gustavo had their bedrooms and their elder sister, Maria, her apartment. Large and deep cabinets and storage boxes lined one wall and the washstand, backed by a large gilt-framed mirror stood opposite the particular grated cabinet where Isabella was hiding. As usual, Gustavo came home and went immediately to bathe away the sweat and dirt of the day. He entered the room whistling and casually stripped, throwing his clothes into the corner for the servants to collect later. He then stood in front of the mirror, his back to Isabella's hiding place. Gustavo was clearly admiring his body, flexing arms and chest and turning to one side and then the other to inspect his profile. 

Isabella could clearly see his sex dangling in front of the little sack that held his balls. She gasped a little when she saw it. It was larger than the one on the little statue of David her father kept in his study, and it stuck out from his body more. As she stared, Gustavo started to stroke and rub the end of his sex and Isabella could see it grow in length and girth and stand out even more. Gustavo poured some oil into his hand from the bottle on the shelf above the basin and had closed his eyes as his hand movements became more rhythmic and faster. He groaned softly and swayed his hips in time with his stroke. Isabella was wide eyed. Gustavo's penis filled his fist, its head swollen and shiny with the oil appearing and disappearing as he pumped his hand over the full length. It was pointing almost straight up. Isabella was staring and breathing hard. She was unsure what was happening but she suddenly realised that her own hand was between her legs, rubbing with the same rhythm as Gustavo was pumping his cock in his hand. Gustavo quickened his pace and after only a few minutes, and with a look of divine ecstasy on his face, he arched backwards, pumping his fist even harder as his cock spurted creamy liquid in a graceful arching curve onto the wall and floor. Gustavo's muted groans gave way to panting as he knelt and shakily wiped up his seed with a washcloth. Isabella, meanwhile, had almost blacked out in the closet as a feeling of pleasing warmth had engulfed her own body, spreading out from her cunny to her stomach and legs and chest. She had collapsed, breathing hard, onto the towels piled at the back of the closet. Her hand and tights were wet with her juices and she found it difficult to focus her eyes and catch her breath. She just lay there, feeling warm and very much alive, as Gustavo finished his washing, wrapped his young body in a towel and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

Isabella retreated to her room and lay on the bed, just as she was doing now, fifteen years later as a grown woman. She now knew exactly what had been going on and smiled, but in those days her mind was racing. She was confused and aroused. Even now, the memory of that first afternoon spying on Gustavo gave Isabella a tingling in her sex. She wondered whether she had the energy to enjoy the special piece of scrimshaw she kept in her underwear drawer. Its eight inches of intricately carved and polished whale ivory had been her faithful companion through many a lonely evening since she was nineteen. The memory of Gustavo masturbating in the bathroom was a frequent prelude to an hour's pleasure with her horn of joy.

By the time she witnessed Gustavo's self-pleasure in the bathroom, Isabella had been well aware of her own body changing and she welcomed the feelings of pleasant warmth she had experienced when rubbing herself, or horse riding, feelings that always promised more and which were often accompanied by thoughts and images that she knew were, if not sinful, then certainly salacious. But it was that first taste of her brother's secret sexual world that was, for Isabella, the start of a life-long delicious obsession with a powerful erotic force within her soul. From that day on, no matter how many times she tried to quell her lustful thoughts or stay her hand when it sort her warm nest in her half-sleep, no matter how much she prayed or sought the help and forgiveness of Mother Mary, Isabella remained a convert to Aphrodite, an apostle of the temple of womanly desire. She had long-since stopped trying to fight it or resolve her guilt. She was a fallen woman. Paradoxically, for all her beauty and burning desires, she had only rarely ever experienced the "real thing", although that fact neither absolved her sin nor took away the pleasure of self-inflicted ecstasy.

After seeing Gustavo pleasure himself before her once, there was nothing Isabella could do to resist a repeat performance. Every week, and sometimes twice a week, she would take up her hiding place in the cabinet and wait for Gustavo to come home. On almost every occasion she was rewarded with a show and she herself became adept at bringing herself to a quick and shuddering climax. There were times when Gustavo did not make his semen appear and others when he took a long time to finish (Isabella enjoyed these longer sessions even more) and there were at least two afternoons when Isabella was afraid that Gustavo knew he was being watched. But she was never found.

After nearly six months of her spying, Isabella was quite a connoisseur of her brother's body. She adored his cock but also admired the thickening hair on his chest his bulging upper arms, his strong thighs and firm buttocks, which became hard like rock as he leant back and shed his seed. Her own explorations of her body were becoming more adventurous. She started to experiment with objects, pushing the handle of her hairbrush into her opening. At first she felt slight pain but persevered until it would slip in and out freely and give her such pleasure that she fantasized about men's cocks filling her and pumping her full of their gooey seed. She started to look at men and boys differently and became sensitive to the looks and subtle unspoken message exchanged between women and their men. 

It was around this time that Gustavo's bathroom routine changed in a way that that would reverberate through the family till the current day. Isabella had taken up her usual spying position and was settling down for what she hoped would be a lengthy session. She had brought her hairbrush, removed her tights and arranged a towel to catch her often-copious fluids. Gustavo entered as usual and undressed. He was already partly hard but made no move for the oil bottle and did not touch himself. Instead, he combed his hair, spread out two towels on the stone floor and sat, apparently waiting for something to happen. And it did. Isabella was too shocked at first to fully understand the implications of her sister, Maria, quietly entering the bathroom and locking the door behind her. No words were exchanged between the naked brother and his older sister. She knelt before him on the towels and slipped her bodice from her shoulder, fully exposing her breasts to his gaze. Gustavo stoked her breasts before bending forward to kiss each nipple. Maria loosened her hair, long and dark like Isabella's, and threw her head back as her brother stroked and suckled her beautiful twentyone-year old breasts. Isabella could see that Gustavo was fully erect now and she watched as Maria reached over and took his hard sex in her hand. 

Isabella barely comprehended the scene before her. She thought that maybe Maria would stroke Gustavo's cock for him and was immediately jealous, thinking that because of her long vigils in the cabinet that she should have that right, not Maria. She almost burst out of her hiding place to claim her right to her brother's erection. But just then the scene shifted. Maria stood up and shed her long skirt exposing herself to be completely naked underneath. Even Isabella was stunned by her sister's beauty and sexual allure. Her honey coloured skin, long legs and the curve of her tummy and hips, the way her breasts hung and swayed gently. She was a vision of Latin womanhood standing in the pale light from the high frosted window. Even at this realization of her sister's smoldering sexuality, Isabella's first thought was that Maria should know better than to go without woolen tights at this time of year; what would mamma say? Maria knelt again and she and Gustavo kissed deeply as their bodies touched and pressed against each other. Isabella realised that she was witnessing something more than an innocent if furtive testing of the adolescent waters. She remembers thinking "They will go to hell for this – and so will I!" 

Stifling again her urge to leap from the cupboard and stop this wickedness, Isabella became entranced as her brother and sister for the next hour engaged in acts of adult lovemaking that Isabella had not even imagined. Maria lay back on the towels and opened her legs and Gustavo bent his head to her sex. He kissed her there and was clearly feasting on her juices as she moaned and gyrated her whole body, eventually rubbing her mound into his face with such ferocity Isabella thought that Gustavo would be suffocated. After a few minutes, Maria let out a low guttural moan and rolled her head backwards and forwards. Isabella recognised the sound and shared Maria's powerful release as she found herself breathing deeply and rubbing herself with great force. Gustavo rose, smiling wickedly, his face wet and shiny from his nose to his chin.

Maria sat up and grabbed him, kissing him deeply and licking her wetness from his face. Much to Isabella's horror, she then returned the favour, engulfing Gustavo's cock in her mouth and moving her head to pump it just as Gustavo would do with his hand. Gustavo held her head as it rose and fell in his lap. He also moaned and was soon pulling her away.

They embraced a while more and touched each other all over with their fingers and tongues, a symphony of gentle caresses, kisses and kneading hands. 

Just as Isabella thought they were finished, Maria rolled onto her back and drew Gustavo onto her. She spread her legs as he half-knelt, half lay, over her, his still erect cock resting on her thigh. Isabella saw her take his cock in her hand again and this time guide it directly into her open dampness. They both gasped as he entered her completely. Isabella gasped too as she simultaneously slid the handle of her hairbrush into her own opening.

The lovers rocked as one, their eyes locked and hands still exploring each other. Maria at one point raised her legs high as Gustavo thrust himself in and out of her with great force. Several times Maria's back arched, she moaned deeply and seemed to loose control. Isabella too was experiencing wave after wave of joyous release, her hand and the towel under her being splashed with her warm fluid as she met each wave with harder and quicker thrusts. She imagined it was Gustavo's cock inside her and that it was she, not Maria, he was loving so passionately on the hard floor of the bathroom.

Uncoupling momentarily, the brother and sister changed positions. Maria assumed the posture of an animal on all fours and Gustavo mounted his sister from behind. From where she was watching, Isabella could not see the entry and momentarily wondered if he was putting his cock into her shithole – something she was confused about but had heard was sometimes done. The groaning and thrusting continued unabated and the lovers rested and changed positions every few minutes. Gustavo seemed to have so much energy and his animal-like grunts and barks clearly further aroused Maria who would reply in a similar vein. Just when Isabella thought their lovemaking would go on forever, Gustavo's face went red, his tempo quickened and he thrust his cock even deeper into Maria's open cunny. Suddenly he pulled it out, throbbing and engorged, he let out a long low groan and the muscles of his buttocks clenched in spasms as his seed flew three metres across the room, splashing onto the floor just in front of Isabella's cabinet. His release went on and on, finally subsiding as Maria, holding his balls with one hand, ran her other up the full length and squeezed a final drop of creamy liquid from the tip. She caught it with her tongue and swallowed it with a look of both triumph and satisfaction.


Isabella Awakening Ch. 01



The lovers collapsed onto the now crumpled towels. Isabella closed her eyes as her own body continued to shake and spasm gently. After only a minute, Maria sat up, grabbed her clothes, kissed her brother firmly on the lips and scooted up the stairs to her apartment. Gustavo rose more slowly and washed himself at the basin, a dreamy, far-away look on his face the entire time. Isabella was dumbstruck by what she had seen. She extracted her hairbrush and, when Gustavo had retreated, made her own way slowly up the stairs to bed.

Just thinking about that scene made Isabella groan, but of course she now knew that the sin that Gustavo and Maria had committed was called incest and was punishable in both the worldly and spiritual realms. But there was worse to come.

Isabella gave up her spying ways immediately and sought to purge her soul by saying additional rosaries and praying to Mother Mary for forgiveness. All to no avail as each night she was visited by rich and lurid dreams in which not just Maria, but herself as well, satisfied their carnal desires on the body of their brother. 

It was only four or five weeks after she had witnessed that sinful meeting in the bathroom that the Silverto household erupted. Isabella returned early one afternoon from her duties at the local convent school, where she assisted the reading lessons, to find the house in uproar. Mother was screaming in Maria's apartment and father was in his study, clearly reading the Riot Act to Gustavo. The servants hovered in the kitchen, not knowing where to go or what to do. As a normal Neapolitan household, raised voices were hardly unusual, but this had the character of war. Things were being thrown and expletives delivered between screams and anguished cries.

"What is happening?" asked Isabella of Maria-Gertruda, the ancient cook.

"Oh child!" said the old woman, seeing her for the first time. "You should not be here! Carlotta!" she yelled, addressing the pantry maid. "Take Isabella into town this minute."

And so Isabella was hurried out the back door and down the lanes to the town centre where Carlotta and she drank cordials in the piazza and talked of nothing until after seven, when another servant came to fetch them home.

The house was quiet and still when they returned. Isabella ate alone in the kitchen and went to her room, stopping to press her ear to the door of her sister's apartment. She heard gentle sobbing within and knocked gently. 

"Go away!" Maria yelled.

"Maria, it is I, Isabel. What is wrong? What has happened?"

The weeping behind the door stopped and Maria opened it just an inch.

"Oh, my darling Isabel." She whispered. "Mama and Papa have forbidden me to leave my room or to speak to anyone – including you. You must forgive me. They have threatened to send me away. Please go!" and she closed and locked the door without another word.

Isabella was hurt and bewildered by her sister's apparent rejection and moved to her brother Gustav's doorway. The door was ajar and there was no one there, so she retreated to her own room and prepared for bed, concerned and afraid for her family.  

Sleep did not come easily and around midnight she heard footsteps and someone, presumably Gustav, entered his room. The door closed and the place was silent again. Several minutes later footsteps again. Quieter this time. Gustav's door opened and closed again. Muffled voices, then silence. Squeaks and groans of the old flooring. Isabella wondered whether her sister and brother were brazen enough to meet in his room after such a ruckus. She instinctively knew that the uproar of this afternoon had something to do with Gustav's and Maria's sinful liaisons. Isabella could not contain her curiosity. She silently left her bed and crept to her own door. Trying the handle she realised that she was locked in! This had never happened before, but ever prepared, Isabella groped in the dark to her jewelry case where she kept the spare key. She founded it and quietly unlocked the door and slowly moved towards her brother's doorway. It was closed, of course, but not locked. Slowly she turned the handle and cracked the door open just an inch. That was enough for her to see that indeed there were two people in the bed, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through Gustav's window. 

The pair was moving slowly under the sheets and their breathing was laboured. Isabella now knew enough to assume they were joined and making love. She was appalled and excited once again. Maria seemed to be on top of Gustavo and her movements were becoming more violent. She rose up to sit astride him and the sheets fell away revealing not Maria, but their mother Marisa! Her hair curled into a tight bun and her wider hips distinguishing her even in the pale moonlight. 

Isabella watched in awed silence as her mother rode Gustavo, rising then falling and grinding into him. Her pace quickened and her breathing became quick and shallow until she suddenly made a last violet plunge onto Gustavo's cock, arched her back and gave out a long guttural moan. At the same time, Gustavo thrust upwards and his legs shook. He too moaned softly.

Isabella couldn't move. It was as if she was transfixed by the spectacle before her. Marisa slumped onto Gustavo chest, her legs still astride him and his cock still inside her, pulsing slowly. After a brief pause, Isabella heard her mother whimpering and Gustavo comforting her with a soft "It's alright Mama, its alright" as he stroked her face. Marisa shook and raised a clenched fist, hitting Gustavo on the arm and chest. 

"You have ruined everything!" she said in voice that carried both anger and self-pity. "We are finished! How could you let this happen?"

"Mama, please", said Gustavo "It was not my doing, and I could not have known that Papa would find out. We were very secretive". 

"He must never know about us, my darling". Said Marisa. "He would kill me if he knew. He could never understand."

"I know that mama. And he will never know. I will leave tomorrow as he has ordered." Gustavo stroked his mother's arms and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"And what of Maria? What if she carries your child? How could we live with that?" said Marisa, her sobs now waning.

"It cannot happen, mama," replied Gustavo. "I was careful to withdraw every time as you showed me."

Isabella listened intently and realised that several minutes had passed since she had crept to her brother's door. She quietly returned to her own room, remembering to lock her door as she returned.

Sleep was now out of the question as she pieced together the events of the day and those of the preceding months. Father had obviously found out about Maria and Gustavo's secret love and had exploded, Mother going along with his rage in an effort to hide her own complicity in this sordid nest. Isabella felt such sorrow for her poor cheated father but could not in her heart of hearts condemn her Mother or siblings for giving vent to the passions that she herself shared. Such confusion, such sadness.  

Thinking back on all that happened at that time, the thirty-four year-old Isabella was again overwhelmed by the same mixed emotions. She remembered Gustavo's hurried departure the next morning, whisked away by Papa's coach to the port where he was to board a trading ship bound for Africa. The farewells were brief and constrained by the tense atmosphere. Gustavo kissed his sister's dutifully, not betraying with Maria the slightest connection beyond their filial relationship. Father did not even shake Gustavo's hand. He just grunted as the boy made his way out of the family home for what could have been forever.

Maria's fate was sealed soon after when Mama arranged a hasty marriage to Guillermo, an occasional suitor of Maria's and the son of a minor noble with connections to the new regime. The bans were posted in the church a week after Gustavo's departure and only the minimum time was allowed to complete the union. Whispering relatives assumed that Maria was pregnant to Guillermo, but her first progeny did not arrive until over a year after the wedding. It was something of a miracle, to Isabella at least, that Maria's marriage turned out, in appearances at least, to be a happy one. A second child had arrived two years after the first and she and Guillermo and their two boys appeared to live a happy and idyllic life in the countryside near to Naples. Isabella had little contact with Maria during those years, only seeing each other at family gatherings and the occasional social event. They had certainly not spoken of the events of the day that the family fell apart so suddenly and never mentioned Gustavo in each other's presence. 

Even now, working together with Maria on the funeral preparations, their conversations were brief and they never found themselves alone. In fact, Isabella had never shared her of knowledge of her family's carnal secrets with anyone and none in the family gave the least hint that there was anything dark in their recent history. To Isabella, it sometimes seemed like a dream – one of the many erotic fantasies she continued to indulge in – and she sometimes wished she could broach the matter with Maria.

The Funeral of Donna Elvira went, as all Italian funerals do, chaotically. Women howled, children laughed and the requisite number of dropped plates, drunken stubbles and arguments was reached by early afternoon. The family dog even consented to chase an alley cat through the house as the Mayor of Naples was paying his last respects at the open coffin. Isabella and Maria and their mother were kept frantically busy serving food and wine to the more than 100 guests. Isabella briefly ran into Gustavo as she emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of hot food. They would have collided in a hail of veal dumplings were it not for Gustavo's clever foot work and Isabella's many years of practice balancing plates. As it was, she found herself pressed against the wall of the narrow scullery corridor holding a steaming plate in each hand high above her and Gustavo's heads. 

"Excellent work sister. And now that I have you at my mercy, there is something I have always wanted to do." He grinned wickedly.

Isabella was caught by surprise and was about to remonstrate with Gustavo when he cackled, kissed her quickly on the lips and escaped through the kitchen door.

Recovering quickly, Isabella completed her serving duties. Late in the proceedings she caught site of the tall grey figure of Anton Domani, her favorite "uncle" and first lover. Uncle Anton was now nearly seventy but he remained an elegant figure, though now slightly stooped and frail. He spotted Isabella and standing a little taller he waved and blew her a friendly kiss. Isabella made her way to him through the now thinning crown of mourners. He bent to kiss her cheek and she responded with a whispered "Bed me tonight, Anton, you stallion" and a peck on his cheek.

Anton stayed bent at her ear and said "You are insatiable Isabel, but I'm afraid you will get no joy from this old man. My heart is yours as you well know, but it is now too feeble to maintain both my love for you and the blood flow to my member at the same time."

"Then you must forget the love, uncle and plunder me one last time just for fun," teased Isabella, always forward and provocative with Anton.

"You will kill me you little slut," whispered Anton, rising to his full height and then, in conversational tone and raising his wine glass as in a toast to Isabella "but I would die a happy man indeed!" 

Isabella curtseyed to Anton and soon found herself farewelling the last of the guests on the doorstep. Marisa, Maria and Isabella looked bedraggled, their usually perfectly kept black hair spilling in strands, wisps and sweaty ringlets from their brows. Even Papa and Gustavo, who only had to keep the conversation flowing and break up the worst of the arguments, looked worn out. The servants, bless them, hurried the family indoors and insisted that they retire. The mess would be gone by morning, they promised. Papa and Mama thanked them for their tireless efforts and told them all to take tomorrow off and rest.

Isabella found herself feeling so leaden and weak that she could barely push open the heavy bathroom door to wash before crawling into bed. She was pouring warm water into the washbowl at the mirror when the door opened again and Gustavo walk in.

"Sorry brother, I was here first" she said.

"Yes, I know Isabel." He replied, approaching her, staggering ever so slightly and smelling of the wine he been consuming all day. "I am only here to revisit the scene of the crime."

Isabella was momentarily unsure how to respond but quickly decided that naivety was the best approach.

"Did someone commit a crime here, brother? I had no idea."

"Really, Isabel?" Gustavo walked across the room to where Isabella's secret cabinet hiding place still stood after all these years. He opened the door and made a pretense of looking in every corner as if searching for something. 

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew. But then, spies are likely to be hung if captured, are they not? And your neck is far too pretty for a rope." He bent to place his lips on her throat.

Isabella almost swooned, so long had she wished that it was she that Gustavo had taken here, on this cold stone floor. Her heart thumped wildly but she suddenly thrust him away. 

She held her hand up to ward off a renewed attack and she held him with a piercing gaze that she now knew could freeze men where they stood.

"Gustavo," she said, "If a crime was committed here it is well that we should reflect on its consequences. I do not judge or condemn any person, least of all a member of my beloved family. In fact, I regard each with equal affection whatever their mistakes. But I will not be party to another such offence in my parent's home. You should regard any outstanding wishes you have with regard to me as now finished." She watched Gustavo taking in her meaning, and then added, in a more gentle tone "As I shall now put aside mine as they relate to you."

Gustavo's demeanor changed to one of contrition. Head bowed and visibly deflated he said.

"Darling sister Isabella, as ever you speak with a wisdom denied your wicked elder brother. Forgive my rashness and ...." Isabella cut him short.

"There is nothing to forgive, Gus. But it really is time we all got over this dark matter from our past. We are adults now and, while I am genuinely complimented by your attraction to me, I cannot allow the child I was to ruin my life – or yours. Go now. Let us not speak of this again."

Gustavo left while Isabella returned to the washbasin. She studied herself in the mirror for a minute, looking into the reflection of her eyes. "Welcome back, old friend," she said. "I do wish you would give some warning before you have me act for you. That came as a complete surprise. Where did that speech come from? What happened to my lust for Gustavo? Thanks all the same, it was masterful." She winked at her own reflection, washed her face and climbed the familiar stairway to her room.

Coming Soon

Chapter 2: In which Isabella learns more of her own family history, remembers an earlier dawn and is told of her father's current plans for her.



Isabella Awakening Ch. 02



Naples 1734: The thirty-four year old Isabella Silverto has returned to her parent's home after a ten year loveless marriage. A funeral reunites her family for the first time since it was ripped apart by incest more than a decade earlier. Older, more experienced but still unsatisfied, Isabella spurns her brother's advances and prepares for another arranged marriage.

Isabella slept late the morning after the funeral. She awoke slowly, savouring the last vestiges of a strange dream in which wild horses galloped along a lonely windswept beach and green-eyed children were the objects of loving farewells from mothers and aunts. Isabella always enjoyed her dreams, even when, like this morning, the images and stories made little sense to her on waking. She often took from them not a message or warning, but a feeling of magic that lingered in her body for many hours. 

After last evening's confrontation with Gustavo, she was expecting that sleep would not be easy. Instead, her exhaustion had taken her swiftly and deeply and it was only on fully waking that she remembered her surprising encounter with her brother in the bathroom. Even now, she was trying to put together the unexpected chain of events - Gustavo's drunken and clumsy attempt at seduction, his revelation that he knew that Isabella had witnessed his incestuous coupling with Maria fifteen years ago in that very place and, perhaps most surprising of all, the sudden reemergence of her old friend, her powerful inner guide and mentor, who apparently possessed her at times of great sexual moment. She had asserted herself and gently deflated Gustavo's passion. In Isabella's fantasies, Gustavo was often her seducer and her, or rather the inner woman's, outright rejection of him last night was counter to her own desires and dreams. Whenever She had visited Isabella before, although it was now three years since their last acquaintance, She had propelled Isabella towards her secret passions, not away from them. Isabella was not regretting this strange turn. She had long ago learned to trust Her and to respect Her choices and strategies, however strange, brazen or even cruel they seemed to Isabella's logical mind.

It seemed that everyone had slept late that morning. When Isabella finally made her way downstairs to the kitchen, she found her mother, Marisa, sitting alone in the sunny little courtyard between the kitchen and the solid stonewall of the old bathhouse. Isabella poured herself a thick, sweet coffee and joined Marisa, taking a place beside her on the wooden bench. The women acknowledged each other but both were obviously still sleepy and they did not speak for several minutes.

Finally Isabella broke the comfortable silence "It was good to see everyone yesterday, wasn't it mama."

Maria, deep in thought, took a moment to answer. "Indeed it was. Having Maria and Gus at home brought back many memories." A shadow of sadness drifted over Marisa as she spoke.

"They seemed happy," observed Isabella in an attempt to keep the conversation on a light note. "The traveling life must suit Gus and Maria makes such a wonderful mother."

Marisa smiled. Despite the circumstances of their departure from the family home, her two eldest children were still a source of great motherly pride to her. 

"Yes, they are good people," she said. "The three of you are such a great comfort to your mother. I just regret we did not have longer together as a real family."

This was the first time that Marisa had spoken to Isabella about her sense of loss following that terrible day.

"They were old enough to leave, mama," comforted Isabella. "It was the speed of their going that was the great surprise."

Marisa nodded "And the circumstances," she added, in almost a whisper, wiping her eyes with corner of her apron.

"Time heals, mama. Even those wounds of which we must not speak." Said Isabella, placing an arm gently around her mothers shoulder. "Let the pain pass now".

Marisa's head dropped and tears began to flow. She buried her head in Isabella's arm. "Oh, it hurts so much," she sobbed. "You cannot know."

"Mother," said Isabella, stroking her hair. "I do know, and you must not grieve or punish yourself."

Marisa suddenly realised that Isabella was behaving as if she was aware of the terrible truth behind their family's breakup. She sat upright and looked at Isabella, who was calm and returned her gaze with love.

Isabella spoke slowly. "Mama, I know that you have protected me from the truth these many years, but as adults I think we should keep no secrets. I do know the truth. I probably know more than anyone but you and Gus. But I do not believe you should feel either guilt or shame. The outcome was sad, but I do not believe there was the slightest ill intention on your part or anyone else's. It was a tragic turn of events, but let us give thanks for our health and happiness and for Gus and Maria too."

In that one statement, delivered with great love and insight, Isabella absolved her mother of the sins she had carried like a weight these past fourteen years. Marisa's eyes showed the lifting of that weight. Without reasoning through the how of Isabella's knowing, her inner being accepted the release and her heart filled with pure joy. She suddenly saw that Isabella, so long the naïve, dutiful, tender child, was actually a fine and wonderful woman whose words had magically healed the deep and abiding scar on her soul.

Marisa hugged Isabella and cried, not from pain but from the pure joy of relief and love. They sat together silently for some minutes before Marisa spoke again.

"Isabel, I realise now that I have misjudged and neglected you all these years. I have been blind to your true nature and to your gifts. There is so much I should have done, should have told you, but I was confused and distracted by my own stupidity and failure. I don't know how to make it up to you."

Isabella interrupted "Mama, be calm. Don't punish yourself like this. I am fine, I am happy, I have made my own life and you have always supported me."

"No Isabel. There a so many things I should have done. I don't know how you discovered your gifts but I should have been there to guide you. I would not have believed it possible given the sadness and the....banality, yes banality, of the life you were delivered into with that stupid husband."

Isabella laughed. "Mama, I shall grant you that Henri was an unsuitable match for any woman of even meager heart, but I had other sources of inspiration."

Marisa raised an eyebrow and made a slight grin "Lovers, Isabel? Did you take lovers?"

"A few mama, only, a few."

"Then how? Who? ...." Marisa suddenly stopped. Isabella said nothing but Marisa suddenly knew the answer. Anton!

Marisa remembered her much earlier suspicions about Isabella and Anton, particularly when Anton had petitioned Alberto and her prior to Isabella's marriage to Henri. Without saying so, Anton had intimated the unsuitability of Henri for a "woman such as Isabelle." Alberto had dismissed his entreaties as being based on Anton's undoubted respect for Isabella's intellect, but Marisa had more than once wondered whether Anton had some deeper, more carnal, knowledge of Isabella's true nature.

Mother and daughter sat, half facing each other, holding hands and smiling into each other's eyes. No words were spoken and none were needed. As if their minds were joined, the images and feelings of Isabella's first awakening flowed through and between them. They both felt great power and joy and it was then that Marisa truly understood what she had to do. She kissed Isabella on the lips and left, saying only that she must think and make plans.

While Marisa plumbed the depths of her own secret past for an answer to the dilemma now facing her, Isabella remained in the warm courtyard and allowed herself to close her eyes and drift to a place and time long ago. The images, the sounds and the feelings were as real as if the events had happened yesterday.

She immediately thought of her brief exchange with uncle Anton during the funeral party. It was from her inner guide, the magical, mysterious woman in her dreams, that Isabella had learnt the art of seduction, the ways she could use her body and eyes and words to speak directly and powerfully to those parts of a man that carried his carnal instincts. And to read his responses and cues as if he was a small child in a sweet shop. Her teasing of the aging Anton was simply a playful expression of those skills designed to complement Anton and to revive, if just for an hour or two, his failing manhood.

Isabella remembered her times with Anton with great fondness and thankfulness, despite a somewhat inauspicious, and possibly quite criminal, beginning.

Anton had been Papa's closest business confidant and advisor since both were young men making their way in the Naples spice trade late last century. Both were handsome young men from humble backgrounds but they had keen minds and could turn pennies into golden dollaros or drachmas or lire with their bargaining skills and charm. They had remained close even after marrying the two most beautiful women in Naples, Isabella's mother the voluptuous Marisa and the taller, aristocratic Serena. Sadly, Isabella did not come to know Serena as she died of the Flux only a few years after her marriage to Anton. Uncle Anton had remained a widower, never marrying again despite his good looks, substantial wealth and popularity with women. As a teenager, Isabella had been vaguely aware that Uncle Anton had several women "friends" and that her mother was somewhat impatient for him to settle on one and marry.

It was not until she was nineteen, a full year after the events of the bathroom had reduced her to being the only child at home, that Isabella came to know Anton as a lover. She had spent the past year confused and afraid for her soul. She had continued her volunteer teaching role at her former school, being dismissed from her obligations as a student at the age of thirteen. She was a proficient reader in several languages, among them French, Greek and Spanish, and had taken the morning duties at the school as much from an intellectual desire to use her hard won skills as to be near the Sisters and the holy Chapel on the Hill, hoping that their piety and goodness would somehow infuse her sinful body and wash away her, and her family's, terrible sins. She enjoyed the teaching but never felt particularly forgiven. On the contrary, her own sinful thoughts and private explorations continued to intensify over the year. Dreams of Gustav, Maria, Mamma, and even the Holy Sisters themselves, locked in naked passionate embraces continued to lubricate the machinations of sinful desire. 

Isabella was slowly coming to terms with her earthly, and earthy, nature when Marisa called her aside one day for a serious meeting at the kitchen table.

"Isabella, you are aware of your father's growing interests in Spain. The Bourbon Princes have encouraged trade and your father is poised to enter into a most advantageous alliance with a well-connected trading house in Barcelona. He must soon travel to Spain to make final arrangements and I have decided to go with him."

Marisa went on to explain the long and tiring journey and the likely hardships of travel in a foreign and, according to Marisa, unsophisticated land. Isabella was in no doubt that she was to be left behind, a hunch confirmed by Marisa.

"You must not fret my dear. You are a capable and responsible girl. Your father and I are very proud of you and trust you completely" The unspoken corollary of course was that Isabella's siblings would not have been found so trustworthy, but Marisa said nothing of the kind.

Isabella was to remain in Naples through the autumn and early winter to supervise the skeleton staff of two elderly servants and to take action on a few very minor business affairs being entrusted to her - more as a sop, she thought, to bolster her self importance and to ease the pain of being left at home in miserable Naples while Mama and Papa traveled to mysterious and exciting foreign lands.

Still, as always, Isabella's momentary bitterness soon vanished in a wealth of exciting possibilities of her own. As mistress of the Silverto home for three or four months, she would establish a routine of her own choosing. She would fully explore father's library, which she always suspected he kept more for the appearance of good breeding than for his personal enjoyment, she would make clothes and learn to cook. She may even have friends over for dinner! Yes, she decided, it would be like a holiday. Of course she maintained the pretence of disappointment and of feeling conscripted to play the less glamorous homemaker role right up until the day of her parent's departure. Like the good teenager she was, she was not about to forgo the benefits of that priceless commodity, parental guilt.

By the time her parents left, Isabella was very much looking forward to her time as mistress of the house. And, indeed, within a week she had settled into a routine that she found both relaxing and productive.

She often bathed after dinner and, dismissing the cook and the maid for the evening, would light the little fire in her father's study, settle into one of his large wing-backed chairs and read one of the many wonderful books in her father's library. After devouring the Lives of the Saints and the Peloponnesian Wars, she found a great fondness for Ovid's poems of love and travel. Ovid took her to strange new places of the heart and his tales of adventure in the ancient world stirred her own inner world. She would often imagine herself as a character in a somewhat wicked tale of mysterious dealings and handsome strangers.

It was one such evening, after about four weeks of this blissfully quiet life, that Isabella was reading in the study, warm and comfortable, that she heard a knock at the front door. Puzzled, she rose, tied her silk gown, and padded barefoot to the door. Not quite sure what to do, she called "Who is it?"

The reply came "I am sorry to bother you so late giovane Donna, it is I, Signore Domani". Isabella instantly recognised the cultured voice of her zio Anton, her father's oldest friend, a widower in his early 50s.

Si, Uncle Anton!" exclaimed Isabella, unbolting and opening the heavy door, relieved that this was no stranger she would have to deal with.

It was raining heavily outside but, despite his soaked clothes and hair, Isabella hugged her "uncle" and fussed over him, imploring him to take off his coat and dry himself by the study fire.

"I do sincerely apologise, Isabel", said Anton in his deep, clipped slightly accented voice. "I do realise that your parents are away, but I was hoping that your father may have left a letter for me."

"Oh, I do not know," replied Isabella. "He said nothing about a letter. But let me look while you warm yourself by the fire".

She walked to her father's desk and started to rifle through the box of papers her father had left. Meanwhile, Anton, almost six feet tall and looking as handsome and distinguished as ever despite his drenching, stood by the fire watching his young hostess. Isabella noticed that his eyes followed her and that he was holding a package under his arm.

"Found it!" she laughed, holding up a folded document sealed with red wax and addressed to Uncle Anton. She handed him the letter.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, making a courtly bow. He did not open the letter but placed it on the small table beside the fireplace.

Having found the letter, Isabella now felt a little awkward, not being schooled in providing hospitality to adults. Uncle Anton also seemed a little nervous, not quite knowing what to say or do next. But it was Anton who broke the short silence.

"I must be keeping you from your beauty sleep, Isabel. Not that you require it." He smiled, "You are becoming quite a young lady. The boys must be starting to bother you."

Isabella blushed. She had no great opinion of her looks, but it was true that the young men in the town had lately started to notice her and sometimes tried to engage her in small talk.

"Oh no uncle, she stammered. "I was reading." She indicated the armchair where she had been curled reading Ovid's poems of banishment.

"You are becoming quite a sophisticated young woman," said Anton. "Perhaps it would not be inappropriate to offer you a little glass of wine?" He removed the package from under his arm and unwrapped a dark, squat bottle.

"This is a Portuguese Black Muscat, just off the ship," he said. "I am sure that a small glass would help you sleep."

"Thank you uncle" replied Isabella, who had recently started to educate herself about wines, discovering that the pale communion and table wines she had taken since she was a child were but pale imitations of the real thing. She found two glasses in her father's liqueur cabinet and allowed Anton to pour the dark, fragrant liquid into each.

"To your health and beauty," toasted Anton, touching his glass to hers. He held his glass to his lips as he carefully watched Isabella sip from hers.

"It is beautiful", she said appreciatively. "So rich and smooth. I have never tasted anything like this before."

"It is rare find indeed," responded Anton, "a dark, well aged sweet muscatel fortified with brandy and flavoured with a hint of cinnamon. Drink up my dear."

Isabella took another sip from her glass, noting the strong fruity tastes and a slight astringent quality of the wine on her tongue. Anton watched her, having barely sampled his own glass.

Isabella suddenly felt a rush and a wave of pleasant light-headedness. She swayed a little.

"Oh, uncle!" she said. "Your wine appears to have gone straight to my head!" She took a few steps to the armchair and carefully seated herself. "I feel so silly!"

"Not at all my dear." Smiled Anton. "Such strong liquor will have that effect on a young woman."

Through her slight stupour, Isabella noted that Anton had put down his own, still full, glass and was watching her intently. Her intuition suddenly alerted her to something she could not name but which felt like a warm hollowness in her gut.

"Drink up, my dear Isabel." Said Anton smoothly, his eyes probing hers.

Isabella's mind was racing now and her situation was becoming clearer. Despite her initial fear, her feelings were turning to anticipation and excitement. She did not distrust or dislike Anton. In fact, despite his age, she had more than once met with Anton in her fantasies. She decided, somewhat to her own surprise, to go along with whatever it was he planning, but to take some control. The wine, she guessed, was fortified with more than brandy.

Oh, uncle Anton." She swooned, lying back into the cushions on the chair, half prostrate now. "I do love your wine, I really do, but I need a glass of water, it has died my throat so." She was now slurring her words slightly, deliberately emphasising the effect the wine was having on her.

Anton responded immediately, taking the wine glass from her hand and placing it beside his letter on the little table. He left the room to fetch her some water. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Isabella rose, somewhat unsteadily but fully determined to see through her plan. She retrieved the glass of wine and poured the remaining dark liquid into the back of the firebox. She then lay on her back on the hearthrug, still holding the now empty glass in her outstretched hand. She loosened the tie on her robe and arranged her limbs as if she had gently collapsed.

A moment later, Anton returned, a pitcher of water in his hand. He stopped at the doorway to take in the scene before him. Clearly, Isabel had retrieved and finished the glass of wine containing his carefully calculated dose of laudanum and had then duly collapsed on the rug before regaining her chair. He knelt beside her prone body and checked her breathing. Deep and regular. Next he lifted an eyelid. Isabella knew from her reading that drugs caused stupefaction and dutifully rolled her eyeballs into their lids, moaning softly as she did so. Anton took her empty wine glass, rinsed and refilled it with water from the pitcher. Cradling her head in the crook of his elbow, he gently raised her head and held the glass to her lips.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 02



"Drink little one," he murmured, tipping the glass. Isabella lapped as the water ran down her chin and neck into her nightdress. Anton tsk'd, tsk'd and lowered her head. He retrieved a 'kerchief from his jacket pocket, patting her chin and neck and then her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightdress.

"Oh Isabel, my sweet," he whispered as he lovingly caressed her breasts. "You are truly lovely. Forgive an old man this moment of weakness." Anton bent and kissed her half open lips before taking a position above her in the armchair.

Lying at his feet, Isabella wondered if that was to be all. Her initial uneasiness and excitement were giving way to disappointment. An odd feeling of deflation took root in her chest.

Anton continued to sit quietly but Isabella could feel his gaze upon her body, just as she could feel the gentle radiant heat of the fire. Then Anton knelt down beside her again, this time whispering to himself, "forgive me, Serena, forgive me Mother Mary" as he slowly undid the cord holding Isabella's gown. Isabella remembered that Serena was Anton's wife who had died from consumption some ten years earlier.

Anton's movements were both deliberate and gentle, almost reverential. He opened the gown fully and unbuttoned Isabella's night shift. He then sat her up and expertly removed first the gown and then the shift, folding each and placing them on the chair. Isabella was naked, having neglected to wear undergarments since her parents had left for Spain. Anton stood and looked intently at Isabella's presumably unconscious form lying before him on the rug.

"You are so beautiful, my Isobel", he intoned.

Isabella feigned a sleepy moan and fluttered her eyelids, keeping one open just enough to see Anton through her thick lashes. He continued to stand there, hands clasped together as if in silent prayer. Isabella moaned softly again and shifted slightly on the rug, as if dreaming. She clumsily touched her own thigh and opened her legs slightly, hoping to prompt Anton into some sort of action. Her ploy had immediate results. Anton mouthed a silent "oh" and started fumbling with his belt and trouser buttons. He lowered his breeches and Isabella saw his hard cock spring free. She squirmed again, this time involuntarily, and brushed her pubic mound with her hand.

Anton dropped to his knees at her feet and bent his head as if paying his respects to her now wet sex. He stroked her thighs with his large hands and moved to her side where he bent and kissed first her tummy and then each breast in turn, chanting "beautiful Isabel" as he did so. Isabella's nipples hardened as Anton's kisses landed on her ad her own moans became louder and more and more insistent. She started to grind her hips and welcomed his hand as it found her mound and his fingers parted her dark hair to find her pearl. He put such a gentle pulsing pressure on her bud that Isabella felt an instant wave of warmth through her belly and her thighs. She did not have to wait long until Anton's expert fingers slipped between the now well-lubricated lips of her sex and entered her tunnel. Isabella's met Anton's thrusts and she was soon loosing control and making grunting sounds deep in her throat.

Anton continued to finger her tight hole and to caress her thighs, belly and breasts with his free hand and his mouth. Isabella arched her back, pushing his finger deeper and grinding her button onto the knuckles of Anton's hand. She came in a heaving release, groaning and yelping like a puppy.

"Oh dear me, yes." Said Anton. "Just like my dear Serena."

Anton slowed his pace but did not remove his finger or the pressure on her clitoris until Isabella's heaving had subsided. He then took his cock in his hand and slowly at first, rubbed himself until he too was moaning. Isabella watched his cock and his face through slitted eyes while the warmth and power of her orgasm continued to flow in her womb.

Anton gazed at her body, from her open cunny to her face, as he stoked his cock faster and harder. It took some minutes before he too found his release, his seed falling onto the hearth as he jerked and exclaimed "Oh Isabel, Oh Serena, Oh God" until he had no breath left to make the sounds.

He then collapsed forward; supporting himself with one arm while the other slowly milked the last of his semen from his now deflating penis. His head bowed low, Isabella could see tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto the rug beside her.

"Oh lord, what have I done?" he gasped. "Forgive me." Anton wept for some time before dragging his body upright. He then moved methodically to rectify the scene. After adjusting his own clothing, he used his 'kerchief to clean Isabella's wine glass, recovered his own from the little table and decanted its contents back into the bottle, which he then re-corked. He rinsed and wiped out his glass and carefully placed both back in place in the liquor cabinet.

Anton then turned his attention back to Isabella, still feigning unconsciousness. He carefully sat her on the edge of the armchair and dressed her limp body. His actions were delicate and almost loving as he arranged her comfortably, legs curled under and her head resting on one padded arm. Looking around the room he found a travel rug on the bench under the large front window and used it to cover Isabella's body. Surveying the scene, he made one last rectification, using his kerchief to wipe his spilt seed from the hearth. That done, Anton bent to Isabella, kissed her rosy cheek, touched a finger to her lips and silently left, pulling the front door closed behind him.

Isabella did not move for a long while. She lay, eyes still closed but head clear, feeling warm and relaxed. She was somewhat puzzled by her own actions and she took stock of her feelings and thoughts.

Was she angry with Uncle Anton for using her so? Certainly not; Her own body had responded to his touch with honest arousal, and if anything, she felt even greater affection for his gentleness and caring. Did she feel manipulated? In a way, yes; but she had made herself his willing victim and she was honest enough to admit that her carnal curiosity had been immediately stirred by Anton's strange behaviour. In fact, Isabelle admitted to herself, the only truly negative emotion she felt was a slight disappointment at Anton's failure to take her virginity that night.

Isabella stretched and rose and took herself to bed. In her dreams that night a mysterious woman with wild hair and burning green eyes visited her. The woman comforted her and explained many things, none of which Isabella could remember on waking next morning.

As she went about her morning routine, greeting the servants and eating a light breakfast in the rear courtyard, Isabella found herself reflecting on her evening with Anton. She was aware of feeling on the cusp of womanhood. Insights and sensations flowed through her; all confirming the wonder and joy she knew lay at the heart of her sensuality, at the very core of her being. She was aware of the irony of her elation. Anton, the abuser, on the other hand seemed to have mainly felt anguish and sorrow, his repeated appeals to his dead wife and to mother Mary touching Isabella deeply.

Before she left for the convent school that morning, Isabella returned to the study, ostensibly to check that Anton had left no telltale signs of his visit for the servants to find. She also realised, once standing there on the hearthrug, that the excitement and power of their odd liaison remained in the room as a ghost. All she had to do was close her eyes to recapture those illicit moments of touching and stimulation. Glancing around the room, her body tingling from the memory, Isabella noticed that Anton had left her father's letter, the one he had used as the pretext for his visit, on the table beside the fireplace. Isabella smiled, put the letter in her satchel and resolved to use the same letter as her own pretext for a return engagement.

She spent the day dutifully assisting the sisters teach the younger children their Latin and Greek. She watched the children at their practice and their play, feeling a little sad for the brighter girls who, like herself and all the women before her, would be denied any formal education beyond the age of twelve. She took every opportunity to pass onto these girls in particular her own great love of learning and of reading.

After a meager lunch with the other teaching assistants and a brief visit to the stature of the Blessed Virgin in the chapel, as was Isabella's unvarying routine, she decided to put her plans for Uncle Anton into immediate effect.

Anton's house was several blocks from her own home, near the cathedral by the river. It was somewhat grander than she remembered. Walking up the steps to its shining black door, Isabella realised that Anton's servants might be around so she resolved to be particularly discrete and careful. Using the polished brass knocker to announce her presence, she was a little surprised when Anton himself answered the door. He was clearly shocked to find his recent victim standing before him smiling. 

"Isabel! What ... I mean ... why... Oh my dear, do come in," he stuttered, ushering her in with a murmured "I'm sorry my dear, you surprised me."

Isabella immediately noticed that Anton had been crying, his eyes were swollen and red and he gripped a crumpled 'kerchief tightly in one hand.

" I am sorry to receive you like this, my dear," he said, looking away from her eyes. "I was feeling poorly this morning and sent the servants away for the day. I am afraid I am somewhat disheveled. Probably a chill from my soaking last evening."

"Oh, uncle, do not mind me. I am only here to deliver the letter you left behind last evening. And it is I who should apologise to you. It was so rude of me to fall asleep while you were visiting. I cannot understand what happened." Isabella smiled coyly. 

She noticed Anton's visible relief. Perhaps he had been expecting her to confront him with knowledge of his crime of last evening.

"Now my dear, there is nothing to forgive. It was rude of me to impose on you at such an hour on such a night. Isabel, I would invite you in but I'm afraid I am not really suitable company right now."

Please, uncle, I will not stay long, but I would very much like to see your study while I am here. I have such fond memories of your library." Isabella's charm was irresistible to Anton in his emotionally weakened state and he assented to her girlish request.

In the study, Isabella made a fuss of Anton's taste in literature and art. She rambled on about her own love of books and said how much she regretted her lack of formal education.

"You have done remarkably well for a girl," said Anton. "Serena was also a great lover of books, you know, and she often railed against the meager opportunities for intellectual advancement for women."

"Do you miss her terribly?" said Isabella, meeting Anton's eyes.

He dropped his head as if struck a blow. "More than I could ever express," he said in a tone that touched Isabella's heart.

"I never really knew her, of course," said Isabella. "I think I was seven when she .... passed on. But mother speaks of her so kindly and with great love. I do remember visiting the beautiful sick lady with mama."

Anton turned away. "Yes, she was my goddess," he said quietly as he busied himself shuffling papers at his desk.

"Uncle," said Isabella, now more determined than ever to pursue her nefarious purpose, "can I ask you about the wine?"

"What? Wine? What wine?" He was flustered again.

"You know, the Portuguese wine you gave me last night. I think that's what made me doze off so suddenly." Isabella managed a blush and a giggle as she spoke.

"Oh, yes, that. A new shipment, very interesting. Fortified with brandy, you know, so it probably did have an affect on you. I'm sorry Isabel."

"Oh, don't be sorry uncle. It was wonderful. I had such...unusual dreams after drinking it. I was actually hoping you might spare a small glass for me now."

Now it was Anton's turn to blush. He coughed and tried to collect his thoughts.

"Um, I think it a little early for so strong a drink, don't you, Isabel?"

"Oh please, Uncle Anton. I will only have a glass and then go home." She smiled sweetly at him. Enough to melt his heart? She wondered.

Anton glanced at the shelf behind his desk and Isabella's eyes followed his until they rested on the half-full, recorked bottle that Anton had used last night. 

"There it is!" cried Isabella. "The same bottle, I think. Please let me have a glass dear Uncle Anton."

Anton's mind was reeling now. Should he refuse and offend his beloved Isabel? How could he say no? And yet to allow her even a glass of the adulterated wine would send her back into unconsciousness for several hours. He decided to risk giving her just a small glass. She could sleep off the dose here, he reasoned, and he would take her home later.

"Alright, my dear, since you insist. But only a half glass. You father would never forgive me if I turned you to drink!"

Isabella wondered playfully to herself whether Anton thought her father would forgive him his other sins.

It was now or never for Isabella's plan.

As Anton took a glass and started pouring the doubly fortified wine, Isabella made a great show of urgently unbuttoning her tunic.

"What are you doing Isabel!?" cried Anton, spilling wine over the papers on his desk.

"Oh, this dress has so many buttons and hooks uncle. I thought it would be easier for you if I undressed before I passed out this time." Isabella smiled wickedly and looked Anton directly in the eye.

Even though she had been planning this moment all morning, Isabella's own confidence and control surprised her. It was as if there was another, older, wiser woman in her young body, directing her actions. She had the strangest sensation of watching herself from above and to the side, seeing and admiring her own poise and power, listening to her words as if delivered by an experienced actress. Simultaneously, she was aware of Anton's reactions and feelings, confused, slightly fearful and oh so deliciously vulnerable.

The effect of her words and gaze on Anton was devastating. He dropped the wine bottle, smashing it to pieces on the marble tiles. His jaw dropped and he could say nothing for at least a minute. When he finally found his voice, it was only to repeat his refrain of last evening, "Oh forgive me Isabel, forgive me Serena, forgive me Holy..."

Isabella cut in "Oh, I forgive you Anton," she strode confidently towards him, maintaining her smile and piercing eye contact. "Oh, I forgive you, but as far as the others - well, I cannot say. But I forgive you...." She was directly in front of him now. "But do you really think that I would let you ravish me that way and not seek my own satisfaction in return?"

Anton was as surprised by Isabella's confidence as by the words she spoke.

"Wha.. What... do you mean, Isabel?"

Isabella changed her tone to one of directness.

"Uncle, I will be honest with you now. I allowed, yes allowed, you to molest me last evening because it was something I wanted. I know you are shocked, but that is the truth. I have strong desires and you demonstrated, not by your subterfuge but by your gentleness and the respect and genuine affection you showed me, that I can trust you. I want you to teach me about physical love. I want you to be my first real lover."

Anton listened and collected himself. He sat at his desk and looked at this strange woman before him. He chose his words carefully.

"Isabel, I have displayed great cowardice in my actions with you and I regret what I did last night. Your words now, as heartfelt as they are, cannot...

While Anton continued his monologue of contrition, Isabella perched herself on the writing desk before him and continued to unbutton her blouse.

"Uncle," she interrupted. "I know you are an honorable man, despite your lapse of yesterday, but I am determined to have you now. So please do stop talking as if you have any choice in this matter." Isabella pulled open her blouse to reveal her firm breasts to Anton's now silent gaze. His eyes once again feasted on her young body and, as if in resignation to his fate, he bent his head first to one nipple and then to the other, kissing and caressing each with his lips and tongue.

Isabella shrugged off her blouse as Anton continued his ministrations. She felt his head in her hands and the strong flow of welcome sensations through her body. She raised his head and met his lips with her own, kissing him deeply and passionately. Anton's hands found her thighs and caressed them through her dress. Isabella broke their kiss, fixing Anton's eyes with hers and said, "To the couch, Anton."

He obeyed, lifting her in his arms as had done when she was a child and walking over to the deep, overstuffed leather couch against the far wall. He placed her gently on the cool dark leather. With a single movement, Isabella unhooked the clasp holding her skirt and wiggled free of its folds. She was now naked, her long legs and firm girlish tummy framing the dark patch or hair covering her mons.

Anton resumed their kiss and his hands traveled the landscape of her body with a tenderness that affirmed and heightened Isabella's passion. His lips traced the line of her jaw, her neck and breasts. His murmured caresses reached her tummy and the line of her hipbone as his hands traced the soft curves of her calves and outer thighs. As he moved down her body, Isabella was aware that he was also shedding his clothes. She felt the hairs of his broad chest against her skin and smelt his manly sweat mixed with expensive cologne.

His kisses had reached her inner thighs and he gently brushed her pubis with his cheek. He made no direct assault on her cunny, rather he skirted its outer fringes, resting his lips and tongue in the curve of her groin and gently parting the hairs around her vulva with his fingers. Just when Isabella thought she would have to urge him on, he opened his lips and gave her a long gentle stroke with his tongue. She felt the sudden rush of warmth, closed her eyes and moaned for him to take her.

His mouth covered her vulva as his tongue gently traced and caressed the lips and cleft of her sex, finding her hooded pearl with a touch as light as breath, and then retreating. He kissed her sex just as he had kissed her mouth a few moments before, with tenderness and love, their fluids mixing and joining in mutual heat and rhythm. His hands meanwhile continued to stroke her thighs, her tummy and her breasts, gently kneading and probing as they traveled lightly over her naked skin. As Isabella responded to the rising feelings of warmth and pleasure, Anton's movements increased in tempo, pulling a lip into his mouth to explore and taste every fold, pushing the tip of his nose into her pubis and exposing her clit to his warm breath while circular motions of his chin on her slick perineum opened her entrance to that ever probing tongue. Isabella found herself moaning and pushing and grinding onto his face, wanting him more and more to enter her and make her come. 

His hands traced the curve of her hips and she raised herself as he placed them under her tight buttocks. Raising her now, as if her cunt was a sacred vessel brought to his lips as a sacrament, he plunged his tongue deeper and at the same time a slippery finger touched her virgin anus causing a surprising release of both physical and emotional tension. His finger tapped gently and her sphincter relaxed, but he went no further. He had hardly begun a gentle circular massage of her dark flower, when the combined sensations throughout her lower body sent Isabella over the edge of a cascading thundering climax. Anton instinctively relaxed all pressure but kept his mouth pressed to her sex to receive her flow and accept the caress of her vagina as it pulsed with her pleasure. Isabella rode the wave of her orgasm until it beached her lovingly on the sweat-smeared couch. 




Isabella Awakening Ch. 02



Anton remained for some minutes between her legs, whispering and murmuring as if in communion with her sex. He watched through the thicket of black curls as Isabella's eyes met his. After licking her thighs, and with a final gentle kiss to her mound, he raised himself, leant over her now languid body and placed his mouth once more upon hers. Isabella kissed him deeply, tasting and smelling her own musk.

Anton's hands slowly resumed their exploration of Isabella's body and she felt his gentleness coaxing her back to arousal. She opened her mouth to say something, but Anton preempted any speech with a finger to her lips. He positioned himself between her open thighs, raising her knees with his hands. As he moved forward to kiss her again, Isabella felt the hot tip of his hard cock against her wet opening. His unspoken question was answered with a whispered "yes" and he gently pushed into her. 

Anton had anticipated resistance from Isabella's hymen but found none. She was tight but very wet and his cock was welcomed, even pulled, into her belly. He stroked Isabella's hair and kissed her forehead and then her lips before looking deeply into her eyes. He was overwhelmed by her beauty and the ageless wisdom of her eyes as they looked within him and told him what to do. As the tightness of her vagina began to relax and accept him, he gently started to fuck her; several slow, half strokes at first, then resting to gauge her response. Isabella's mouth was open in a silent "oh" and her hands were around his neck. As he increased the rhythm and depth of his penetration, she raised her head to see for herself his slick shaft appearing and disappearing beneath her forest. Resting back now, she raised her knees higher and uttered an audible "yes", signaling Anton to increase the pace. He did so and Isabella began to hump her hips and groan. 

Anton had not expected such abandonment from so young and inexperienced a lover and had to remind himself to be gentle and patient. Isabella's reaction to his thrusts was so honest and wanton that it was like fucking Serena in her prime and he had to restrain his impulse to plunder her with unrestrained passion. His sadness and hesitation at that fleeting thought of his darling Serena, was washed away as Isabella, in a voice deeper and more guttural than he had expected, grunted "more!" and started to throw her head from side to side. Anton abandoned all thought and drove his cock deep and fast into Isabella's hungry cunt. He felt the couch bouncing and heaving under them until Isabella thrust her legs straight up and released a long throaty sigh of pleasure. Anton swiftly embraced her and pulled her close, covering her entire body with his and cooing her name. He felt her tremble and clench as she reached her second orgasm, gripping his cock and releasing it in a cascade of warm fluid that soaked his balls. 

They lay like that for some minutes as Isabella's mind swam with images and pure colour and her body pulsed and sang. Her breathing gradually slowed and Anton released her from his embrace. He could not repress a smile as he noticed her sweat plastered hair and slightly vacant expression. He blew a stream of cool air over her blushing breasts and Isabella acknowledged him with a smile of her own. They kissed and Anton slid out of her and onto his knees. He moved Isabella to a lying position and placed a cushion under her head. Breaking his own transfixed state, he stood and left the room to return a moment later with a large soft woven towel that he wrapped around his prone young lover. 

Isabella noticed Anton's still hard cock. "Oh Anton, have I failed you?" she asked.

Anton did not understand the question until he followed the line of her gaze to his waist. He smiled.

"Of course you haven't failed me my love. Quite the contrary. I was so overwhelmed by you and so bound up in your pleasure that I completely forgot my own physical needs. You should take that as a great compliment my dear. For one so young to mesmerize an experienced lover to the point of his own annihilation is a wondrous and marvelous gift."

"You are more wonderful that I could have ever imagined. It is as if you had been possessed by the soul of..." Anton halted but recovered his flow quickly with "...a great and powerful lover of another era".

They sat together, naked on that leather couch, for another hour as the fire in the hearth died down to a few glowing logs and the pale autumn sun set on the outside world. Anton found his voice as a lover; something that he had thought lost, and Isabella felt her life had changed forever. They stroked and fondled each other and talked of love and life and books and music. Anton described the joys of youthful adventures and of seduction and Isabella asked him questions about his love for Serena and the differences between the women he had loved or fucked for fun. Isabella had no illusions about the nature of her love for Anton, nor his for her. They found they had a natural connection that was outside of their normal lives and fates, as if their time together existed in another universe. The contrast between their bodies; his care-worn and nearly 50, although as yet still well defined by muscle and sinew, and hers, as nubile as a fawn, was irrelevant, and perhaps even added to the special nature of the relationship they were forging.

As the embers of the fire died and a slight chill drove them from the couch to the hearth, Isabella remembered her brother's fondness for his own oily palm. She excused herself to use Anton's bathroom and while there searched for, and found, a small jug of olive oil. Back in Anton's study, Isabella found him collecting their clothes. 

"Just a few moments, Anton." She said, smiling. "We have one further task before we part."

She took the towel from the couch and laid it over the red and brown rug in front of the fire.

"Please lie down. On your back. That's right."

Isabella knelt beside Anton's waist and poured a small pool of the oil into her right palm and rubbed her hands together.

Looking at Anton's face, she said, "Do forgive me. I've never done this before." Before Anton could reply, she had taken his not quite limp cock in her hands and was massaging the oil along its length. Anton's surprised "oh, dear" only made her smile. His rapid hardening caught them both by surprise.

Isabella was thrilled at the reaction and was soon sliding her fist up and down the length of a perfectly hard cock, something she had long dreamt about. Her hand could not close around the thick shaft but her grip was firm. Anton arched his back as her pace quickened. Instinctively, or perhaps because of her brother's frequent demonstrations in the bathroom at home, Isabella knew how to stimulate the head and underside of the penis, she knew how and when to gently hold Anton's balls with her free hand, cradling the base of the shaft between thumb and forefinger and pressing gently. Her soft hands caressed his silky hardness, squeezing him slightly and running her thumb under the deep pink glans with each stroke. Anton was surprised to find himself unable to hold back his release and felt the rise of his seed and the constriction of his balls just as the first spurt of creamy come flew onto his chest. Isabella milked him just as she had seen her sister milk her brother, and even playfully licked the final droplet of semen from the tiny lips of Anton's cock.

Isabella's girlish giggle at her success made them both laugh out loud. Their final embrace that evening, sticky as it was, was one of deep appreciation and a promise of everlasting friendship. 

Reflecting on her experience that evening alone in her own bed, Isabella was very aware of the gulf between her own feelings and instincts and the attitudes of society around her. Deep in her being, she felt a great satisfaction and an almost spiritual appreciation of the power she had experienced, and yet she also knew that what had happened was "wrong", that both she and Anton had sinned. In her dreams that night, she was counseled and comforted by the great and beautiful woman who told her that she was both blessed and cursed with the power to see through the veil that shrouded the human soul. Isabella meditated on that dream for most of the next morning, resolving to welcome and encourage that woman to become more and more part of her inner life.

In the months that followed Isabella's deflowering, and before her parents returned from Spain, she an Anton met often. For Isabella, her liaison with Anton was as much a part of her education as were her evenings with Ovid or the other great authors. She learnt about her own, and Anton's, deepest needs and how thought and action could combine to bring new heights of sensual pleasure. She lived a fantasy life, quizzing Anton like a schoolmistress about men and lust and the many ways that pleasure can be taken or destroyed. Anton gave of himself freely, enjoying the opportunity to pass on to this wonderful, surprising young woman knowledge and insights that he himself had either gained through numerous affairs or, more frequently, that had been given or demonstrated to him by his own teacher, the departed but never forgotten Serena.

But their intimacy went far beyond the physical and theoretical aspects of passion and sex. They discussed philosophy and music and art and the great themes running through mythology. They told each other stories, some remembered, some invented, and never tired of exploring their connection to each other and the world. 

On one particular evening, while a winter storm raged outside, Isabella sat naked in Anton's lap and asked him to tell her the story of himself and Serena. Anton was initially reluctant to give details but with a little playful coaxing and gentle caressing of his cock, he told her their story. Isabella was surprised to learn of the intertwined lives of her own parents and those of Anton and Serena. 

It was in the early 1720's that Serena and Marisa had arrived together in Naples. No one knew where they came from, other than that they had traveled from Florence after spending many years at school in France. Their parentage and status was unknown, but was of little importance to the young men of Naples who had never seen such beauty and sophistication before. Their arrival, in a red carriage pulled by four black stallions, was talked about all over Naples for weeks and they had taken up residence in one of the finest guesthouses on the river. Within a week, they were holding parties and musical evenings in the grand fashion and all the nobles and well-connected merchants were angling for invitations. The young women of the town were privately suspicious and angry that their suitors would be so infatuated with these women, but they were also anxious to be included in the new and exciting world of stylish and urbane nightlife that Serena and Marisa had created. 

Meanwhile, Alberto and Anton, struggling young merchants at that time, were more eager than most to meet and, hopefully seduce, these exotic beauties. But they were well down the pecking order and would have had to conspire, bribe and fabricate their way onto the women's' guest list. According to Anton, it was only by a stroke of luck that he and Alberto found themselves at the guesthouse one evening and were able to rescue Serena and Marisa from the unwelcome attentions of a group of drunken cavalry officers. The group of five had taken bets amongst themselves on their individual chances of successfully bedding the women and, after a heavy session at the local inn, they were now struggling to simultaneously make good their own seductions and to ruin those of their comrades and rivals. Naturally, fistfights had started and they were becoming serious when Anton and Alberto chanced upon the scene. They surreptitiously managed to escort the women to a quiet room on the first floor and chivalrously introduced themselves as up-and-coming businessmen of the very highest calibre. Whether or not Serena and Marisa believed their stories, or whether they simply saw the potential of these two handsome young upstarts, they took them into their circle and eventually made lovers of them. Isabella was a little confused and suspicious of Anton's version of the story, particularly as to whether or not there was an instant and permanent pairing of her own parents and of Serena and himself. It occurred to Isabella that it was certainly possible that another combination had been tried before settling on the arrangements later sanctified by marriage. Anton was not to be drawn, however, on the subject of his and Marisa's premarital relations.

Both Isabella and Anton knew that their time together as lovers and confidants would end with the return to Naples of Maria and Alberto, when Isabella would resume her role as the naïve youngest daughter in the Silverto household and Anton his as their oldest friend. And yet, while this touch of sadness hung over them, particularly towards the end of that time, they shared a far greater joy in the knowledge that their connection was timeless and had already left a permanent mark on them both and on the universe they inhabited.

And indeed, life did return to normal when Isabella's parents returned from Spain. It was difficult at first for Isabella to feign joy at their reappearance and to listen attentively to their stories of foreign sights and customs, of the weather in Barcelona and Castile and Madrid, of the terrible food and the smelly black sailors. Her heart called out for Anton but she now knew that their weeks of secret but unrestrained passion would now be replaced with the occasional furtive meeting when rare circumstances allowed her a few precious hours in his bed.

From that day until she was married to Henri two years later, Isabella truly led a double life. In her own mind and when alone in her room, and when she was with Anton, she was a woman; expressive, sensuous, curious and able to reach such heights of ecstasy that she could loose herself in the universe of her soul. When she was with her parents, she was the dutiful daughter, still a child, who hung on their every word and command. 

With Anton's urging and support, and following her own inclinations, she took other lovers when she could. Young men were easy to seduce, but Isabella soon learnt that her own needs and knowledge far surpassed the talents of even the most ardent youth. Returning to Anton after each encounter, she would relate her own feelings and give thanks for his, and her own, deeper understanding and passion. She actually felt sorry for the boys, as she called them, who could do little more than fuck her for a few minutes before coming on her dress or in her mouth. Anton began to fear for her future and half-regretted his own role in opening Isabella to the wonders that lay beyond the urgent gratification of animal desire. 

Indeed, he was beside himself when Isabella's father, his dear friend Alberto, announced her engagement to that preening little poofe, Henri Jousta. Alberto tried in vain to convince Alberto and Marisa that other, more appropriate, suitors were preferable. In the end, after Isabella urged him to accept the inevitable, he desisted rather than offend Isabella's parents or, worse, alert them to the reasons behind his concerns.

It was the week before her marriage that Isabella and Anton met for one last afternoon of intimacy. It was after that particularly passionate session of lovemaking that Anton presented Isabella with his special wedding gift. With great reverence, he had handed her a fine chamois leather pouch containing a heavy smooth object, explaining that it had belonged to his dear Serena and that he was sure she would have wanted Isabel to have it. Isabella pulled the object from its pouch and was immediately confused. It was a white ivory-like cigar-shaped object, about 10 inches long and smoothly pointed at one end with a slightly bulbous protrusion at the other. A slightly raised close spiral ran from just above the base to the tip. Whether they were carved or natural, Isabella could not tell. Above the bulbous end and running along the spiral curve were fine blue indentations, like writing - but not in any script or language familiar to Isabella. She cradled the object in her hand, feeling its weight and smoothness. It was genuinely beautiful but Isabella still had no idea what it was or why Anton had given it to her. Anton just smiled quietly and let Isabella behold the object.

"Close your eyes while you handle it," He said.

Isabella complied and as she ran her hand over the smooth curves, she suddenly knew what it was for. A broad smile crossed her face. 

"Serena called it her 'dildo'", said Anton. "She said it was her second husband. It is made of the horn of a very rare whale from the seas to the far north and is very old, apparently."

Isabella hugged Anton and thanked him, saying that she hoped she would not need another lover once she was married. Neither of them believed that to be true, but Anton kissed her and said he was sure she was right.

"I'll treasure it anyway," said Isabella. "It will remind me of you. Just the right size," she added, holding the larger end in her fist and placing the softly curved tip to her lips. Despite an afternoon of passionate sex, Isabella felt a tingle of excitement as she kissed the whalebone penis. She allowed her saliva to cover the first few inches and moved it to rest on her thigh, only a few inches from her opening.

"May I?" she asked Anton.

"Oh, please do, my love," he said, moving to position between her calves where he could get a better view.

Isabella stroked her outer lips with the head of the dildo, feeling its smoothness against her opening and letting it push against her clit. 

"That's nice," she whispered.

A few more strokes and she used her other hand to part her inner lips and pushed the head into her rapidly lubricating opening.

"Oh, so nice!" she said.

Slowly and with gentle pulsing stokes, she inserted the dildo up to where her hand gripped the base, letting its smooth eight inches fill her. 

Raising her thighs and spreading her knees, she gradually increased the pace of her movements, pushing and pulling the dildo into her cunt. The spiral relief of the whalehorn made it twist as it entered. Her hips involuntarily rose to meet each thrust and she was soon experiencing the rapid onset of an orgasm. It hit her suddenly and powerfully, taking her into that state of selfless abandonment with arched back, closed eyes and breathless exclamation.

Anton sat at her feet, as always transfixed by her passion and power, and stroking himself to another erection. He moved over her and kissed her softly on the lips, placing a hand over hers, still holding the whalebone cock deeply inside her. 

Isabella removed the object and held it up, glistening, for them both to admire.

"It is a truly wonderful thing," she said in genuine appreciation. "Thank you, Anton." Lifting her eyes heavenwards she also whispered, "Thank you, Serena". They both smiled and embraced for what should have been the last time.

Isabella slowly came out of her reverie of remembrance, sitting there in the warm courtyard. She wondered how long she had been thinking of Anton and noticed the wetness of her drawers and the pressure of her nipples against the fabric of her dress. Her whalebone lover lay waiting in her dressing cabinet upstairs and she decided to visit him as soon as possible.

As Isabella stirred and stretched in the sun, Marisa returned to the kitchen. She was dressed in her traveling clothes, pulling on her long gloves and issuing hurried instructions to the servants. Before Isabella could move to greet her, Marisa came into the courtyard and sat beside her once again.

"My darling," she began in a low but firm voice "I have told your father that I must make an urgent visit to my cousins in Rome. I will be gone for four days. You must supervise the household while I am away. Do not discuss this with your father. He has plans for you, as you will have gathered, and he will soon announce them. In the meantime, I must do everything I can to make up to you these many years of neglect and see to your future happiness myself. Until Friday, Isabel."




Isabella Awakening Ch. 02



Marisa hurried out calling for her trunk to be carried to the waiting carriage. She left immediately, leaving Isabella wondering what her mother thought could be achieved in so little time, but even more worried about what her father had in store for her. No doubt another strategic marriage. At thirty-four, Isabella felt angry that she had not been consulted and depressed at the thought of another ill-suited husband. But she would not, could not, confront her father. She knew that defiance on her part would wound him deeply and, for all his faults, she loved him and wanted him to be happy.

The week dragged for Isabella. If it weren't for her scrimshaw dildo, she would have cried with boredom. Marisa's return, although eagerly awaited, was uneventful. She said nothing to Isabella about what had transpired, only giving her a nervous smile when she knew that Alberto could not see them.

It was the following day, over lunch, that Alberto broke the long-awaited news to Isabella. He had "negotiated" her marriage to a Spanish merchant by the name of Don Marcello Della Brosco, the second son of an associate in Barcelona. Alberto assured Isabella that Don Marcello was a fine man, although somewhat sickly, and that he would make a fine and respectable husband for her. Through his little speech Marisa sat with her head bent, not daring to meet the eyes of either her husband or daughter. Isabella was calm and allowed her father to finish before responding.

"Father, I thank you for your concern for my future and accept your arrangement." She said, as if in formal public reply. Alberto started to relax and smile, but she continued, "However, I accept it with sorrow and regret. As your dutiful daughter, I will obey, but as a woman I resent your apparent right to trade in my body and services. I am over thirty years old, Father, and this will be the last time you ever make a decision on my behalf. I feel it my duty to inform you that if, after a year of marriage to this Don Marcello I am not satisfied, I will take my own measures to seek fulfillment."

Alberto listened to his daughter and she could see his anger slowly rise as she spoke. He was ready to explode by the time she finished, but Marisa suddenly intervened to prevent catastrophe.

"Isabella. You have every right to express yourself and I hope you will reflect further on the care and love with which your father has arranged what I am sure will be a most suitable marriage. You must leave us now and go pray and give thanks at the Cathedral."

Isabella took the hint and left immediately, leaving her father fuming but speechless at the table.



Isabella Awakening Ch. 03



For new readers, this is the story so far: Isabella Silverto, a thirty something woman from 18th century Naples, is facing her second arranged marriage. After witnessing incest in her family and being deflowered and opened to passion by an older friend of her father's when she was young, Isabella developed a sensuous, lascivious nature that she had had to suppress during her first marriage to an effete minor noble. She is now resentful of her father's insistence on her marrying into the family of his Spanish trading partners.

*

Isabella certainly prayed, but gave little thanks. Her father had already arranged her passage to Barcelona on a trading ship under the captaincy of an old friend, Louis Bertrand. Captain Bertrand had often been a guest at the Silverto household and Isabella knew him as a steadfast and upright citizen of the Mediterranean who would protect and chaperone her on the two-week voyage. Isabella was to be the ship's only passenger. Her father had sought and received Bertrand's assurances of his personal protection and a safe passage. His ship, the Bella Virago was already in port, being loaded with the fabrics, glassware and other goods her father and his friends were trading with western Spain. Isabella's dowry, in the form of porcelain, gold and silk, was ready to be loaded and Isabella herself was being urged to be ready to depart within the fortnight. The Bella Virago would weigh anchor as soon as the winds and tides were right. 

The sudden urgency of her departure, with its farewells and packing, meant that Isabella had little time to reflect on her future, or on Marisa's earlier vague promise of intervention. It seemed that her life was now on a fixed course that only disaster could shift. As was her nature, she quickly resolved to make the most of her circumstances and set to the preparations for her new life in Spain with great energy, if not good humour. She farewelled the sisters and children at the school, the local clergy and all her friends, including Anton, who was the only one to properly commiserate with her. He also warned her of the rumours surrounding the Inquisition in Spain, which she, as a woman and a foreigner should heed with even greater than the customary wariness. He specifically warned her to show absolute discretion in the taking of lovers, something he otherwise encouraged, lest betrayal result in the unwelcome attentions of the Spanish clergy. Isabella heeded his wise counsel and resolved to keep her scrimshaw lover close at all times.

The day of her final parting with her family and with her beloved Naples came swiftly. A message one evening from the captain requested her presence on board at first light for a departure on the forenoon tide. Accompanied by Alberto and Marisa, after farewelling the household staff, Isabella arrived at the dock just before sunrise on a cloudy and cool morning on which the sea mists had yet to clear. She found Anton waiting for them, lantern in one hand and his walking stick in the other. Their goodbyes were brief and courteous. For a moment Isabella felt that her father was about to apologise, but he remained stiff and formal even when he hugged her one last time. Marisa was tearful but also restrained. As she kissed Isabella's cheek, she whispered, "Everything will be fine, Isabel. Don't worry or be sad."

The ship's bell rang three times, the signal for final boarding, and the captain received his passenger courteously at the top of the ladder. He had her traveling luggage, including her capacious leather satchel, stowed in the cabin he had had specially fitted out for Isabella. He introduced her formally to his three officers while the crew scuttled and ran to weigh anchor and loose the thick ropes that held the ship to the little dock. Isabella stood at the landward railing to wave her final farewell, holding back tears. Her parents and Anton waved silently as two bells sounded and the anchor was weighed. As the ship started to drift slowly away from the dock, under minimal sail, Isabella noticed a dinghy powered by four rowers speed from under a wharf nearby. It swiftly rounded the stern of the Bella Virago and nestled against it's seaward side. Isabella could not see it from her dockside position and was reluctant to test her sea legs so soon. A moment later however, she saw a lone crewman drop a rope ladder over the side. Immediately a hooded figure scrambled up and over the far railing and disappeared down a hatchway nearby. Two bags or seaman's sacks followed, bundled below by the furtive seaman. All of this had happened in less than a minute and without so much as a pause in the methodical movement of the ship and its crew as they made their way from the dock to the deeper channel a hundred yards out. In the half light and mist, Isabella was not even sure whether the hooded figure was a man or woman, but it did have, to her mind at least, the unmistakable gait and clandestine demeanor of a clergyman.

It was only another minute before the rolling mist totally shrouded the ship and the dock disappeared completely. Sails were being unfurled amid shouts and bells and the captain returned to Isabella's side, followed this time by a curly headed boy.

"Mistress Silverto," Bertrand began "allow me to introduce Simon, who I have assigned to you for the duration of your voyage with us." The small boy bowed and smiled shyly.

"Why, thank you, Captain." Isabella replied. "I was not expecting to have a servant on board. Are you sure that Simon does not have other, perhaps more important, duties of greater value to your ship?"

"Not at all, not at all." The Captain replied. "His service to you is of the highest value to me as your captain. And I must warn you, Mistress, that your first few days at sea may not be as comfortable as you might presume. Refined ladies often find the movement of a ship to be somewhat unsettling at first."

"So I understand, Signore Bertrand. I will try not to be nuisance." Isabella paused. "Captain, I was given to understand that I was to be your only passenger. Did I not see a priest board just now, as we pulled away from the dock?"

Bertrand's face reddened and he stiffened his back.

"Ah, the priest." He said, clearly collecting his thoughts. "Yes. Father Thomas did join us at the last minute. He is to travel a short way with us. I believe that your mother was informed of this late change to our arrangements."

Isabella raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Marisa had mentioned no priest or change to any arrangements. A curious development, Isabella thought, considering her Mother had very little time for the cloth, particularly the male clergy.

The Captain cleared his throat, anxious to change the subject. "Simon will show you to your cabin, Mistress Isabella. If there is anything you would wish changed or anything that I can do to make your journey more comfortable, please let me know immediately." With that, he bowed deeply and left her with young Simon, making his way to the wheel to supervise the Bella Virago's exit from the harbour under full sail.

"This way, marm." piped Simon in a voice that had yet to change from that of a child's. He delicately took her elbow and started to escort her to the main gangway leading to the second deck. "Hold the rail, missus." He advised. "Always get a hold on a rail. Ya never do know when she's gunna pitch or roll." Isabella did as she was told and eventually, hitching up her skirts discretely, climbed down the dozen broad rungs to the accommodation deck. It was dark and smelt slightly of stale seawater and men. Simon followed closely and directed her down a short passage way. She had to bend her head to avoid the beams. At a small door to the seaward side, Simon stopped and showed her into her cabin.

Freshly painted and clean, the cabin was more than Isabella expected. It was naturally small, having only room for a hanging cot, a washstand, a narrow armchair and her trunks, but she could stand upright and she had a window, a porthole rather, and fresh air was flowing through a narrow ventilator in the ceiling.

"Oh, this is lovely," she said, to Simon's obvious delight.

"Made special, this was." He said proudly. "Used to be the first officer's cabin but theys all bunkin together for this trip." He proudly demonstrated the opening porthole and showed her the lever to operate the ventilator. Pointing to the washstand beaming he said "Captain got this one in special. Said a lady had to have one. Never 'ad a real lady on the Della Virago before." He looked down and blushed, then mumbled "Even gotcha own privy next door down."

Isabella was touched, both by the obvious efforts of the captain to make her comfortable and by Simon's excitement and pride in what was clearly a special event in the ship's history.

She looked around, found her satchel and removed a sheaf of writing paper, a new pen and a small bottle of ink. Simon understood her need and, with even greater excitement, showed her how a section of wall paneling under the porthole could be induced to hinge down to form a small but serviceable surface for writing. Smiling, Isabella uncapped the ink and drafted a short note to Captain Bertrand, expressing her thanks for the efforts he, his officers and crew had made on her behalf and assuring him that all her needs for the journey had been anticipated. She folded the note and handed it to Simon, telling him to deliver it to the Captain when he was free and to give her an hour alone to unpack and change her clothes. Simon blushed at the thought of her changing her clothes but pulled his forelock in obeisance, muttered "yes'm" and left her alone.

Her "unpacking" consisted of opening her traveling trunk and checking to see that her hanging clothes were still in order and that the drawers containing her other clothes were functioning. She used the washstand to freshen up and changed into a long skirt and jacket she imagined was suitable for a sea voyage. Sitting on the edge of the hanging cot, she almost lost her balance before she decided it was more appropriate to lie down. We must be leaving the harbour, she thought as she detected an increase in the pitch and frequency of the ship's rocking motion. She could hear the sea churning and hitting the sides of the ship through the porthole and felt a slight spray on her face when a particularly large wave broke over the bow. She rose to close the porthole glass but found herself swaying unsteadily and had to grasp the bed ropes to remain upright. She almost fell against the wall before finally latching the window shut and lying down again. While she had expected the ship's motion to take some adjustment on her part, she was surprised at how unsettled she now felt. She was feeling a little dizzy and the light breakfast she had consumed back at home was reminding her of its presence by rising to the back of her throat.

As she lay on the swinging cot Isabella tried to focus her mind on things other than her rising gorge and spinning head. The priest for instance. What did Bertrand call him? Father Thomas. Odd name. Not a name usually taken by Italian, or even French or Spanish priests, as far as Isabella knew. English? Perhaps German? Surely Mama would have mentioned…. Isabella quickly and instinctively reached under the cot. Thankfully a chamber pot was within easy reach. She rolled to one side, simultaneously raising the pot to her mouth that opened wide to expel the remainder of her breakfast. She wiped her mouth with a kerchief from her jacket pocket and looked around for something to rinse with. A corked bottle of water and a metal cup sat in a holder under the washstand. She sat up and reached for it, feeling nauseous again. She poured a full cup and drank it down but before she could make herself horizontal again had to reach again for the chamber pot.

By the time Isabella heard Simon at her door she was feeling hideous. She called to him weakly to enter. He stared at her as if he had never seen someone seasick before. 

"Geez, that was quick missus. Gentry usually takes a couple of bells to get this sick." 

Isabella moaned and tried to raise her head. She had great difficulty talking.

"Don't you worry marm" said Simon, brightening now. "I been through all this meself. We all have, ya know. I'll fix it so you can weather the storm." He took the half-full chamber pot and left the room. Returning a few moments later he assembled a bucket and towels beside Isabella's cot, draped damp face towels from a wire rack he inserted into holes in the wall above her head and placed a new bottle, containing a reddish-brown liquid, in the water pitcher on the washstand.

"We ain't spectin heavy weather, miss, so this oughta pass pretty quick. But I gotcha some o the Doctor's good medsin for just in case, and keep one of these," he placed a damp hand towel on her forehead, "just like this till the puking passes."

Isabella whispered her thanks and Simon continued.

"This 'ere medsin 'll proly knock you out for the rest o t'day" he said, taking the brown bottle and pouring a cup. He held it to Isabella's lips and lifted her head gently. She sipped it, resisting the urge to spit it out. It was acrid and burned her tongue, but she immediately felt a rush of warm relaxation spread from her stomach and chest to her limbs and face. Before passing out, Isabella flashed on a distant memory of Anton and her father's study.

The rest of that day and most of the night passed with Isabella in a deep laudanum-induced sleep. When she finally started to rouse, she found herself drifting in and out of dreams in which she was being tossed around and ravaged by a group of sailors. Frightened or inflamed by the images of violence and lust, she must have called out because she heard Simon's little boy voice whispering to her that everything was fine. She felt him replace the damp cloth on her brow. 

Eventually, pressure on her bladder did bring her to state of groggy wakefulness. She sat, bleary eyed and, still feeling slightly nauseous, asked Simon to leave for a few moments. Finding the, now thankfully empty and clean, chamber pot by the flickering light of a small lantern, she relieved herself squatting on the floor while holding onto the arm of the chair beside the bed. She covered and replaced the chamber pot under the cot, adjusted her clothing and lay down again, giving Simon a signal to return.

He opened the door shyly and entered, taking up his position on the chair beside Isabella's bunk.

Isabella managed a wan smile and said "Hello, Simon. Have you been here all the time?"

"Almost, marm. I ducked out for my dinner a few hours ago."

"You must be tired," Isabella said. "Please go to bed, I seem to be over the worst of it now."

"Thankee, missus," he replied, yawning. "I'll be back at first light to make sure you have what you need." So saying, he rose to leave.

"Simon," ventured Isabella "Who was that priest, Father Thomas, who came on board in Naples?"

Simon paused, thinking of a response. "I never seen him, marm, but Jesso the cook says he's a friend o'the Captain goin' to Sardinia." Simon paused, as if ready to say more, but halted and left the room quickly.

Isabella lay back on the bunk, her head still slightly muddled and her tummy uneasy. But the sickness was definitely passing now. She wondered whether her unnamed suspicions about the priest were simply a by-product of the illness or perhaps of the laudanum. As the night slipped away and the lantern sputtered out, the sea became calmer and Isabella dreamt of Spain, horses and gypsies. The familiar figure of the robbed, green-eyed woman, hair flowing like a dark whirlwind around her head, appeared on a deserted beach, beckoning to Isabella. As she approached the woman, Isabella felt great comfort and relief. She bent her head and knelt before her as if taking the sacrament. But the woman lifted her chin with a gentle hand and stoked her cheek lovingly. Isabella could not later remember more of the dream, but the woman had spoken to her in soothing and loving tones, cradling Isabella's head to her warm body.

When Isabella awoke just before sunrise, she felt rested and well. The ship was rolling gently and she could hear sailors moving about the deck and rigging, calling orders and talking quietly. The sea air roused her quickly and soon after, Simon knocked quietly at the cabin door.

"Mornin', missus," he smiled. "Feelin' better now I see."

"Much better, thank you Simon," Isabella replied, stretching and beginning her morning ritual of combing her long black hair. "The sea seems much calmer now and I hope I might take a walk on deck once the sun is properly up."

"Yes'm. And the Captain sends his compliments and hopes you will join him and the officers for breakfast at seven. But I would wait half an hour before going on deck, if I was you marm. The men ain't finished their washin and swimmin' jus yet." He raised his pale eyebrows to emphasise his meaning. Isabella imagined the fuss a woman could cause arriving unannounced upon a group of naked sailors.

"Thank you for the warning, Simon. Please tell the captain that I would be delighted to join him and his officers for a light breakfast." She emphasised the word 'light' and Simon immediately understood her meaning. "Would you please let me know when the deck is suitable for a lady to take a brief walk in the fresh air."

Simon smiled and left, promising to return the moment all was ready. Isabella resumed her morning routine and tidied her room. It was only ten minutes before Simon returned to announce the all clear. Isabella followed him down the narrow passage and up the stairs to the open deck. She immediately noticed the light breeze and the silence. Looking around and using her hand to shade her eyes from the bright sunshine, she realised that the entire crew were frozen in their places, staring at her.

A voice boomed from above her "All right youse slack dogs! Back to work!". It was the first officer on the wheel deck and his instructions were immediately heeded by the crew who scurried or climbed to their tasks. The clean-shaven first officer, removing his hat to reveal a shock of dark slicked down hair, addressed Isabella.

"Sorry marm," he offered. "They ain't much used to passengers. Not women passengers anyway." He smiled and replaced his hat, immediately turning to address the man at the wheel with instructions to turn the ship as the wind changed direction to the west.

Isabella had not expected her presence on board the Della Virago to excite so much interest or attention. She was a little embarrassed by the obvious curiosity of the crew and hoped the novelty would soon wear off. Simon tugged at her elbow and indicated the forward lee railing as a suitable vantage point to view the ship and its progress. Isabella allowed Simon to escort and steady her across the deck, clearly inciting the admiration of the crewmen nearby. At the railing, where she could finally get a grip on something more substantial, Simon released her arm and started to indicate the various matters of interest. He explained the current set of the sails and showed how the ship was cutting through the gentle swell. Isabella took it all in, the sights, the smells and lively feel of the deck rising and falling beneath her feet. She watched as white seabirds cavorted behind the ship, dipping now and again into the white froth of the wake that trailed behind then. She felt the warmth of the sun; now well above the far horizon, and the freshness of the breeze on her face. Naples lay far behind and Spain far into the future. It was as if, she mused, she was caught in a beautiful place between two times. She wondered whether she would stay in this in-between world if she could.

Two bells were struck somewhere aft and Simon touched her arm and spoke. "That'll be breakfast, marm. The Captain's dining room is this way." He led her back to the open ladderway leading down to the accommodation deck. 




Isabella Awakening Ch. 03



The Captain's dining room was at the very rear of the ship, a surprisingly spacious and airy room with a ceiling high enough for all but the tallest of the officers to stand fully upright. When Isabella arrived and was ushered into the room by a sailor, the Captain and his officers were already seated at the heavy oak table, leaving two seats and their settings of cutlery and glassware vacant on either side of the Captain. The men had clearly already eaten and another sailor was just now removing their plates.

"Welcome, Signora Silverto," said the Captain as he and the other seated gentlemen half rose from their places in polite and formal greeting. "I hope you do not mind that we have already consumed our main course. I understood from Simon that you were still slightly indisposed and did not wish for a hearty meal at this time. I thought the sight and smell of lamb chops and liver may have been a little too much to cope with at this time."

"Thank you, Captain Bertrand," Isabella replied, curtseying to their welcome and taking the offered seat. "I appreciate your forethought, and, even more so, your tolerance of such a bad a sailor."

The Captain laughed and his officers joined in. "Not at all, my dear. A little seasickness is only to be expected. I can assure you we are all most sympathetic. In fact our other guest, Father Thomas, has not yet emerged from his introduction to the rolling sea off Naples."

At that moment, the door to the room opened again and Father Thomas himself was ushered in. Isabella immediately studied his face. Pale, angular, framed by long blonde hair hanging limply to his shoulders but forming tight ringlets on his slightly thinning forehead and crown. His eyes were a piercing steely blue that she had never seen before and his aquiline nose set off his full lips and sculptured jaw line and chin. He was unlike any priest she had ever seen. His six-foot frame was bent to avoid the ceiling and its beams. His body beneath the cassock was obviously lean and his hands were fine but weathered. She guessed that he was in his early forties, certainly no older.

The Captain greeted Thomas warmly and introduced Isabella as his honoured guest and daughter of his good friends Alberto and Marisa Silverto of Naples. Father Thomas bent lower and addressed Isabella formally as Signora, before taking his place at the table opposite Isabella and on the Captain's left. Isabella and he observed each other closely during the serving of the next course of breakfast, but were careful to avoid direct eye contact. Isabella noticed that Thomas, despite his pallor, broke bread immediately and started to serve himself from the large plate of Neapolitan pastries and glazed fruits on the table. As if to make a point, Isabella crossed herself and, clasping her hands in prayer, said a silent, simple grace, before doing likewise. When she looked up, Thomas was looking directly at her, smiling and chewing his food slowly.

Swallowing his morsel, he wiped his lips on a napkin and addressed her directly, "Signora, forgive my haste and manners. It is so long since I have eaten at table and with Christian guests that I have momentarily forgotten my vows." He continued to smile at Isabella, adding, "I am indebted to you for reminding me."

Isabella was a little taken aback by this, responding, "Not at all father. I am happy to have been of service to a man of God." It was her turn to smile.

The Captain and the three officers watched this little exchange with bemused interest. The officers rose, thanking the Captain for his hospitality and said they would take coffee on the bridge in order to supervise the preparations for entry into Palermo harbour. They took leave of Isabella and Father Thomas and left the Captain with his guests.

Father Thomas was first to speak. "I understand that congratulations are in order, Signora. You must be looking forward to your marriage in Barcelona."

Isabella was caught off guard and responded impulsively. "Must I, Father? Oh, I suppose I must. Thank you for you good wishes, but I'm afraid I have few expectations and no knowledge at all of my intended husband."

The Captain was clearly embarrassed by this turn of events and sought to divert and lighten the tone of the conversation. "We shall be in Sicily by evening," he ventured. "Palermo is a wonderful city in the early summer."

"I shall look forward to it, Captain," smiled Isabella, agreeable to this change in focus. "Shall you be venturing ashore, Father?"

"Indeed. I have some business, er, church matters, that I must attend to in Palermo, if time allows?" the question being addressed to Captain Bertrand.

"We shall unload a small shipment in the morning and restock our cellar in the afternoon. All going well, I expect to leave for Sardinia by mid morning the following day. Will that give you sufficient time, Father?"

"Excellent, sir," Thomas replied. "A full day should suffice. And Signora, will you be sightseeing or shopping in Palermo?"

"I hope to see the town'" she replied. "I have read so much of Sicilian history that I am eager to find the Cathedrals and old castles. But Father, what takes you to Sardinia?"

Thomas looked puzzled. "I beg pardon, Signora. I travel to Sardinia only because the captain must stop there en route to Spain. Or perhaps I misunderstand you question."

"Oh, I am sorry Father. I understood from …a crewman… that you were traveling to Sardinia."

The captain looked uncomfortable, but remained silent.

Thomas glanced his way, but continued amiably, "In the absence of information, Signora, a seamen will fill the void with stories. My mission is to Spain, like yours. The captain was kind enough to allow me passage and I am afraid we will be shipmates for longer that you thought."

"A 'mission' sounds so much more interesting than an arranged marriage." Said Isabella smiling, without a hint of bitterness. "I am intrigued, Father, by your accent and robes. You are not Italian or French, I presume?"

"You are most observant, Signora. No, my parents were English – but have no fear, I renounced the heretical country of my birth long ago and am now a citizen of the world – neither fish nor fowl, so to speak. And as for my robes, well, I am not of the traditional orders that you would know. The Bishop of Aude installed me as a Special Advisor. I am what you might call a political monk. I serve my Bishop and the Mother Church in whatever role I am needed."

Isabella was more curious than ever – a stateless, orderless priest on a special mission to Spain. She looked directly into Thomas's eyes to divine what lay beneath this mysterious shell. He looked back at her with same unwavering stare, his blue eyes revealing nothing and resisting her attempts to see into his soul. This had never happened to Isabella before. She was accustomed to bringing men undone with her eyes. She did note that Thomas's pupils grew wide as she gazed into them and she had a strange feeling of being herself probed. He smiled as they broke their unspoken connection.

"Um. I think perhaps we have changed course for Palermo," interrupted the Captain, self-consciously. He rose to look out of the lattice framed window at the rear of the cabin. "Yes, indeed, we shall see Palermo by sunset."

Isabella rose and took her leave. She had a strange feeling that the Captain needed to talk privately with Thomas, and she wished to see the coast of Sicily as it came into view.

As she moved to the door, Thomas enquired, "Signora Silverto, I was wondering whether you would like to meet a friend of mine in Palermo, a lady of the highest class, the wife of a businessman. I know she would be very glad of a few hours company of a refined and educated young woman, especially one who speaks French. Her home is near the great Cathedral and I could escort you there on the way to my appointments tomorrow."

Isabella thought for a moment and accepted, saying that she would welcome the opportunity to call upon a notable Sicilian family.

"And Father," she added. "Please call me Isabella. Signora Silverto is my mother's name and I will have a new name very soon. I know myself as Isabella and I quite like the name." Isabella smiled warmly at the priest and left.

Simon met her at the ladderway and escorted her, first to her room and ten minutes later to the foredeck, where she would have her first view of the Sicilian coast. Isabella once again enjoyed the feeling of the breeze and strong sun on her face and the heaving of the ship under her feet. She held on to a stay rope and leant into the breeze, closing her eyes and imagining herself an ancient heroine bound for adventures in the Aegean or on the Barbary Coast, those almost mythical places she had read of these many years. The mysterious Thomas, his knowing eyes and his voice, had awoken something in her that she could not describe, but could feel rising within her as warmth and confidence and expectation. Priests had infatuated her before, she remembered, but this was different. It had a hint of danger and of real adventure. She decided to enjoy the fantasy, and to write of it in her secret journal where she spilled her heart and her, usually unrequited, passions for the men and women she met and dreamt of. She smiled to herself and was glad that she had packed her whalebone dildo in her traveling satchel and not in the trunks and boxes that were now deep in the ship's hold. Anton's gift had been the source of many flights of erotic fancy since she was nineteen and she was looking forward to an evening of passion and imagination, perhaps slightly restrained on this occasion, given the proximity of the other cabins and the thinness of the bulkheads. She loved to drift off to sleep fully satisfied and exhausted.

A call of "Land!" from the mast-top and Simon tugging her sleeve brought her back to reality. Despite Simon's pointing and commentary, Isabella could barely make out the dark strip of Sicily on the far horizon. Within a few minutes however the shapes of hills and cliffs started to become clear and she was able to follow Simon's pointing finger to the headland marking the entrance to Palermo harbour.

The passage into Palermo was slow and the ship did not finally berth until just on sunset. The smells and noise of the busy port wafted over the ship and the crew's excitement at the prospect of a night on the town was palpable. While Isabella leant on the railing watching the city slowly come alive with lamplights, she listened as the Captain instructed his crew. He would allow half the crew an evening in the town but imposed a curfew of 2 am. The remaining crew would be allowed the same privilege the following night, provided the unloading and loading of cargo went without a hitch and was completed by 5pm the next day. The crew seemed to find this arrangement acceptable and gave the captain a cheer. Isabella overheard a few mumbled but good-natured warnings exchanged between sailors, to the effect that any one of tonight's freemen who became a slacker tomorrow would be thrown to the sharks.

Isabella did not leave the ship that night, the port being no place for a lady in the darkness, but she rose early the next morning and packed a small bag for her sightseeing and visiting. Simon took charge of the bag and was obviously assigned to accompany her. She checked her pocket clasp, making sure she carried a few coins for him and for the carriage.

Breakfast was rushed and noisy and it wasn't until nine o'clock that Isabella and Simon met up with Father Thomas on the main deck. Thomas had washed and shaved and was dressed in simple black robes and sandals. He looked imposing and, to Isabella, handsome, with his brushed back hair and fair, open but weathered face.

"Good morning to you Signora … , I mean Isabella." He smiled. "A wonderful day to see Palermo, I think." He looked at the bright sky, cloudless and deep blue. A gentle breeze came of the sea. 

"Yes, Father, I am very much looking forward to seeing the Cathedral and, of course, visiting your friend."

"Yes, of course. Signora Beatrice Angostini will be expecting us soon. Shall we find a carriage?"

With that, the three travelers made their way down the gangplank connecting the Della Virago to the dock onto the cobbled roadway alive with sailors and workmen manhandling cargo, provisions and ship parts. Simon guided his landlubbers across the road to a portico where he left them while he scuttled up a nearby laneway to find a carriage.

Father Thomas went on, "I took the liberty last evening of sending Beatrice a note about your visit and she replied this morning saying that she would be delighted to receive you and show you her villa. Her husband is away, as is usual during the warmer months, and she is often eager for company. An interesting woman," added Thomas, in a tone that suggested some deeper meaning.

Isabella did not respond directly and they stood together watching the passing crowd until a carriage, Simon sitting up beside the dirt driver, pulled up in front of the portico. The travelers entered the small carriage and it drove off towards the Cathedral on the hill. Thomas leant out of the window and yelled an address to the driver and then sat back opposite Isabella.

"Palermo is a beautiful city, and one which holds many surprises for the observant and sensitive visitor," said Thomas.

"Oh really, Father," said Isabella, wondering what he could possibly be referring to in the way of surprises. "Is there something in particular I should keep my eyes open for?"

"It is the heart and soul that are the most appropriate sensory organs for what I have in mind," replied Thomas, smiling but giving nothing else away.

The conversation was, in any case, cut short by their arrival at the home of Signora Angostini. Simon immediately jumped down from the drivers seat and opened the carriage for Isabella and Thomas. They alighted in an opulent garden driveway in front of an imposing three-storey stone house fronted by many windows and balconies. Isabella was most impressed, not least by the many statues and water gardens amongst the luxuriant foliage along the front of the house. Some of the statues she recognised as being of Greek origin, others as Roman. Others were more obscure and, from her brief glimpse, some of the figures were depicted in pairs or groups engaged in carnal embraces. She had no time inspect them further as the front doors of the house opened wide as the three visitors made their way up the broad limestone steps of the imposing portico.

"Bonjour Thomas! Mon ami! C'est trop de temps!" A tall woman with long auburn hair, wearing a white blouse and a red skirt burst through the open doors and ran the few steps to Thomas. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips. Isabella would have been stunned at such a greeting to a priest, but she already knew that this man Thomas was somehow different from his fellows. She watched with interest as Thomas returned her kisses, although briefly and held her by the waist. The woman pressed herself to him again and Isabella could have sworn she had seen the woman's hand press against the front of Thomas's cassock, just below his waist. But they parted instantly and Thomas was holding the offending hand tightly by his side. Isabella knew from her own past that priests often strayed from their vows – she had heard stories of women and girls seducing the local clergy in Naples and more than once she became aware of a "special" relationship between a priest and a boy at school – but this was almost brazen, despite Thomas's obvious attempt to constrain the woman's hand.

"Madame Beatrice Angostini, may I present Senora Isabella Silverto of Naples," he said in fluent French.

Isabella bobbed and Beatrice welcomed her and took her hand, placing herself between Isabella and Thomas. Isabella remembered Simon.

"Oh, Madame Angostini, this is Simon, my friend from the Della Virago."

Beatrice addressed Simon in perfect Italian, saying he was welcome to stay for tea, if he liked.

Isabella caught Simon's concerned look and offered instead for him to visit the town and return later to escort her on a tour of the nearby Cathedral and castles. Simon brightened, and was even happier when Isabella fetched three copper coins from her clasp and bade him have a good time.

Thomas intervened. "Return at three with a carriage for your mistress, Simon," he instructed. "Oh, and Simon, no mischief," He gave Simon a meaningful look, then smiled.

Simon said brief but formal goodbyes and left, almost running out of the gate.

The three adults entered to the grand house, Beatrice clearly pleased to have the company.

"An old friend and a new friend for tea, Carla!" she called as she reached the entry hall, showing them into the sitting room to the left of the entrance.

The room was large and airy with full-length windows or glazed doors along one long wall letting sun stream into the room.

As Beatrice entered into an animated discussion with Thomas about his recent travels through France and Italy, Isabella had a chance to observe her closely. Isabella thought her quite beautiful. Her square face and strong, wide jaw might have been considered manly on a woman with less refinement, but Beatrice carried herself with such ease and her beautiful green eyes, sculptured nose and full lips gave more of an impression of absolute confidence and classic womanly grace. Her hair was cut to her shoulders and was informal, in the French style. Isabella guessed her to be around forty-five years old but it was difficult to tell for sure. Her face and neck were smooth but showed the effects of the sun, as did her elegant hands, with their long fingers and manicured nails. 

Isabella suddenly became aware that Beatrice had stopped talking to Thomas and was now looking at her with returned interest. She was unphased and wondered what this woman would make of her. Their eyes met and Isabella realised that Beatrice, just like Thomas, had powerful depths and was as capable as she was at looking within a person's soul.

Thomas cleared his throat and a servant; presumably the Carla that Beatrice had called to, entered the drawing room carrying two trays. She set these on the small table between the facing couches and proceeded to arrange the cups and plates and pour tea.

"It is good to see you again, Carla," said Thomas, smiling broadly at the girl.

Despite her bronzed olive skin, Isabella saw that Carla blushed and tried to avoid Thomas's eyes. A pursed smile broke out on her lips as she finished pouring the tea.

"Thank you, Father," she said quietly. "Welcome back to Palermo"

"I always enjoy my visits here", said Thomas

Carla's blush deepened and she curtseyed and left the room.

The three drank their tea, ate little Sicilian cakes and chatted. Isabella was impressed with Beatrice's easy manner and wide knowledge of Mediterranean affairs. She was particularly animated when discussing the benefits the Bourbon Princes had brought to Sicily, in terms of culture and ideas for reform, and quizzed Isabella on their approach to the governance of Naples. Thomas and Beatrice were clearly knowledgeable on subjects as diverse as politics, art, architecture and education and treated Isabella as an equal, seeking her views or comment at every turn. Their conversation lasted half and hour until Thomas said that he had to take his leave to attend to pressing matters. Beatrice rose to escort him to the door.

After farewelling Thomas with, as Isabella noticed, another kiss and a hand pressed to his groin, Beatrice returned to the drawing room and smiled warmly at Isabella. They continued their conversation in French.

"Thomas is such a wonderful …. Priest, is he not?" said Beatrice, watching Isabella's reaction closely.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 03



"He has been very kind to me," said Isabella, selecting her words carefully, "but he is very new acquaintance. We met only a few days ago, after our ship had left Naples. His nature and his mission are both somewhat of a mystery to me, I'm afraid. But you seem to know him well, M. Angostini." It was Isabella's turn to watch for reactions.

"Oh, do call me Beatrice please Isabella. We should waste no time with formalities. I have warmed to you instantly." Her eyes studied Isabella, almost as man's would. "And yes, Thomas and I are old friends. He was a tutor at my school in France and we have maintained contact ever since."

Beatrice tucked her feet up on the couch, allowing her dress to ride up, exposing her bare calves and knees. Isabella immediately noted her tanned, completely hairless legs and was somewhat embarrassed at her own woolen stockings covering her own legs that had gone unshaven for many months. 

"Thomas told me that you enjoy books and have a gift for languages," Beatrice interrupted. "Perhaps you would like to see my library?"

Isabella enthusiastically agreed. She had never known a woman who had her own library, except perhaps the nuns at the convent school.

They left the drawing room, Beatrice taking Isabella's hand and leading her down the wood paneled central hallway to another heavy door. She slid her hand along the top of the doorframe and found a large brass key that she inserted into the complex looking lock. 

The door opened on a dark room. The air was dry and stuffy. Beatrice moved through the darkness to open a curtain covering the room's only window, small and facing north. The weak light from the window revealed a completely book-lined room of about twenty feet by thirty feet and at least twelve feet high. In the middle of the room was a large desk, itself littered with leather-bound volumes, and beside it a wide lectern of the type used in monasteries for the transcription of the old hand-written texts.

"Forgive the clutter and the stuffiness, Isabella." Said Beatrice, arms spread wide as if presenting a great masterpiece to a student. "This is my great pride and joy – thirty years of collecting, cataloguing, translation and research."

Isabella was greatly impressed. Even before she started to scan the titles on the shelves, she knew she was in the presence not only of great learning, but of a woman who loved the written word even more than she did. 

"Oh, Beatrice," she said in genuine humility, "I am amazed and awed by such a sight."

Beatrice smiled broadly, her instinct about Isabella being a fellow traveler on life's mysterious back roads being fully confirmed.

"My dear, I would love to guide you through my collection – my garden of delight, as I call it – but I fear I would only overwhelm you with my own passion. Better that you browse alone for a while and let me fill in any gaps when you are done."

"I could never consume even a synopsis of this collection in under week," replied Isabella. "But I am eager to explore."

With that, Beatrice lit a lantern at the desk and made space for Isabella to stack volumes of interest. She then left, saying she would return in an hour.

That hour was perhaps the most electrifying Isabella had ever spent – except for sex of course - but she did feel that warm tingle in her loins and shortness of breath that accompanied all her moments of heightened awareness and great passion. 

These books and journals were of a kind that Isabella had never seen before or even known existed. There were treatises and novels, travelogues and manuals, poetry and plays, histories and fictions, mostly illustrated with drawings or paintings – all revolving about one central theme, the same theme that was the centre of Isabella's own life – passion. Passion as lust, passion as love, passion as spiritual drive – all of it erotic and inspiring to Isabella. Some of the books were in French, some in Italian or Spanish, several older texts were in Latin and Greek and some of the most ornate and finely illustrated were in languages and scripts Isabella had never seen; English, Arabic, Indian and possibly even Chinese. 

Isabella browsed and read and inspected the detailed illustrations as if caught in whirlwind of the senses. Naked men and women, joined in sexual embrace or dancing, or simply displaying their genitals and touching each others' where everywhere. Outrageous and, Isabella would have thought, impossible scenes of abandonment and lust. Couples and larger groups engaged in every imaginable, and even unimaginable, scene of copulation, oral gratification and sexual manipulation. Some of the scenes were reminiscent of torture, except for the look of ecstasy on the faces of the participants. Isabella found herself torn between turning the pages and touching herself.

When Beatrice finally returned she found her new friend ravenously reading a detailed description of a Roman orgy in which men and woman sucked or fucked each other regardless of their sex. She was clearly flushed and her breathing was heavy.

"I am sorry to interrupt you, Isabella, but I thought you might need a break – and some air by the look of you," said Beatrice, beaming. "I gather you found something of interest?"

Isabella looked up, red from both embarrassment and her own physical excitement. She decided instantly to confide in Beatrice and drop any pretence of naivety.

"Oh Beatrice, this is so wonderful! I have never seen anything like this. It is powerful, rich, exceptional. Thank you so much for letting me see your garden. I am so.." she had difficulty describing her own state.

"Aroused?" suggested Beatrice. "Perhaps, awakened?"

"Yes, both of those. This is so overwhelming."

"Come with me, my dear. We'll cool off together."

Beatrice led her from the library, locking the door and hiding the key as they left. She held Isabella's slightly trembling hand and took her through the sitting room onto a broad tiled terrace that ran along the south side of the house. To their right was a large sunken bath, also tiled, filled with water on which floated flowers and hundreds of rose petals. Beside the bath, glasses of wine and platters of fruit had been set as if in expectation of a party.

Isabella looked at Beatrice quizzically but, as with her first encounter with Anton all those years ago, something or someone rose within her and she saw the course of the next few hours with absolute clarity.

"Join me," said Beatrice softly, slipping her dress over her bust and wriggling free its skirts. She was naked. Tanned, smooth and completely hairless, even her mons was totally bare, just like a little girl, except that the slit at the top of her pussy was clearly visible and slightly swollen.

Despite her determination to pursue this new experience, Isabella felt a little embarrassed.

"Oh, you are truly beautiful, Beatrice," she said. "I am afraid that my body is unprepared for … "

"Don't be silly, my love," replied Beatrice, moving closer and placing her hands gently on Isabella's red cheeks. "Let me undress you."

As Beatrice unbuttoned and unhooked Isabella's blouse and skirt, Isabella squirmed with both expectation and continued embarrassment. "I haven't shaved for ages," she said coyly.

Beatrice laughed and continued to remove her clothing; casting aside Isabella's chemise and tights and helping her step out of her drawers. "My lovely, you are too beautiful to require such artifice," said Beatrice admiring her still young body. "But I would love to shave you if that is what you would you would like."

Before Isabella could answer, Beatrice pressed her mouth to hers and held one beautiful breast while pulling her close with the other arm. The press of flesh on flesh and the passion of Beatrice's kiss made Isabella forget her shyness. She returned the kiss with equal fervor and brought her own hands to Beatrice's body, holding and caressing her hips and breasts and bottom.

Beatrice broke the embrace and, holding Isabella by the hand again, stepped into the bath. Isabella followed and they both sat down, pressed together, on the wide step, their arms re-encircling each other and their lips meeting. The water was luke-warm and the scent of the rose petals drifted over them. Their hands became more adventurous and Isabella became aware of Beatrice's fingers finding their way to her bush and stoking the lips of her cunny. Isabella did the same, enjoying the feeling of the soft, bare flesh and of Beatrice opening herself to the touching and probing of her fingers. Beatrice bent to take a breast into her mouth, her tongue playing over Isabella's erect nipple while her hand gently stroked the flesh around her clit.

Isabella felt herself letting go, sliding her body forward onto Beatrice's hand and letting her head rest on the edge of the bath. She moaned and let the flood of sensations engulf her, closing her eyes and feeling Beatrice's fingers enter her fully. Beatrice supported her upper body, still sucking on one breast, while pushing her fingers rhythmically in and out of Isabella's cunt. Isabella was almost floating and welcomed the building orgasm as it began its journey from the core of her being to her belly, breasts, thighs and her glorious, throbbing wet cunt. Her back arched, she called out and surrendered totally to Beatrice, finally writhing as wave after wave of release gripped her like a wild animal.

As the waves subsided, Beatrice lowered her onto the step, held her face in her hands and kissed her gently. "You are a remarkable woman, Isabella," she whispered.

Isabella returned the kiss and moved her own hands to Beatrice's vagina and breasts. "Please, let me return the favour," she pleaded.

"Of course, my lovely," said Beatrice, climbing onto the edge of the edge of the bath. "But wouldn't you like me to shave you first?". She opened her thighs to show Isabella the naked softness of her cunt lips.

Isabella couldn't wait. With both hands, she pushed Beatrice's knees apart and plunged her face into her open bald pussy. Her tongue darted and pressed and her lips sucked and caressed, covering Beatrice with kisses from her anus to her clit. Isabella, of course, knew instinctively how to please a woman and set her mouth and fingers to work to bring Beatrice to a climax without mercy.

Beatrice submitted willingly, lying back and supporting herself on her elbows, rubbing her breasts while Isabella concentrated all her attention between her thighs. Isabella's fingers found her anus to be as slick with juices as her cunt and slowly inserted one, then two fingers, pumping them in and out as Beatrice's sphincter relaxed to grant them free access. Meanwhile, the fingers of Isabella's other hand were opening Beatrice's cunt and her tongue gave her clit a thorough but gentle wash. Beatrice did not take long to come. Isabella felt the contractions start deep in her pussy, like a giant tongue trying to expel her fingers as she arched her back and let out a long groan of joy.

Removing her fingers, she placed her mouth completely over Beatrice's cunt and sucked and tongued her hole while maintaining the rhythmic fucking of her arsehole with the fingers of her other hand. As both holes spasmed, Isabella received a flood of warm fluid, squirting powerfully into her mouth and Beatrice's thighs closed tightly keeping her pressed there to receive the entire load. It took almost a minute for Beatrice to finish coming and to release her grip on Isabella's head. She collapsed back onto the patio floor and rubbed her pussy and tits in satisfaction, cooing and mewing and rolling her head.

Isabella too fell backwards, resting her arms along the edge of the bath and savouring the sights and tastes she was experiencing for the first time. She had brought another woman to orgasm, and she felt wonderful. The power and the intimacy and shared delight coursed through her like a warm glow of a powerful wine. This is real; she thought to herself, this is my life.

Beatrice rose on one arm and looked at her with even greater affection than before. "You are truly one of us," she said quietly, almost to herself, then rose, stepped to the edge of the bath and leant down to plant a kiss on Isabella's mouth, still wet with Beatrice's own juices.

They dried each other off with towels that someone, perhaps Beatrice herself or the servant girl Carla, had earlier placed on a nearby chair. Neither was in a hurry to dress and they sat naked, stroking and kissing each other on a couch while they ate the fruit on the platters and drank their wine. They talked of Beatrice's library and her work translating texts. Isabella learnt that many of the books had come a long way, many from the east, to Beatrice's library via traders. Her copies were sent to other similar libraries in Europe and India by the same means. Isabella was fascinated and wanted to know everything – who were the collectors, how did the libraries operate and most of all, how could she gain access to such treasures, and even contribute her language skills, if not her own writing, to such a magnificent and worthy endevour. 

Before she could get many answers, Beatrice rose and said that it was time for Isabella to be shaved. She went into the house for a few minutes and returned carrying a large bowl of obviously hot water and a blue, satin covered box about a foot long. She arranged towels over a long narrow table and told Isabella to come and lie down. Isabella gulped down the last of her wine and obeyed, stretching out on the table face down and enjoying the hot sun on her skin.

Beatrice wiped down her legs with a washcloth and used her hands to apply a thick layer of oil to each calf. Isabella enjoyed the sensation of Beatrice's hands on her body once more. The older woman then removed a curved razor from the blue box then set to work expertly shaving Isabella's legs in strong steady strokes. When she had finished the backs in inside surfaces of Isabella's calves, she told her to roll over. She repeated the operation, this time smiling occasionally at Isabella as she worked. She told Isabella to raise her arms and with more oil and another, small razor, deftly removed the long dark hairs from Isabella's armpits. It was all over, legs and armpits, in less than five minutes without so much as a nick of her fine olive skin.

"That was easy," smiled Beatrice. "Now for the treasure box."

She had Isabella move down the table and lie on her back again. Beatrice lifted each leg in turn placing Isabella's feet flat on the table and splaying her knees. This left Isabella fully exposed, pussy at the end of the table, where Beatrice now took up a position with oil bottle and a new razor. She applied the oil liberally and rubbed it in, much to Isabella's delight. Her hands were warm and they worked quickly, stretching the skin of her mons and shaving with steady quick strokes. 

She worked her way down to the skin around Isabella's clit before she changed to a very small, fine razor. She used this one almost one hair at a time, placing two fingers along Isabella's slit and working down one side and up the other. She was meticulous, no follicle remained unshaved and when she was satisfied with her work, she allowed her fingers to probe Isabella's opening and reapplied oil to the entire area, this time making sure that Isabella enjoyed every minute of it. 

But before Isabella could come, she stopped and sat her up. Isabella bent her head to inspect her now naked, glistening pussy and she was ecstatic with the effect.

"Oh, how beautiful it is!" she exclaimed, then running her fingers over and into it she added "and it feels soooooo good too."

"Let's try something," Beatrice smiled wickedly, taking the oil bottle and upending it over her and Isabella's breasts, letting a stream of the thin golden fluid run down their bodies. Still pouring oil she moved close, had Isabella stand against her and rubbed herself vigorously against Isabella's body, smearing the oil thickly over both of them.

"I thought this might be fun," Beatrice smiled. She then escorted Isabella to the towel covered couch and lay down, pulling Isabella on top of her and wrapping her legs around Isabella's body to prevent her sliding to the floor. Isabella responded by grinding her slick breasts into Beatrice's and humping her hips in simulated copulation. They kissed deeply and Beatrice held Isabella tightly and raised her legs, bring their clits into almost direct contact. Isabella increased the rhythm of her hips and felt the heat of both her own and Beatrice's excitement rising. The oil meant they were slipping over each other and had to maintain a tight grip with arms, hands and legs to remain locked together. Both women were giggling wildly. Eventually their wild movements and laughter became too much and Isabella slipped to the floor with a squeal. But before she could recover her dignity, Beatrice was on top of her, legs astride her face and mouth kissing her thighs and quickly finding her cunt.

Isabella's tongue quickly found its own warm, wet place in Beatrice and they consumed each other with urgency and great passion. Within a minute, both were once again tipping over the edge into orgasm. They came together, thrashing and burying their faces in each other's cunt. 

It took them both longer to recover this time, rolling apart, panting and throwing their arms wide to fill their lungs. Isabella momentarily imagined, or saw, the scene from above. Two women, naked, satisfied and exhausted, spread-eagled on the tiles of the patio; the towels, oil bottle, wine glasses and the other detritus of their hours of passion littered the scene around them. Isabella smiled, a broad smile of satisfaction and wholeness, and found herself drifting to another plane.

Minutes of glorious silence passed, the sun still illuminating and warming their bodies and the cool of the tiles under them providing delicious counterpoint.

It was Beatrice who stirred first, rising to her knees and bending to Isabella's ear.

"You carriage will be here in half an hour, my darling. I must see to you welfare. And you reputation," she giggled.

Isabella opened her eyes and smiled, lovingly at Beatrice. She pulled her closer and they kissed.

"I suppose I must go," said Isabella a little sadly, herself now rising slowly.

"I'm afraid that is so," replied Beatrice. "Let me bathe you and dress you."

So saying she helped Isabella to her feet and they stepped together into the bath, still warm enough on their skin to be pleasant.

This time, Beatrice took a pot of soap with them and proceeded to lather Isabella from scalp to feet. She rubbed gently, removing every trace of oil and sweat, paying particular attention to her breasts, tummy and sex. Isabella reveled in the attention.

Beatrice rinsed her thoroughly and stepped her out of the bath to dry her with one of the still dry and unsoiled towels. She had Isabella sit in the sun while she vigorously dried and brushed her hair. Finally she opened another bottle of oil, this one lighter in both colour and texture than the one she used earlier. She poured a pool of the pale liquid onto one palm, rubbed her hands together briefly and proceeded to anoint Isabella' feet, legs, pussy and tummy.

"Oh, that is divine," purred Isabella. "It smells like honey."

"Oh, I thought you meant my hands on your body," teased Beatrice. "Yes, it is a special oil from France, steeped in honey from the wildflowers."

She poured more onto her hands and worked it in to Isabella's breasts, neck and arms.

"Something to remember me by," she said. "I will give you a bottle to take with you."

Isabella sighed, "You know it will make me wet every time I use it."

"From what Thomas tells me of you impending marriage, that may be something you need, my dear."

Isabella was shocked that Thomas had spoken of her marriage in such terms to Beatrice and wondered yet again who, and what, he could possibly be.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 03



But there was no time to interrogate Beatrice. They both heard the sound of hooves and carriage wheels in the front courtyard and had to hurry to have Isabella dressed and presentable. Isabella dressed quickly and Beatrice simply threw on her dress. They then walked arm in arm into the drawing room just as Carla knocked and entered, announcing that Madam's carriage had arrived.

"Tell them to wait five minutes, thank you Carla" said Beatrice.

Carla surveyed the two women and smiled knowingly before closing the door on them.

"Isabella," said Beatrice, turning to face her and meet her eyes, suddenly serious and a little sad "however unlikely it seems to you now, we will see each other again before a year has passed. I want you to know that you have nothing to fear. You are safe."

Isabella did not understand exactly what Beatrice was trying to say. Fear was the furthest thing from her mind at that moment. She hugged Beatrice and whispered, "Beatrice, you have erased all my fears, and your promise that I will see you again will make anything bearable." They kissed.

Beatrice suddenly remembered something and moved hurriedly to a table on the other side of the room. She picked up two parcels and handed them to Isabella.

"This," she said of the first, "is the bottle of Honey Oil I promised you. And this, indicating what was obviously a book wrapped in oilskin and tied with string, is something special from my library. I hope you like it."

Isabella was thrilled. "Anything from your library would be a treasure to me, my darling Beatrice. Are you sure you can…."

"Of course, I am sure you will find it … illuminating."

Beatrice walked her to the door and down the steps to the waiting carriage. Simon was again sitting next to the scruffy driver. He said nothing and did not meet Isabella's eyes. He was leaning against the driver's shoulder and Isabella guessed that he must have been asleep.

Beatrice gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and a whispered farewell as she climbed into the carriage, telling the driver to take her back to the wharf via the most scenic route, past the Cathedral and through the town. Isabella's earlier desire to play the tourist had waned and she was, frankly, feeling quite exhausted.

She waved as the carriage left the Angostini compound and settled back to enjoy the scenery and the warm feelings still radiating through her body. The carriage ride was soothing and when it stopped briefly for traffic in the town she leant out of the window and called to Simon. He stirred and climbed down to the door, clearly not well. He slurred a greeting.

"Simon, are you drunk?" asked Isabella in disbelief.

"No, marm," said Simon, as if any speech was a great effort. "Sailors don't get drunk, just titsy, I mean, tipsy"

"But Simon, you are only, how old? Twelve?"

"Levin, marm" he replied, hiccoughing

"Get in," she said in a proper schoolmistress tone, "I don't want you falling from up there. What would the Captain say?"

"Yes'm" he replied sheepishly climbing into the carriage.

She studied his pallid face all the way back to the wharf where the carriage driver dropped them at the Della Virago's gangway. Isabella paid the driver and, carrying her parcels, ushered Simon onboard and down to her cabin. The decks were clear and it was apparent that the remaining crew had finished their loading and unloading and was waiting on the return of those who had been given leave before they themselves could hit the town. Her own return was barely noticed.

Down in her cabin, Isabella made Simon drink two tumblers of water and promise to go immediately to sleep off his stupour. He was contrite and pleaded with her not to tell the Captain of his drunkenness. She agreed, saying that she felt at least partly to blame, as it was she who had given Simon both the money and the time to indulge. He thanked her and left. 

Isabella suddenly felt exhausted. She lay on her bunk to rest but was soon fast asleep.

The dinner bell woke her almost two hours later. She woke, washed and tidied her hair before making her way to the Captain's dining room. There she found only Captain Bertrand and a single officer, the others having taken shore leave for the evening. They ate a hearty meal of fish, it being Friday, and toasted Palermo and the next stage of their voyage with fine Sicilian wine. 

The Captain asked a few leading questions about Simon and his whereabouts that Isabella parried without incriminating him. She herself asked after Father Thomas only to be told that he had not yet returned to the ship. When the meal finished, Isabella took her leave and returned to her cabin for an evening of letter writing and keenly anticipated reading of Beatrice's little book.

To be continued … (possibly)

(If you like the Isabella story, or have comments or suggestions, please send feedback! Paul T.)



Isabella Awakening Ch. 04



In which both Isabella's life and the Della Virago change course.

*

Isabella snuggled into her cot and opened the parcel containing Beatrice's book. It was a quarto volume; about an inch and half thick and bound in fine soft brown leather. It was clearly newly printed, the edges of the pages were as yet uncut. The gold embossing of the cover simply read "Lost Knowledge" with the letters B.S.D.K. in a smaller typeface underneath, presumably the author's initials. Isabella carefully opened the book, treating it as a she would a great and delicate treasure.

She found a sharp blade in her satchel and carefully released the folded pages pair by pair. By the time she had cut a dozen or so, she was too eager to read and left the rest of the book till a later time.

The frontice-piece gave no further clues to the nature of the material inside, simply repeating the title and the initials B.S.D.K and noting the reprinting date as the current year. An odd scroll-like imprint at the very bottom of the page caught her attention momentarily, triggering a memory she could not quite grasp. The symbols meant nothing to her and, eager to move on, she turned the page.

It was not until she reached the one page Introduction that Isabella gained some insight into the book's contents. Apparently it was textbook containing reports and fragments of ancient texts no longer available or held only in certain secret repositories. The purpose of the book was to introduce new students of the "esoteric arts" to the origins of stories and special knowledge. 

From her limited knowledge of Beatrice's library and interests, Isabella had a fair idea of what she was in for and dived into the first Chapter, titled "Keira de Bruine and the Rebirth of Knowledge". This is what Isabella read:

'Readers of this volume will obviously be already be familiar with the work of Keira de Bruine. It is for completeness that we include this abbreviated version of her story in this volume. All that follows, and indeed the lives of all our students, can only be understood in the context of Keira's contribution.

Keira was a beautiful raven-haired woman of high birth from the Burgundy region of old France. Her forebears were the Celtic aristocracy overrun and subsumed by the Roman and Hun invasions of previous centuries. Keira's people were therefore of mixed race and because many of the old stories had been lost in the wars, their folklore was now a jumble of Celtic, Roman, Norse and more recent Christian stories, they had no real complete knowledge of the true nature of mankind. This was a concern for the wise women of Keira's town and they would often meet in secret, without the knowledge of the men for whom such things were akin to witchcraft, usually under the guise of a sewing circle or just a group of gossipy women. They would talk of their memories of the old ways, handed down from mother to daughter, and try to join the fabric of their stories into some sort of systematic knowledge that could be handed down to the younger women. They examined the old books and tapestries and the fragments of songs that a few remembered and they questioned the older women from surrounding towns and villages. Through these efforts they discovered the names and characters of their Gods and Goddesses and abbreviated forms of the old myths of creation, wisdom and birth. But the stories were incomplete. The women decided that their situation demanded strong action and that the wisest and most talented of them had a sacred duty to rediscover, through personal experience and sacrifice if necessary, the truth of their existence. They selected three women to undertake these duties - Elvira, Natalie and Keira. Elvira was to investigate the nature of creation and heaven; Natalie the meaning of birth and motherhood, and Keira was assigned the task of finding the true nature of love and passion. Each woman was given two years to report back on her experiments and studies.

After some study and planning and much consultation with the elder women, it was decided that Keira must test herself with experience of love and passion and go out into the world of men and women to live the mystery. Keira took her responsibilities very seriously and traveled the countryside. Before leaving the village however (for it would not do to be known as a whore in her own country), she consulted the healers and equipped herself with potions and artifacts to ward off pregnancy and disease. 

As she left her own region, she first starting by talking to all the people she met to learn of the role and nature of love and passion in their lives. Eventually, when far from home, she began to experience it herself. Each week she would travel to a new town, often sleeping or making notes sitting on the back of her horse, stopping in the evening to take a room at an inn. And each night she would enter into the secret worlds of the towns and villages, finding lovers who would yield to her considerable charms and ever growing knowledge of sensual delight. She would entertain each new lover for a night or two, allowing herself to fall completely and passionately in love with each of them while at the same time taking careful and detailed observations of their, and her own states, thoughts and reactions. In a year and half, she loved two hundred and thirty-seven men and eighty-six women – erotic couplings between women being rarer in those days. She experienced the love of men and women of all creeds and races and from all walks of society. She loved white and brown, tall and short, thin and fat, princes and labourers, priests and prostitutes, warriors and washerwomen. This went on for many months and Keira never wavered from her sacred mission. After a while, she found that she could wholly indulge her senses and her feelings while simultaneously maintaining the detachment required of the critical observer. She would probe her lovers' desires and fears and gently coax from them their secrets and true nature. She monitored her own responses and development as a lover, chronicling her different moods and desires through the cycle of her menses and in relation to every subtle change in her mind and body. Her diaries and notebooks filled quickly and eventually she needed a string of donkeys to carry her notes from town to town. 

Six weeks before she was due home to make her report, Keira entered a convent in the mountains near her town to contemplate her studies and prepare her report for the women. The nuns of the convent had no idea, of course, of the nature of her studies but simply treated her as wandering learned person in need of rest, sustenance and care. Initially, naturally, Keira was exhausted and simply enjoyed the solitude and quiet of the cloistered halls and the Spartan rooms. She slept often and barely noticed the mild attentions of the nuns and novices who cleaned her room and served her food. After a few days of peace, she started on her notebooks, working diligently through each day, cataloguing and categorising her experiences and matching each observation with the fragments of stories and legends handed down through the ages of women. After five more days, she realised that this was the longest period in the last two years that she had been without a lover. Her dreams however were vivid – wild and passionate couplings; gentle caresses; intertwined bodies, legs and the almost unendurable attentions of tongues and fingers and phalluses. She actually got quite aroused and had to rediscover her talent for self-pleasure, unused for whole duration of her intensive study. But it wasn't until she seduced a young novice, who would then come to her each night after prayers, that she finally started to write her report.

Keira's report was a masterpiece and broke new ground in its field. It was erudite, beautifully argued and a joy to read or study. Even now, those who are lucky enough to read it, say that it speaks to them deeply from a place beyond knowledge and myth, from the very heart of humanity. It makes them tingle to read the intuitions and essential truths that Keira divined from her studies. The Chapters on anatomy and physiology were, even by modern standards, accurate and scholarly. The Chapters she called "The Mechanics" explored, in word and exquisite drawings, material that even surpassed the secret eastern texts and when dealing with the link between sex and spirituality, Keira eloquently evoked the very heart of what the Indian mystics call Tantra. But perhaps her most enduring and practical insights came in those sections of the report dealing with the nature of lovers and the pathways to fulfillment.

By the time she had finished the report and bade farewell to her novice, she was fully prepared for the presentation to the women of her town.

The other researchers had already returned with reports – Elvira with a great body of work on creation and the realm of the gods and Natalie who had studied birth and motherhood and had amassed reams of closely written notes. Together, over a period of several days, Keira, Elvira and Natalie would present their findings to the assembled women in a large tavern on the outskirts of the town. By careful planning and use of their wiles, the remaining women had conspired to have their men out of town for a festival of sport for the whole week following the researchers' return.

The meeting opened to a great sense of expectation and excitement and nobody was disappointed. The three presenters were spellbinding, taking the assembled women on a journey of profound spiritual exploration, detailing the science and myth of existence and opening up a whole world of meaning and understanding for each woman present.

When Keira spoke one morning of her experiences with the lovers she had known, each woman in the audience was totally enthralled. Her descriptions of seductions, passionate embraces, couplings and explosive release brought many to the point of rapture. So evocative were her words and the images she created in their minds, that during the break, many had to sneak away to the nearby wood, either alone or in small groups, to slake their passion and return their minds to quiet receptive contemplation of the reports.

It was that afternoon that Keira turned to the question of the nature of lovers and it was then that the group became increasingly interested to know how women could apply this new knowledge. Keira's taxonomy of the types of lovers she had known has become legendary. She described lovers in three broad categories that she named The Carer, The Philosopher and The Smithy. For each she listed their good and bad points as lovers and companions and further subdivided each category according to temperament, passion and physical attributes. 

Carers, she argued were men driven by their hearts. Their own need for love was expressed in kindness and tenderness, a willingness to please their lovers and partners. Of passive disposition, they were often small men, given to serious pursuits and occupations and known for their reliability and steadiness. While these men made excellent husbands and fathers for girls, they were often indifferent lovers and their members were usually thin or short. Women wanting this type of man, needed to pursue him gently for he would only rarely be the seducer. When he does pursue a woman, he seeks to attract her with an averted gaze and small gifts or favours. For these men, often raised by domineering or strong mothers, physical love can be problematic, especially in the long term, as romantic love fades. But with adequate tutoring and encouragement, such a man is capable of gaining skills and control that could satisfy a wife, provided she was a person of moderate passion herself.

At the other end of the taxonomic scale was The Smithy, a man of strong animal instinct and passion. Often physically large - in all departments, The Smithy was a man driven by his male parts alone. He is fertile and self-absorbed. Quick to become inflamed and demanding urgent satisfaction, The Smithy is a challenging, but often rewarding lover. He is most usually found in the trades and occupations requiring strength or violence, as he is, by nature, not a thinking man. His means of acquiring lovers is also somewhat brutal. No subtle seducer or shrinking violet is he. He gains access to women's favours by direct request and his animal presence alone. A woman must use guile and cunning if she is to gain the ultimate satisfaction from such a man. A woman of ample girth and who is herself quick to reach her satisfaction will find the Smithy an ideal partner. Virgins need to show great care around Smithies, although a young Smithy can be a rewarding first love for a maiden of an earthy disposition and wide hips. But he makes a good husband only for a woman who does not need gentleness and sweet-talking, as he is apt to ignore her when not physically inflamed. Often raised by men alone, or by weak women, he is prone to taking many women indiscriminately and can interpret his popularity with the fairer sex in a way that leads to vanity and dismissiveness towards a woman's concerns.

The Philosopher is, naturally, a man driven by his mind. While the Carer is focused on his lover and the Smithy on himself, it is the relationship and the coupling itself that absorb the Philosopher. He takes greatest delight in the journey, rather than its end, and will lead a woman to places and to passions she has only dreamt of. His is much more than a physical love, although he usually comes highly skilled and well equipped for the physical act. When in a high passion his whole being is devoted to the act of love. His body, his mouth, his words and his power are all focused on his lover and the act of love. A truly wise Philosopher can transport a lover to ever higher planes where she will meet her own goddess and know of heaven, often many times in a single encounter. Only a woman oblivious to the higher plane, or one with feeble breath and no endurance, would find The Philosopher an unsatisfactory consort for an evening's pleasure. When not engaged in lovemaking, the philosopher is an observer. That is how his powers increase. This can make him seem aloof as a companion. The Philosopher is an ideal first lover for highbred romantic virgins, for dreamers and for women seeking deep spiritual as well as physical satisfaction. Women who have only known Carers or Smithies can be totally mesmerised by the Philosopher's knowing and sustained intensity. He seduces mainly with his eyes and his voice. At his best he is a witty, challenging partner who can delight and charm his way into any woman's bed. However, if his thoughts should descend to the black depths, he will be morose and an unsuitable companion for man, woman or beast. As a husband, he can be fickle and prone to periods of barren self-absorption. Any woman unequal to his intellect travels dangerous ground with a Philosopher as a husband.

These are, of course, only brief summaries of Keira's treatise on men. She goes on to describe the development and different life stages of each class of lover and discusses such subjects as arrested development, early disappointment and the effects of war and violence on the psyche of men. She prescribes herbs such as Mandragora and opium to mange the fires of overly passionate men, especially Smithies prone to shortness of perseverance. Her Chapters on women, both as seducer and seduced, as lovers of both men and women, are equally astounding in their insights and prescriptions for joyful union. 

Keira's presentation to the women of the town was not fully recorded but snippets do survive in the form of sayings handed down by the women of the region. Apparently her answers to questions were direct, witty and to the point, as recorded in a short poem told to the girls of her town through the centuries since, which, in translation reads:

A woman rose and asked of Keira

What use then can be the Village Idiot?

Keira's response, measured and sincere was voiced,

An Idiot is only a man who has lost his mind

And for many men, that is their least interesting part.

Another proverb, believed to be based on one of Keira's responses, says that young men are to be thought of as paving stones – if laid properly in the first instance, a woman can walk over them for decades.

But enough of Keira's report. The true gift of Keira de Bruine is not her book but how she went on to live her life.

Of course, the other presentations, by Elvira and Natalie, were similarly scholarly and insightful. The meeting apparently broke into small groups to discuss their finer points before resuming on the last day to give thanks to the researchers and to acknowledge their work and sacrifice.

Firstly however, the Elders decided that the work of their three students needed to be rewarded.

The Elders gathered the three together and asked each in turn how she should be rewarded. Elvira, after initially considering a life as a nun, decided instead that she wished to marry a widower of the village and tend a garden for the rest of her days while being available to give wise counsel to women who pondered the mysteries of creation and the gods. The Elders agreed to her wish and undertook to arrange her marriage. Natalie desired only to put her knowledge of birth and nurture into practice as both a mother and a midwife. She asked the elders to arrange a suitable marriage, to a large and powerful man as befitted her own physique and temperament. This they also agreed. When it was Keira's turn, she hesitated.

"Surely you of all women, you must know your heart's desire?" said the Elders.

"There are so many factors," complained Keira. "Sometimes I want a Smithy, like Natalie, and at others I know I'd only be happy with a gentle caring husband, as Elvira has been granted. Yet in my heart, there is also a place for a Philosopher who can take me to heaven and back."

The Elders were perplexed. They consulted each other while Keira sat in quite contemplation. While they were still in deep discussion, Keira suddenly jumped to her feet smiling radiantly. "I have it!" she said, "More research is clearly needed. I ask your agreement to an extension of my contract – another five years should suffice."

"With your blessing, I shall continue our quest, leaving no avenue unvisited, no question unanswered."

The Elders, of course, could only agree and wish Keira well on her selfless quest for the knowledge and wisdom that would serve all women, and through them all humanity.

The second volume of Keira's report has never been found, but is rumoured to exist somewhere deep in the northern foothills of the Himalayas where it is guarded and protected by one of the happiest races of people known today.'

*

Isabella was breathless after reading this story. She had no previous knowledge of this woman Keira, but felt an instant affinity with what she had just read. Her heart beat quickly and she felt herself being on the very start of a mysterious journey in which the knowledge of Keira was a central part. Many of her own thoughts about sex and passion and spirituality were swirling together with the brief outline of Keira's philosophy in the book, threatening to coalesce into some sort of unified view of life and universe. The feeling made Isabella both warm and giddy.

She put the book carefully into her satchel, treasuring it and her connection with Beatrice even more. After that, she simply drifted in and out of a state of sleepy dreamlike awareness in which the images she had seen in Beatrice's library came alive and mixed with visions and feelings and sounds from that day: Beatrice, naked and so alive under Isabella's mouth and hands; Isabella's green-eyed, wild-haired inner guide, coupling with men and women of all races and nationalities; oil on naked breasts, wet cunts and hard cocks; and deep, shattering explosions arising from deep within Isabella's own womb. The feelings were so strong that Isabella, for the first time in her life, actually came without so much as touching herself. As she drifted deeper, the faint smell of honey infused her dreams.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 04



Isabella slept soundly and woke warm and refreshed just as the sun started to rise above the little promontory at the mount of the harbour. She was aware of noises on the dock outside her porthole and of the men above going about the normal routine on the main deck. She stretched and washed her face and allowed herself to feel the power and wisdom she had absorbed yesterday course through her body. She moved to the porthole to gain a glimpse of the outside world. She could see the dockworkers moving barrels and large crates, swinging them up to the second floor of the warehouses opposite the ship. Other men were wrestling the cargo into the warehouses and calling to their fellows below. As she was about to open the glass window and take in the salty morning air, she noticed a single horse-drawn cart making its way along the cobbled dockside. Two people sat on the cart's plank seat and the driver appeared to be a woman.

As it got closer to the ship, Isabella recognized Father Thomas as the passenger. To her surprise, the driver was Carla, Beatrice's serving girl and she appeared to be handling the horse and cart like a professional, her skirts tucked between her knees and using the reigns and her voice to guide the bay gelding through the clutter of the dock.

When they reach shipside, Isabella withdrew from the window, far enough not to be seen spying she thought, but she could still see Thomas stand beside Carla and call something to someone on deck. He held up two fingers and pointed to the cart behind him.

He then looked around, bent down and kissed Carla on the mouth before jumping down. Two rough looking sailors from the Della Virago joined him on the dock and he supervised their unloading of two large parcels from the rear of the cart. They were both roughly rectangular objects, wrapped in oiled canvass and tied with rope. Isabella saw each man struggle with his parcel, hoisting onto his shoulder with a grunt and then making his way towards the gangway.

Thomas farewelled Carla with a bow and a kiss to the back of his hand and he too walked towards the gangway. Isabella felt a little guilty at having watched this little scene, and a little jealous of Carla too, she admitted to herself. Her growing attachment to Thomas was a source of some annoyance to her, wanting to remain aloof and in control. She smiled to herself at her undiminished capacity for girlish infatuation; especially silly, she reflected, in the light of her passionate, intimate and very adult coupling with their now mutual friend Beatrice yesterday. Isabella collected herself and made her way up on deck, determined to maintain her poise and position and not to betray either her knowledge or her feelings regarding Thomas.

Simon met her at the hatchway and took her hand as she climbed the ladder to the main deck.

"Thankee, marm," he said quietly.

Isabella realized he was speaking of her cover-up of his drunkenness yesterday in the town.

"Our secret, Simon," she said, moving past him and checking the wheel deck for the Captain, or of Thomas.

"Perhaps I should go to breakfast," she said, more to herself than to Simon.

"Er, marm, the Captain says I should bring you sumping on the foredeck. Er, the officers an' him an' the padre is got some business to do in the cabin." 

"Oh," Isabella said, "yes, please Simon, that would be fine. Could you see if the cook could find a pot of coffee and some pastries for me. I do miss my coffee in the morning."

"Yes'm," he responded, running back down the ladder to find the cook.

Isabella made her way to the bow of the ship, up on to the little raised foredeck. She found a coil of rope and made herself comfortable. She wondered again at Thomas's strange early morning arrival at the dock and, indeed, went over in her mind the many inconsistencies in his behavior and demeanor she had noticed over the past week.

Simon soon returned beaming from ear to ear, struggling with a coffee pot and a basket that he set down on a barrel beside her. He retrieved a large steel mug from the basket and poured her a cup of warm, strong, sweet, milky liquid from the pot. It certainly smelled like coffee, but her first mouthful told her that it contained much more. She coughed and spluttered.

"Simon!" she cried, when she had recovered her breath, "What is this?"

Simon's smile wavered, but he recovered quickly, saying, "It's the cook's special, missus. He calls it Sicilian Coffee – I thinks it's the Amaretto you're tastin' there." 

Isabella took another sip, slowly this time. She certainly noted the flavour of almonds overlaying the dark coffee taste. She smiled. 

"It's lovely, Simon. Tell your friend the cook that he has a magic touch. But perhaps a lady should not take strong liquor." She smiled. "At least, not before lunch." She added, winking at Simon.

Simon left, no doubt to spread the news of Isabella's introduction to the cook's special coffee, and Isabella settled back to enjoy the pastries from the basket, and a second cup of coffee. She was contemplating the sky, watching the wheeling seabirds and envying their freedom, when she heard a noise from the maindeck. Rising, she saw the three officers emerging from the hatchway and calling orders to the surprised crew. From what she could understand of their shouted instructions, the ship was to get underway immediately. 

Following his officers up the ladder, the Captain emerged from the hatchway, looking around with a concerned look on his face. He spotted Simon and called to him. Simon tugged his forelock, a traditional salute in the merchant navy, and pointed to Isabella, partly obscured by the foremast, standing in the bows. The Captain leant to Simon's ear and then returned down the hatchway. Simon ran to Isabella, clearly under direct and urgent orders.

He tugged his forelock to her, bowed and said, "Marm, the Captain requests you join him immediately in his cabin for urgent consul... constellations, no, um, missus, he needs to talk wif you right now." He blushed at his stumbling and took her arm to help, or usher, her to the lower deck.

Isabella entered the cabin and the door was closed behind her. The Captain and Father Thomas sat at a small central table covered with nautical maps. The captain looked worried but Father Thomas gave nothing away.

"Captain, I trust nothing serious has happened?" she said, mirroring his concerned expression.

"I am sorry to worry you Signora Silverto, and no, nothing serious has yet happened. But we must act quickly to avert trouble. Please sit down and I will explain."

Isabella did as she was instructed, looking to Thomas for some indication of the nature or extent of the trouble the Captain mentioned. He simply looked at her and gave a polite smile.

The Captain arranged some papers in front of him and cleared his throat. "We have learned this morning," his eyes making a momentary sideways movement towards Thomas, "that our proposed course to Barcelona via Sardinia has become somewhat .... er ...less secure. It seems that the French have authorized privateers to ply the Sardinian and Corsican coasts with the intention of harassing or taking by force any ship serving the Bourbon's or their new possessions. This is not a declared war, you understand, but it would appear that the French intend to weaken Bourbon trade and thus subvert what they see as Spanish expansionism in the central Mediterranean."

Isabella nodded, trying to absorb the Captain's tortured explanation and understand its implications. Before she could respond, he went on.

"I have come to the decision to sail immediately directly to Barcelona, keeping well south until we can enter Spanish waters at least risk."

"South, Captain?" Asked Isabella. "Will that not take us towards the Barbary Coast?" Isabella, like every Neapolitan, had a deeply ingrained fear of the pirates who worked the southern coasts of the Mediterranean from Algiers to Cairo. Their raids on the shipping and the islands, and even the ports of Southern Italy, were legendary and to be greatly feared. To a young woman raised on stories of their violent pillage, looting and rape, the very thought of venturing voluntarily into pirate waters was almost incomprehensible. 

Captain Bertrand seemed surprised at Isabella's quick deduction of their plight and he looked again to Thomas for some sign or support.

"That is correct, Isabella." It was Thomas who now spoke. "The Captain has to make a decision that places the ship, its crew and its cargo – and of course, its passengers – at least risk. That decision is not without consequence, or risks of its own, and that is why he has called on us – to explain his decision."

"Yes, I understand." Said Isabella to both men. "But surely the risk of plunder by the French, however unwelcome, would be preferable to .... an attack by Algerines?"

"I understand your concern, Signora," said Bertrand, sweating a little, "but in truth the choice is not so clear. Were we to fall in with a French ship, a Sloop or fully rigged Man O' War, we would have no chance and, I am afraid to say, that despite popular views, French privateers are as ruthless and craven as any that ply these waters. On the other hand, the Algerines, as you so politely call them, are rarely able to outrun a Caravel such as the Della Virago and, in the unlikely event that we find ourselves in their clutches, they are far more likely to negotiate, at least for the lives of the crew and passengers, than are the bastard French."

The Captain's explanation made sense to Isabella, despite her lack of understanding of the shipping involved, and she saw Thomas nodding sagely as the Captain spoke.

"On a related matter, Signora, I must advise that I may well have to ask you to stay below at the time we ... enter Barbary waters. Sailors are brave but simple men and they have certain superstitions. Luck is everything to them and a woman, a beautiful woman, aboard at times of uncertainty is considered an ill omen indeed. Anything that I can do to maintain their spirits and their attention to the ship, I must do. I hope you will understand."

"You have our assurances, Signora, that every precaution will be observed and that your own safety is my highest priority. I have instructed my officers to take the ship directly to sea to avoid news of our change of course being sent ashore where evil ears may take advantage." Captain Bertrand bowed.

"I thank you, Captain Bertrand, both for your candor and your assurances," she replied. "I am confident that you will preserve both the Della Virago and all who sail in her – and hopefully my father's cargo as well. And of course I shall obey any instruction from you or your officers as if I was one of your crew myself. Please have no hesitation in directing me." She smiled and stood, preparing to leave the men to their charts – although she still wondered what a priest could offer Captain Bertrand in the way of navigation or strategic skills.

"You are very kind, Isabella. Please stay here and enjoy some fresh tea while I consult further with my officers." Bertrand bowed again, took up his hat and left the room, leaving Isabella and Thomas to the maps.

Thomas spoke first. "You know that the Captain has your best interests at heart in this," he said.

"Thank you, Thomas, but I cannot help feeling unsettled by this development. I have heard stories of ...."

"Yes, I'm aware of the reputation of the Barbary pirates, but please let me assure you that their bark, and their reputation, is much worse than their bite – and our chances of avoiding them completely are really quite high."

"Again, I am reassured. Thank you. Is there anything I can do?"

"When we reach Barbary waters, I will advise you further. But please rest easy. The danger is really very slight and you will be well protected. And sometimes in this life, a risk must be taken to reach a reward."

Isabella genuinely felt more relaxed and assured by Thomas, his calmness and authority and steady voice reaching into her and laying her deep, unspoken fears to rest. When he leant forward and placed a hand on hers, she felt an even greater surge of comfort, as well as a confirmation of her attraction to him as a man. 

Sitting there at the Captain's table, hands touching, their eyes met and a thousand words and feelings passed between them in an instant, a powerful and unexpected joining of minds. Isabella suddenly became aware of a deep goodness and grace within Thomas, that he was there for her, knew her deepest secrets, would protect her, even at risk of the ultimate cost to himself, and that anything, anything she desired, was possible. A single word escaped her soul and lodged in her mind – Trust. At that moment, she knew that all her doubts and questions about this man were but shadows, behind which lay a powerful and timeless certainty, an eternal verity, a deep and abiding truth. Whatever happened from this point on, she knew there was one person in the world in whom she could trust, absolutely and without thought.

It was only a few seconds that they sat like that but, to Isabella, it seemed an age. A sudden jerk as the ship's sails unfurled and filled with wind, brought her back. She rose, unsteadily, perhaps because of the movement under her feet or maybe the Cook's Sicilian coffee was having an effect. Her head was feeling light and she had difficulty finding her balance. She steadied herself with a hand on the edge of the table and simply said "Thank you, Thomas" before making her way carefully to the stateroom door.

There was no sailor standing guard this time and Simon was nowhere to be seen. From the sounds all around her and on the main deck above it was apparent that every hand was engaged in the work of sailing the ship. Rather than intrude on their busy workplace, Isabella made her way along the forward corridor to her cabin.

Once there, she locked the door behind her. From her porthole she could see Palermo harbour, now in the distance, and an informal flotilla of small boats, mostly fishing vessels returning to port after a night at sea. The Della Virago's pace was almost leisurely, cutting calmly through the light swell towards the shipping channels at the mouth of Palermo harbour. Isabella sat on her bunk, not really knowing what to do next and reflecting on her meeting with the Captain and Thomas.

She went over their conversation in her mind. Thomas's role in all this still puzzled her, but the deep reassurance she felt when he touched her still lingered. She also felt his presence as a man. It was, she realised, more than three years since she was last with a man who could in any way meet her physical needs. Not counting her wonderful day with Beatrice, and the many evenings she spent alone with her imagination and her whale horn friend, Isabella had spent the past three years, and indeed the ten years of her marriage to Henri, almost alone in both body and soul. For a woman who had such a strong sensual nature, such isolation and denial was both physical and emotional torture. Thomas's presence, and Isabella's knowledge of him as a sexual being, was enough, she thought, to tip her over the edge of reason into a state of agitation and lustfully wanton behaviour. She was determined to resist the urge to seduce him. She also wondered whether that would even be possible with a man such obvious depth and will.

The gentle movement of the ship and Isabella's introspective mood combined to lull her into a kind of half sleep in which her thoughts of seduction and neediness took her back to a series of encounters with strangers. It was during Henri's long absences on so-called military duty, or when he visited his mountain pastures in the summer months, that Isabella occasionally let slip her marital vows and took a lover. Sometimes, driven by simple lust or boredom or loneliness, she would seduce a stranger, a workman or a traveler calling at the house for alms or directions, sometimes simply abandoning herself to him in her own house or in the barn. These encounters were rarely completely satisfying. Isabella rediscovered the general incompetence of men in matters of passion. But she did usually manage to slake her immediate need to be touched, tasted or filled before turning her victim back onto the road.

One year, she did find a lover who could satisfy her. Not with his cock, which was small and thin, but with his mouth and his tongue that she taught him to use in ways he had never imagined. He was a young mason, eighteen years old and apprenticed to a tradesman contracted to rebuild the fallen steeple on a local church. Isabella had first noticed him working in the churchyard as she passed on one of her weekly visits to the town market. 

He was breaking stone, tall, shirtless and sweaty. His brown skin and the young lean muscles of his chest, arms and shoulders glistened in the early summer sun. He looked up as Isabella passed the churchyard gate. Their eyes met momentarily and he smiled shyly but he quickly went back to his task. As she walked on, Isabella believed she could feel his eyes appraising her and she instinctively swayed her hips and walked tall as she made her way down the hill to the market. Once there, she mingled and chatted with the townswomen and picked over the early season fruit and vegetables, buying dates and figs and a bag of the small, sweet oranges brought in from the south. A bottle of local wine completed her purchases and she farewelled the women and made her way back up the dusty hill towards home.

As she approached the church, she could see her young apprentice sitting with his master under a cork oak at the front of the little cemetery. She decided to approach and make contact. It was the master, a stocky, large nosed man, perhaps sixty, who spoke first.

"Good morning, Signora."

"Hello to you both,' replied Isabella with a smile, approaching the wooden railed fence near their tree. "It is a hot day for such heavy work," she added, pointing with her free hand to the massive pile of roughly cut stone a few yards away towards the church.

"Indeed it is, Signora, and I would not even attempt it without Octavo here. My old bones would melt if it was me doing the breaking and the cutting", he said, rising and walking towards Isabella. "I'm Giardo Pallachi, stonemason from the precinct of Suda Roma," he said, reaching for her hand and bowing slightly.

"I am pleased to meet you Signore Pallachi. And you too, Octavo," she said to the boy, who now also rose and moved to her.

They chatted amiably for several minutes during which time Isabella learned that Pallachi was a cousin of the local priest and had secured the job of mending the steeple through him. They had traveled from Rome a week ago with the intention of staying locally for the few months it would take them to complete the job. Octavo had been apprenticed to Pallachi's family business only six months ago and this was his first visit to the Naples area. Pallachi spoke of him as if he was a child, and an idiot child at that. Octavo, he said, had been raised in a monastery since he was orphaned at the age of six. According to the Master, the monks had expelled him because he was too stupid to take vows.

"Too stupid even to be a monk!" was how Pallachi described him, laughing.

During this exchange, Octavo stood mute, head down, obviously embarrassed.

"But Signore Pallachi," said Isabella quietly, "surely it takes more brains to be a stone mason than a monk?"

The question took Pallachi by surprise and he had to think carefully before responding. In the meantime, Isabella noticed a smile spread across Octavo's still down-turned face. He looked up briefly and caught her eye, as if to congratulate or thank her on taking the Master down a peg or two.

Before Pallachi could think of a response, Isabella spoke again.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 04



"It has been lovely to meet you both,' she said sincerely. "Please accept these little oranges with my regards, and if either of you are passing my house - the stone farmhouse with the grey barn about a mile up the hill road," she pointed up the road, "please do feel free to come in and refresh yourself at my well."

"And I am sure there is some stonework needing the attention of a mason ... or an apprentice ... if you are free. Paid work, of course."

"Thank you, marm," said Pallachi sheepishly. "We're working six days a week here right now, but I might just send Octavo up one afternoon to help."

"I would like that," said Isabella, "I am sure he would be up to the job," she added, looking directly at Octavo, then turning to Pallachi and smiling before saying her goodbyes and heading back up the road towards home.

Three days later, on a Saturday, Isabella was busily airing and cleaning the house, taking advantage of the heat and Henri's absence to wash and dry the draperies and carpets. She chanced to glance out of her upstairs bedroom window and saw the figure of Octavo, carrying a heavy canvass bag, making his way up the long drive from the road. She hurriedly combed and tied back her hair, slipped off her drawers and adjusted her bodice to emphasise the swell of her breasts. She had immediately, and without a second thought, allowed and welcomed her inner seductress to take over.

She waited at the top of the stairs until she heard Octavo calling from the open front door. She called back and told him to come in before making her way down. He stood nervously in the entrance hall, holding the canvas bag with both hands in front of him.

"Octavo! Welcome, and thank you so much for coming so soon," she said, moving close to him and taking his arm by the triceps and walking him into the drawing room, stripped bare of its curtains and streaming with sunlight. "Can I offer you a drink? You must be thirsty after your walk, especially carrying those heavy tools."

"Thank you, Signora," he replied shyly. "Maybe I should put these down outside first."

"Yes, do that," she replied, indicating the rear entrance to the drawing room to the kitchen and the back door. "Just put them on the back step while I get us both a drink."

Isabella smiled to herself, remembering Anton's use of fortified wine and laudanum to knock her out when he was bent on his first molestation of her young body. Now that she was in the position of a would-be seducer, the last thing she wanted to do was make her quarry unconscious. She would use the more subtle ways at her disposal.

She poured two glasses of the pale red local wine she had purchased at the markets and sat, legs curled beneath her on the couch, while Octavo disposed of his work tools and returned through the kitchen.

Octavo reentered the drawing room and Isabella watched him as he took the chair opposite her and she handed him his wine. He was tall, probably six inches taller that Isabella. His curly brown hair and fine but tanned skin, his full lips, fine straight nose and square jaw, recently shaved she noted, gave him the appearance of one of Leonardo's archangels. His eyes wandered around the room, falling on Isabella often, but moving nervously on. Isabella also appraised his character objectively. She realised, for example, that Octavo was a virgin, naïve but wanting sexual experience. She was in no doubt that she would have him today, and that he would welcome her, but she did not want to frighten him with too direct an approach.

She engaged Octavo in innocent and animated talk of his work and home in Rome, of his friends and hopes. She divulged that her husband was away for at least another month and that she was lonely. He started to relax and she refilled his glass. She stretched out on the couch, half reclining with her head supported by one hand. With her other hand she began to absent-mindedly, but quite deliberately, stroke her outstretched thigh through her skirt. By leaning forward slightly she was able to give Octavo an excellent view of her cleavage. His breathing became short and he squirmed in his seat. Isabella notice that his pupils had become quite dilated and he was having some difficulty making full replies to her questions. It was at that point that she stopped speaking, abruptly and in mid sentence, and fixed her dark eyes on his. Octavo seemed mezmerised and just sat there, unaware of the sudden quiet, being drawn in further and further by her gaze.

Isabella kept her eyes fixed and simply said, "Come" and, like a puppy, he moved to her side, kneeling before her. She put a hand to the back of his curly head and drew him to her mouth. His hands clumsily sought her breasts while they kissed and she helped him push away her blouse to allow complete access. She knew she would have to lead him, and soon pulled away and quickly shed her clothes and joined him, kneeling on the floor. She told him to take off his clothes and helped him when he struggled to undo the buttons on his tunic. His pants were easier, held by a rope cord that loosened to her touch.

Once he was naked before her, Isabella had to hide her disappointment at what she saw. Despite his broad chest and chiseled muscles, he was not quite what she had in mind. His cock, stiff as it was, barely poked its swollen head out of his public hair. She lowered her head, both to get a better look and to hide her expression. Sure enough, it was very small, only about as long and thick as her own thumb. Even Henri's little thing had more substance that this one. Her immediate thought was that the "Octa" in Octavo's name must have been based on the new metric centimeters, rather than inches. 

Since she was within reach, and no harm could be done, she took the little cock in her mouth and gave him a gentle suck. It swelled a little, but not to any decent size, and hardly had she begun to caress it with her tongue than Octavo started to moan and thrust his hips. She slowed down and put pressure on the tip, pressing it to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, hoping to slow him down. But to no avail. He immediately jerked and came in her mouth, spraying her throat with his warm sticky semen. She swallowed and licked his cock as it rapidly deflated. Rising to her knees again to continue, she was surprised when Octavo stood and retrieved his trousers and shirt from the couch. This was more that Isabella could stand and she rose to follow, grabbing him by the arm and turning him round to face her. 

"No!" she said firmly, "Sit." Indicating the couch. She was determined to satisfy her own needs one way or another and, if Octavo's cock was not up to the task, she had other ways. Octavo did as he was instructed, looking a little worried at this development. Isabella stood before him naked, hands on hips, and gave him what she was sure was his first lesson in pleasing a woman. She emphasised the mutual nature of the exchange and the differences between men's' and women's needs in terms of time and focus. She showed him her clitoris and pussy and let him place a finger gently into her, she showed him how to judge her rhythm, how to follow and then lead with deeper, faster thrusts as she became more aroused and wet. She came and she held his finger in her so that he could feel her pulsing and her heat. She then sat and took his face in her hands, pressing his lips to her wet cunt, talking him through the different ways to lick and kiss her pleasure spots until she came again, wetting his face completely with her fluids. Finally, she turned over and let him open her moist arsehole with his little finger and explained the pleasure a woman, or a man, could receive from a gentle and caring lover who could open them there. When she rolled back over and sat up, Gustavo was hard again. Thank goodness for small mercies, she thought, as she kissed him and guided his hands to her breasts.

She lay on the couch and parted her legs for him, pulling him close and letting him fuck her. She managed his pace and was pleased when he ground his pubic bone onto her clit. This time, he lasted a few minutes before he came in her and she held him tightly while he recovered.

They both rose from the couch, Gustavo staring at her still, eyes wide and obviously in awe, or in love. Isabella had a pang of conscience and hugged him.

"Thank you Octavo, I needed a strong lover today and you were wonderful. I am sorry if I was little forceful, but I do understand that a young man sometimes needs guidance in these matters." She said. "We must be discreet in this, but I want you to come to me again and we will continue the lessons."

Gustavo was speechless, but nodded and picked up his clothes.

Gustavo returned to her the next day and several more times before his work at the church was completed. He was a good student and, while his cock never fulfilled Isabella, he gained great skill with his mouth and hands and was even learning to delay his own pleasure long enough when fucking her so that the sensations brought her close to orgasm. She tutored him on the ways of young women; what he should and shouldn't say, how to act with them so that their dreams turned to him and, most importantly, how to get them alone and aroused so that that could both enjoy the carnal pleasures they both secretly needed and craved. By the time he left, he was confident, talkative and eager to try his skills with the beautiful young women of Rome. And Isabella was able to part from him with neither regret nor guilt, and even with a touch of pride in her role in creating a competent young lover.

Octavo had been her last male lover and the thought of his gentle and competent mouth on her pussy now made her realise how much she missed sharing her bed and body with a man. Beatrice had been a wonderful lover and had slaked her desire and opened her to a wonderful new kind of passion, but it was a cock and a man's hard body that Isabella knew she needed. As she came back to reality aboard the gently pitching Della Virago, Isabella realised that her hand was inside her skirt, stroking and probing her wet sex like a mouth and tongue. She saw her leather satchel lying on the floor beside her traveling case and immediately thought of her whalebone dildo. She could not resist, and climbed down from the cot to retrieve it. Crouched over her satchel she rummaged before her hand emerged cradling its chamois pouch and feeling its delicious weight across her palm. She unwrapped and withdrew it with great care. It was, she realised, her most precious possession.

As she examined it lovingly a quiet knock at the door startled her. Quickly thrusting the dildo back into her satchel, she rose, straightened her dress and called, "Who is it?"

"Only Thomas, Isabella," came the reply, his deep voice comforting her instantly.

Isabella unlocked and opened the door to find Thomas. Head slightly stooped to avoid touching the low beams. "Father, oh, please come in," said Isabella.

"Thank you Isabella, and please call me Thomas – I know lots of different Fathers and I quite like the name Thomas," he smiled.

Isabella smiled back and ushered him to the little chair. She closed, but did not lock, the door, not being entirely sure of the correct etiquette applying an engaged woman receiving a priest in her cabin.

"I am sorry to interrupt your rest, but I thought that while the Captain and officers were still busy, we might have a talk now about how we can minimise the risks to you should we be boarded." He said these words so matter-of-factly that Isabella was taken a little off guard.

"Why, yes, of course," she replied. "As a matter of fact, your reassurances earlier had quite settled my mind."

Thomas smiled and resumed. "The fact is, Isabella, that an encounter with pirates is more likely than not once we reach sight of the African shore." She gulped at this revelation. "But it need not be dangerous. We have several courses of action available to us. Firstly, we can hide or disguise you. The sight of a beautiful woman will enflame an Algerine like nothing else, and we should avoid that if we can." Thomas's description of her as beautiful touched her more deeply than she would have imagined.

"Secondly, we must be prepared for the possibility of abduction." This shocked her out of her fantasies about Thomas.

"But .... I ....I thought that was not likely. I am scared of ..." She sputtered. 

"Isabella, we must face reality here. Even if we can save the ship and the crew, if you are found aboard there is little we can do except to ensure that the Pirates believe you are more valuable alive and .... intact, rather than as a private trophy."

Isabella let this last statement sink in. So Thomas was warning her that the risk of capture and rape was very real, but that some ruse may protect her.

"Isabella, listen," he said, gaining her full attention again. "You will not be abandoned. I will personally guarantee your safety. But you must do as I say and you must prepare yourself by packing a small bag of essentials. Here," he reached behind him and took hold of Isabella's satchel, lifting it and tossing it gently in front of her on the cot.

As the satchel hit the mattress of the cot, it bounced slightly and, to Isabella's horror, her beautiful whalebone dildo rolled out onto the bed directly in front of Thomas. She gasped, and they both stared at the object for what seemed like an age before she leapt forward to grab it and stuff it back in the bag. She missed and knocked the dildo closer to Thomas who quickly grabbed it himself.

He held it up, turning it in the light coming through the porthole, a look of wonder and surprise on his face. Isabella meanwhile had slumped back on the cot, her head in her hands, shame and confusion blotting out rational thought.

"Isabella, where ..." Now it was Thomas's turn to be lost for words. "I... this is ...oh my god, Isabella, where did you get this .... object?" He continued staring at it as if he could not believe what held.

"Thomas," Isabella said softly, "I would not expect a ... priest... to understand a woman's ..."

"No, Isabella," he said, suddenly smiling and looking at her directly. "I know what it is, what I am asking is how you came by it, who gave it to you?" He stood, holding it closer to the window and examining the fine scrollwork and blue script running along its spiral flutes.

Isabella was confused. "Thomas, I am ashamed. I cannot talk about such things with you. Please return my ... object .. and never speak to me of it again." She was trying to sound grown-up and serious, but the little girl inside her was fearing for her soul and expecting punishment.

Thomas sat again and held out the dildo. He thought for a moment and then leant forward, elbows on his knees and hand clasped.

"Isabella, please listen to me without judgment or fear for one moment." He met her eyes with his most penetrating gaze and her internal turmoil ceased and her inner voice went quiet.

"This particular object, this phallus or dildo, as it may be called," he saw Isabella blush, but went on "is an object of great importance. Apart from its intended use as an instrument of pleasure and sensual delight, this particular object, the one you have in your possession, is of special significance to my order. It is an artifact of ancient stories central to our faith and dear to our hearts, and it has been lost for nearly over forty years. Please understand Isabella, I am in no position to comment on your use of it for your own needs, and nor would I ever condemn you for using it. It is a thing of great beauty and power, and, for my people, it is also a symbol of our faith and of our founder. I tell you these things because I believe you will understand me when I say that my own mission, indeed my own life, is naught when compared to the importance of this object - and its eventual return to its place of honour amongst my people." He sat back now and watched Isabella for her reaction.

She had listened intently to Thomas's short speech and believed in her heart that he spoke the truth. But so many questions welled up within her, most only half-formed, that she felt at a loss and could only respond with, "Thomas, you have clearly spoken from your heart and from the depths of your soul. I have heard and am trying to understand what you are telling me. What do you need of me? What do you need to know?"

"My dear one, I must admit to you that I do not now know what to do myself. The appearance of the sacred horn changes everything, my mission, my plans, and my life. I must think on it and pray." He looked to her again for understanding and the sharing of minds that he hoped would help them both to understand the course they must take. His every instinct told him that she was one of his people and that she held in her the key to their future and their very survival. But how could he tell her such things without risking disbelief and her own faith in him? Isabella answered his call by moving to the edge of the cot and taking his hands in hers, looking deeply into his eyes, drilling down to the core of his being.

"Thomas," she said. "I am at your command. You must decide how we are to respond. For now, let us clear the air with questions and answers. Your decision may come to you as we talk or later, as a dream, as it often does for me." Isabella felt her inner guide stirring and awakening, the woman inside her who she knew would guide her and protect her through this trial.

"Thank you, Isabella, thank you," said Thomas, laying a reverential kiss on her hand. "Please tell me first how it is that the Horn of Joy is in your possession."

"Such a pretty, and appropriate, name," smiled Isabella. She then gave Thomas a brief outline of how she came by the dildo, without divulging her entire sexual history with Anton. She related his story of Serena and how she had treasured the horn and had told him that it was whale ivory from the fabled Narwhal of the north."

Thomas nodded and smile, "Serena!" he said. "We thought it had gone with Serena, but no one was sure. And Anton had clearly concealed its existence from the investigators. He must have been a perceptive man to recognise your suitability as its next protector."

Isabella did not understand his response, especially his familiarity with Serena or his obvious assumption that Isabella herself was somehow an appropriate custodian of this sacred horn.

Thomas saw her puzzlement and explained further, "Serena was one of us – one of my people. She left our convent at a time of great upheaval and danger, only escaping with her life and a few important possessions. Clearly, she took the horn, to protect it, and her unfortunate early death meant that it was never returned or passed on to another protector. Dear Serena. The Elders of the church sent a team of investigators to her home a few weeks after the funeral. Her will bequeathed her library to the church and they expected to find the horn hidden in the library or in the boxes of manuscripts she was working on. Nothing was ever found and the search for the horn continued elsewhere."

"Serena had a library?, asked Isabella, "What kind of library?" 

Thomas smiled at her again, "Yes, Isabella, Serena was a researcher and translator and a librarian of our order. Just like Beatrice who you met yesterday, and their libraries, let us say, had a common theme. She was very gifted, as is Beatrice, as I'm sure you found out yesterday."

Isabella blushed again at the memory of both Beatrice's library and her body.

"Who owned the Horn originally?" she asked.

"Our founder was a woman from old France,' said Thomas. "Her name was Keira de Bruin and she lived hundreds of years ago. Her teachings and systems of worship and belief are the basis of our people's way of life. She is a holy figure to us, but a very real person nonetheless."




Isabella Awakening Ch. 04



Isabella nodded at the mention of Keira's name. She delved into her satchel and found the little textbook that Beatrice had given her.

"I have been reading about Keira," she said, handing the book to Thomas.

He opened it and smiled. "Beatrice," he said quietly to himself. "That woman's intuition is frightening."

"And Thomas," began Isabella, warming to this question and answer session. But just as she spoke, bells rang on the deck above them and they heard the sound of heavy objects being dragged across the boards accompanied by the yelling of sailors and officers. Isabella and Thomas looked at each other.

"We must go," he said "but let us talk later tonight. I will come to you."

"Do that," she responded. "I will be waiting." She kissed him on the forehead, replaced the book and dildo in her satchel and they left the cabin together and walked to the ladderway at the end of the corridor.



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. 




Isabella Awakening Ch. 05



Isabella did know anything of the middle passages of Pergolesi's opera. She spent the entire time unconscious of herself and worldly matters. It was like death, but a glorious living wonderful death in which her soul took flight and circumnavigated the globe, spreading lust and light and love to everything. His hands alone had taken her to a higher, more beautiful, more complete, plain of existence, and it was his hands that slowly brought her back. As the final movement started its progression towards the final note, she caught flashes of him and of the music, drawing her back again, reluctantly. She realized that his body was hot and that that his cock was pressing into her back through his trousers. She was aware that the seat under her was saturated and cool and that her mouth was dry from her labored breathing. As his hands slowed to the music, he kissed her neck. At some point, she -- or more probably, he - had raised her knees and placed her legs over his, opening her wide and providing unrestricted access for his fingers. Quieter now, he gently lifted and closed her legs before rising and helping her move backwards so that she could rest against the chair's padded back. He stood, beside her, touching her face with the side of his hand. She turned and saw his pants straining with his erection.

Isabella knew the rules, but she gently raised a hand and touched him there, more as a question than a statement of her own desire, although she felt it keenly. He understood and unbuttoned the top few buttons and pulled his pants down to his knees, freeing his cock; his long, thin cock, from its cramped and strangled home. It was swollen and shaking and she took its head gently into her mouth and caressed it with her tongue. The applause of the audience below covered his moans. He shuddered and she moved forward, engulfing the shaft and easing the head into her throat. She did not gag. but waited a second before moving up the shaft, using her tongue and soft palette to provide a throbbing, and responsive cunt for him. He grunted and pushed back and she engulfed him again, letting her throat constrict on the pulsing head. He spasmed and came in her, as she knew he would. She held him there and sucked and licked his shaft until he was spent; then released him, holding his cock in her hand and kissing it before placing her other hand on his leg and helping him raise and re-button his pants. 

The orchestra below was taking its final bows as he quietly left the booth, turning at the last minute to say a single word; "Stradivarius" and sigh. Isabella quickly took her dress from the hook and stepped into it, fixing the buttons as the door opened again and Anton entered. He helped her adjust the dress and used his hands to replace several strands of her hair that had come loose from her bun. Then he held her and looked into her eyes. He saw her familiar joy and satisfaction, but there was more now, much more, and he both envied her and rejoiced for her. He then removed a 'kerchief from his pocket and wiped a drop of the composer's semen from her chin before kissing her and escorting her down the stairs, through the pressing crown and out into the cool fresh air of the Naples night.

Isabella did not speak until they were back inside Anton's study and she had taken off the dress and reclined naked in one of Anton's armchairs, a large glass of brandy in her hand.

"Tell me Isabella, what can I get or do for you now?" he said with great love and real affection.

Isabella was still glowing with the emotional and spiritual fulfillment she had experienced at the hands of Giovanni, but her body ached for more. "Oh Anton, what I need right now is ....."

"A nice big Italian sausage, Marm?"

Isabella opened her eyes with a look of shock. The fat, balding, gap toothed cook stood before her in the Captain's cabin. He was holding a plate of food.

"Oh god, I'm sorry to startle you, missus. I didn't knows you was sleeping. I just wanted to offer you a nice sausage for lunch. We can do chops, if you'd rather a chop?"

"No. no, a sausage would be fine, thank you," said Isabella collecting herself and moving the manuscripts from the table. "I must have drifted off. Actually, I would rather like two big Italian sausages, if that was possible."

The cook smiled and said "Not a worry in the world, missus. I'll be right back with another nice juicy fat one for you." He left.

Isabella smiled and re-tied the ribbon around the Captain's sheet music before replacing it in the bookshelf. She then sat and ate her sausage, all the time marveling at her own wanton nature and her capacity to become aroused even in the face of real danger. She also re-experienced those incredible feelings of floating free of her mortal body and of her spirit expanding to fill the void.

The cook soon returned with her second sausage and she helped herself to the carafe of table wine on the sideboard, sitting quietly, waiting for Thomas's next move.

She did not have to wait long. Before she had finished her glass, Thomas entered the cabin followed by a huge African in canvass pants and sailor's jacket. This was obviously Black Ambrose, the tailor. Thomas introduced him and explained his role to Isabella. Ambrose was to fashion a disguise for her -- a full robe and habit that was designed to both hide her "charms", as Thomas referred to her femininity, and provide a, hopefully inviolate disguise by which she would avoid the worst of any half-civilized pirate's depredations. Isabella was not so sure, having heard plenty of tales of nuns being raped by marauders, but Thomas seemed set on the idea. He explained to her later that he had first considered having her dress as a sailor, but dismissed the idea when Ambrose had expressed doubt about his ability to fully conceal her shape. He had also reminded Thomas that a young, smooth-faced boy might prove an even more tempting morsel for some of the Algerines he had known.

Ambrose used a knotted string to take Isabella's vital measurements and left them to find the fabric to complete his task. Thomas sat with her and the cook returned with a plate of sausages for him, which he ate greedily. Once satiated, he sat back and smiled at Isabella.

"Thomas," she ventured, "where are we now?"

He leaned back in his chair and retrieved a rolled map from the receptacle behind him. Clearing the table in front of him, he spread it out, placing his now empty plate and glass on either side to hold it. Isabella rose to stand beside him. 

"Here," he said, pointing to a coastline with the tip of his knife, "is the western-most tip of Sicily." Then tracing a line directly south, he described the Della Virago's course. "We are approximately here," he said pointing the tip of knife at a point the Isabella guessed was no more than fifty nautical miles from the Sicilian shore. "The winds have been light and not entirely propitious for our journey," he went on. "At our current rate of sailing," he used the knife to indicate a further southerly track, "we shall be around here by first light."

Isabella studied the map closely. "That's no more than twenty miles from Tripoli," she observed.

"Correct. At that point the Captain hopes to pick up the easterly breeze and make his escape through the Barbary waters at at least 10 knots, fast enough to outrun most of the known pirate shipping." He sat back and looked up at Isabella as she continued to study the map. Her slender index finger traced the route he had marked and continued it in a long arch up towards the Spanish coast. Her face fell a little as she did so.

"So, " she said, dispelling whatever thoughts had momentarily saddened her, "if we outrun or totally avoid the pirates, we shall make Barcelona within the week?"

"With God on our side," replied Thomas, but under his breath he intoned a different prayer.

Isabella rested her hand on Thomas's shoulder. "Then my fate is truly in your, and the Captain's, hands," she said. "I must admit that my faith in God, in worldly matters such as these, is perhaps not as strong as yours."

Thomas touched her hand and turned to look up at her. "Isabella, there is danger here, as you well know, but, you must be steadfast. Remember what I told you. I will not abandon you."

She looked into his eyes again and was comforted. Her fingers brushed his cheek and she felt a rising feeling of warmth and comfort. A momentary flash of passion bent her head to his and she placed her forehead against his. She felt his breath on her cheek and saw the flush of his cheeks.

"Isabella," he said, voice constricted but still carrying authority, "We must be careful here. If all goes to plan in the morning, by tomorrow evening we will be.."

He was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. They parted and Isabella turned to the wall quickly, smoothing her hair, breathing deeply and composing herself. Black Ambrose entered, a wide white smile splitting his jet face horizontally. Over his arm hung, not cassock or robe but a flimsy pair of what Isabella thought to be pantaloons. He placed them on the table in front of Thomas and looked to him for approval. Thomas stood and held the strange garment out in front of him. They were of white, or off-white, cotton. The two flaps hanging down were obviously some form of legging, but rather than a continuous tube of material, they were flat and were edged with ribbons. They each had four pockets of different shapes and sizes down their length, each with a buttoned flap at the top. Isabella did not understand, but Thomas smiled.

"Excellent work, Ambrose," he beamed to the huge African, who returned his approval with an even broader smile. "Thank you. We shall await the robe with high expectations. Did you find the material, I described?"

"Yessir!" said Ambrose in his deep African voice. "Just like you said, fine but heavy. The boys is dying it in the kitchen tubs right now. Should be dry by four bells and I'll make up the robe by sunset."

"Excellent, Ambrose," replied Thomas.

Ambrose left, smiling, and Thomas turned again to Isabella, now refocused on the immediate future.

"I had Ambrose make this apron as a added precaution," he explained. Isabella wondered if it was some kind of chastity belt, something to prevent easy access to her vagina, but allowed him to continue.

"These tie around your waist," he showed her, standing now and holding the garment in from of his own body. He wrapped the top of the apron around his own waist and tied the flat ribbons in a bow in front of him. "The legs tie on in the same way." He demonstrated, lifting his thigh and showing her the tie ribbons. "The flaps sit securely against you legs and provide suitable hiding places," he opened a pocket on his thigh, "for valuables or ... necessities."

Isabella grasped the clever idea at once. "And this pocket," she pointed at a pouch in the material about a foot long and six inches wide, lying against his left thigh, "is clearly designed to conceal Keira's Horn."

He nodded, "Exactly. I thought it best if you kept it close."

Isabella suddenly wondered if it was she or the Horn that Thomas was so keen to protect. Thomas caught her sudden change of mood and reacted immediately.

"Isabella, please do not think that I do not have your personal safety as my highest priority." He reached out and took her by the shoulders, searching her face and eyes. "You must understand that nothing, not the Horn, not my mission, not even my life, is more important to me that seeing you through the next twenty-four hours."

Isabella noticeably relaxed. "Yes, Thomas, I know that, and I am grateful. I know how important the Horn is to .... your people. I feel its power myself, even though I am not one of you. I will protect it until you decide to take it back." She lowered her eyes and moved closer to him, pressing herself against him as he enfolded her in his arms.

"Isabella, I cannot describe how much this means to me. Not yet, anyway. We will have our time together very soon and then I will show you that you are, indeed and without doubt, one of us. I know it in my heart and in my soul, and so will you." His hands traced her shoulder blades and gently stroked the small of her back before coming to rest on her hips. She nuzzled her face into his neck and kissed him there, gently.

They parted, both bleary eyed, and Thomas said he had to return to the deck to consult the Captain. He kissed the bridge of her nose and Isabella held his hands and released them reluctantly as he moved away. 

Thomas spent the entire afternoon on the bridge with the Captain. The few times that Isabella saw them, they seemed deep in conversation. Bertrand had clearly come to rely on Thomas's counsel.

Isabella, meanwhile, busied herself in her room, selecting the few precious items to hide in her special apron. The Horn, obviously, took first place in its own pocket. Isabella then selected personal items, her jewelry, hairbrush, notebook and pens, Beatrice's bottle of honeyed oil and a few toiletries. That was it. She had already decided to take her new book, Secret Knowledge, clasped to her breast as a bible. In her satchel, she packed a selection of practical clothes, underwear, a seaman's cap and canvass trousers her father had included in her traveling kit. She then sat back, satisfied that she had completed her preparations. It was nearly five when she heard Simon call and knock.

"Come in, Simon. I am decent." She smiled.

Simon blushed and said he had been instructed to take her to the storeroom, to show her a hiding place should it be required. She followed him along the corridor to the bows and had to duck and squeeze through a narrow hatchway into the triangular room at the very front on the ship. She found she could stand quite comfortably and that the long side of the room was furnished with a long narrow grate through which air and light filtered in.

"The Cap'n an' the Padre reckon you should come in here if there's trouble, marm," he said, sounding a little scared himself.

"I understand, Simon, thank you," she smiled in an effort to dispel his nerves. "I shall do just that."

Standing on her tiptoes Isabella thought she could see the movement of sailors through the fine grate. She looked around to find something to stand on. She dragged a sturdy box to a position under the grate and stood on it. From here she could see the entire foredeck and even the bridge, where Bertrand and Thomas were standing together surveying the horizon as dusk fell. She realized that the relative darkness of the storeroom meant that she could observe everything from here without being noticed. She jumped down from the box and Simon took her back to her room.

Once again, dinner was a rushed affair and she had no time to see Thomas alone before he and Ambrose came to her cabin later in the evening. Ambrose held a large, dark reddish-brown robe over his arm and wore his now usual broad grin. Thomas was eager for her to try on the disguise and he helped her draw it over her head and over her clothes. The fit was comfortable, even with the extra bulk of her skirts and jacket. The wide sleeves fell below her hands and the large hood hung behind her, until Thomas pulled it gently over her hair and adjusted it. The effect was actually quite elegant, she thought. Simon and Ambrose obviously agreed. Thomas gave her a few final instructions and suggested that she rise before dawn and prepare herself, in case of an early morning encounter. He promised to have Simon bring coffee and food and wake her at the appropriate time. Isabella doubted that she would be able to sleep and held Thomas by the arm as he made to leave. She needed his comfort and wanted him to stay. He hesitated and held her for a moment before telling her that he was needed on deck by the Captain and that they should both try to sleep for at least a few hours tonight. He kissed her cheek and she released her hold on him, letting him depart.

Despite her fears and worry, Isabella found sleep quickly that night. She must have slept through the final hours of the crew's preparations because she was woken by the aroma of coffee and Simon's gentle tugging of her sleeve at five thirty.

"Padre says its time," he whispered.

Isabella sat up right and took a few moments to remember where she was and what was happening. "Thank you, er, Simon," she said, still emerging from a dream. "Give me a few minutes, please."

"Yes, marm," he said, backing out of doorway, but leaving her tray and coffee pot.

Isabella wrapped herself in her night robe and made her way to the little privy, possibly for the last time, she thought. 

Back in her room, she moved methodically, pulling on tights and a cotton shirt before helping herself to coffee and pastries. She ate more than her fill, thinking that her next meal may be many hours away. When she had finished she retrieved the pantaloon apron, already stocked with its precious cargo. She tied it carefully around her waist, thighs and calves, making sure that it still allowed freedom of movement. Before donning the robe, she found her hairbrush in a pocket and combed her hair. She slipped on her plain black boots.

Fully dressed in her disguise, she realized that she could not leave her room. She sat on the edge of her cot, poured another cup of coffee and watched the slow dawn illuminate the clear Mediterranean sky through her porthole window.

The waiting went on. Isabella could hear the crew above and could feel the gentle rocking of the ship. Simon eventually returned to take her food basket and coffee pot.

"Simon," she asked, "have we reached the Barbary waters yet?"

"Yes'm" he replied. "Least I fink so. Cap'ns not saying much right now, but the lookout reckons he can see the Tunis coast."

"And have we reached the easterly breezes?"

"Not that I can tell, marm. Flat as a stove top out there right now. We's been drift'n like this for an hour. The whole crew's up there," he pointed to the deck above, "a whistlin' and a scratchin' at the backstays."

Isabella had seen sailors at this strange ritual before. They believed that wind could be summoned with their whistles and that the sails would respond to their scratching of the ropes.

"I do hope it works." She said

Simon looked worried. "Yes'm," he said, eyes downcast. He fidgeted for moment before adding, "We'll be right, don't you fret," but his wavering voice betrayed him.

Alone again, Isabella resumed her waiting. The sun was now fully visible above the horizon and the deck above was almost silent, save for the occasional order from the officers. At least half-an-hour passed like that and the ship continued to rock gently, its old timbers groaning and the sound of the bilge slopping slowly in the lower hold the only sounds.

Suddenly, a shout brought the ship alive. The lookout, high in the rigging was calling to the captain. Isabella could not make out the words but the thumping of feet above her told her that something serious was afoot. Yelled instructions and responses continued for several minutes until her door flew open and Simon and Black Ambrose entered, both talking together.

Finally, Simon yelled Ambrose down and looked to Isabella, "Padre says you should go up to the bow store," he said.

Isabella grabbed her satchel and was up and following them immediately, squeezing herself through the narrow entry door and settling onto a box. Ambrose handed her a small canvass bag and a bottle of water.

"Food," he said, pointing to the bag. He was not smiling this time.

They left Isabella and returned to the deck. As soon as they had gone, she pushed the box across the floor to her position under the grate and stood on it, peering through the narrow holes. Men ran across the deck, carrying bags of gunpowder and cannon balls. Beyond them, she could see the Captain and Thomas and the first officer standing together on the bridge. Thomas was stooped, resting the Captains telescope on the railing and studying something intently. The Captain fidgeted and the first Officer watched the preparations on deck. Simon rose and said something to the Captain, who nodded his serious agreement. He, in turn, spoke to the first officer who called to the crew to load the cannon on the port deck. There was a roar of assent as the crew followed his orders, ramming powder into the muzzles of the short cannon and dropping a single round black cannon ball into the mouth. Smoking kegs of what Isabella assumed to be wicks, stood behind the men at each of the four port cannon.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 05



Suddenly, Simon's face was at the grating in front of her. 

"We're gunner have a fight 'ere missus," he said, now excited rather than fearful.

"Tell me what is happening, Simon," she ordered.

"We's got a lanteen rigged galley about a mile of the port flank, marm, he said. "Sure to be pirates, in these waters," he added.

"But surely the lack of wind must mean they are as immobile as the Della?" she quizzed.

Simon laughed. "They hain't usin' their sails, marm. Got slaves to row they have. Fifty or sixty slaves on a dozen big oars can move 'em along at eight or nine knots. That's if they whip 'em o'course." He was clearly enjoying this, Isabella thought.

"But we'll give em hell, marm. One hit with a cannonball and that stickwood galley'll go to pieces and they'll all be shark food," he laughed and jumped clear of the grating, running over to the Captain.

Isabella watched the bridge intently. Simon occasionally checked the telescope and spoke quietly to the Captain while the first Officer stood apart from them, watching the crews at their cannon. As the minutes wore on, Isabella could feel a knot growing in her stomach and her heart pounding. She sipped from the water bottle.

Thomas took another long look through the glass and called to the Captain. Thomas handed him the spyglass and pointed to the approaching galley. The Captain took a look, folded the telescope and walked quickly to the first Officer who nodded while Bertrand gave his orders. The officer stepped forward and called "Cannon one and two, PREPARE TO FIRE!"

A sailor standing near to the grate cursed. She heard him comment to his mate "They's crazy, she's a good hunred feet outa range yet."

"FIRE!" the First officer roared and a second later two enormous explosions ripped through the ship, the shock and noise throwing Isabella to the floor.

By the time she recovered her footing and stepped up to the grate, the deck was covered in drifting acrid smoke and men were coughing all around.

The voice of the nearby sailor, calm but sarcastic, came through the grate. "Told ya, din I, Jim. A hundred yards short and just as wide. Never was a real fighting sailor amongst them cannon crews. Nor in the officers mess," he added, spitting onto the deck.

Hardly had the smoke cleared when she heard the First officer call, "Cannon one and two RELOAD AT THE DOUBLE!; Cannon three and four, PREPARE TO FIRE! -- AND AIM AT THE GALLEY THIS TIME!" Course laughter and further unsubtle suggestions from the crew followed his orders.

Amidst the running sailors, Isabella saw something she did not understand. The First Officer ran down the ladder from the bridge and took a position behind the third cannon, grabbing a long hooked spear from one of the men and hooking it the back of the cannon's wheeled carriage. He jostled and jogged the carriage, clearly, Isabella deduced, aiming it. 

'CANNON FOUR!," he yelled, "STAND DOWN!"

The crew of cannon four looked perplexed, but backed away from their weapon. Isabella saw Thomas and Bertrand watching intently from the bridge.

The First Officer continued, calling "CANNON THREE, PREPARE TO FIRE ON MY COUNT. .....ONE .....TWO ...THREE!"

Isabella saw the wick touch the power tray on the top of the cannon. It fizzed and the crew turned their backs. The First Officer however, pulled hard on his hook and the cannon moved a few inches before it fired. The explosion was fearful and this time Isabella knew that something had gone wrong. As the ringing in her ears abated and the smoke cleared again, she could hear screams and could see sailors lying on the deck near to her grating. Just below her, the prone figure of the First Officer lay groaning in pain. She could see that the explosion had torn a large splintered hole in the ship's heavy railing and that the cannon itself was now lying its side. Men rushed around, some to check and comfort their injured mates and others to right the cannon. She looked for Simon who she feared had been nearby. She couldn't find him in the noise and confusion.

She suddenly realized that she could not see Thomas either. The Captain was still on the bridge, kneeling and calling for assistance. Then it hit her. He was kneeling over Thomas. Panic and sense of impending loss, greater than she had ever known, gripped her. She wanted to go to him and was about to jump down when she saw the Captain lift Thomas's head and call for water. Thomas was injured but alive. In fact, she could see that he was talking to the Captain even now and struggling to his feet. Isabella's relief was immense. Still the scene in front of her gave no reason for confidence. The pirates would still be attacking, she knew, and the ship was in turmoil. 

She watched as Thomas stood with the Captain, holding his own left arm just below the shoulder. A dark stain was growing on the sleeve of his cassock. Isabella knew it was his blood. Thomas watched off the port side of the ship and said something to Bertrand, who immediately relayed a message or order to one of the remaining officers. A howl of protest, angry words and jeers, went up from the sailors nearby. Even those tending their wounded mates cried "No!". Isabella understood only when the second officer raised a white flag on the mainmast. The Della Virago was surrendering to the pirates. Her old fear was returning. Did this also mean that she would be given up to the Algerines? But as she watched the scene on the deck, she first felt, and then saw Thomas looking directly at her. He would not have been able to see her, yet their eyes met and she felt his love and total commitment to her well-being. She did not know why, but she felt a strange new strength flow through her veins and she relaxed and assumed the role of interested observer, rather than victim.

For the next few minutes, the sailors helped the injured -- no dead that Isabella could see -- and muttered amongst themselves. Simon.suddenly appeared at the grating. "You alright, missus?" he said breathlessly.

"Yes Simon, I'm fine. Tell me what happened?"

"Cannon ball hit the railing missus, splinters took out about five, First Officer took a worst one, to the chest, but he'll live, damn him, all 'is doin anyway. The Padre's been hit in the arm but no great harm done there either. Capn's surrendered to the fuckin...sorry! ...to the pirates, marm. Says enough harms been done and he'll negoshate summin to save the crew. Bugger the cargo he says." All of this poured out of Simon in a torrent, the he jumped up, "Theys alongside now, missus. Jesus and Mary save us!" and he crossed himself and kissed the talisman hanging around his slender neck.

The Second Officer was now cajoling and rounding up the crew, pushing and yelling at them to take up positions to her left, along the seaward raining. He was getting a lot of backtalk and insults, oaths and expletives that were new to Isabella's ears. She recognized that their real anger was directed at the Captain but that there was also an element of relief mixed in with their disappointment.

The Captain and Thomas descended onto the maindeck and stood together a few yards from her grating. She could clearly see both pain and determination in Thomas's face. The Captain's was stony. Just as they took up their positions in front of the crew the first of the pirates vaulted over the port railing. Five, ten, twenty, then whole gaggle of them, laughing and yelling and brandishing cutlasses, broadswords and knives. They were ugly and fearsome, mostly dressed in rags and of all possible colors, but mostly bearded, heavily scarred Arabs with straggly beards and dirty hair. Isabella shuddered but drew on the strength she had so recently received from Thomas's eyes to study the scene objectively. Neither the Captain nor Thomas spoke until one of the pirates, clearly a leader, approached them. This man was large and dressed in pantaloons and an open naval jacket. His beard was bushy and he carried a curved flat sword which he pointed at the Captain. He said a few words that Isabella could not understand and the marauders behind him laughed heartily. He then thrust his face into Bertrand's and yelled another string of unintelligible words. Bertrand flinched and glanced sideways at Thomas, who remained silent. The Captain began a hesitating response to his assailant.

"I...I..am...Captain Bertrand of the ....Della....Virago," he began, but the pirate shut his mouth with a slap delivered with the back of his hand. His men laughed again and brandished their weapons at the Della's crew.

It was then that Thomas spoke. Slowly, and without shifting his gaze from directly in front of him he uttered a string of words, calmly and clearly. Isabella did not know the language, but the pirate certainly understood. He stopped dead and starred at Thomas. A look of disbelief filled his eyes and he walked over to Thomas as if seeing him for the first time. The pirate crew fell silent.

He muttered something and Thomas responded. The pirate turned his back and muttered to himself for a moment before looking skywards and waving his sword while yelling what Isabella assumed was some sort of oath to the heavens. He then threw his sword to the deck and yelled angrily at his men before returning to stand eye to eye with Thomas.

They stood like that for nearly a full minute before Thomas spoke again, once more he was calm and spoke with quiet authority. This time the pirate grunted and turned to one of his men and barked an order. Thomas spoke to the Captain who called to the second officer and whispered something to him. The three men, Thomas, Captain Bertrand and the pirate, then walked over to the ladderway and disappeared down the hatch.

Nobody on deck seemed to know what was going on. The Della's crew mumbled amongst themselves and pirates did the same, only with greater venom and the occasional clash of swords. The second officer and the pirate's number two man stood between their men, eyeing each other suspiciously. Isabella heard curses and oaths in many languages, some of which she knew.

A full ten minutes passed in this state of uneasy standoff. Isabella was growing restless and remembered the earlier talk of negotiations. She understood that Thomas, by virtue of his language skills at least, was now leading the negotiations for the lives of the Della's crew. Bertrand's head appeared momentarily at the hatchway and he called for Simon and Ambrose to come to his cabin. A moment later the pirate's leader did the same, summoning two of his men to the lower deck.

Five minutes later Ambrose and one of the pirates emerged from the hatchway and spoke with the second officer and his opposite number. Neither looked happy with what they were being told, but both nodded on receiving their instructions and turned to address their men.

The Second officer's instructions made little sense to Isabella, mainly because of the obscure nautical terms he used. From what she did understand, she took it that a boat, one of those stored above the stern and normally used to ferry men and goods to shore, was to be lowered and several men were to follow Ambrose to the holds. Meanwhile a crane and net was to be rigged amidships for the unloading of cargo.

As the Della's crew scuttled across the deck, Isabella was startled by an angry banging on the little door to her storeroom hideaway. She jumped down from her box and grabbed her satchel and called, "Who is it?".

Someone on the side simply banged harder on the door, but then she heard Simon's voice call, "It's alright, missus. A deal's been done and the Padre says you should come out now." He sounded frightened again, although whether for Isabella or himself she couldn't be sure.

She unlocked the hatchway and opened it slowly. A gap-toothed bearded Arab crouched outside gave her a leery smile and barked an order. She understood that she was to accompany him, so she covered her head with the hood of the robe and bent herself through the hatchway with as much dignity as she could. Standing in the narrow passageway, she saw Simon, his red and swollen eyes refused to meet hers. The pirate grunted and pushed her down the passageway towards the Captain's cabin.

Isabella was surprised to hear laughter coming from the cabin. Simon opened the door and she entered. The three men sat at the captains table, the pirate sprawled in the Captain's chair and each of them holding large glasses of wine. Thomas gave her a quick, reassuring look and returned to his discussion with the pirate whose face was covered in a wide grin. She stood watching them for several minutes. It was the pirate who first addressed her.

"Holy Mother," he said curtly, bowing his head to her but not rising from the table.

Isabella responded with a quick bob and a "Senore Pirate".

He laughed and turned to Thomas, resuming his discussion in what Isabella thought to be Arabic.

Thomas listened and turned to her. "Isabella, may I introduce Agha Murad Benij, leader of the janissaries of the ship that has drawn alongside."

Isabella bobbed again but remained silent. The pirate rose now and, keeping his head bent to avoid the beams, took three steps towards Isabella. He was enormous, larger even than Ambrose. He peered at her and then threw back her hood and held her face in one enormous hand, studying her intently. Isabella maintained her silence throughout his examination. He let her go, laughed and turned to Simon and spoke. They both laughed and Simon made a further comment, glancing sideways at Isabella as if to say that translation was not appropriate at this time. The Agha waved his hand and Thomas rose and ushered Isabella to the door, taking her arm and giving her a comforting squeeze.

As he opened the door he whispered, "Go on deck now, keep your hood on and stay silent. Everything is all right. You are safe."

She nodded and replaced her hood. Climbing the ladderway to the maindeck, she noticed that little had changed, except that several of the Della's crew were busy lowering the small boat over the side and a crane and net were being rigged. She stood on the deck and the entire pirate crew looked in her direction. She could feel their eyes burning her. None of the Della's crew would meet her eyes. She decided that the now deserted bridge was probably her safest waiting place and climbed the steep stairway to the wheel.

Below her now, the main hatches were open and men were lifting barrels and wooden boxes onto the deck. She saw the great box containing most of her dowry being placed on the net. She also noticed Thomas's heavy packages from Palermo, still bound up in oilskins and ropes, being deposited in the net with barrels and crates. She watched as the first load was lifted high by the crane, seven crewmen pulling on ropes to raise it and swing it over the side. The straining net was then lowered to the Della's boat below and emptied by three crewman who stowed the crates and barrels as best they could. The net returned empty to the deck where more barrels and crates were loaded.

As the second load descended, Thomas, the Agha and Captain Bertrand returned to the maindeck. Simon followed. The pirate yelled orders to his men who immediately started to climb over the sides and down to their waiting galley. Thomas motioned for Isabella to join him.

Gripping her satchel, Isabella climbed down and stood silent and head bent next to Thomas. The Agha was clearly in a jolly mood and slapped Captain Bertrand heartily on the shoulder, nearly sending the poor man flying across the deck. This only made the pirate laugh louder. Isabella noticed that not one of the Della's crew even smiled.

Thomas said something to the Agha and moved with Isabella to the net, now empty and lying on the deck. A crewman brought a heavy plank and placed it in the net, adjusting the ropes to secure it. With Thomas's guidance Isabella stood on the plank and took hold of the main rope attaching the net to the crane. Thomas did likewise, wrapping his free arm tightly around her waist. The rope went taught and the plank rose slowly, carrying its human cargo up over the Della's rail and down to the pirate galley. Thomas and Isabella stepped onto the deck of the galley where the Agha and most of his men were already waiting. Isabella looked around at the crew and the strange, low, narrow ship; so different from the high, wide Della she had just left. Another pirate, clearly the senior sailor, who Thomas referred to as the Rais, came forward to greet them and usher them to the bridge. Hardly had she taken a few steps towards the raised bridge at the stern when her attention was called by a shrill, pleading voice above.

"Marm! Marm!" It was Simon, leaning over the Della's rail. "Don't worry marm! I'll come for you! I love you, marm!" Isabella looked up and held up a hand, to indicate to him that she was safe. Simon's small body suddenly rose above the railing. One of the pirates still on the Della had him by the back of his trousers and was laughing. Simon struggled, but to now avail, and the pirate swung him out over the rail and launched him into space. Simon's poor little frame, flailing wildly, described a graceful arc to the sea. He went down but it was only a few seconds before his head emerged, spluttering and cursing. Isabella heard laughter, both from above and around her, as Simon frog-stroked his way back to the Della's side.

The remaining pirates descended the larger ship's near vertical side and jumped the last ten feet onto the deck of the galley. The Rais called his orders and the oars, previously unnoticed by Isabella, on the seaward side slowly rotated and stroked the water, turning the galley towards the distant shore of Africa.

As all the oars came into play, the galley shot forward, towing the smaller boat full of the Della's booty. Isabella looked to Thomas and he smiled warmly at her.

"The journey begins," he said with great affection in his eyes.

"Indeed," said Isabella, moving towards him for comfort. He held her at arms length and shook his head imperceptibly, glancing up at the Agha and the Rais who were watching them intently. "Not yet, Isabella. We must maintain the pretense a few hours longer." 

Isabella understood and stepped back, crossing herself for effect. The gesture brought a smile to Thomas's face once more and they moved to the bridge together. 

The Rais had prepared a bench for them, out of the sun, which was now high in the sky and providing the type of heat Isabella had expected so close to Africa. They spoke little in the presence of either of the two senior pirates, but at one point, when both were off the bridge, Isabella turned to Simon and asked, "What did the Agha say when he held my face back in Captain Bernard's cabin?"

Thomas smiled and replied, "I could not possibly give you a literal translation, Isabella, but it was along the general lines of his feeling cheated by the amount of loot he had accepted as the price of our passage. He said you would have fetched twice as much in the slave market in Algiers, even after he and his crew had had their way with you. I have left out the lurid details, of course."

Isabella felt herself blush.

End Chapter 5



Isabella Awakening Ch. 06



Chapter 6

Isabella reflects on a past meeting with two soldiers and finds new friends in North Africa. She and Thomas share a special evening. 

Isabella and Thomas sat there on the covered bridge of the pirate galley, hardly talking. At one point, she heard Thomas groan quietly and remembered his wound for the cannon accident.

"Let me see," she insisted and helped him roll up the sleeve of his cassock. Isabella inspected the gash, a few inches long and almost an inch deep, just below his shoulder. It was still bleeding slowly. She took a clean rag from her pocket, doused it with fresh water and cleaned the wound. 

"Nasty," she said, "but you'll live. We should have someone look at it properly and give you a couple of stitches when we reach ... where are we going?"

"Porto Farina", said Thomas. "It's a pirate port at the town of Ghar El Melh, north-west of Tripoli."

"Tunisia." Said Isabella. "Is Ghar El Melh the base of these pirates?"

"No, this company is from further south. Ghar El Melh is the base of one of their competitors but it is where they are taking us. I have friends there."

Isabella was further confused about the nature of Thomas's deal with the pirates but let the matter rest. She tied his wound tightly with a rag soaked in seawater and sat back in silence.

The declining sun reached her back and she slipped into a light dreamy sleep. She was vaguely aware of the objects in the pockets of her pantaloon apron, Keira's horn weighty against her inner thigh. Thomas's earlier remarks about the janissaries taking her before sending her off to the slave market sent a little shudder through her intestines. And yet, at the same time, the thought of being handled and taken by several men together did resonate with her lustful side. An especially sordid memory of an earlier encounter with two men came back in images and feelings.

It was in her third summer at Henri's farmhouse and he had taken off to the mountains some weeks earlier. She was expecting him home any day and had prepared the house for his return. Despite Anton's urgings, she had not at that stage, taken lovers, more, she reflected, out of lack of opportunity than desire. 

One particular cavalry officer had taken her fancy a few months earlier. He had arrived at the farmhouse initially with a message to Henri from the local battalion commander. Something to do with a raid being planned on a neighboring principality. Henri was clearly impressed with him and engaged him in animated conversations about animal husbandry and the weather. The animation was mostly on Henri's side of the discussions. The cavalry officer, whose name was Roberto, seemed somewhat more reserved and a little reluctant to take up Henri's offers of an overnight stay or a ride to the upper pastures to see his flock. Roberto did however show greater interest in Isabella, his eyes often wandering to her while Henri explained the finer points of some aspect of pasture management or shearing. On Roberto's third or fourth visit to the house, Henri had been away and he seemed to relax and enjoy Isabella's company as they took refreshments on the porch. She flirted innocently with him and tried to assess his intentions. He talked of his wife in the town, their plans for a vineyard, her desire for children and his hope that cavalry service would elevate his chances of a government post. Isabella was left with the impression that, while he was sorely tempted to make more explicit advances towards her, he was both shy and a little torn by his genuine love and devotion to his young wife. She let the idea of an affair pass.

That summer, bored and not particularly looking forward to her husband's return, Isabella had been pleased to greet Roberto and a friend when they stopped to water their mounts at the farm's troughs. They greeted each other as old friends and inquired after each other's health and happiness. Roberto's friend was Paulo, a strapping young man, very full of himself and inclined to swagger. He tried to catch Isabella's eye several times and he developed a slightly unattractive leer when she spoke to him. Roberto revealed that they were both on leave from their unit and had decided to come to town to see the performance of an English play that evening. Roberto's wife was pregnant and had returned to her parent's home in Naples to be nearer a competent midwife and her family's support. Roberto seemed happy and suggested that Isabella accompany them to the play. Isabella was certainly keen on the idea, but wary of allowing herself to be left alone with Paulo. She had had her fill, literally, of young bucks like him in previous years and was not interested in renewing what she was sure would be a brief and not particularly satisfying acquaintance. She took Roberto aside and confessed her concerns. He was sympathetic but defended his friend as a gentler and more sensitive person than he appeared. In any case, he promised not to leave them alone.

She had a wonderful evening. The play, A Midsummer Night's Dream by an apparently famous English writer, was funny and lewd and the entire audience joined in the fun. Roberto had found the three of them a grassy position overlooking the little stage and had procured tankards of ale, which they drank heartily. In the darkness, Isabella had moved close to Roberto, resting her head on his arm or shoulder during the first Act. Paulo turned out to be witty and reasonably intelligent, making clever and rude comments to the actors and paying particular attention to Isabella's comfort and the level of ale in her tankard. During the interval, both men went off into the trees to relieve themselves. When they returned, they took up positions on either side of Isabella and moved close. As the play unfolded, she felt more comfortable with Paulo, but still clung to Roberto for comfort and protection, hoping he might even return some of her gentle caresses. But it was Paulo who made the first advance, running a hand up under her skirts while she was laughing at the antics on stage. She caught his hand through the material, but rather than making a scene, she simply held it firmly and whispered to him "Enough for now." 

She turned to Roberto who was clearly aware of what was happening. He smiled and leaned to her ear, "Shall I stop him?" he asked.

"No," she said, "just stay close." She kissed his cheek and he put an arm around her shoulder.

Although Isabella had fantasized about having more than one man, she had never seriously thought she could. But with both of these young men with their hands on her body, she was becoming more aroused and convinced that she would like to try it.

She released her grip on Paulo's hand and he immediately responded by moving it higher to her inner thigh. She moved her hand to Roberto's thigh and brushed his crotch with her wrist. He, in turn, kissed her temple and moved a hand to her breast. It was all very gentle and seemed quite natural and instinctive to Isabella.

As the play went into its final Act, they continued drinking and laughing while their touches and whispered comments to each other became more lewd and intense. Paulo had removed her tights and draws, stuffing them into the pocket of his tunic. His fingers probed and stoked her pussy and ran up over her tummy. Roberto had slipped a hand into her blouse and was gently rubbing and pinching a nipple. Isabella had rubbed his crotch and felt his erection through the tight material. At one stage, she had a hand on both men's cocks and had one of each of their hands up her skirts opening her thighs and stroking her wet slit alternately. She was building to a delightful orgasm when the play finished and the crowd started to rise and move about. Her modesty prevented her completing her satisfaction with other people now passing so close to them.

She stood and motioned for both her men to rise with her. Their erections made their movements uncomfortable and Isabella laughed at their attempts to rearrange themselves inside their tight cavalry uniform pants. Once they were fully mobile, Isabella took an arm of each and started them walking back towards her home, up the dusty road in the moonlight.

They had progressed about quarter of a mile, with much mutual touching and fumbled attempts by the boys to get under Isabella's skirts. Isabella stopped dead, hands on hips and declared to herself that it was now or never. She took each of them by a hand and pulled them to the side of the road and across the little drainage ditch. As soon as they were in the trees, Paulo tried to pull her down, but she broke free and scampered through the little wood, down a mossy slope and into a little clearing she knew was there. The moonlight shone through the break in the canopy and she sat on the cool grass and called to them to find her. They took less than a minute; thank goodness, she thought.

She half-lay back, supported by her elbows and Roberto and Paulo stood before her. Paulo made to approach her but she said "No. I want both of you naked."

Hardly had she spoken, than boots and jackets were flying and both boys were frantically unbuttoning their shirts and flies. Isabella took the opportunity to undo her own blouse and skirt, shrugging them off before the boys had finished struggling with their tight trousers. Eventually they were done. Isabella instructed them to stand before her together; two tall, handsome, well-muscled young men, both with their beautiful hard cocks standing straight up in the pale moonlight. She opened her thighs to their eyes and stroked her breasts. Paulo moved to her side and knelt so that his cock was touching Isabella's face. Roberto knelt between he legs and leaned forward to kiss her and stroke her face. His eyes made sure that she was willing and ready for what would follow. She gave him no reason for doubt and his mouth travelled her neck and shoulder and breasts on its way to her hungry cunt. She took Paulo's cock into her mouth, gently licking and teasing it with her lips before grabbing his firm ass and starting to glide him into her throat. 

Roberto was an expert at his chosen task, using his fingers and tongue to stimulate her clit and hole until she was grinding her hips into his face. She tried to gasp as he slid two long fingers into her, but Paulo's cock nearly choked her. She coughed and he removed it. She wanted to be fucked, so she rolled over and rose on hands and knees. Roberto understood and immediately slipped his cock into her and started to gently grind his hips. Paulo sat, legs astride, directly in front of her face and she leaned into him and resumed her sucking of his swollen cock. As Roberto increased the rhythm of his stokes he held her hips to guide her onto him. Her mouth opened wide for Paulo, fucking his cock with her throat. She could feel him shaking and heard him moan. She rose a little, so that the head of his cock was held between her tongue and the roof of her mouth and she sucked. She loved the feeling and taste of sperm spurting into her mouth and Paulo provided a substantial load. Roberto meanwhile was pounding her hard and he too spasmed and began to come, deep inside her. She swallowed Paulo's seed but kept his cock in her mouth as she felt her own orgasm take her, Roberto still thrusting and coming in her cunt.

She released Paulo but Roberto stayed in her while he regained his breath.

"Oh, Isabella," he said softly, "you drive me wild with lust."

Isabella giggled and, holding Paulo's soft dick in her hand, turned her head and said, "Roberto, the feelings are mutual, I assure you. Now come here and let me clean your tool." She wiggled her arse and his cock slipped out of her. 

With both men sitting in front of her, Isabella licked one clean and then the other, fondling their balls and using her fingers and thumbs to massage them hard again. She told them how much she needed to be fucked and how good their cocks were. It only took a few minutes. They were young and very easily coaxed back to hardness. When she had her two firm cocks again, Isabella stood and positioned herself over Paulo. His hand opened her dripping pussy and she squatted onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist and wiggling until she had him completely inside her. She leaned forward, pushing him down onto his back and raising her ass for Roberto. He knew what she wanted and knelt behind her, holding his cock in one hand and seeking her anus with the thumb of the other. She was slick from her previous fucking and Roberto's own come and his thumb found a welcoming relaxed hole, eager to be penetrated. He rubbed some of their combined juices onto the head of his cock and pressed it against the opening. As Isabella began to grind herself onto Paulo's rod, she pressed against Roberto's until it slipped inside. They worked slowly, little by little pushing him deeper. Isabella was moaning and shaking, head thrown back. She rested like that, panting, both cocks filling her, for maybe half a minute and her young lovers waited patiently. She had never had two cocks in her before and her asshole was stretched further than it had ever been. She burned, but the pleasure too was enormous. She started to rock gently, letting them slide a few centimeters in and out, slowly at first and then using her legs to rise and fall a little further with each stroke. Within a few minutes of more aggressive pounding, her head was shaking from side to side, her hair flying and she started a long low moan as she became even more frantic and urgent in her lust. The boys did little but hang on and keep their cocks inside her. Her moans became yelps and, eventually she was out of control and screaming. Roberto held her shoulders and Paulo her hips as she bounced hard onto them, heaving repeatedly and releasing a flood of her cunt juices before collapsing onto to Paulo's chest and pulling free of Roberto's cock. She lay there experiencing waves of pleasure and sighing.

She must have seemed unconscious because Paulo expressed concern.

"Is she alright, Roberto? What happened? Her cunt is still gripping me!"

"I think she is just resting, Paulo. An amazing woman to be sure. I have never seen anything quite like that," he said. Then touching Isabella gently on the shoulder he said, "Isabella, my dear, Isabella, are you still with us?"

Isabella heard him and responded with a groan of pleasure and a wiggle of her bottom, "Of course I am with you, silly boys," she said. "Just give me a moment to rest."

Both men responded by stroking her back and bottom with their hands and murmuring their awed respect for her.

It was at that precise moment that Isabella was hit with a revelation. "Men don't understand!" was how it came to her first. Yes, they are not the same as her! While she climbs the entire ladder of her passion - from raw animal instinct, through physical pleasure, memory, hope, imagery, sound and touch, emotional ecstasy, intellectual fulfillment, spiritual connection and finally reaching a plane of pure being in which her body, mind and soul coalesce outside of the mortal sphere -- men barely reach the second or third rung! It struck her now as obvious and it explained so much. She mentally gave Anton a little more credit, but even he admitted that it was Serena who tutored and taught him to transcend the ordinary. Isabella wondered whether she had discovered a great truth, or whether her slightly intoxicated, lustful state was playing tricks on her. She laughed to herself.

"Fuck me again!" was her cry and Paulo enthusiastically complied by raising her hips and thrusting his still hard cock into her. Roberto rose, saying he would first clean his cock. He walked across to the little stream nearby, grabbing a handful of moss from the base of a tree.

Isabella heard the barking of a dog and felt herself being shaken by the arm. "Isabella, Isabella, wake up!" came a voice in her ear. Roberto? No! It was Thomas, rousing her from her dream and shaking her gently by the arm. She opened her eyes and recognized the pirate galley and the Agha standing over them both yelling at Thomas.

"What's wrong?" she said, suddenly scared. "What does he want?"

Thomas held up his palm to the Agha and said a few words in Arabic. The Agha stamped his foot and took a few angry paces along the deck.

"Isabella, I had to wake you. You were moaning and the pirates, the janissaries at least, were becoming inflamed. They are very sensitive to a woman's ...er ...scent, and yours had reached them, driving them to distraction. The Agha was threatening a withdrawal of his agreement." Isabella could see a group of bearded pirates assembled on the deck below the bridge, looking from her to the Agha and back again, their eyes burning with desire. Isabella did not quite understand what Thomas was saying but she realized that she was not only in danger, but also sitting in a damp pool of her own juices, saturating the material of her tights and the dark red robe. She nodded and crossed herself, her hooded head bent low. "Oh god, my slutty nature will get us both killed!" she thought to herself.

Thomas continued in a low voice, "The Agha and the Rais have had an argument over your fate. I feared that the janissaries' arousal might in turn incite the sailing crew and cause a chain reaction. We must be careful now, but we will soon be in port."

Isabella sat holding tightly to Thomas's arm, staying silent and keeping her head bent. The crew went sullenly back to their duties. She heard the whips being flayed even more aggressively below and the grunts and exclamations of the slaves made her wince. She felt Thomas pat her arm affectionately and he whispered soothing words in her ear. Her dependency on him was like a weight, preventing her deeper feelings from finding their voice. Did she love him? She certainly lusted for him, but she was accustomed to that particular feeling. No, this was definitely different. She thought about the men she had known; protectors, lovers, patrons, providers, companions; but none of them had aroused these particular feelings in her. Isabella did not consider herself a romantic woman. Lustful, yes; Emotional, yes; Spiritual, certainly, but never a romantic. She always felt that swooning love-lorn girls were delusional, living a fairytale to justify opening their thighs to some handsome or rich suitor. Now she wasn't sure of anything. Thomas tightened his grip on her arm and whispered, "We are almost there, Isabella."

Looking ahead, Isabella saw that, indeed, the coast was now only a couple of miles away on their left. Just before dusk they rounded a small headland and entered a narrow passage. A town at the far end of the bay grew steadily closer. Isabella could see the docks and their strange arched buildings. Small boats and another galley were moored around the harbor. Their own ship stopped short of the wharf and floated there. Their arrival seemed to have sparked fevered activity on shore and it was only a minute before a small craft set out towards them. Thomas stood and walked to the shoreward side of the ship, joining the Rais and the Agha who were already there. Isabella saw that the boat rowing towards them carried a small pivot-mounted cannon in its bows and that smoke was rising from a torch held by a man behind it. Six or seven other men in the boat held muskets. This was not the friendly welcome to Ghar El Melh she had hoped for. As the rowboat closed on them, a man in a turban and red vest rose and called something, Isabella heard him start with "Agha Murad Benij" and something that sounded quite nasty to her ears.

The Agha laughed and called back. The man in the boat seemed to have trouble hearing him and drew closer. The name "Thomas" was exchanged. "Is that you, Magus?" called the man in the boat in fluent Italian.

"It is, Ahmed!" called Thomas through cupped hands, "I need the Bey's assistance to finalize my arrangements with these gentlemen!"




Isabella Awakening Ch. 06



The man Ahmed thought for a moment, his boat moving closer. He had his men stand down and he eventually replied, "Have them dock under the Treasury gate and I'll fetch the Bey. You are lucky he is still in town! He is leaving tomorrow for Beja!" 

With that, the little boat returned to the dock and Thomas turned to translate the conversation to the Agha and the Rais. They nodded their assent and had the boat move slowly to the wharf indicated by Thomas.

As they docked, Thomas returned to Isabella's side. There was a look of relief on his face and he seemed exhausted. He smiled weakly and said "Its almost over, thank God." Isabella was shocked, having placed such store in his confidence and authority, she now realized that he had been playing with a potentially loosing hand and that his gamble and bluff were just now paying off. She said nothing.

Fifteen minutes passed before the dock exploded in uproar to hooves of five galloping horses. Men scattered as the riders drove their mounts to very edge of the wharf where the galley lay tied. The pirate crew seemed tense and ready for action, looking keenly to their leaders for instructions. The Agha and Rais stood perfectly still, but watchful.

"Magus!" called a tall dark man in flowing robes, clearly the leader of the little group. "Is it really you?"

Thomas stood and waved to the man and his entourage. "Yes, Bishan, it is me," he said. "In trouble again, as you can see."

"Ha! Good. Then I get to repay some of the debt I owe you then! Come down, let me see you, let us talk!"

Thomas went immediately to Isabella's side. "Come now, I want you to meet the Bey." He took her arm and walked her to the makeshift gangplank and helped her down to the wharf. The Agha and Rais immediately followed, looking a little more relaxed. Isabella was aware of the dampness on the back of her robe and did her best to hide it in the folds or with her satchel.

The elegant Bey had dismounted and hugged Thomas like a brother. A stream of greetings and questions flowed and Thomas had difficulty keeping up. Finally he release Thomas and cleared his throat. "What do you need, Thomas?"

"Thank you, Bishan Bey," Thomas bowed. "Allow me to first to present my friends Agha Murad Beja and Rais Malik Jahood, who I believe you already know." The Bey acknowledged the pirates coolly. "And my very dear friend, Signora Isabella Silverto, from Naples." Isabella swept back her hood and accepted the Bey's bowed welcome. On rising, he studied her face and turned to Thomas, saying, "Another of your marvelous protégées, Magus?"

"A very special lady indeed, Bey. But not of the school, I'm sorry to say"

The Agha cleared his throat, obviously urging the men back to business. 

"Yes," said Thomas, turning and bowing to his friend and speaking formally, "I must humbly petition the Bey of Beja for his indulgence in the matter of payment for the passage for myself and the lady. The sum of one barrel of silver is required for our release."

The Bey laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "Only one? My goodness, Thomas, prices are surely falling!" He then glanced along the wharf and, even in the half-light of dusk, he could clearly see the little boat full of barrels and boxes from the Della. "Though I see that a substantial down payment has already been made." The Bey turned to his party and, in Arabic, gave instructions for making payment to the pirates.

The Agha and the Rais were clearly relieved and happy. Thomas turned to them and made several statements that initiated a partial unloading of the little boat. His two large packages and Isabella's dowry were offloaded onto the wharf. Isabella watched all this with interest and some hint of understanding. The pirates who had taken them from the Della were clearly not welcome in the Bey's port, but Thomas's stature as the Bey's friend and "Magus" had allowed the transaction to proceed smoothly.

Within five minutes a heavy barrel had been rolled out of one of the locked rooms behind the vaulted arches. The Rais had it opened, inspected its contents with a long pole and pronounced them acceptable. He then had the barrel resealed and taken aboard the galley. Without further delay, the galley was untied and made its way out of the little harbor, leaving Thomas and Isabella in the hands of the Bey and his party.

Thomas turned to Isabella and smiled broadly. "Relax, Isabel, we're safe."

She turned to him and threw her arms around his neck. Saying nothing, she raised her eyes to him and kissed him passionately. He returned her kiss with equal intensity. Her entire being filled with an unexplained joy, a lightness of spirit, an optimism she had never before experienced.

"I don't know what's happening to me, Thomas," she said. "But you have done something to me that I don't understand. Who are you? Why have you rescued me? What is to happen now?"

Thomas responded with a finger to her lips and a gentle kiss to her cheek, brushing a stray strand of her hair from her brow. "Soon, Isabella. As soon as we are alone." He turned to the Bey who was sitting on his mount talking quietly with one of his companions. "Bishan, we are ready to leave when you are," he said.

The Bey gave orders to his companions, their horses stamping and rearing and eager to be away. Several men appeared from the shadows of the archways and lifted Isabella's dowry chest and Thomas's heavy parcels onto a large barrow that they pulled past Isabella and Thomas towards the roadway at the end of the wharf. The Bey himself drew his horse alongside Isabella and Thomas and extended his hand to Isabella, "May I?" he said. She took his hand and Thomas held her waist while she was hoisted onto the horse, straddling it and holding onto the Bey's shoulders. Isabella wiggled, the items strapped to her legs making it difficult to get comfortable. She grasped Keira's horn through the fabric of her cloak and discretely adjusted its position against her thigh so it rode higher and pressed against her sex. The Bey looked down at Thomas and smiled. "You'll have to find your own transport, I'm afraid, Magus. The lady is now with me." 

Thomas laughed and called one of the other mounted men by name. The man wheeled his horse and drew along side him. Thomas took hold of the back of his soft leather saddle and, with a single leap, threw himself up behind the man and said "Not a problem, Bishan, we'll be right behind you."

The horsemen simultaneously pulled on their reigns and the horses set off as a group towards the road. Once off the wharf, they moved quickly up through the hilly little town, now mostly lit with oil lamps and flaming torches. They rose past the main group of brick buildings, two and three storey warehouses and shops, and through an area of small houses where Isabella could see families and groups busy behind open windows and doors. People in the streets made way for the horsemen and clearly recognized the Bey and his men, calling greetings as they passed. The Bey responded to many of the well-wishers by name and threw his own greetings or comments back to them as he passed. Isabella had to hold tight to the Bey and her satchel as the horses galloped and she could feel the horn between her legs pressing and opening her as they rode on. Thomas and his rider drew alongside the Bey and Thomas mouthed something to Isabella. She smiled at him and the Bey again pulled ahead.

The houses eventually thinned out and they were on a dark road, still leading up the hill. As they reached the crest and rounded a corner, Isabella could see a grand well-lit compound of buildings a few hundred yards in front of them. There were guards at the gates but they stood aside as the party rode through at a gallop. The Bey and his entourage swarmed into a courtyard and halted the horses, many of them rearing and snorting and stamping their hooves. Clouds of dust rose around them as the riders dismounted and men ran from side buildings to take the reigns and lead the horses away. Thomas was instantly beside Isabella to help her down and she willingly jumped into his arms. More people were coming through the massive doorways of the main building, running to the Bey, who laughed and spoke to them in Arabic. He approached Thomas and put an arm around his shoulder.

"There is a room for the Signora being prepared in the main wing," he said. "Next to yours," he added, clapping his hand on Thomas's shoulder. 

"Thank you, Bishan," replied Thomas. "I am sure Isabella will need to rest soon."

The Bey ushered them up to the entrance to his home. The house, or rather palace, was a revelation to Isabella. The entrance hall alone was larger and grander than many ballrooms she had seen back in Naples. Arab architecture to be sure: vaulted ceilings, pointed arches and alcoves, mirrors and intricately interwoven patterns in the mosaic floor; but mixed here with a modern and sophisticated European styling in the sparse furniture and window treatments and the lighting -- chandeliers and oil lamps in the Parisian style. Thomas was clearly familiar with the house and continued his discussion with the Bey as they moved to a side alcove where servants parted a heavy curtain for them.

They entered a smaller, but no less impressive, room containing low couches and many large cushions. Isabella smelt tobacco and other smokey odours. The Bey ushered them to a couch and stood before them.

"We have so much to talk about, Thomas," he said, "and I will return to you soon. Please make yourselves comfortable while your rooms are prepared."

Thomas nodded his thanks, but it was Isabella who spoke, "I thank you again sincerely, Bey, but I must ask of you one favor before you leave us. Father Thomas has suffered a wound on our journey." she touched Thomas's arm gently. "I have done what I could but I was hoping that you perhaps have someone here who could clean and dress it for him. I believe it may need a stitch or two."

The Bey looked at Thomas with concern and then, smiling, replied to Isabella, "I have just the person, Signora. Gabrielle will join you soon. She will be pleased to see Thomas and make herself useful." The Bey spoke to one of his servants and left by a rear door.

This was the first time that Thomas and Isabella had been alone, really alone, since their talk in her cabin aboard the Della Virago so long ago. Their hands found each other's and Thomas spoke in low voice.

"Isabella, I am sorry to have put you through the ordeal of today, but I hope that you will forgive me when I have a chance to explain fully. There is a time for subterfuge and a time for truth and our time of truth fast approaches."

A tear formed in Isabella's eye, but she straightened her back and spoke, "Thomas, I am very much inclined to forgive you anything. I am still confused about the events of the past week, not only of today, and I look forward to your telling me everything. As far as truth is concerned, I must also admit something to you. I have examined my feelings deeply since we first met and what I feel is absolutely ..."

She was interrupted by the appearance of two women in what Isabella assumed to be casual local dress, silk pantaloons and colorful blouses with short sleeves, entering the room through the curtained alcove. Thomas touched her thigh and turned to the new arrivals.

"Gabrielle! Ashanti! How wonderful to see you"

The women almost ran to him, beaming and clearly returning his joy at their reunion. Isabelle watched with interest as they both kissed Thomas, the older woman directly on his lips and the younger on his cheek.

"Now, before anything else," Thomas said, still grinning at them, "I want you to meet my dear friend and traveling companion Isabella. Isabella, these are my friends Gabrielle," the elder of two, a beautiful dark haired European woman of perhaps 30, turned to Isabella and extended a hand. "And this is Ashanti, Bishan Bey's eldest, and most beautiful, daughter." The younger girl, a dark and elegant teenager with her father's fine chiseled features and dark hair, blushed a little, smiled and said a quiet "Hello, Isabella."

Gabrielle examined Isabella and said, "Welcome to Ghar El Melh, Isabella. Any friend of Thomas' is immediately considered a sister and friend to all of us. What was your mother's name?"

Gabrielle's strange question puzzled Isabella, but she seemed friendly and genuine, "Oh, thank you Gabrielle. My mother is Marisa Silverto." She looked briefly to Thomas for guidance, but he was looking a Gabrielle with a slight frown that disappeared immediately.

"Marisa! Said Gabrielle, what a lovely name. You are from Italy?"

"Yes, Naples, and you?"

"Rome originally," she replied, "but I spent ten years in France prior to coming to Tunisia. But we must talk later, I understand Thomas is in need of medical attention."

She turned to Thomas and retrieved a dark leather bag she had carried in with her but deposited beside the couch before embracing Thomas. "I assume its your arm, Magus" she said, indicating the dried blood staining Thomas's sleeve.

Thomas grimaced as he rolled up the sleeve and Isabella helped remove her own makeshift bandage. Gabrielle spoke briefly to Ashanti in Arabic and the younger girl left the room while Gabriella examined the wound.

"Nasty," she pronounced, "but you'll live." Isabella smiled at having her own prognosis confirmed.

Ashanti returned with a bowl of water and some clean linen. Gabriella quickly and professionally cleaned the wound and ran a finger gently along its length. She then did something Isabella had never witnessed before; she put her nose to the wound and inhaled deeply.

"Its clean," she announced. "When did this happen?"

"Early this morning," replied Thomas.

"What was the weapon?"

"Not a weapon, a flying splinter from the ship I was on," he answered.

"Washed with salt water?"

Isabella answered this question with "Yes, Gabriella, I tried to clean the wound on our way here."

"Good," she pronounced. "A balm and few silk stitches should allow it to heal naturally. Ashanti, please apply some ostrich oil liniment directly to the wound while I thread some silk ".

Ashanti already had a small ceramic bowl in her hand and moved to Thomas's side while Gabrielle delved into her black bag.

Isabella was surprised and impressed both with Gabrielle's proficiency and her practical manner. She watched and smiled while Thomas winced as the liniment was applied, clearly stinging his exposed flesh.

"Thank you, Ashanti." He said, unconvincingly as she retired, allowing Gabrielle to take her place at his side.

"Now, just bear up a while longer, Thomas," she said, "this won't hurt at all." She brandished a curved needle threaded with thick pale coloured thread. Thomas's face betrayed that he was unconvinced by her assertion. 

Gabrielle grinned wickedly, but did not immediately start working on the wound. She sat back and adopting a pout and feigning hurt "You don't believe me? I would not lie to you, Magus!" she exclaimed.

Thomas was at her mercy and Gabrielle was clearly enjoying herself. She went back into her bag and removed a phial and a short, quill-like apparatus that she dipped, just like a pen in ink, into the phial. Isabella could not see anything except clear liquid in the phial. Isabella use the tip of the implement to gently trace the outside of Thomas's wound and handed both the quill and the liquid to Ashanti, who, Isabella noted, was repressing a grin.

"Now, Thomas," said Gabrielle seriously, "If my stitching does cause you pain, you have permission to paddle me later tonight." She laughed and winked at him and took up her needle again, plunging its tip immediately into the edge of the wound. Isabella herself winced and she saw a brief expression of horror cross Thomas's face. But it was replaced immediately by one of relieved surprise.

"Gabrielle! How did you do that?" he exclaimed. "I cannot feel the needle at all! The skin there feels dead!"

"I prefer to say 'asleep' Thomas," she said, continuing to sew the wound closed. "Its something I developed after watching the lions deal with their hunting wounds. I extracted a light oil fraction from a particular desert shrub and found it has a temporary effect of eliminating pain if scratched onto the skin. The effect will abate in an hour or so and you will feel some discomfort then." She smiled at him and he was clearly impressed, as was Isabella. She had never heard of such a thing, or of a woman making such important medical discoveries. 

Gabrielle finished her stitching with a quick knot and put her needle back into the bag while Ashanti applied more liniment and a clean bandage.

"Have you published this yet, Gabrielle?" Thomas asked.

"I have a manuscript prepared. I have not sent it yet. I am distilling enough of the oil to send a sufficient sample to Vienna to accompany the text. Would you like to read it?"

"I'm sure it would be beyond my comprehension," he replied, "but I would welcome the opportunity."

"Modesty does not sit well with you, Magus," quipped Gabrielle coolly. "I would greatly welcome your comments, of course." 

They both smiled and she kissed him on the lips again, lingering a little longer than was necessary, thought Isabella.

"Are you here for Natalia, Thomas?" she said, face serious and clearly turning to a subject she felt strongly about.

"Natalia?" said Thomas, concerned. "What do you mean? I have no knowledge of Natalia. What has happened, Gabrielle? Is she ill?"

"No, Thomas, not ill." She said. "I will leave it the Bey to give you the details. The situation has been worrying him all week and I am sure he will seek your counsel tonight. It is truly fortuitous that you have come today." She rose and turned to Isabella again, her face relaxing and giving a pleasant smile, "Isabella, I would like to invite you to join us in The Sanctuary tomorrow morning. I so look forward to learning about your journey and your intentions. Until then, please look after the Magus for us. He seems a little prone to accidents, don't you think?"

Isabella felt an attachment and affection for this remarkable woman and said she too would look forward to seeing her in the morning. "And you too Ashanti."

"Oh, I am not permitted in the Sanctuary!" said Ashanti, clearly a little shocked at the thought.

Isabella recovered instantly, "Of course. But I shall see you again soon, I hope."

The women left Thomas and Isabella. Isabella looked at him, eyes wide with too many questions to voice. He smiled and leaned to her, "I will explain everything, I promise."

It was the Bey who interrupted their privacy this time, returning to the room. "Where are your refreshments?" he asked.

"We have just this moment finished with Gabrielle and Ashanti, Bey. We've had no time to take tea," said Thomas.

"Ridiculous!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands in the air and calling something in Arabic. "I am most ashamed that you have been here so long without service." He bowed to Isabella.

"Really, Bey, as Thomas explained, we have been occupied with Gabrielle and your daughter. They are both marvelous women," Isabella added.

The Bey was clearly touched by her observation. "Gabrielle is a rare woman indeed, and I am proud of Ashanti's development. She shows great aptitude for learning. I was intending to talk with Thomas about her future education."

Thomas nodded but changed the subject, "Tell me about Natalia, Bishan."

The Bey stiffened, found a comfortable cushion and sat, sighing and looking suddenly drained. Servants entered silently, carrying large vessels and unusual glass mugs, decorated with golden strands and ornate handles. They poured tea and left just as silently.

Thomas and Isabella sipped at theirs until the Bey was ready to speak.

"Thomas," he started, "you know that I promised protection of the lovely Natalia when she arrived with you last year." He looked up, into Thomas's face, his own drawn and pale. "I have failed in my undertaking. Natalia arrived here last Tuesday, carried by two horsemen and unable to stand or speak. She had ... injuries." The Bey fell silent, head down.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 06



Thomas considered the information and Isabella was silent, concerned but not understanding this conversation all.

Thomas spoke softly, "Bishan, your promise to me must be taken in context. Natalia was living with the Vizier in Beja, is that not true?"

"Yes," said the Bey, "in Beja."

"Where is she now?" Thomas asked.

"Here, in the infirmary," the Bey responded. "She is still weak. Gabrielle spent two days with her, day and night, when she first came in. I thought she ... would die."

"May I talk with her?" asked Thomas.

"Of course, my friend. I have told her that you are here and she wants to see you tonight."

"And, what are your plans?" asked Thomas, kindly but clearly probing.

"I am to leave for Beja tomorrow; to confront the Vizier and decide what to do. You being here does not relieve me of my responsibilities, Thomas, but I would be glad of your counsel."

"We will go together," said Thomas, with a note of finality. "Take me to Natalie and we will talk further of the appropriate course," Thomas rose and put out his hand to the Bey who took it and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. Thomas hugged him and said quietly, "Events such as these will happen in the best of houses, my friend. The test of true wisdom and courage is in our response."

Thomas turned to Isabella. "I am sorry, my dear, but my duty dictates that I must leave you for a short while. These are matters to which I must attend immediately. I am sure the Bey has arranged for your comfort and I will see you in perhaps an hour."

Isabella stood, "I understand, Thomas. You must go now and see to this woman." Isabella was again left with questions, but Thomas had promised a full explanation and this only added to the many matters she would probe him on later.

Thomas turned again to the Bey, "Bishan, I'm afraid the speed and circumstances of our departure from our ship means that Isabella has no appropriate clothing for this climate. Can you extend your already considerable hospitality any further?"

The Bey hit Thomas playfully on the chest and called "Attara!" A middle-aged Arab woman was immediately at his side bowing low. He spoke to her in the Arab language, which Isabella was starting to find quite melodic, and the woman turned to Isabella and bowed. "Attara here will tend to your needs, Signora. She speaks only the local tongue, I'm afraid, but you have any difficulty communicating with her, I'm sure that the Magus, I mean Thomas, will assist."

Isabella thanked the Bey for his kindness and Attara motioned her to the curtained alcove. Thomas nodded and smiled to her and said he would see her soon.

Attara took Isabella's satchel from her and guided her back to the main entrance hall and across it to a wide stairway leading to the second floor. Along a corridor, long and wide enough for a two horse race, reflected Isabella, they entered a salon containing a huge bed, several couches, a table and huge glass doors leading to a narrow terrace. Attara bowed to Isabella again and drew her attention to a side door that lead to a tiled room containing a tub, a washstand and a heavy lidded box in one corner. Isabella assumed that the box was some sort of privy. Attara demonstrated the use of a stopcock on the wall. Turning it to the right caused warm water to tumble into the tub from a pipe projecting from the wall above it. Isabella had never seen such plumbing before, at least not on the second floor of a building, and she thanked Attara for her demonstration. Back in the main room of what Isabella was already thinking of as an apartment, Attara indicated the table where a large bouquet of exotic flowers and a platter of food and wine had been placed. Isabella did not recognize the small pastry parcels and vegetables arranged in circles on the plate, but the smell was delicious and she realized that it was now many hours since she had eaten. There was knock at the main door and Attara called something and it opened. A young woman, head bowed and dressed from head to toe in a pale blue robe, entered carrying a bundle of clothes over both arms. Attara indicated the bed and the girl laid out several skirts, silk and cotton robes, blouses and long colorful pantaloons like those worn by Gabrielle and Ashanti when Isabella had seen them earlier. Isabella smiled and bowed to the girl who did likewise and left. Attara started to follow her to the door, turned and said, in barely comprehensible Italian, "You call me here", pointing to a cord hanging beside the bed. She moved her hand in a quick up and down motion, indicating that Isabella was to pull the cord. 

Isabella nodded, mimicking her hand motion, bowed and said "Thank you, Attara" and the woman left.

Left alone, Isabella suddenly felt the weight of the day. She sat on the bed and her mind immediately started working through the events and new information she was yet to fully process. She halted herself and decided that now was not the time. She needed to eat, bathe and rest. Any analysis could wait. Hopefully she would see Thomas again before the night was over. 

The first thing she did was stand and hitch up her robe, untying and removing the pantaloons that held her precious objects. She opened the pockets one by one and placed their contents in the drawer of a dresser standing against the wall, the Horn of Keira wrapped in its chamois pouch she placed far to the back. Isabella, the physical and emotional weight of her escape now partly lifted, then allowed herself a sample from the platter. The meat pastries and vegetables were indeed delicious. Spicy and warm, they were just what she needed. A small glass of wine washed down a second serving and she was already starting to feel more relaxed. She decided to wash and removed her robe, shirt and tights and entered the bathroom. By turning the stopcock, she ran water into the tub and examined the shelf of bottles and jars, finding them all fragrant and enticing. She poured a measure of oil from one bottle directly into the tub and filled her nostrils with the scents of jasmine and rose. As the tub filled, Isabella slid into the warm water, the feelings and scents taking her back to her afternoon of intimacy and passion with Beatrice in Palermo. She admired her naked body, still completely hairless, and rubbed the oily water over her shoulders and neck as the bath filled.

She lay back, closed her eyes and enjoyed the feelings of her limbs and body releasing their tensions. For fifteen minutes she let herself drift and would have stayed just like that and slept except she realized that she was actually floating to music, flute and lyre in harmonic conversation, which was drifting from somewhere outside her balcony window. The rise and fall of the melody enticed her and she soon stood and reached for a towel.

She found a dark green silk robe on the bed, wrapped it around her body, took her hairbrush from the dresser drawer and opened the wide doors to the balcony. A cool breeze greeted her and she could smell the sea. But the sight that confronted Isabella was not one she would have suspected. Below her was a park-like plaza enclosed by the four wings of the palace. It was lit with flares and torches and was criss-crossed with intersecting paths, low hedges and runnels leading to a simple central fountain. Between the trees, which appeared to be mostly laden citrus, she could make out garden beds, more fountains and benches or seats. On the three sides she could see, a continuous arched colonnade fronted a broad portico. It was a beautiful sight. 

Directly across this plaza from Isabella's balcony stood a two-storey wing that was the source of the music. Light came across its broad portico from behind lattice-encased windows on the lower floor and Isabella could make out the forms of people dancing behind the lattice. She could hear women's voices and laughter. No one stirred in the garden below and she could make out no one on the portico. All the activity seemed to be inside. Then two large shapes emerged from the shadows beside the central doorway to the far building. Isabella could not make out their faces, but she knew they were men, guards or servants, because they opened the heavy doors. Another figure emerged into the Portico, a woman dressed in a sheer, almost weightless and invisible gown that flowed behind her in the breeze as she walked along the Portico and seated herself on a bench. Isabella thought she resembled Gabrielle, the woman who had treated Thomas's arm earlier, but she could not she her face clearly at this distance and in this light.

Isabella stood on the balcony for several minutes, combing her hair while taking in the atmosphere and forming her first impressions of the Bey's compound. It was like nothing she'd seen or heard about before. The quiet opulence and sensuality of her surroundings was a revelation. Isabella had always believed that Europe was the heart of the world and that other cultures and places were uncivilized and dangerous or brutal and tawdry imitations of Europe. But here she felt a deep sense of solidity, of refinement and grace that she had rarely felt outside of the most ancient and venerated of Naples great buildings. As she was trying to put words to her feelings there was quiet knock on the door to her room. She left the balcony, straightened and tied her robe loosely, and opened the door.

It was Thomas, a smile on his lips but pain in his eyes. Isabella pulled him into the room and kissed him. He melted into her and she felt at least some of his tension slip away.

"I am sorry Isabella, it was entirely necessary for me ..." Isabella halted him with another kiss. They stayed like that, responding to each other's passion for several minutes. Isabella finally broke the kiss.

"You must eat, Thomas," she said, leading him by the hand to the table and making him sit. "And tell me, is your friend, Natalia, recovering?"

"Slowly, I'm afraid. Her wounds were ... extensive," he said, between mouthfuls of pastries. "Gabrielle has done well with the treatment of her lesions and burns, but her ... spirit has been greatly harmed." Thomas poured them both a glass of wine.

"And you must travel with the Bey tomorrow to conduct some sort of inquiry into her abuse?" asked Isabella.

"Yes, we will leave before evening and ride through the night to Beja. We will not stay long; there is little point in an extended ... investigation. We will do what we have to and return directly." Thomas's tone was ominous and Isabella had the distinct impression that the point of Thomas's journey was neither inquiry nor investigation. She touched his hand and changed the subject.

"Thomas, you look exhausted. Perhaps we should leave our ... discussion until the morning," she said, although she had long ago determined that her other desires outweighed her need for information or explanation tonight.

"Isabella, I too need to ... discuss and explain what has happened, is happening, but your are right; my body and head ache from today's exertions and I am unlikely to be a good ... company for you tonight." Isabella smiled at Thomas's clumsy attempt to avoid speaking what was on both their minds.

She moved behind his chair and whispered, "Lean your head back, close your eyes and I will try to relieve your discomfort." He did so and Isabella took his head in her hands, placing one palm flat against his forehead and supporting the base of his skull with three fingers of her other hand. As she gently rotated his neck she found the soft indentation that housed the joining of his spine and skull. Her fingers slowly increased their pressure, seeking the subtle bodies that she knew held the key to the relief of the pressure he was feeling inside his head. She pressed and then released the tiny points three times before leaning his head forward and executing a similar move on the vertebrae of his neck. Finally she moved her hands to his temples and put gentle rotating pressure on the soft tissue and the ridge of his cheekbone. The whole procedure took only a few minutes.

"Tell me how that feels now," she whispered.

Thomas opened his eyes and moved his head slowly from side to side. "That is truly remarkable, Isabella. The pressure behind my eyes is gone and I can move my neck freely. Where did you learn how to do that?"

"Ah, now you begin to understand that I too have my secrets," she teased.

Thomas smiled and pulled her onto his lap. Isabella's robe, loosely tied as it was, opened and her breasts were exposed to his eyes. She left her robe as it fell and kissed him, even more passionately than before. As a hand found her bare tummy and moved across her lower ribs towards her breast, she pushed herself upright and stood before him. 

"Your treatment has not finished, Father" she smiled, covering herself again. "Please take off your clothes and lie on the bed." 

Isabella walked to the bed and removed the clothing still laying there. She placed the pile over a chair, pulled back the covers and turned down the wick on the oil lamp on the bedside table. Thomas stood beside her. 

"Take off your clothes and lie down. I'll be back directly."

She kissed him on the cheek and walked to the bathroom. Finding a bottle of sweet scented oil on the shelf, she removed her silk gown and caught her own reflection in the mirror. "Hello, old friend," she smiled. "I was worried you were going to leave this one to me."

She re-entered the room naked and carrying the colored glass bottle of oil. Thomas sat on the edge of the bed watching her intently. She said nothing as she placed the oil beside the bed and stood before him in the flickering light of the lamp. His eyes took her in and he bent his head to her breast, gently kissing the area around the nipple while his hands traced the curve of her hip.

"Lie down," she whispered. "Let me rub your back."

Thomas obeyed, swinging his legs onto the bed and rolling over to lie face down in the center of the bed. Isabella noticed that his cock was half hard already and that he was careful to ensure that it lay against his stomach as he turned over.

She climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside his torso and pouring oil from the bottle into the palm of one hand. She slowly wiped it onto his shoulders and down his back, refilling her palm when she came to his buttocks and moving up again. With gentle pressure she started to smooth the oil into his skin with both hands, kneading the muscles around his neck and down his spine. Thomas groaned his pleasure at her skillful massage. As she felt his muscles soften to her touch, she straddled his lower back and began a more vigorous massage, running her hand harder over sinew and skin and gripping the muscles beneath. She moved lower, sitting now on his thighs as she brought her weight to bear on either side of his lower spine. Her fingers drove deep into the yielding flesh and Thomas moaned again. Her touch lightened as she rubbed the large muscles of his buttocks and upper thighs. She rose and placed one knee between his thighs, levering his legs open. Taking the oil bottle again she poured a thin stream of oil onto his lower back so that it ran down the valley of his ass. She giggled as he squirmed and then she allowed a finger to follow the oil on its dark path over his tight anus and down to the soft skin behind his balls. She felt the heat rising from him, removed her hand and stretched herself forward so that she was lying on his back. She put her mouth to his ear and whispered, "Tell me where it hurts, Thomas. I want to take away your pain."

Thomas opened his eyes and smiled. "You have erased all my pain already Isabella. Your hands have revived me and made me whole."

"Good," said Isabella firmly and with a serious tone in her voice. She pushed herself up quickly and sat cross-legged on the bed next to him. "So now you can tell me what is going on. Let's start with the pirates, shall we?"

Thomas sputtered and rolled over, with a look of surprise and concern on his face. Isabella could not keep her composure for another moment and burst out laughing. Thomas caught the infection and he too laughed, but not before grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her down on top of him. 

They kissed, long and passionately, Thomas's hands following a path between her neck and ass. Isabella could feel his hardness on her thigh and she moved her own hand to it. She smiled at Thomas and whispered, "Oh, Father, I believe I may have missed a tense muscle. Would you like me to massage it for you?"

"I have a better idea," he grinned, rolling her onto the bed so that they faced each other. He used his own leg to raise her thigh and moved a hand over her tummy to her wetness. Isabella sighed and closed her eyes as he slipped a finger into her. Then he used two fingers to gently part her inner lips and moved his cock to her opening, placing the engorged head just inside her and removing his hand. Isabella lowered her thigh to rest on his hip and used her leg to draw him closer and completely into her. They lay like that, joined and quiet, for several minutes as they kissed and caressed each other. Despite their passion, there was now no urgency at all. 

They made love that night as if they had always known each other. Thomas responded instinctively to her unspoken needs and she to his. They gave and received in equal measure and explored each other's bodies and erotic souls without restraint. No permissions were sought and none were needed. It was a wordless dance of two becoming one. When Isabella came, as she did many times that night, he held her tightly, coaxing her higher with his mouth, hands and cock. His wonderful cock. Several times, Isabella prepared herself to receive his seed as she felt Thomas tense and shudder, his cock swelling and pulsing. But he did not come and returned to her to ply her again and again. Despite their exhaustion, they made love; they fucked like animals and angels and took each other with mouth and hand for well over an hour before Thomas, holding her head in his hands and looking deep into her timeless soul, forced her legs wide with his own thighs and took her with such energy and passion that he came deeply in her womb. Isabella felt his warm semen filling her and she joined him in rapture.

They lay together, stroking each other and kissing softly until Thomas's deflating cock slipped out of Isabella's still pulsing sex. She lay still, letting a trail of his semen ooze out of her. Thomas rolled to his side; his body still melded to hers, and continued his caresses. Isabella's hand found his cock and held it like a precious ornament. 

That is how they slept. Deeply, and in each other arms.



Isabella Awakening Ch. 07



Chapter Seven

In which Isabella learns some more history and makes new friends

For the first time in her life, Isabella awoke with a man's arms around her and a hard cock between the mounds of her ass. She was in heaven. Thomas's regular deep breathing told her he was still sleeping, but his cock was engorged and pulsing slowly and he occasionally moved his hips to seek purchase. Isabella lay like that for some time as the dawn shed pale light through the room. She considered slipping him into her and waking him with a gentle fuck, but her bladder warned her of impending disaster. She carefully slipped away from him and padded to the bathroom.

Once there, she realized that she was not familiar with the strange Arab plumbing and took a few minutes to come to terms with the strange privy. In the end, it was simple enough and she relieved herself sitting over the dark hole in the box. She examined herself in the mirror and, despite her tousled hair and a few fine grazes on her cheek from Thomas's beard, she liked what she saw. Her eyes in particular seemed to hold a new and special quality that she could not name but knew signified a different and welcome change in her being. She combed her hair while filling the washbasin from the pipe in the wall.

While washing her body, Isabella reflected that she had failed to douche after her lovemaking last night. She had always followed Anton's advice and washed out her cunny with vinegar after a man had come inside her. She had never wanted to fall pregnant to one of her casual lovers and the thought of carrying Henri's child had repulsed her. Not that his bedroom endeavors provided too many opportunities for that. She was often relieved that he usually preferred to come in her asshole or mouth, on the rare occasions he took her at all.

When clean and dry, Isabella picked up the silk gown she had left there last evening and threw it around her shoulders, leaving the front of her body exposed. It was already warm and she felt so wonderfully free that she considered whether it would be possible to stay naked with Thomas all day.

When she returned to the main room, Thomas was already out of bed and standing on the balcony overlooking the Bey's plaza. He had wrapped a shawl or small blanket around his lower body and was leaning over the balcony's stone balustrade talking in an easy and animated way to someone below. Isabella stood back and watched him, recognizing the scars on his back and feeling an odd sense of proprietorship she did not remember feeling for any other man. The feeling disturbed her a little and she wondered whether this was part of the romantic complex of emotions she'd previously denied in herself.

Thomas turned and saw her standing there watching him. He smiled warmly and held out his hand, beckoning her to his side. Isabella held the silk robe closed over her breasts and moved to him. His arm encircled her waist and he kissed her cheek. "Good morning, my love," he whispered.

"Good morning Isabella!" came a friendly call from below. It was Gabrielle, standing amongst the lemon trees below the balcony and wearing a blue robe similar to Isabella's green one. "I hope you slept well! Now, Thomas, talk to Isabella and tell me whether you are coming down to breakfast with us or not. Hurry up so I can tell the servants."

Thomas turned to Isabella smiling. "Gabrielle is organizing our morning for us. She wants us to join her and some other friends for breakfast in the garden. Are you up to company?"

Isabella pressed herself to him, allowing the robe to open and her breasts to brush the hairs of his broad chest. "Only if you promise me that we can be alone again before you leave with the Bey."

Thomas's was clearly eager to continue their love-making, his growing erection causing the shawl he had wrapped around his waist to fall. "I am as eager as you are to continue our...conversation, my dear one," he said "but perhaps some food will help us to sustain the energy required."

"Hurry up Thomas!' came Gabrielle's voice from below. "Either fuck the wench or come downstairs! Sorry Isabella, no offense intended!"

Isabella was momentarily shocked by this blunt, but obviously appropriate, outburst, but she laughed and let go of Thomas.

"I think we should go down, don't you," she said.

Thomas sighed, "Indeed." He turned to the balcony and called to Gabrielle. "Thank you, Gabrielle. I gather you slept alone last night. We are coming now!"

"Well, that was quick, Thomas! Not up to your usual standard!" she replied, laughing. "Meet us by the west wing."

Isabella wondered if this comfortable familiarity and casual attitude to each other's sexual life was normal for the Bey's palace or whether Gabrielle and Thomas had a special relationship. It did not matter to Isabella, she found the exchange between them both illuminating and strangely liberating.

Thomas used the bathroom, threw on a robe and Isabella tied hers more demurely. They left together, Thomas guiding her down the corridor to another flight of stairs leading to the ground floor rear portico. He told her about some of the statues and wall hangings as they passed and kissed her more than once as they made their way to the west wing.

A grand table was set and Gabrielle and three other women were already seated, talking and eating.

"Here they are at last!" said Gabrielle as they arrived. Thomas went around the table, kissing each of the assembled women, leaving Gabrielle herself till last. Two of the other women were Arabs, their dark hair and shining eyes making them look almost like twins. The other was a tall, remarkably beautiful black girl with thick sensuous lips, short-cropped hair and large earrings through the extended lobes of her ears. Isabella smiled and exchanged pleasantries as Thomas introduced them to her. Amalia and Marlesa were from Tunisia and Algeria respectively and the statuesque Kahlia from Ethiopia. All spoke fluent Italian and Isabella also heard them exchanging words to each other in French. She guessed them all to be in their late twenties or perhaps early thirties.

Gabrielle seated Isabella in the chair next to hers and Thomas sat opposite. She served them bread, fruit and small sweet delicacies from a central platter and poured a carafe of juice for each of them. "Coffee is coming soon," she said.

Thomas began to eat, fielding a barrage of questions from the two Arab women and from Kahlia. Yes, the visit was unplanned; No, he did not know how long he would stay; Yes, he was aware of the terrible things that had happened to Natalia and would accompany the Bey to Beja that evening; and finally, Yes, he was sleeping exclusively with Isabella while he was there. Isabella looked up from her meal at the last statement and caught a look of disappointment on the face of the three women.

Gabrielle turned to Isabella, a slightly amused look on her face, "So, Isabella dear, is Thomas the first Magus you've fucked, or have there been others?"

Isabella nearly choked on a grape and had to be patted hard on the back before she could catch her breath to answer. But it was Thomas who spoke, "Now Gabrielle, we both know that the role of chief bitch sits uneasily on your pretty head, so please let Isabella settle in here before you tease her with your wickedness." He smiled and caught Isabella's eye with a look of comfort and reassurance. The other women giggled.

"Oh, alright Thomas," said Gabrielle playfully, "but, as lovely as Isabella is, you can't expect us to welcome an outsider without due explanation."

"Fair comment, and I will explain. But speaking of chief bitches, where is the fair Jacqueline today?"

"She had a very late night and I don't expect to see her till noon, " said Gabrielle, helping herself to the coffee that had just been delivered to the table by a servant. "She knows you are here and is keen to talk to you about some recent developments." 

"I shall look forward to it," said Thomas. "And Kahlia, dear, before I forget, I have some new books and manuscripts for you from Beatrice. They are in my room. Have them taken to the library whenever you like."

Kahlia's face brightened and she was effusive in her thanks. She finished her own coffee quickly and excused herself, obviously eager to find and study the packages Thomas had brought with him from Palermo.

Amalia and Marlesa also rose and kissed Thomas, saying that they had tasks to attend to in The Sanctuary. Amalia turned to Isabella and said she hoped that she would visit them there later. Thomas watched them leave and then turned to Isabella and Gabrielle. "I have not forgotten my promise to you, Isabella. We do have much to discuss -- in words, I mean," he added, smiling. "And if Gabrielle has the time, I would like her to stay and fill in any gaps or add her own insights and perspectives, if that is acceptable to you both."

Both women nodded their assent and Gabrielle poured coffee for her guests.

"Then the only real question is, where to begin?" said Thomas, taking up his coffee and leaning back in the chair, "Perhaps the historical approach will allow us to make a start."

The story Thomas told started with a brief sketch of a continuum of thought and ideas reaching back to pre-biblical times; invoking the Phoenicians, the Egyptians and the Greek and Roman philosophers, singling out both Plato and Sophocles for special mention. He talked of Jesus and Mary -- the Magdalene, not the virgin - of the early Gnostic church, of Isis and of a woman called Sarah, whose particular role Isabella found obscure. The nature of the ideas of which Thomas spoke was not unfamiliar to Isabella. She was aware, from her own reading about the heresies that were vigorously and sometimes violently suppressed by the early Popes in Rome and Constantinople, and it was of some of these heresies that Thomas spoke. Primary among them was the idea that original sin, a central pillar of Isabella's Catholic upbringing, was an error of human thought, not a fundamental truth. The heroes of Thomas's story had rejected original sin, seeing every human born as a perfect embodiment of the universal godhead, individual but divine. Each person, according to this heresy, was endowed with gifts or "potentials", as Thomas referred to them, and it was their task in life -- indeed the task of all society -- to find ways to express and deliver these special talents for the benefit of the world. Evil, on the other hand was purely a product of the human mind.

"This sound like the Pelagian heresy," said Isabella at one stage.

"Indeed, yes," said Thomas in reply. "The Pelagians shared many of these views and were eliminated by the church in the early AD400s because of their doctrine -- and its implications for church authority."

"The historical perspective on our faith is perhaps better explained in detail at another time by someone like Beatrice or Kahlia who are more knowledgeable than I am about the various paths and diversions. Suffice to say, it was these "heresies" as you call them -- articles of faith to us -- that were rediscovered by Keira de Bruin and her people in the middle ages." Isabella flashed back to the story of sexual and spiritual exploration she had read in the little volume that Beatrice had presented to her in Palermo.

"You see, Isabella," said Thomas, "our faith is not based on history or learning alone. We believe that the truth of our nature lies within us and can be sought along many different paths. The eternal goodness -- the universal goddess -- is not a separate being or realm. It is part of us and we are part of it. We are each an expression of that sacred being and it is only the blindness of doctrine, habit and conscious purpose that prevents any one of us from achieving a state of harmony and, eventually, unification and with the sacred. Isabella, I am speaking of a state of being that I know you have recognized in yourself. That is why I am telling you this and, in the greater scheme, why we are both here."

Isabella had listened intently to Thomas and her heart and soul were weeping. Despite her naturally skeptical nature, his words were penetrating her like a knife and there was a deep feeling of release and recognition. It was if some part of her were rejoicing in hearing its own, never spoken, story confirmed and venerated. Her face must have betrayed her because Thomas smiled and reached for her hand. Gabrielle too was aware of the turmoil and release Isabella was experiencing and placed a comforting hand on her silk-covered thigh.

"Isabella, these are the essential truths of my people - our people. Since Keira founded our order, we have sought to bring the joy and awakening to each person who seeks it. That has placed us, as you will realize, in conflict with the church in Rome. Over the centuries they have sought to mutilate or eradicate Keira's memory, just as they revised and then destroyed the original gospels of Mary or the lives and works of the Gnostic saints. We have survived despite their campaign against us, but we must remain vigilant. Even now, in this so-called age of enlightenment, we are hunted and reviled by the papacy and its allies, particularly those in Spain and France."

It was Gabrielle's turn to speak. "You see Isabella, while our faith is based firmly in the discovery of each individual's path to the God within them, we must also work to preserve our collective memory and history through the writings and stories of our kind. That is why the libraries here, in Palermo, Rome, Quillan, Vienna and elsewhere, are so central to our lives. We have a duty, summarized by the three words Defendo, Conservo, Exercitatio --Protect, Preserve, Practice."

Isabella nodded and turned to Gabrielle. She had a sudden overwhelming urge to kiss her and their eyes met with mutual understanding as Gabrielle's hand slid gently to the top of Isabella's thigh, finding her warmth beneath the thin fabric of the robe.

Isabella breathed deeply and struggled to form questions in her mind. Eventually she turned back to Thomas and asked, "So you ... I mean the Order, reject the teachings of the Church?"

"Not entirely," said Thomas, shaking his head. "We certainly reject the self-serving orthodoxy of the papacy, which in many places has replaced the traditional teachings of Christianity. Our teachings revere Jesus as a holy man of central importance, just as the gospels are fundamental to our faith. But the Church has obscured and adapted these teachings; indeed they have obliterated the very meaning of Jesus' life and death, for purposes unrelated to human joy. Their creed depends on original sin and the separation of god in heaven and humanity on earth. This view, of course, places the church and its priests as intermediaries between God and people, it makes the priesthood the holders of special wisdom, and it denies the role and responsibility of the individual in their own relationship with the divine."

"It is women who hold the key, Isabella," said Gabrielle. "The church is a male bastion, a patriarchy, and it uses only male logic and male strategies, including violence and the need to control, to pursue its aims. Keira's vision was a faith that is primarily matriarchal, drawing hope and inspiration from the womb, opening the eyes of all people to the great wisdom and joy of pure being. It is women who see the difference between the particular and the relationship, between purpose and meaning, between want and need. Ultimately, Keira foresaw a union between these ways, a joyous coming together of the male and female. But those who controlled the church rejected her vision and sought to dominate rather than share. Do you understand? Men of power became the enemy of our order."

Isabella most certainly understood. Her mind lagged her spirit, but she understood and nodded. Thomas coughed and Gabrielle corrected herself. "Of course not all men are estranged from Keira's message. Some, such as our dear friend here, are born to the Order and become a source of strength and wisdom that women alone could not attain. Others, very few, are brought in when they have proved themselves worthy. There are still others, men or women who support our cause but remain in conventional society. They are often wealthy men, married to graduates and sympathetic to Keira's teachings. They are known as Patrons."

Isabella nodded.

"Thomas, my love, this is so much for me to absorb, but tell me this -- why did you come to me on the Della Virago? What brought us together?" Isabella believed that she already knew the answer, but needed it confirmed by Thomas.

"It was your mother, Marisa, my dear. Marisa sought me out through an old patron in Rome and she told me your story and of what she perceived as your gifts. She proposed that I...intervene in your passage to Barcelona and offer you refuge in one of the Order's outposts."

"But Thomas, how did my mother know of you and the Order?"

"Isabella, you have probably already guessed at least part of the answer to your own question, but I will fill in the details," said Thomas. Gabrielle leaned forward. This was part of the story that she too wanted to hear.

"Marisa Alatonni, your mother, was, or I should say is, a graduate of Keira's school and a full member of the Order," he said.

Gabrielle gasped and interrupted, not knowing whether to address Thomas or Isabella, "Marisa Alatonni! Isabella is THE Marisa's daughter? Why didn't you tell me?" She seemed excited by this news.

"I am telling you now, dear Gabrielle," he smiled, then, continuing the story, "Marisa's time there began before any of us were born, of course, and she became caught up in a terrible event that we call The Exodus of Quillan." Thomas paused and took another mouthful of coffee before proceeding. "It was forty years ago and the Inquisition in Spain had decided to finally rid the peninsular of the last remnants of the heretical sects it had harassed over the previous century. Keira's Monastery should have been safe, being over the border in France, but the Inquisition had a particular hatred for our order and saw its proximity as a continuing threat. With the connivance of Rome and the French church, they planned to move on the monastery and eliminate the threat for good. Thankfully, you mother had sources of intelligence in the church and she raised the alarm with the senior women. They had a week to prepare and came to the immediate conclusion that they should flee. The monastery at Quillan had originally been a castle, built to withstand months of siege, but the women were reluctant to fight, knowing that death of friend or foe brings neither honor nor resolution. The Exodus started and graduates and novices began to scatter across Europe. My own mother took me, as a little boy, still in short pants, to Britain and Gabrielle's mother sought refuge with a sympathetic order of nuns in Paris where she and the infant Gabrielle would be safe." Gabrielle nodded and squeezed her hand on Isabella's upper thigh. This was a story that obviously stirred strong emotions in her and Isabella noted a tear travel down her cheek as Thomas continued.

"For the senior women, including your mother and her dearest friend, Serena, the future of the order was of greatest concern. You see, everything the order owned, its ancient books and relics, not to mention its wealth, was at that time all held in Quillan. The women decided to distribute the Order's treasures with the fleeing women and worked night and day to package and disguise every last item. As the week wore on, more and more of the women had departed, leaving only a few to complete the work. By the night before the expected attack, only Marisa and Serena remained. They packed the last of the books and relics into a farm cart hidden in a nearby barn and, in the early hours of the morning as the Inquisition's troops advanced, they escaped through a network of false rooms and tunnels." Thomas rested again and a servant appeared carrying a platter of pastries and more coffee.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 07



Refreshed, he resumed the tale. "For several months, Marisa and Serena traveled the coast of the Mediterranean, stopping with patrons or other sympathizers and distributing the order's holy relics and manuscripts along the way. These houses of safety had long been established for the protection of our members on their travels and they now became important repositories for the order's wealth and valuables. Eventually, Serena and Marisa reached Naples. You probably know most of the story from that point. They melded into society and kept their own counsel on matters relating to the order. They each married and established themselves. By the time the order had recovered, nearly ten years later, Serena had died and your mother had...other responsibilities. The Order's investigators had, by that time, found almost all the relics and manuscripts and the order's wealth was re-established. But one important object remained lost. Marisa confirmed that she and Serena had taken it with them, but she had no record of which safe house Serena had left it in. A search of Serena's possessions turned up a number of important texts, but not the relic." Thomas looked to Isabella to complete the story for Gabrielle.

Isabella cleared her throat and turned to Gabrielle, "Serena's husband, Anton, presented me with the Horn of Keira as gift ten years ago. I had no idea of its history or its importance."

Gabrielle was struck dumb and her jaw dropped open. She looked from Isabella to Thomas and back again several times before she could speak. "You ...you...have the horn? Keira's whalehorn dildo? The Horn of Joy?" Isabella nodded and put her hand on Gabrielle's, pushing it between her thighs. "You have it with you? It is here?" Again she looked from one to other for confirmation. They both nodded. "Oh, holy mother!" Gabrielle exclaimed. "May I...see it?"

Thomas laughed at her earnest excitement. "Gabrielle, poor girl, I understand that your love life may be a little quiet here, but don't fret so. I'm sure that Isabella would be happy to...show...you the horn a little later."

Gabrielle picked up a pastry from the tray and threw it at Thomas. "I'll have you know, Magus," she spat, "that my love life, as you so quaintly call it, is as full as it has ever been. I am seriously interested in the horn...as relic, I mean!" She stuck out her lower lip like a pouty child. The three of them laughed.

Just at that moment the Bey, flanked by two broad-shouldered Arab men in white pants and shirts, strode across the park-like plaza and hailed the group on the portico.

"Thomas! Isabella! Good morning! I am glad to see that Gabrielle has you laughing." Gabrielle rose to greet him, extracting her hand from between Isabella's legs. She kissed him on the cheek and took his arm. He in turn, took Isabella's hand, bowed and kissed it. "I hope you slept well, Signora."

"Better than I have in weeks, thank you Bey," she smiled.

"And Thomas, how is your arm today? Will you be fit for our ride this evening?"

"I am fully recovered, Bishan," he said. "Gabrielle is pushing back the boundaries of medical science, I believe." He caught Gabrielle's eye and she acknowledged the compliment with a nod of her head.

The Bey also acknowledged Gabrielle but turned again to Thomas, "I am loathe to interrupt your breakfast, but I am afraid we have a few matters to discuss before I make final arrangements for our journey to Beja. Can you spare half an hour, Thomas?"

"I am sure that Isabella will excuse me," he responded, looking to Isabella for confirmation . Isabella nodded and smiled. She could not recall a man asking her permission before departing on business.

"Before you do go, Thomas, can I ask one question?" It was Gabrielle who spoke.

"Of course, sister, we have no secrets."

"I was wondering how long you and Isabella intend to stay with us."

Thomas thought for a moment and replied, "I cannot say precisely, I'm afraid. Sure, we were headed to Spain, and possibly on to France, but the King, or more precisely, his political advisor Cardinal Fleury, has ships patrolling his southern waters -- privateers mostly. We avoided them by coming south from Sicily rather than chance the waters around Corsica. I would not like our chances before autumn or winter. Isabella herself is of course free to choose where she would like to go. Of course, the Bey may have views of his own."

The Bey shook his head vigorously. "Thomas, you will stay here until a safe passage can be guaranteed. Isabella, you must make yourself at home here, I'm afraid. Please consider yourself a member of the household."

Thomas rose and imitated the Bey by taking Isabella's hand and kissing it. "I will return as soon as I can," he said. He then turned and left with the Bey towards the main building, the two guards falling in behind them.

Gabrielle returned to the table but stood beside Isabella rather than resuming her seat. "I am sorry, Isabella, if I offended you with my question about your fucking a Magus before. I like to shock and sometimes forget that others are not so accustomed to our ways."

"On the contrary Gabrielle. Yes, you did shock me, but I am very much taken with the frankness of the conversation here. It will take me some time to get used to it, but I do enjoy being able to discuss things freely. It is so..."

"Liberating?" smiled Gabrielle.

"Exactly!" said Isabella. "Now you tell me something, Gabrielle. Have you fucked my Magus?"

Gabriella laughed and bent to kiss Isabella's cheek. "You are certainly catching the mood, my dear, and yes, Thomas and I were lovers when we were young and occasional bedmates since then. He is a wonderful lover, is he not?"

"Oh yes," enthused Isabella, "So gentle, yet powerful and passionate. And his control is prodigious! I've never had better." The women smiled at each other, sharing their thoughts silently for a moment.

"But you must tell me, Gabrielle, what does the name Magus signify? I have not heard it before."

"Magus is a title or rank in our order," she began. "It is within the gift of our senior committee to bestow it on men of excellent character and learning who have pledged to serve the order. Thomas is only one of three Magi currently alive. They undertake missions and tasks of great importance to the order."

"What sort of missions and tasks?" asked Isabella, wanting to know as much about her lover as she could.

"It is widely varied," replied Gabrielle. "Carrying important messages and money, escorting novices to the schools and graduates to their new homes, political negotiations, transporting manuscripts between the libraries, and more...dangerous tasks that come up from time to time. They have the responsibilities of a magistrate and can settle disputes between members or exact justice where agreements have been broken."

"I understand," said Isabella, wondering whether Thomas's mission tonight fell into the category of exacting justice.

"You talk of the school. What is it?"

"Just that, really, a school for girls and young women," said Gabrielle. "I will explain more later -- it seems we will have plenty of time to talk. Would you like me to show you around the compound?"

"Indeed yes," said Isabella rising. "But my head is so full of new information, you might take it slowly if you would," she smiled.

As Gabrielle guided Isabella on a circuit of the plaza she talked of the architecture and particular design elements of the buildings and of the significance of the different symbols and patterns in the paths and fountains and mosaics. The building work had been started by the Bey's paternal grandfather, a Frenchman who had turned to pirating after an unsuccessful attempt to woo the wife a prince. His daughter, the present Bey's mother, had inherited the compound, its lands and the family business. She had, according to Gabrielle, civilized the conduct of her crews, forbidding murder and rape and renouncing the use of slaves as oarsmen. She was responsible for many innovations in the management of her crews, including the setting aside of a percentage of their booty to provide for the widows and children of pirates killed in action. Hers was one of the first of the Barbary pirate clans to adopt the French designed Caravels over the traditional galleys, and her use of these maneuverable and capacious sailing ships gave her an advantage throughout the Mediterranean. She was a patron of Keira's order and had sheltered many refugees from The Exodus, transporting them across the sea to safety in Ghar el Melh. It was at that time, to house the women, that the building called The Sanctuary was added to the compound, closing the square.

It was Bishan Bey, her eldest son and Isabella's host, who had laid out the current plaza and who had diversified the family business, extending his trading empire south into Africa and as far east as Turkey. Gabrielle thought his current fleet, mostly Caravels or captured two-masted Sloops, to number around seven, but she wasn't sure, the Bey keeping his business to himself. His second home and trading hub was inland, at Beja, an ancient city of the Persians, and it was to Beja that he and Thomas would travel tonight.

Gabrielle was an enthusiastic and articulate tour guide and Isabella was fascinated by the stories she told. But the sun was now high and the heat was becoming unbearable. Gabrielle noticed Isabella's discomfort and guided her to relative comfort of the east portico. "Let me show you my workshop and then I'll let you rest", she said, taking Isabella's hand.

Gabrielle guided her to a door and ushered her into to large room full of high benches covered in glass and metal receptacles of different shapes and sizes. Jars and bottles lined the shelves along two walls and a large steel apparatus in the corner was steaming and being attended to by a tall young Arab who turned to them as the entered. He greeted Gabrielle in Arabic and she responded in kind, putting an arm around Isabella's waist and saying, "Isabella, this is Ahmed, one of my assistants." Isabella smiled and bowed her head to Ahmed, who blushed. He was really only a boy, tall and lean and pretty, rather than handsome. The start of a boyish mustache feathered his upper lip. Gabrielle explained that the machine he was tending was her still. This was where she was preparing her pain reducing liquor. "It is a long process, she explained, and the yield is small. It will take a ton or more of the plant to produce the few liters I need to send to Vienna."

Isabella showed genuine interest in this and in Gabrielle's other projects, most involving the separation and analysis of plant extracts. Gabrielle explained that she spent time with local women, healers and midwives, documenting their procedures and the cures, salves and poultices they used. She then used this knowledge to conduct experiments on the local plants and to prepare her own, more refined and concentrated, medicines. "The natural world is my first love," she said, "but I put my skills and knowledge to use in this way," she said, dropping her hand to Isabella's bottom and gently squeezing her mounds through the silk.

Isabella was both fascinated and mildly aroused and asked Gabrielle about her education. Keira's school, of course, was the answer. Gabrielle had been a proficient student in the natural sciences and had been apprenticed to a healer in Vienna when she was eighteen. Isabella was impressed and excited by the idea that a woman could become so well educated and develop such skills in a profession she had always thought the exclusive domain of men.

"But enough for now, I think," said Gabrielle, turning to face Isabella. "Would you like to see The Sanctuary? Or perhaps we could just rest in your room for a while?" Gabrielle's hands were on Isabella's hips, gently squeezing and kneading her flesh, and she had moved so close that their breasts were touching through their robes. Gabrielle put her mouth to the base of Isabella's neck and kissed her tenderly. Isabella could smell the perfumes and fragrant oils of their bodies intermingling with the musky odors of their shared heat. She stroked Gabrielle's hair and sighed.

But Isabella drew back. "I'm not...I mean...oh God, Gabrielle, I'm so confused!" She bowed and shook her head, trying to sort out the very mixed feelings that Gabrielle had aroused in her. Her body said yes, but her mind kept saying "Thomas."

"I do understand, dear Isabella," said Gabrielle softly. "It is wrong of me to put you in this position and I do apologize. If it is the thought of Thomas that worries you, we should discuss it." She leaned forward and kissed Isabella softly on the lips.

"Yes," replied Isabella, now looking up. "This has all happened so quickly, Gabrielle. I am overwhelmed by everything here, by you and by this place. I have strong feelings for Thomas -- apart from lust, I mean --and he said earlier that he was sleeping with me exclusively. I don't know what that signifies to...your people, but to me..." Gabrielle checked her with a smile and a finger to her lips.

"I do understand, Isabella. I know of your feelings for Thomas. Your eyes betray what looks to me like it could be true love. That is wonderful, truly wonderful. In Thomas too, I see a raging inferno within his heart. His pledge of fidelity at breakfast this morning was an expression of his code, Keira's code. If a man and a woman of our faith become lovers and they feel true love rising, the man must forgo the comforts of other women until he is sure of his heart's desire and can express his love in words. For us, this is a holy time. There is no such code for women, I must add. Keira taught that a woman's heart is sounder, more sure, and is less easily distracted by seeking and enjoying her release with others while her love blooms. I can assure you Isabella, my lovely, that your Magus, of all people, understands these things." Gabrielle spoke quietly and reverentially and Isabella listened with her mind and with her heart.

"You must be guided by your inner woman," continued Gabrielle. "She must guide you to where your passion lies."

The mention of her inner woman startled Isabella. How did Gabrielle know? She looked into Gabrielle's eyes and said quietly, "Gabrielle, tell me this, what color were Keira's eyes?"

Gabrielle was a little confused by the question but answered "They were green, Isabella, emerald green."

Isabella nodded. "And how was her hair?"

"I think that 'wild' is the word usually used to describe Keira's mane," she replied. "I have seen paintings; yes, dark and wild."

Isabella smiled and nodded again. "Then we shall make love," she said. The two beautiful women moved together, Gabrielle loosening her robe and let it fall open, exposing her body completely to Isabella. Isabella did the same and they pressed themselves together while kissing passionately and seeking each other with their hands. Gabrielle broke away suddenly, remembering that Ahmed was still there, stoking the little fire under the boiler on the far side of the room.

"I am sorry, Ahmed!" she called to him. "We will leave now and let you continue with your work." She was blushing slightly and turned back to Isabella. "We shouldn't inflame the poor boy," she whispered. "Although I strongly suspect that Ahmed is not so interested in women." She smiled and led Isabella by the hand to a door at the very back of the workshop.

She opened it with a strange key she retrieved from an urn nearby and ushered Isabella through into a dark corridor lined with hanging carpets and other fabrics. It smelled of spices and honey. "This is the rear entrance to The Sanctuary," said Gabrielle. "I thought you might like to see it, on our way to your room," she smiled and touched Isabella's bottom. Gabrielle loosely tied her robe and Isabella did likewise as they walked along the corridor. Gabrielle parted a curtain here and there to show Isabella some of the small rooms along each side of the corridor. "We rarely use these now," she said. "They were designed like this for when there were more women staying here."

At the end of the corridor they came to a locked wooden door. Gabrielle knocked on it three times in rapid succession and they heard a key turn in the lock and it was opened. After the darkness of the corridor, it took Isabella's eyes a moment to adjust to brightness of the room in front of her. Gabrielle took her hand and said, "Thank you, Arness" to the person who had opened the door. Isabella was surprised to see that it was a man, a huge bald man, with a smooth face and almost childish features. He bowed to Gabrielle and smiled at Isabella as they passed.

The room, like the main building's entrance foyer was huge. It had a high ceiling and columns supporting it rose from four points around the room. Isabella saw that the floor had several levels, including a sunken central area where she found Thomas and a tall blond woman talking on couches arranged in a corner. Isabella was surprised to find him there and she saw that he had changed out of the robe he wore to breakfast into the white trousers and shirt she had seen on the guards accompanying the Bey. He turned to the women.

"Here they are now, we are in luck!" he said. "Isabella, come and meet Jacqueline. I have been bringing her up to date with our story."

"Yes, Isabella," said Jacqueline, her voice deeper than Isabella had expected and a little croaky. "I am honored to meet a daughter of the great Marisa Alatonni." She held out her hand to Isabella and smiled. "Forgive my voice, Isabella, I had a long and difficult assignment last evening and my throat is a little sore."

Isabella sat next to Thomas, keeping Gabriel close and not releasing her hand.

Thomas said, "Jax is a great admirer of your mother's work, Isabella. She will no doubt have many questions for you in the days to come."

Isabella tried not to show her puzzlement. "My mother's work, Thomas?"

"Her political work, intelligence and such. I know that was before your time, but Jax will no doubt insist on interrogating you anyway, " he smiled.

"Only gently, my dear," said Jax, "I don't leave marks and any screams will be of unbearable pleasure, not pain." She winked at Isabella. "And I see you have already met the quack. How goes the snake oil business, Gabrielle?"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes to Isabella and responded immediately with "Well, with a customer like you, my darling, it is the pox ointments that keep me in business these days. Would you like some for your throat, Jax?" She squeezed Isabella's hand.

"Ladies!" exclaimed Thomas. "Isabella, you will have to forgive these two. They are really very close friends, sisters you could say, but they have a strange way of showing their affection."

Isabella smiled. She actually found she was enjoying the interplay between these confident and intelligent women.

Thomas continued, "I am sorry I did not rush back to you, Isabella, but the Bey wanted me to consult with Jax on political developments in Tunis and Algiers. She has also given me much new information on the deployment of the French Fleet and has, unfortunately, confirmed my suspicions about their intentions with regard to the Order. I'm afraid that Jax is not at all happy about our choice of transport yesterday. She has grave concerns about Murad Bajhim."

"Gabrielle has been keeping me well entertained and has continued my education," said Isabella. "We were on our way to my room when we found you here." She squeezed Gabrielle's hand.

"I am pleased to hear it," said Thomas, smiling at them both. "It is after midday and Jax and I have a little more work to do with some new maps and papers from our people in Corsica. I promise I will be with you in no more than half and hour. I am sure that Gabrielle will keep you well entertained till then." He leant to her and they kissed.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 07



"Poor Gabrielle," said Jax as the two women rose and made their way to the entrance, "Never the main course; always the hor 'dourve."

Gabrielle paused at the doorway and was about to shoot back a response but Isabella held fast to her hand and dragged her out onto the portico before she could speak. They could hear Jax and Thomas laughing behind them.

Isabella immediately distracted her with "Is Jax a political adviser, then?"

Regaining her composure and her smile, Gabrielle kissed Isabella's cheek and said, "Yes, to the Bey and to the Order. Her specialty is southern Mediterranean affairs and she is one of the best intelligence agents this side of the Mediterranean. But, please, don't tell her I said that." She giggled and they started to run across the plaza, their light robes flowing and rising up behind them.

Up the stairs and down the corridor they continued running, eager to be in each other's arms. Isabella's door was not locked and they burst inside and immediately shed their robes onto the floor and locked mouths. Their hands explored each other's curves and they writhed as they found breasts and bottoms. They moved to the bed, crab fashion, not wanting to part. Eventually, they toppled sideways and entwined their limbs, leaving sufficient access for hands to stroke and probe between their legs. Isabella thought Gabrielle's breasts to be beautiful and she told her so with words and the caresses of her fingers and her tongue. Gabrielle admired Isabella's tummy and the smooth hairlessness of her mound and pussy, stoking them and purring her appreciation. Gabriella's lips were also bare but she had left a small patch of dark hair above it, a triangle pointing to her clitoris, which Isabella now found with the heel of her hand. "I want to eat you," said Isabella, sliding down Gabrielle's body. Nuzzling her breasts and laying a trail of soft kisses down her tummy, Isabella's mouth felt the damp heat rising from Gabrielle's cunt. Her tongue found the little hood of Gabrielle's swollen clit and traced a wet circle around and around it, finally laying her flat tongue directly over it and applying steadily increasing pulsating pressure as she licked. Meanwhile her fingers danced and rubbed the outer lips, picking up moisture as they traveled back and forth. Isabella's middle finger gently stoked below the opening and slid into the warm silky hole as Gabrielle let out a long sigh. Her mouth then sought the moisture, licking, sucking and playing along the length of Gabrielle's pussy. Tongue replaced finger and Isabella opened her mouth wide to suck the whole glorious cunt inside her mouth. Gabrielle was moaning now, rubbing her hard nipples with one hand and Isabella's head with the other. As Isabella began lapping vigorously, Gabrielle pushed her head into her cunt harder and harder. Her ass was bouncing now and Isabella had to grasp her thighs to keep her attached to her mouth. Gabriel did not restrain herself as she humped and ground her cunt into Isabella's beautiful face. She was almost crying with pleasure as she started to come, rotating her hips and holding the back of Isabella's head. Suddenly she threw her head back and opened her legs wide. A stream of liquid filled Isabella's mouth, and as she swallowed, another soaked her face. Gabrielle used a hand to rub her mound and mewed softly as the pulsing became shallower and her squirting subsided. She opened her eyes and looked down at Isabella's wet smiling face between her thighs.

"You taste wonderful!" said Isabella. "You are like...like...cinnamon!"

"And you, my lovely, have one of the most talented tongues I have ever known. Come to me."

Isabella crawled her way back up Gabrielle's body and straddled her thighs as they resumed the kiss they had started before Isabella's mouth found other pleasures. Gabrielle felt Isabella's wetness and stroked her gently.

"How long have been licking cunt, Isabella?" whispered Gabrielle.

"Yours is only my second," she said.

"Then you surely are one of us". Gabrielle parted Isabella's lips with her fingers and plunged two fingers deep inside. "Now, open wide for the doctor," she said. Isabella rolled off her and opened her thighs as Gabrielle licked and sucked her nipples and fucked her slowly with her hand. Gabrielle was gentle and spoke quietly to Isabella as her fingers worked their magic on the inner walls while her thumb made circles over her clit and worked her lips with a delicate, knowing touch. Isabella arched her back and closed her eyes, and, not missing a stroke, Gabrielle rose and knelt between her legs. She raised one leg with her free hand and dipped her shoulder under the other knee. Rising and leaning forward, she opened Isabella further and pumped her fingers faster and deeper. Her little finger found Isabella's slick asshole and she gradually allowed it to enter a little further with each thrust of her hand. "Let it come now, my darling," she said and Isabella heaved and shook as a powerful force rocked her from deep inside. Her orgasm had welled up like a giant wave, irresistible, almost terrifying, but oh so welcome as it broke and crashed, washing through her body and mind with each clench and release of the muscles of her abdomen and cunt. She had flung her arms wide and tossed her head and moaned from somewhere deep as she came. Gabrielle sat in silent admiration. Even after several minutes, and Isabella's bodily convulsions had ceased, she was still breathing hard and her cunt still pulsed and gripped on Gabrielle's hand. The smile of complete contentment on Isabella's face made Gabrielle start to giggle.

Isabella too, started to laugh. She moaned again as Gabrielle lowered her legs, removed her fingers and licked up the juices surrounding Isabella's still hot, open cunt.

"That was wonderful!" sighed Isabella. "I think I could become addicted to this."

"Oh, don't say that!" said Gabrielle in mock horror. "Thomas would kill me if he thought I had turned you!"

"He need not fear that, my darling," replied Isabella seriously. "I could never forsake a good cock. But both is nice!" She laughed again, pressing a hand on her mound and extracting a final tiny spasm. "Now, Gabrielle, do you think it would be...inappropriate... for me to introduce you to Keira's Horn?"

"Oh no! Not at all inappropriate," said Gabrielle excitedly. Still kneeling on the bed, she started to bounce, like a little girl promised a new doll. "Would you let me ... hold it? Please?" she asked, almost pleadingly.

"Oh?" teased Isabella, "is that all you want? Pity. I was going to suggest I fuck your cunt with it. But if you just want to hold it, I guess, I could..."

"Get it! Just get it!" cried Gabrielle, thumping the bedclothes with both fists.

Isabella rose and giggled. She straightened her hair and walked casually to the dresser. "Would you like me to get you something to drink first?" she asked

"Isabella! Don't tease me! Please get the horn." Gabrielle was becoming distraught, but still giggled.

"Now, where did I put it?" said Isabella to herself as she made a display of rummaging through the items in the drawer.

Gabrielle made a sound like Aghhhh! And collapsed backward onto the bed, kicking her legs in the air in frustration.

"Oh, here it is!" said Isabella, holding up the chamois wrapped dildo.

Isabella jumped back onto the bed and unwrapped the sacred toy, handing it to Gabrielle who now sat cross-legged and reverently accepted it in both hands. She made a silent "oh" as she felt the weight and examined its beautiful spirals and scrollwork. She delicately ran a finger from tip to base and then turned it, as if reading the finely engraved blue characters along one spiral.

"Oh, Isabella! It is as beautiful as I thought it would be, more so indeed. To think that this was Keira's! The Horn of Joy!" Gabrielle lifted the horn to her mouth and gently placed its tip between her lips. She closed her eyes and sat motionless for a minute or more. "Oh, my darling," she said. "Did Thomas tell you that there is a legend that it is the horn of a unicorn?" Isabella shook her head.

"Some say that Keira seduced the unicorn, others that it simply came to her one night and offered its horn in exchange for her secret of divine powers," Gabrielle spoke without taking her eyes from the horn, continuing to turn and examine its fine detail. "Of course, Keira would stand for no such mythologizing. She was quite clear that the whale horn was given to her by a grateful Russian lover and that she herself had it fashioned, based on a dream she had and her own detailed understanding of anatomy." Gabrielle finally turned her eyes to Isabella. "I am sure that Keira would have thought you a most suitable guardian of her horn, Isabella," said Gabrielle seriously. "But she would have wanted it back of course, the horny wench!" They both laughed again.

"Well," said Isabella finally, "are you going to use it or just sit there like a dazed pauper with a new schilling?"

Gabrielle handed the horn to Isabella and lay back, opening her legs and placing a pillow beneath the small of her back. "You do it for me," she said. Isabella could see that her cunt was already wet and opening.

Isabella knelt beside her hips and placed the horn in her own mouth, lubricating the first few inches. She placed it gently against Gabrielle's pussy, letting it move slowly along the open slit and nudge her clit with the very tip. Gabrielle shuddered and sighed. Moving back down, Isabella rested the tip against Gabrielle's opening and raised the thicker end to align it with the passage inside. Then gently and slowly, Isabella let the horn enter her friend, half an inch at a time, in and out, coating it thoroughly with Gabrielle's juices. Her free hand put gentle pressure on Gabrielle's lower abdomen, keeping her from humping and grinding herself onto the whalebone cock. Gabrielle moaned as Isabella gradually introduced the full eight inches of spiraled ivory into her cunt. Holding the swollen base against Gabrielle now, Isabella applied slight downward pressure, levering the tip, now deep inside Gabrielle, into the sensitive tissues of her upper passage. Isabella knew by long association, and by her instinct, how the horn worked its magic inside a woman's womb. Gabrielle's cunt was already squeezing the shaft and Isabella let it slide slowly out until once more the tip rested just inside. She then placed her palm flat against the base and pushed it in, knowing how the raised spirals on the surface of the dildo would twist the shaft as it entered the tunnel of Gabrielle's warm soft flesh. Gabrielle gasped and moaned as Isabella pushed and released the horn, backwards and forwards, sometimes allowing it freedom to twist right around and at others interrupting its turning by gripping the base in her hand and forcing its smooth ridges over the pulsating flesh within.

Gabrielle had lost all connection with this world and Isabella pushed and pulled the horn with increasing speed and force. She repositioned herself, now keeling low between Gabrielle's bent and outstretched legs and supporting her own upper body on her elbows. She used quick, forceful movements of her lower arms and wrist to propel the horn in and out, occasionally thrusting hard and down on the base or rotating it against its natural spiral to increase the sensation on the flesh between Gabrielle's passage and her tummy. Isabella was about to plunge a wetted finger into Gabrielle's anus, when her partner yelped and a spurt of clear liquid splashed across Isabella's neck and shoulders.

"Yes, Gabrielle, yes," said Isabella, thrusting even quicker and harder.

"Ohhhhh! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" screamed Gabrielle, her whole body shaking and grinding as spasm after glorious spasm shook her to the core. Isabella did not cease pumping the horn into her and Gabrielle's release rose higher and higher, gripping her stomach muscles and almost sitting upright, a grimace of unbearable pleasure across her face. Isabella pushed her down and lifted her own head and bottom while she slowed the pace of her thrusts and started to bring Gabrielle down.

It was at that point that Isabella felt something touch her thigh and she turned her head quickly. It was Thomas, naked, his cock rigid and touching her leg. He stood transfixed at the sight of Gabrielle, still shaking and her eyes closed tight. He then looked at Isabella with a mix of wonder, appreciation and intense carnal desire. He put his hands to her hips and guided the full length of his cock into her with a single movement. Isabella responded with a sighed "yes" and he began to pump her. No gentleness was needed or wanted. He simultaneously pulled her onto him and thrust into her with great force, slapping his body against her rump before pulling back and repeating the movement over and over again, grunting and crying out her name as he did. Isabella had abandoned the dildo in Gabrielle who opened her eyes to see her friends fucking like wild horses in front of her.

Isabella was vocal, yelling a defiant, "Yes!" with each thrust of Thomas's cock into her burning cunt. Thomas threw his head back and let his body take control, his movements in perfect timing with Isabella's. She felt his cock expand inside her and he shook, paused his rhythm and suddenly pulled out of her. She turned quickly to receive him, but he surprised her by pushing her down onto her back and, taking an ankle firmly in each hand, simultaneously spreading her legs wide and thrusting his cock into her again. No pause. He fucked her as hard as ever. She responded with violent thrusts of her own.

Gabrielle by this time had recovered from her own ecstasy long enough to come to her friend's aid. Moving so that she was sitting directly behind Isabella's head, she gently lifted her upper torso so that she lay supported by Gabriel's body. Isabella opened her eyes and looked at Gabrielle. No words would form, but she thought she might have managed to smile as her lower body was consumed by a fire generated by the speed and power of Thomas's cock thrusting deep into her cunt. In and out, to the hilt, over and over again. Gabrielle's hands held and caressed Isabella's breasts and her mouth sought the soft nape of her neck. Isabella could feel Thomas's balls slapping her ass as he fucked her more wildly still. Their release came suddenly, violently and together.

Thomas's face was red and contorted as he arched his back one final time and drove his cock deeply as it spurted forth its seed. Isabella felt the compressed fire in her womb and let it go the instant she felt his first shuddering contraction. She screamed again and left her body, allowing it to writhe and flail as she floated high over the scene of three friends, lovers, rejoicing in their lust on the shores of the Mediterranean, surrounded by desert and sea, on a blue and green palette that faded to darkness and stars. She rose higher, her own essence spreading and expanding amongst the dust and stars and tears of joy that made up the universal force that she had released. Her soul floated free, like a cloud of pure love, mixing with others who touched and caressed her with their individual music and colors. She wanted nothing, she was complete, she was immortal, and God was part of everything.



Isabella Awakening Ch. 08



When Isabella finally opened her eyes, she was aware of lying between Thomas and Gabrielle, their lips to her temples and their hands gently stroking her body.

"Welcome back to earth, my love," whispered Thomas. "We were wondering if you'd ever return."

Isabella smiled, closed her eyes again and inhaled deeply. She realized that she held Thomas's half-hard penis in one hand and she gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Was I gone for long?" she asked, her contented smile still reflecting the feelings of wholeness she was experiencing in her core.

It was Gabrielle, her fingers tracing the dark circles of Isabella's nipples, who whispered, "An eternity in a single moment, the universe lay open to her soul, She basked in the eternal instant, and returned to us more whole." Isabella did not recognize the quote, but she recognized the sentiment and turned to Gabrielle, finding her mouth and kissing her with real affection.

Gabrielle sat up beside her and said, "I will leave you now to say your goodbyes. I need to call on Natalia but will see you again in the main entrance when the party leaves for Beja." She leant across Isabella and kissed Thomas. "Oh! I almost forgot," she smiled. Opening her thighs and leaning back, she expelled the Horn of Joy from her vagina, allowing it to come to rest, glistening, on the bed sheet. She lifted it to her mouth and cleaned its length with her tongue before handing it to Isabella. "Keep it safe, my love."

Gabrielle climbed off the bed, found her gown and left Thomas and Isabella to themselves.

"How long before you must leave?" asked Isabella after a few moments had passed.

"Very soon, I'm afraid." He said, "The horses are being prepared and the Bey is anxious to make a start before the sun sets." He kissed her and she felt his cock swell and fill her hand. "You have made a good friend in Gabrielle," he remarked.

"She is wonderful," sighed Isabella. "A truly remarkable woman."

"All the women here are remarkable," he replied, "but I had hoped you and Gabrielle would find each other." He continued stroking her hair and looked into her eyes.

Isabella felt adored, but it was not a feeling that sat easily with her and she was still feeling a little confused by the dynamics and morality of this new world..

"Is it truly acceptable to you that I have made love with Gabrielle while our own relationship is so new?" she asked. 

"It is not only acceptable, as you put it, my love, it is also a source of great comfort to me. You will learn very quickly here that passion, lust, intimacy and friendship are but different expressions of the same emotion. You should feel neither obligation to consummate lust nor the need to restrain your desires. That openness and freedom is part of who we are." 

"But what of jealousy or possessiveness? Do they not rise to confound the free expression of desire?"

"I understand your question my sweet, and those feelings can be very real at times. We deal with them the same way we deal with all potentially divisive or negative issues - we talk with our hearts. If you ever feel the slightest hesitation, hurt or confusion, you must express it. That honesty is what keeps us together."

"Thomas," she said softly, brushing his mouth with her lips, "I have many feelings right now. Some are familiar and welcome, and yet others are new to me. I feel beholden to you and that scares me. At the same time, I know that you return at least some of the deep love that has arisen in me. It is all so new to me. My life has been full of passion, but I had not expected to ever feel the way I do now about another person. Surely, I have doubts and I am pulled between the poles of pure lust and a pure love for you. Gabrielle too, awakens new passions in me, as did Beatrice in Palermo, and I sometimes feel a whirlpool inside of me, churning and spinning my emotions and my bodily desire. When I come as I did just now, everything is clear. But as I return to my body, these demons awake and make me doubt what I know in my heart to be true. You took me to heaven today and I am humbled by your power and wisdom..." Isabella fell silent, fearing she was not expressing herself clearly and concerned about Thomas's reaction.

She need not have worried. Thomas held her to him and replied, "My love, I too fear what is happening, but I welcome that fear as something good and powerful and noble. I feel blessed to have been chosen as your guide on the journey you have started. I return your feelings of joyful lust tenfold. But these circumstances, your current feelings of gratitude and obligation to me, and my own unbridled awe of you, are both a catalyst for our coming together and a potential obstacle to the next stage, if it comes; the flowering of true love. We must be patient, despite the urgency we both feel right now. We have been blessed to find each other in this place and with time on our side. Let us give thanks to God and to Keira for the opportunity to know each other and let us allow time and fate to take their course. I want you more than I can express right now, but we must both look within ourselves and within each other for the answers. I know they will come."

They lay entwined and silent for several minutes. Finally Isabella said, "You must be going soon. Will it be dangerous?"

Thomas replied, "Yes, Isabella, I cannot pretend that this mission will not involve some risk. But the Bey will see to our safety and I expect to return to you within three days. I should bathe now and meet the Bey."

Isabella rose on her outstretched arms and said, feigning mild reproach, "Just like a man! Fuck me and leave me. You're all the same!"

Thomas laughed and they hugged again before helping each other from the bed and walking hand in hand to the bathroom.

Thomas watched Isabella pee and wipe the residue of his semen from her pussy and thighs.

"Thomas," she asked, "where would I find vinegar here?"

He scanned the bottles and jars on the bathroom shelf and reached for an ornate yellow bottle with a long curved neck. "I think this is what you are looking for," he said, uncorking the bottle and handing it Isabella, still seated on the privy. 

She put the open bottle carefully to her nose and said, "It certainly contains some vinegar, but it must be diluted with something else." She sniffed it again. "Something herbal?"

"One of Gabrielle's innovations, I'm sure. I have seen the women use it to wash their vaginas after sex."

"Then douche me," said Isabella handing him the bottle, rising from the privy and stepping into the tub. She lay on her back, legs apart and over the rim of the bath, and raised her bottom.

Thomas took the bottle and careful parted her inner lips, still rosy and full from their lovemaking. He gently placed the smooth opening of the bottle against her hole and upended it, watching its contents flow into her through the pale yellow glass. When the bottle was empty, he placed it back on the shelf and sat on the edge of the bath, stroking her thighs and sighing softly.

Isabella allowed the liquid to find the entry to her womb and she wiggled to ensure it reached every fold and crevice of her passage. She then squatted in the tub and used the muscles of her abdomen and perineum to expel a pale stream of liquid. Thomas watched and reached for the stopcock, turning it so that water gushed over Isabella's legs and swirled around her feet, washing the vinegar mixture and his dead sperm down the drain. He then plugged the drain and Isabella sat, with the bath filling around her. He took another bottle from the shelf and poured a cupful of fragrant oils into the water and then joined her.

The water was warm and the oils released their scent of sandalwood and peach. Isabella cupped her hands and filled them, pouring water over Thomas's shoulders and chest. She rubbed the oil into his skin and her did the same for her, gently holding and weighing her breasts in his hands as he did. She then turned around and leant back into him and he cradled her and kissed her neck.

"You know, Thomas, I feel so alive here. Its like a holiday...or more like a dream. In some ways I feel more at home here than I ever did in Naples, or on Henri's farm."

He stroked her shoulders and replied, "In some ways, you are at home, Isabella. You are amongst friends who share your nature. We are your family now."

Isabella experienced a moment of pain, not so much grief at what she had given up, but regret at how her family would feel. "We must let mama know I am safe." She said.

"We shall certainly let her know. It was her doing after all. But we must be careful to keep our location and trail a secret, my love. And your father must not know. The implications of him seeking you out could be disastrous for us all."

Isabella swung her legs around and put them around his waist. She was concerned by this development, "But Papa will grieve if thinks I have been .... I do not want him to suffer, Thomas. I deplore what he had done to me - the marriages and all, but he is my father and I love him."

"I understand, my sweet. And your mother will soften the blow, I am sure. He will not be kept in the dark forever, just long enough for our trail to go cold. A year perhaps, or maybe two. I have asked Jax to prepare a letter to him that will provide both a believable tale for your father and a message of comfort to your mother." He smiled. "Jax is an expert at such things, and she revels at the prospect of preparing something that Marisa will read."

"But why would letting Father know that I am safe, or at least alive, be such a danger?"

Thomas sighed and kissed her on the neck, "This is not a time of safety for our Order, my love. We under political attack and surveillance, and this place, Ghar El Melh, is one of the few safe and secret havens we have left in the Mediterranean. Jax and the other political women see this as the last gasp of the old order. The church's power over monarchs and civil society is waning and they fear us more than ever. Cardinal Fleury in France is determined to wipe us out before he dies or looses power. We must be vigilant."

Isabella nodded her reluctant agreement and found Thomas's hardening cock under the water. She stroked it lovingly and rubbed her oily thumb against the underside of its swollen glans. Neither of them made any further move towards passionate consummation. It was as if they both knew that they had quickly reached a level of comfortable familiarly with each other's body where such simple arousals and intimate touches were as natural a part of their lives as a shared cup of wine or a friendly kiss.

They washed each other and then stood together, drying their bodies with one large towel. By the time Isabella had combed out her hair, Thomas had returned to the larger room and was dressed in his white pants and loose fitting shirt.

"The Bey will be waiting," he said. 

Isabella found a pair of loose fitting harem pants and a blouse and dressed quickly. They left the room and made their way down to the entrance hall. The Bey was not yet there, but Gabrielle and Jax and his entourage, the two soldiers who had followed the Bey and Thomas earlier, were present, talking together near the entrance doors. They greeted Thomas and Isabella as they came down the stairs and Gabrielle called to someone at the back of the room. A servant came hurriedly forward, holding some sort of clothing and a pair of boots over his outstretched arms. He bowed, presenting the parcel to Thomas, who thanked him and took what Isabella could now see was a long cotton robe in the Arab style. Thomas slipped it over his head, allowing the hood and the scarf attached to the collar to fall behind him. He then sat and bound his feet in long strips of cotton and pulled on the leather boots. The servant returned, this time bearing a belted sword, a sheathed cutlass, which Thomas attached around his waist.

Isabella watched him dress with great interest. He now looked just like the soldiers and she was not surprised when the Bey entered from a side alcove in identical garb.

"So," he said, "we depart! Goodbye, my dears and may Allah, God and Keira watch over you!" There were kisses all round; the two soldiers, Isabella noted, not missing out. She hugged and kissed Thomas and accepted a kiss from the Bey and the four men moved towards the heavy entrance doors that swung open as they approached.

A hot wind blew into the house and the women had to shield their eyes from the bright sun and the hot sand being whipped against their faces. The men pulled on their hoods and tied the scarves around their faces, leaving only their eyes visible. Horses were snorting and rearing below the front steps, their handlers calling out and trying to calm them. Each horse had a large saddle hung with heavy canvas bags. The four robed men mounted and took their reigns from the handlers. The Bey's horse reared and he waved a final farewell to the three women and spurred his mount to an instant gallop out of the gated entry to the compound. The other riders followed his lead and, within seconds, all that remained was a cloud of dust.

The women retreated immediately to the relative cool and calm of the house, the doors being swung shut by servants. 

"Well," said Jax, "another typically dramatic exit scene by the Bey! He does like to impress a new woman with a bit of theatre," she winked at Isabella. "You look a little pale, my dear. Tell me, have you eaten since breakfast?"

Isabella thought for moment and replied, "As matter of fact, no, Jax. Apart from the most wonderful cinnamon flavored hor'dourve I had a little while ago, I haven't had anything." She glanced over to Gabrielle who smiled and gave her a wink.

Jax was a little shocked by her quick entry into the Sanctuary's spirit, but recovered instantly, "Well, come with me, my dear, and I'll make sure you get something more substantial." She put an arm around Isabella's shoulder and they left, followed closely by Gabrielle, and made their way to the kitchens at the far end of the main building.

Isabella knew they were nearing the kitchens because the sound of women yelling and pots being thrown brought back memories of her Neapolitan childhood. There was something about putting more than one woman in a kitchen, she thought, that turned even the sweetest into a banshee. As the three beautiful women entered the large room, the inhabitants paused briefly, acknowledged them with nods, and immediately resumed their high pitched discussion, which apparently required the four of them to talk loudly at once and to punctuate their sentences with flying kitchen implements. Jax and Gabrielle looked to Isabella, ready to explain or apologies, but Isabella's face told them not to bother. They stood together in the open doorway until the storm passed.

Eventually the inevitable truce was reached amid hugs and tears and the oldest and largest of the women turned to the intruders and welcomed them. "Signoras," she said, hands on hips and obviously in no mood for interruptions "how may we be of assistance?"

"Maria, this is our new friend, Isabella, who is traveling with the Magus. She will be staying with us for some time and I wanted her to meet you and the other women who make our lives so enjoyable with their wonderful creations." It was Jax who spoke, displaying, Isabella thought, a fine grasp of the art of subtle diplomacy. Maria melted, of course, and approached Isabella with open arms, hugging her to her substantial Italian bosom and pouring forth a stream of grandmotherly assurances of faithful service to her new friend.

"Another skinny child!" she admonished. "You must eat more my dear. Don't listen to this evil witch doctor, nodding towards Gabrielle. She will have you starved if she could. That Magus likes them meaty. You need some handles" she grabbed Isabella's hips and winked. Isabella said how pleased she was to meet Maria and was introduced to the three other women in the kitchen, a tall Arab girl, a northern European with fine blond hair and a pale girlish face, and a black woman, almost as large as Maria. Isabella said she would learn all their names and wanted to hear the stories of how they came to Ghar El Melh and to the service of the Bey. The pale girl blushed but the others all smiled and welcomed Isabella to their home.

Gabrielle spoke up. "Now, Maria, Isabella is hungry and it is still several hours until our banquet. Can you give her something light to tide her over? Perhaps a bowl of soup and some of your sesame cakes?" Gabrielle had deliberately emphasized the "something light" and Maria scowled at her and muttered. She complied however, thrusting a saucepan at the Arab girl and saying, "Marana, warm some lentil soup for the new mistress, and Clara!" addressing the blonde girl, "get the fresh sesame cakes from the other room". Compliant but not happy, she scowled again at Gabrielle who gave her a sweet smile and a whispered, "thank you, Maria my dear" in reply.

"Can we also have something cooling to drink, Maria?" added Jax. "We'll take it outside, on the portico."

Maria waved them out with both hands and called to Anoka, the Negro woman to prepare two jugs of lemonade.

Jax, Gabrielle and Isabella filed out the rear door onto the broad veranda. A table and four chairs stood nearby. Isabella felt the heat as she left the house and turned to Gabrielle. "How does the house remain so cool in this heat?"

Gabrielle sat and looked to Jax to reply. "The Bey's mother, Jacinta, amongst her many talents and qualities, was an innovative architect," she began, seating herself. "She was familiar with this area's cave systems and had tunnels, or passages dug to connect the basements of the house to a massive system of limestone caves and fissures beneath this hill. She installed vents in the floors, roofs and ceilings to allow hot air to escape and the natural difference in pressure to draw in cool air from the caves. It is remarkably simple, but very effective. During winter, the vents can be closed to retain heat and the massive stone walls of the buildings moderate any fluctuations."

Isabella nodded. "And the plumbing? Did Jacinta design that too?"

"She certainly did," replied Jax. "A true wonder of the modern world. Windmills below the Sanctuary pump water to reservoirs or tanks in the roof and gravity propels the water to the bathrooms. The sun warms the water in shallow open tanks. So civilized," she commented. "And to think those smelly Europeans look down on the Arab world!"

"I am very impressed, Jax", said Isabella. "I've never seen its like elsewhere." While Jax had been speaking, Isabella had watched her closely. She was truly beautiful, her short blonde hair and high cheekbones set off an aristocratic face that Isabella found somewhat familiar but could not place. Her jaw line was almost masculine, wide and well defined, but still classically proportioned for a young woman. She carried very little fat and was also smaller breasted and narrower in the hip than the other women.

Gabrielle leant into the conversation. "The health effects of simple measures, such as ventilation and reticulated water, not to mention the effective disposal of waste from the privies, are greatly underestimated by our cousins in Europe. The Bey is very committed to extending these benefits to the towns in his domain. I will show you some of our projects when we go into Ghar el Melh in a few days. I am writing papers on these things for the university in Vienna."

"Yes, that right," said Jax. "Gabrielle scribbles about shit while the Mediterranean burns and the French conspire to choke our supply routes and destroy our order. Very useful, dear".

Gabrielle poked her tongue at Jax and turned again to Isabella to say something else but she was interrupted by the two younger women from the kitchens delivering Isabella's meal and jugs of iced lemonade that they poured into long glasses. At that moment too, the statuesque Kahlia roamed into view across the Plaza. Jax called to her and beckoned her to join them.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 08



Kahlia took a seat and poured herself a lemonade and Isabella ate the soup and cakes, enjoying the exotic flavors. Jax turned the black woman and said, "You've been in that library all day, my dear. Something good, I hope."

"As wonderful as anything Beatrice has ever produced before. New Indian texts, some manuscripts from the Himalayan kingdoms and she has returned annotated copies of my translations of the Arabian tales we worked on. A truly prodigious output. The script is so clear, and the illustrations! The Indian illustrations are wonders of color and line. I have never seen anything so beautiful. I don't know how she makes the copies or what paper she is using, but I would dearly love to work with her one day." Kahlia's mention of Beatrice triggered Isabella's memory and she realized why she found Jax so familiar. There was a striking similarity to their faces, the broad jaw and the well-defined opulent lips. She waited for an appropriate time to ask if there was a relationship.

"But what of the content, my lovely ebony bookworm? I am sure you are wet over the production values, but tell us what is actually in the books," said Jax.

"Oh, you will be thrilled, Jax. More sutras of course. Some innovative positions, fully described and illustrated. I must say, that I did get wet when I read them and looked around for a man to help me understand the anatomical geometry. Poor Ahmed!" she laughed. "I know he goes with the older men, as is to be expected at his age, but he is so shy of pussy it worries me. I suspect someone has scared him badly." Both Kahlia and Gabrielle looked sideways at Jax, who just shrugged.

"I think the milksop needs a mother figure, or maybe a little coy virgin from the village," Jax said distractedly. "Why don't one of you talk with Amalia or Marlesa about it. They both play the naive virgin so well, when it suits them."

Gabrielle nodded and caught Kahlia's eye. She also gave Isabella a sly grin.

Isabella used the opportunity of this break in Kahlia's description of the books to broach the subject of Beatrice with Jax. "Tell me Jax, are you and Beatrice sisters? I cannot help wonder at the likeness."

"Half-sisters, my lovely," she replied. "Same mother, different fathers, different cities, different decades. And thank you, I certainly welcome the comparison as a compliment."

Kahlia drained her glass and turned to Gabrielle, "How is Natalia? She seemed quite withdrawn when I visited her this morning."

"Her recovery will be slow, I'm afraid. The bruising and burns and lesions are healing quickly but there is a deep hurt we will all have to work on with her. The Mandragora and Hellebore can achieve only so much. Companionship and the contact of skin to skin with others will do much more."

The women briefly discussed a schedule of visits to Natalia over the coming days and Jax suggested that the young Ahmed might be suitable visitor once the physical wounds had fully healed. "We may be able to cure them both," she smiled. Isabella was also included in their plans for regular visits. "You will enjoy Natalia," said Jax, "when she recovers her humor."

Isabella turned her next question to Gabrielle. "Darling, there is one thing I have been meaning to ask you since you and Thomas told me about the Exodus this morning."

Gabrielle raised her eyes, inviting Isabella to continue. "Thomas said that your mother escaped to Paris with you as an infant."

"Yes?" said Gabrielle, "I was not a year old at the time. Please dear, don't ask me to recount the journey!"

"No, no. That wasn't my question. But Thomas said the Exodus occurred forty years ago. You can't be more than thirty. How is that so?"

Gabrielle displayed a broad smile. "You are far too kind, Isabella."

"Far, far too kind," interjected Jax, rolling her eyes.

"No," said Gabrielle, "I am forty-one, nearly forty-two. You do give me too much credit."

Isabella was stunned by this revelation. "But... your skin, you have no lines! Your body is...so young! I cannot believe you are forty. How do you... do it?"

Gabrielle and the other two women all smiled. "It is not just me, my lovely. How old do you think Jax is?" Jax gave her the evil eye. " Or Kahlia here?, or, say, Beatrice?"

Isabella did not know what to say. She took the safe path by concentrating her answer on the only one not present. "Well, I did think that Beatrice was, perhaps, forty-two, forty-three - a well tendered forty-three?"

"Then brace yourself, my dear. Beatrice was born in 1675. She is nearly sixty."

Isabella was truly shocked. She clearly remembered Beatrice's face, and her body; firm, toned and supple. She was certainly older than Isabella, but surely only by ten years, not twenty-five! "Now I truly don't understand!" she exclaimed to the laughter of the three women.

"My lovely one; dear Isabella, the answer is ridiculously simple and one we all share with great joy - it is the Elixir or Ecstasy that delays our aging - or I should say, more correctly, that it is its absence in other women that causes them to fade so quickly."

"An elixir? A potion? Do you make it here?" queried Isabella.

The women continued to laugh, but Gabrielle spoke quietly, "We all make it, my love, quite naturally. Every time a woman orgasms, she releases from her womb, or perhaps from her heart or her brain, we don't really know yet, a tiny drop of this powerful substance we call the Elixir of Ecstasy. It is our life force, a rebirth for our bodies. We, the Daughters of Keira, make it our sacred duty to produce at least one drop a day, not only for its physical effects - that would be too self-serving a purpose - but also because it enriches our natural gifts and makes us strong. Surely you, who must produce the finest Elixir in her moments of high passion, have recognized the effect on your own strength and happiness?"

"I...I suppose I do!" replied Isabella. "So each of you must reach satisfaction every day?"

"At least once," said Kahlia, "but who can stop at just one?" Even Isabella joined in the laughter this time.

"There are exceptions, of course," continued Gabrielle. "Days of high fever and during initial recovery from injuries are not to be included," Gabrielle paused and the other women looked serious for a moment, clearly out of respect for their friend Natalia who lay even now in the Bey's infirmary, but she continued, "... and the five days after a woman gives birth. By the age of seventy, the regime should be relaxed a little to allow for nature's course. But one a day is a target we all accept as our duty." 

"Is this true for men as well?" asked Isabella. 

"Sadly for them, the answer appears to be no. In fact, a man can really only delay the onset of old age by retaining his fluids. He must strike a difficult balance between arousal, which strengthens his constitution, and spending his seed. Some of the Indian texts that Kahlia was talking about, the sutras, contain much on this subject that we are only now coming to understand."

"Of course," said Jax, "we can't have them hold on forever. Sperm is so good for the complexion. And a necessary accompaniment to good dessert wine." 

Gabrielle and Kahlia laughed at this and shook their heads.

"Don't listen to her," said Gabrielle. "It's actually fattening. Jax is simply trying to justify her own appetites." 

Isabella laughed and turned to Jax, "You said earlier that the French were conspiring to destroy the order. But was it not the Spanish church that caused the Exodus?"

"Yes, the Inquisition did seek to destroy us. And they would have succeeded had it not been for Marisa's intelligence work. The Order is stronger and more widely distributed now, and we stay well away from the remnants of the Inquisition. Unfortunately the mantle of chief persecutor has passed to the French clergy. To one man in particular, in fact. Politically, we approach a turning point that will determine whether we survive and prosper or find ourselves at a dead end. The next few years are critical.

"How is that so, Jax? Is it something you can talk about? To me, I mean."

Jax took a deep breath and sat back in her chair, "I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you where we stand. Some of this may be news to Gabrielle and Kahlia too. You see, my dears, the future of the order, at least in Europe, hinges very much on the position of Maria Theresa in Austria. As our Sisters know, the order has been scrupulous not to align itself with either the Bourbons or the Hapsburgs, even though the actions of one or the other have, at times, nearly forced our hand. The tension between the two families has determined European politics for centuries and provides the order with opportunities to protect its interests and, indeed, to prosper."

Isabella did not quite see the connection between the Daughters of Keira and the position of the Austrian princess and was about to interject a question when Jax went on.

"Maria Theresa is not only the nominal heir to the Hapsburg throne, but is secretly a supporter of the order, having herself visited the school in Vienna and pledged her support. If you like, she is our mostly highly placed Patron."

It was Kahlia who asked "So the order will have protection at the highest level of the countries ruled by Hapsburgs!"

Jax responded, "Only, my dear, if the succession proceeds. There are many forces acting against her. Not only is she a 'mere woman', but there are genuine rivals, not to mention the aspirations of the Bourbons for Austrian possessions. King Louis XV himself is married to the daughter of the deposed King of Poland, who would dearly love to supplant Marie Theresa and thus regain his throne. Louis will be hard pressed to resist the opportunity to intervene to support his father. Even if Cardinal Fleury conforms to his so-called principles and counsels against war, his influence is waning with age."

Jax turned to Isabella, "Fleury is Louis' chief advisor and is the one persecuting our order as part of a crusade against heretics. He is over 80 now and we pray for his retirement. Apart from his religiously motivated crusades, undertaken mainly to shore up his reputation with Pope Clement, Fleury is generally a rational man and counsels the King against military adventurism."

Returning to her central theme, Jax went on, "Our support for Marie Theresa's ascension must be subtle. We know that the English will support her but that the Poles and the Prussians will probably renounce the Pragmatic Sanction of 1713 once her father, Charles, dies. He is not a healthy specimen and we must be prepared for that eventuality."

"Our Sisters in Quillan have made some preparations, focusing on influencing Louis directly. He is 26 and his wife is 33 and she has already borne him numerous children, including a male heir. He has always had a wandering eye, and his cock follows. We have made sure that he has met both of the de Mailly-Nesle sisters. The elder girl, Louise-Julie, is a recent graduate from Quillan and has already bedded him. She will no doubt become his mistress in time. Her sister, Marie-Anne will join her in Paris after graduation and will provide a second point of influence. They are a talented family; three even younger sisters are already showing signs of acute intelligence."

"Our intention is to gradually supplant the influence of both Fleury and the Queen's family on the throne of Louis XV. With luck, one or both of the Mailly-Nesle sisters will be whispering in his ear in time to counter his likely intervention against Marie-Therese."

Isabella tried to take all this in. The daughters of Keira were manipulating the future of Europe to ensure their own safety and continuation. They had the power and motivation to work directly on the most powerful Heads of State and were planning years, perhaps decades, ahead.

"Is this Cardinal Fleury really so very powerful? And why does he persecute the order so vehemently?" asked Isabella.

"He is one of the most powerful, and intelligent, men in Europe. A dangerous combination to be sure. His hatred of the Order stems from his own involvement in the events surrounding the Exodus of Quillan. As a young French priest, he had been entrusted by the Inquisition with spying on the Monastery in the weeks leading up to the attack. The Spanish sought to blame him for the Order's foreknowledge of their plans. It was not true; your mother had other, more highly placed, sources and Fleury himself is virtually incorruptible. But he did carry some of the blame when the Inquisition reported its failure to the Pope. He vowed to prove his trustworthiness by destroying us and has waged a private, but officially sanctioned, war against the order ever since. His position as advisor, first to Louis XIV and now to his grandson, the current King, gives him unprecedented reach and access to the French military networks. The ships patrolling around Corsica and Sardinia are undoubtedly there on Fleury's orders and he has spies throughout North Africa and Sicily. As I said, we approach a turning point."

Isabella was somewhat stunned by Jax's summary of the order's political situation.

Kahlia put a hand to Isabella's cheek. "You are perspiring, Isabella. We have been rude, sitting you out in the heat like this. We, who have acclimatized to the desert air, often forget that our new guests take some time to enjoy it as we do. Let us take you to the Sanctuary and cool you down."

"Indeed," said Jax, rising from her seat, "we should also see whether Amalia and Marlesa need help with the concert preparations. You are in for treat tonight, dear Isabella." With this, Gabrielle, Kahlia and Isabella all rose from the table.

"Now, let us make the toast!" said Jax, emptying the last of the lemonade into each of their glasses. "To Orgasta and Clitoria! May their reign ever strengthen!" The women raised their glasses and said a whispered "may their reign ever strengthen."

Kahlia took Isabella's hand as the four made their way along the shaded portico to the main doors of The Sanctuary. Two enormous guards stood silently on either side of the entrance. Isabella saw that they had the same soft, supple, childish features of the man who had earlier let Gabrielle and her into The Sanctuary through the side door. 

"Gabrielle greeted them with a wide smile. "Aron, Gemil, this is our friend and guest, Signora Isabella. She will be with us for some months, so please show her the courtesy and protection of a member of the household." The men smiled and bowed to Isabella and incanted a greeting in Arabic. "Gabrielle stood on her toes and planted a friendly kiss on the chin of the man she had called Gemil." He blushed before pulling open the heavy door for the women to enter. Aron giggled like a girl as he did the same with the other door. 

Isabella smiled to each man as she entered and as the doors closed behind the group, she turned to Kahlia, still holding her hand, and asked, "are Gemil and Aron ..."

"Eunuchs?" said Kahlia, "Yes, all the guards of The Sanctuary are neutered men rescued by the Bey from enemies or who have come here from other places of their own accord."

Isabella recalled the Castrati she had seen and heard at the opera in Naples. Beautiful men, emasculated since before puberty, who sang with the clearest most perfect alto voices. She remembered how sad and disgusted she had felt when mama had told her of their history and fate.

"How awful," said Isabella, almost to herself, "So none of them have testicles at all?"

"Well, not quite. Aron has his, in a little jar in his room. But you are right to grieve for them," remarked Kahlia, "The Bey gives them a home and a generous allowance in exchange for their services, and we try to make their lives as rewarding as is possible."

Isabella was distracted by a call from the far side of the room. It was Amalia calling a greeting to the women. Isabella could see only her head, draped with wet hair, and one arm raised high, above the stage-like raised section of The Sanctuary's floor in front of the long line of glass inlaid doors at the very back of the enormous room. The other women returned her greeting and made their way to her. Isabella followed them across the open area and up the wide stairs leading to the room-sized platform.

She immediately saw that Amalia, and Marlesa, whose head was on her shoulder, were neck-deep in a large oval shaped bath sunk into the floor. An identical bath, gentle steam arising from its still water, was just a few feet to their right. The fragrance of orange and jasmine filled her nostrils as she beheld yet another magical scene. Through the long line of glazed doors, Isabella could see a cloudless sky, miles and miles of pure blue turning pink and orange before her eyes as the unseen sun set off stage to their left. In the far distance the horizon sat like a darker line, separating the heavens from the deeper blue-green of the sea. The two dusky, dark haired women turned to her and smiled.

"You have had a good day, Isabella?" said Marlesa.

"Wonderful!" sighed Isabella. "I have been overwhelmed by the generosity and love of your sisters and feel that I am floating through a wonderful dream."

Amalia smiled and turned her dark eyes to Jax, who was standing, looking at the sunset, "And Jax, you have tempered yourself with Isabella? You have behaved as a true Daughter Keira in the presence of a new friend?"

Jax turned to her and smiled sweetly, "Of course I have, Amalia, my darling! Once the pox doctor here pushed her way between Isabella's legs this morning, I stood back and played the perfect martyr. And have you had your fingers in Marlesa all day, or have you actually done some work?" Amalia smiled, but blushed slightly and brought both her arms out of the water and folded them under her chin on the edge of the bath. Marlesa glided silently from her side to take up a position half lying on Amalia's back, her head resting between Amalia's shoulder blades. Isabella could not see Marlesa's hands, but by the look on Amalia's face, she guessed where they were and what they were doing.

Jax began unlocking and folding back the glass doors like a huge concertina, revealing a narrow balcony edged with a balustrade like that fronting the porch in her own room. Her actions allowed the warm evening air to enter the cool Sanctuary. "It is cooling off now," she said, "and some fresh air will fortify us all for the night ahead."

Isabella walked across to her and looked over the balcony. Below her a rock-strewn mountainside fell sharply away, perhaps half a mile of ragged boulders and sparse shrubs, ending with a stony beach and the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean. Birds of prey circled above and below the balcony and Isabella saw vultures on the rocks far below. Isabella took in the scene and said to Jax, "Are you entertaining tonight?"

"Just ourselves, dear one, just ourselves. Whenever the Bey and the men leave for a day or more, we throw a little soiree. Its partly to commiserate ourselves for the absence of hard cock, and partly so that we five, six including you, can get together as women. Maria is preparing a banquet and Marlesa and Amalia will entertain us with a new concerto. I am sure you will enjoy it."

"I am looking forward to it already," she replied, turning back to the room. She was unphased to see Kahlia, naked, slipping into the bath with Amalia and Marlesa. Gabrielle waved and smiled to her as she exited through the side door, calling "I'll be back in an hour! My patient calls!"

Isabella felt Jax's hands on her shoulders and turned back to her. Her face was close and Isabella felt her own arousal grow and watched Jax's parted lips move towards her own. But she halted before they touched.

"Isabella, you are truly delectable, and I will have you before the night is old," she whispered. "But right now, I must prepare a letter for your parents. A sloop will make a dash for Sicily tomorrow if the Southerly returns and I would like you to read the letter before I send it. Stay wet for me, darling." Jax brushed her tongue over Isabella's lower lip and left her there, retreating quickly to a stairway behind a curtain at the far end of the raised section of the Sanctuary. Isabella shuddered and took a deep breath. So many beautiful women, so much time!




Isabella Awakening Ch. 08



When she turned to the women in the bath, Kahlia met her eyes with a smile. Amalia and Marlesa were locked in a passionate kiss, their heads just out of the water while their entwined bodies and limbs moved urgently beneath. Kahlia motioned her to come forward and Isabella undid the three buttons of her blouse as she did so. Slipping her harem pants off and leaving her clothing in pile beside the bath, she slipped into the cool water beside Kahlia.

Seated on a shelf or step together like that, Isabella's head barely came above Kahlia's shoulder. The Black girl slipped a powerful arm around her waist and lifted Isabella onto her lap. Isabella allowed her own knees to part over Kahlia's thighs and she laid her head back onto Kahlia's shoulder, feeling her large breasts and hard nipples pressed to her back. They sat like that, with Kahlia's hands playing over Isabella's tummy and breasts, while they watched Amalia and Marlesa reach almost simultaneous orgasms at each other's hands. They seemed to float just beneath the surface of the water, their bodies separating as they came and floating, shaking and arching as they parted. 

Eventually Marlesa and then Amalia broke the surface, gasping for air and flinging their long hair back from their faces. They moved together again and kissed before turning, smiling widely to Isabella and Kahlia.

"How many is that today?" asked Kahlia.

"Five!" panted Marlesa, "three this morning and two just now."

"Gabrielle will be pleased," said Kahlia, nodding. Then speaking to Isabella's ear, she explained, "Marlesa is hoping to become pregnant. Gabrielle has pledged the Bey to abstinence while he is away and prescribed Marlesa at least five orgasms a day to shake loose her eggs. We are hoping their reunion will be productive."

Isabella raised her eyebrows and smiled. "Have any of you had children before?" she asked. The two Arab girls laughed.

"I think you already met my oldest daughter, Ashanti, last evening," said Amalia. "I have five children, three girls and two boys."

Isabella must have looked shocked because Amalia smiled and added, "We do not make such an issue of having children as you Europeans. We simply bear them, give birth and get on with our lives."

Marlesa then spoke, "My next baby will be my third," she said. I have a boy of seven and girl of eleven. "I hope this one is another girl," she placed a hand on her tummy as if she was already impregnated.

Kahlia said, "I have given birth once, but the baby died. Jax would never consider such a thing and Gabrielle is too busy with her science and medicine."

"I am sorry that you lost a child," said Isabella quietly, finding Kahlia's hand on her right breast and intertwining their fingers. Then turning to the others, "But where are the children? Who raises them?"

"Well, we all raise them," said Marlesa, as if the answer were obvious. "They stay with us in the house until they are two or three and finished at the breast and then they move to the compound next door with the others. We do see them every day, but they have servants and tutors to guide and prepare them for life. The Bey himself takes great interest in their education and development and he visits for at least an hour each day he is here. Of course, the children can call for any of us if they have needs."

Amalia continued, "Ours are the Bey's legitimate children, born in marriage. His others mostly live together with them in the compound, although a few have stayed with their mothers in Algiers or Cairo. We have twelve here altogether, from two years old to Ashanti, who will be seventeen in two weeks time. We love them all and are very proud."

Isabella took all this in with fascination. She knew that Mohammedans took many wives but had never considered the complexities that involved. "So," said Isabella, carefully framing her next question, "are you all married to the Bey?"

Kahlia laughed. "No, my dear, not all. Marlesa, Amalia and myself are the Bey's wives. Jax and Gabrielle are simply concubines!" The three women laughed. "You see, as a Patron, the Bey has certain obligations. He provides a home for Gabrielle and Jax, as well as certain more personal services, in exchange for their skills and advice. We all came here originally under the same arrangement but the three of us decided that a formal Arab marriage was the best way to ensure the safety of the children. The Bey is not a possessive man, but he is a kind and intelligent one. There is no real difference in status or duties or obligation between any of us."

Isabella nodded her, at least partial, understanding. Amalia and Marlesa moved to the seat beside Kahlia and Isabella and their hands started to glide over the women's contrasting dark and white skin. Isabella felt at least three hands on her thighs and bottom and allowed her own hands to find the softness between Amalia's and Marlesa's legs. Kahlia lifted her by the waist and turned her, the other women carefully guiding her legs up and over Kahlia's knees. As the black woman took her mouth between her lips, a hand found Isabella's swollen pussy and stroked its length. The Arab women moved closer, supporting and caressing Isabella and joining the kiss.

"Now, Sisters," said Amalia quietly, moving her mouth to Kahlia's ear "I do not wish to sound hypocritical, but we should really save our energy and passion for tonight. I would hate for Isabella to collapse from exhaustion before we complete our performance."

Kahlia's eyes widened as she growled and made a teasing biting motion towards Amalia, who fell backwards and squealed, splashing into the water, her legs flailing and bumping Isabella's hip. Isabella felt herself slipping off Kahlia's thighs and tried to grasp the slick breasts in front of her as she slid sideways towards Marlesa. The erotic tableau the four had so recently formed, fell like a child's block tower as they slipped and splashed and squealed, confounding each other's attempts to regain their feet and balance. Isabella did not know who giggled first. It may even have been her. The epidemic took them all quickly and made the slipping and splashing all the worse.

It was an outside force that intervened to halt them. Isabella looked up and saw Jax standing a few yards away, arms folded and shaking her head. Isabella gulped and fought back another wave of giggles but was only able to say, "Hello Jax!" before collapsing again, slipping completely under the water and taking Amalia down with her. Kahlia eventually grabbed them both by an arm and hauled them, soaking and coughing, to their feet. She held them, like a constable between two drunks, until they had almost regained their composure.

Jax said nothing until the giggling and coughing finally subsided. "Isabella darling," she said coolly, "I'm so glad you are having fun, but I'd like to talk to you about this letter." Jax's serious demeanor suddenly dissolved as she broke into a broad smile. She turned her back, tossed her head and huffed "Keira, give me strength!" and walked off to the sunken lounge on the level below. 

The four naked wet women were finally rescued by the lumbering eunuch Arness who clucked and t'sked his way up the stairs carrying an armful of towels. He said something to Marlesa, who hung her head momentarily before poking her tongue at him. Each woman grabbed for a towel and stepped out of the bath. They dried themselves and each other and the two Arab women walked naked up the stairs. Kahlia retrieved her clothing from a table nearby but Isabella found that hers had been soaked, the floor being awash with the water splashed from the bath. She wrapped the towel around her body and kissed Kahlia, saying "I hope we can get together later, Kahlia."

"I have no doubt we will," said Kahlia, smiling and stroking Isabella's cheek. "If not, we will certainly find each other tomorrow. I will find you a robe. There's no need to dress for tonight's festivities anyway. It would be a waste of time," She winked.

Kahlia climbed the stairs and Isabella made her way down to Jax, who was leaning over some papers on a small table in front of her couch. Isabella sat beside her and Jax's hand immediately and, apparently without any thought on Jax's part, sought her thigh high under the flap of the towel. "Calmer now, my dear?" she smiled.

Isabella noticed how slender Jax's hand was, so delicate and small compared to Kahlia's. "I'm calm now, Jax, but if your hand goes any higher on my leg, I may not be able to concentrate on your letter," said Isabella.

"Oh, of course," said Jax, moving her hand down to mid thigh. "Later," She smiled.

Jax rearranged the papers in front of her and selected a single sheet, handing it to Isabella. "It's a draft, Isabella. I'll rewrite it a more masculine hand when we've settled the text. Please feel free to make suggestions."

Isabella read the letter. It was addressed to her father. It was written as if from Thomas, who introduced himself as Isabella's fellow passenger on the Della. The letter assumed that Alberto and Marisa had already received news from Captain Bertrand of their abduction and this letter professed to sadly inform the Silverto parents of Isabella's fate at the hands of the terrible janissaries in Tunis. It was beautifully and sensitively written. Had she not known the truth, Isabella herself would have cried at the description of her stoic resistance and eventual imprisonment. Thomas sadly informed the Silvertos that Isabella had been bound and abused before being driven in chains with a hundred others, including nuns of his own order, to the slave markets inland.

Jax explained the implications of the inland slave market. Effectively, she said, Isabella was lost to the European world, being sold into servitude or as a concubine in the richer African kingdoms or even, if she survived, to the still thriving slave market in the Spanish New World. The chances of a European woman being recovered from the African markets were so slight as to be considered impossible.

Isabella nodded and read on; Thomas's respect for Isabella's serenity and courage, her love for her fine Christian family, his certainty of the purity of her everlasting soul and her protection by the Mother Church - not, Isabella noted the Holy Mother Church.

Isabella finished reading and looked up at Jax. "An excellent and moving letter, thank you Jax."

"Any suggestions?" said Jax, retrieving the letter and taking up a stylus, which she dipped in ink.

"Perhaps a mention of my uncle Anton. We were close and he is frail. I would like my mother to let him know I am safe and happy," said Isabella thoughtfully. 

"An excellent suggestion, Isabella dear." Jax smiled and ran her hand back under Isabella's towel. "No more concentration needed for now, my lovely."

At that moment, the front doors of the Sanctuary opened and four eunuchs bearing platters and jugs entered singing in their high voices. It was like a choir of enormous children bringing them their dinner. Jax kissed Isabella on the mouth and withdrew her hand from her crotch. They both rose and followed the food to an area set up earlier by 'the boys', as Jax called the eunuchs.

Kahlia came down the stairs, wearing only a short pale green robe that displayed her long legs almost to her pussy. She carried a dark blue silk robe in one hand and passed it Isabella. Isabella examined the fabric and admired the fine embroidered flowers on the sleeves. "Its from the Japans," said Kahlia. "A gift from one of Jax's admirers that she passed onto me. Try it on."

Isabella let her towel slip to the floor and unfolded the fine silk robe and put it on. The broad embroidered sash sat just above her hips.

"Lovely!" said Kahlia.

Jax moved close and slipped a hand into the front of the robe, cupping one of Isabella's breasts and sending a pleasant shiver through her body. "Yes, truly lovely," she sighed.

Gabrielle joined the three, stepping from the side entrance wearing a robe similar to Kahlia's and a satisfied smile. She joined them at the buffet and gave them each a kiss.

"Natalia seems to have made great progress, I'm happy to say. I even asked her to join us for while this evening, but she's still too tired. I hope she'll visit tomorrow."

"Is she back on her elixir yet?" asked Kahlia, taking a small savory pastry and popping it into her mouth.

"Oh yes. You can't keep a good woman down." smiled Gabrielle, wiping her lips with a napkin before helping herself to some food.

The four stood, eating and talking for a few minutes, Kahlia pouring each a goblet of wine. The sun had set and that the room was now lit with many lanterns.

"Will Amalia and Marlesa be joining us soon?" asked Isabella.

"Not before the concert," replied Jax. "Nerves. Not long now. They'll join us for the main course afterwards."

"Tell me, Jax," piped Gabrielle, "Have you told Isabella about your latest conquest in Tripoli?"

"Not yet. But I have had a wicked idea. I was thinking of staging a dramatic re-enactment. Tonight, if there is time."

Kahlia nearly choked on a mouthful of food and even Gabrielle looked a little shocked.

"But who will play the divine but naïve young Alicia?" said Gabrielle.

"I was thinking Isabella might like to try her hand at the role," grinned Jax. "I have a costume and wig that would fit her." She ran a dainty hand over Isabella's bottom as she spoke.

"And will one of the boys play her father?" asked Kahlia.

"I will ask for a volunteer after dinner. I expect I'll be knocked over in the rush," smiled Jax.

The women nodded and smiled at Isabella. "You will enjoy it, darling," comforted Gabrielle on seeing Isabella's look of concern. "It will be naughty, but fun."

Isabella felt that she had just been drafted, but decided to go along with the women. She had felt no threat or danger since arriving at the Bey's palace and knew that her new friends were as committed to her protection and safety as was Thomas. The simple thought of him sent a shudder through her abdomen. She was missing him terribly, despite having her day filled with new information and erotic contact with her new friends. She wondered how she'd feel in three days.

"Gabrielle," said Isabella, remembering a question she'd not had opportunity to ask earlier, "the toast that you all made earlier - to Orgasta? ... and Clitoria?. I've never heard those names before. Are they related to the school in some way?"

"Well, in a way. They are characters in a myth that one of Keira's contemporaries uncovered. Minor deities of Asgard, the Norse realm of the gods. Haven't you read the story in 'Secret Knowledge'?"

Isabella remembered the book that Beatrice had presented her with in Palermo. "I started it on board ship, but I've only read the first chapter, regrettably: Keira's story. I have been so busy since Beatrice gave it to me, that I have not had the opportunity to continue."

"Yes," interrupted Jax sympathetically, patting her on the shoulder "Its so hard to keep your place when you are fucking, isn't it dear?"

Isabella laughed. "I'll get back to it as soon as I can," she promised.

As they had been chatting and helping themselves to the plates of small foods, three of the boys had set up a large carpet in front of the couches and were now arranging five chairs and music stands in an informal semicircle. Kahlia motioned for the women to take their places as an audience and the four descended to the sunken lounge and took positions on the couches.

One of the boys dimmed several of the lanterns and placed three more, barely flickering, on the floor in front of the carpet. He then raised his arms for silence, an unnecessary but dramatic gesture to herald the arrival of the quintet, Marlesa and Amalia leading three eunuchs to the arc of chairs. Each carried an instrument. Amalia had a violin and Marlesa a black flute. The boys held lyre, mandolin and a frame arrayed with rectangular wooden blocks of different lengths that Isabella thought must be a kind of percussion instrument. They assembled themselves and took up their instruments, the frame being positioned on four legs and the player, Aron, taking up two dainty mallets and standing behind it. The rest of the ensemble sat and waited for a signal from Amalia before beginning their strange and haunting music.

They began slowly, just the flute and lyre for several bars before the violin joined them with its almost human voice. The melody was taken by the lyre and Aron began to gently cuff the wooden keys with a mallet. Isabella had never heard such music; complex, lyrical and exotic. The chords themselves and their unusual combinations reminded her of Gypsy music, but also of Arab and other Eastern modulations. And yet the violin remained pure to its European roots, singing its clear voice within the framework of the classic symphonies and operas familiar to Isabella. The wooden instrument added an even more foreign sound, something primitive and visceral. It was beautiful.

Isabella soon abandoned all attempt at analysis and simply allowed herself to drift and flow with the music. She felt herself carried along on invisible hands, through mists and cloud forests, across green seas and endless beaches. The music rose and so did she. Up and over the human world to a place of light and pure sound.

A soprano began a single note, then another. A second voice, just as sweet, began a slow progression. The boys were singing. But the violin maintained its position as the narrator, the male, the gently driving force of the music. The boys' voices followed and obeyed the violin. The flute began to disappear amongst the rising soprano voices. Isabella opened her eyes briefly to see Marlesa placing the instrument at her feet.

Then a new sound, female, a sighing, responding to the caresses of the violin. They rose and fell together, the lyre and mandolin serenading the lovers while their heartbeats quickened. Isabella saw Marlesa remove her robe and stroke her abdomen and breasts, eliciting a new and more passionate sound, still a sigh but more strident in response to the caresses and whispers of the violin. Isabella remembered her own erotic musical evening when the great Pergolisi played her body like a 'cello. Here again the sensuality of the music was being given a voice through a woman. Marlesa grew in passion and there was a subtle shift in the lead, from the violin to the woman, from Amalia to Marlesa, and the others followed, the cadences and tempo aligning with her sighs and moans. 

Faster and harder they played, exploring each other's responses, sometimes moving together and sometimes shifting to new patterns. Marlesa had arched her back now and one hand stoked and plied her pussy. Gasps, exhalations, murmured assent. It was a music of vowels and gentle progressions, rising in pace as Marlesa's release beckoned. The violin pounded a single chord, over and over and the woman allowed a long high note to escape and urged her lover on. Harder still, the pounding of the mallets and the urgency of the strings becoming a single pulsing driving note, primitive, primordial. Then, a single moment of silence, peace, till Marlesa screamed and the violin exploded in a violent tumble of notes and thrusting bow. They rose and fell together, still pounding, still screaming, the heart beats fast, loud. Until Marlesa inhaled and allowed a sigh of contentment to bring the instruments together again, their harmony restored and strengthened, their bonds played out in intersecting harmonies and sweet sounds of common elements repeated and varied as they wound down to a gentle, regular, simple tune of violin and gentle sighs. Then they stopped.

The room was silent, musicians with their heads bent and the audience staring at them open-mouthed. A full minute passed. It was Kahlia who moved first, murmuring "Oh Wonderful! Beautiful!" over an over and clapping her hands. The others broke their fixed stares and joined her, all of them standing and applauding the performers until their hands hurt. The audience moved forward as one to embrace Amalia and Marlesa and then each of the boys, congratulating them individually and lauding the performance. Marlesa was standing naked, covered in sweat and shaking, as she accepted their hugs and praise. Isabella kissed her and felt her own heart recovering from her total engagement in the performance. Everyone, the ensemble and the audience, glowed.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 08



Gabrielle took up one of Aron's little mallets and hit a wooden key three times to signal that she was to speak.

"Ladies!, Boys! We have been privileged tonight to witness the premier performance of an outstanding work of art. I'm sure we all agree that we have been part of something truly special. Amalia, Marlesa, boys, we thank you from the depths of our hearts. I notice that Maria has provided a sumptuous main course while we have been enraptured, so I suggest we fill our cups and toast our performers and share our meal." She raised her own goblet and intoned, "To Orgasta and Clitoria, may their reign ever strengthen!"

The little crowd intoned "may their reign ever strengthen," gave a final round of applause and moved as one to tables on the upper level.

The food was delicious; the women heaped their plates, filled their goblets and found chairs, or simply sat on the floor in groups of two or three. Isabella found herself with Amalia and Marlesa and enthused once again over the performance.

"Have you explored the erotic potential music yourself?" asked Amalia.

Isabella nodded as she finished a mouthful of roasted chicken. She took a mouthful of wine and started to describe her love of opera and symphonies and the rapture they induced in her. The women nodded and spoke of the sensual pleasures they found in the music of different cultures, the importance of erotic pacing, voices and cadences, the harmonies between the major parts and a woman's inner strings. Isabella nodded and smiled. She mentioned casually that she had experienced sublime joy at the hands of a famous composer during the premier of one of his works at the Naples opera house. Amalia and Marlesa leant forward and good-naturedly demanded more detail. 

Isabella described her evening with Pergolisi, the preparations made by Anton and the seamstress, the warnings of Pergolesi's frailty and shyness, her own feelings of expectation and growing arousal. She gave them a movement-by-movement description of the opera and of his playing of her erotic chords, her opening up to both his hands and the music, her becoming his living 'cello. So absorbed was Isabella in the telling of her story, she had not noticed the quiet approach of the other women, now seated around her. She drew her story to its climax, her own transcendent release in the final act, Pergolesi's gentle caresses of recovery and, finally, her thankful and gentle fellating of the composer before he slipped away into the night. 

"How wonderful!" It was Jax, sitting close to Isabella's shoulder. The others murmured their agreement and appreciation. Isabella smiled.



Isabella Awakening Ch. 09



Isabella waits for Thomas's return and spends her days and evenings learning more about The Daughters of Keira and The Sanctuary. 

*

The women sat chatting and swapping stories as they ate and drank Maria's sumptuous feast. The boys ate with them, quietly, but sometimes laughing amongst themselves or venturing a comment to the women in Arabic. Jax rose from the group of women and spoke with the boys at some length, causing them to giggle and argue good-naturedly with each other. She took the eunuch Gemil by the hand and he rose. They walked back to the women and Jax whispered something to Gabrielle, who nodded and smiled to Isabella.

"Come now, my lovely Isabella, it is time for us to prepare you for your stage debut," said Jax, holding out a hand to Isabella. Jax, Isabella and Gemil left the others to their coffee and cakes and mounted the stairs to the upper floor. "About fifteen minutes," said Jax over her shoulder as they left. "The boys will set up the scene for us."

Once upstairs, Jax suddenly became excited. Her sarcastic and sometimes severe demeanor dropped away and she giggled and fussed like a teenager. Isabella was greatly amused by the change that had come over her and she sat on the bed in Jax's apartment watching her give Gemil his instructions for the role he was to play. She handed him a suit coat and spectacles and had him sit in front of a mirror while she brushed his smooth upper lip with a paste she applied with a small brush from a china jar. She then pulled a patch of black fur from a drawer and teased a small handful of fine hairs from it, placing then neatly along Gemil's upper lip. "It wouldn't pass for a real disguise, but its good enough for the theater," she said to Isabella. Gemil turned to her and beamed. He had a thick black mustache and was clearly enjoying both the effect and Jax's attention.

It was Isabella's turn next. Jax worked quickly. She had Isabella take Gemil's place by the mirror and as she powdered Isabella's face and rouged her cheeks and lips, she gave her instructions for the role she was to play. Alicia was the twenty-year old daughter of the new British envoy in Tunis, a Sir William Smythe, played by Gemil. Alicia was a virgin, quite pretty, somewhat plump, very naive for her age and a bit silly and romantic. Jax referred to her love of French romantic novels. She swooned around men, especially handsome men and believed everything she was told. Her mother was ill and had remained behind in England when her father had taken his posting to Tunis. Jax continued with her specifications for role and, once finished with Isabella's face, produced a blond wig, all ringlets, ribbons and curls, which made them both laugh. She curled Isabella's own hair into a bun and fitted her with the wig. Isabella saw herself in the mirror and giggled. She recognized the type immediately; a typical upper class, birdy, silly English girl, so common these days as tourists in Naples. Jax then had Isabella remove her robe. Jax traced her hands over Isabella's hips and tummy and cradled her breasts. She moaned quietly, but shook her head and continued the dressing. She scurried to her dressing room and returned with a pair of large drawers, the kind the English called 'bloomers' and a frilly floral printed dress with a low neckline. Isabella slipped into the huge drawers, laughing, and carefully pulled the dress over her head.

Isabella understood her role to involve her seduction by a handsome Italian academic her father had brought home several times since they had arrived in Tunis. The academic was to be played by Jax herself.

Jax told Isabella and Gemil to wait while she dashed to the dressing room. She was only gone a few minutes before returning in a man's black suit over a white ruffled shirt. She sat at the mirror and slicked her hair to one side and gave herself a thin mustache.

"How do I look?" She asked.

"Oh, very handsome!" said Isabella. Then fluttering her lashes and adopting a plumy accent, she said, "I'm sure I shall be unable to resist your advances Signor Jax."

They laughed and Jax replied "But on this occasion my dear, I am professor Jacqemo Pressardi, lecturer in ancient Persian history at the University of Padua." Jax's voice had dropped an octave lower and her accent was perfect for that northern Italian town. Isabella reflected on her certain prowess in the field of espionage and was looking forward to this particular story unfolding.

The three actors made their way down the stairs. Gabrielle acknowledged them with an "At last, they arrive!" but everyone laughed and whistled when they saw the costumes. The area in front of the couches had been rearranged. A long leather settee now stood where the ensemble had played earlier and the lanterns had been placed so that the audience was in darkness and only the settee, and a low table in front of it, was illuminated. The audience, including the other eunuchs took their places on the couches. Ribald comments and suggestions were passing freely.

Jax had Isabella and Gemil stand in the darkened wings while she took center stage. The audience finally fell silent under her steely gaze. The show began. Jax bowed and introduced herself formally as an agent of the Daughters of Keira on a secret mission to Tunis to discover information about certain transactions between the King of France and the local Bey. She also hoped to cultivate new sources of regular intelligence. Adopting the guise of an aristocratic academic from Italy, a certain Jacqemo Pressardi, a persona she had previously established on earlier visits to the capital, she had infiltrated polite society and her attention had been drawn to the new Ambassador from London, Sir William Smythe. At this point, Jax gestured to Gemil and he walked into the light and bowed, to the applause and catcalls of the audience. One of the boys had an attack of giggles and had to be calmed by Kahlia before the show could proceed. Gemil stepped back into the dark and Jax went on with the story. 

The Englishman had recently arrived in Tunis with his only daughter, the beautiful Amelia, a debutante and maiden of refined sensibilities. Jax held out an arm and was joined on stage by Isabella, curtseying and bobbing like a young Englishwoman. More applause and whistles, and a few quite licentious remarks from Gabrielle, greeted her appearance.

Isabella took her place on the settee, sitting demurely with hands clasped on her knees. Jax explained that she, as Jacqemo, had paid an unannounced call on the Ambassador's home only to find, as she had in fact planned, that Amelia was at home alone, her father having left only minutes before for a meeting with the Bey of Tunis. Jacquemo had charmed his way into the house and had quickly moved Amelia to the formal sitting room, the scene of the crime to come.

Isabella had watched Jax carefully. She was prancing as she spoke and Isabella noticed an occasional movement in her trousers. On closer inspection, Isabella could have sworn the she had a half-hard erection sitting against her thigh.

Jax took her place beside Isabella on the settee and switched her voice to that of the university professor. Jax had told Isabella the basic plot and had encouraged her to ad lib her lines. Isabella took the initiative.

"Oh, Signor Pressardi, I am so pleased to see you again," she sighed with a girlish giggle, "but it is not proper for a man to visit a young woman without her father or a chaperone being present."

"But Alicia, my dear, we already know each other so well, and I am afraid, that as a man, all I have thought for the past week is to be alone with you. I find you most ... beautiful, my dear." Said Jax, admittedly overplaying the role of the lothario for the benefit of the audience. "Do you find me so unattractive?" he frowned, winking at the audience.

"Oh Jacquemo, no, no, no!" swooned Isabella, her clasped hands now to her heart. "Please do not think that! I too have thought only of you this past week. I believe that I may be... falling in love!" The audience laughed at her ingénue.

Jax fell to one knee before her, "Oh Alicia, my lovely, say it is so! I dream of your kiss, you sweet hands, your ... breasts!"

Isabella feigned surprise, covering her mouth, her eyes wide, "Jacquemo! How can you say such things! I share your passion, but we must not behave like... like... foreigners!" That line induced whoops and gales of laughter from the assembled women. Even Jax had difficulty with her next line.

"But my dear, you see, I am a man and you, my sweet dear Alicia, are a beautiful woman in her prime. How could I not crave you completely, with all my heart, with my soul...and with my body?" With that, Jax half turned to the audience and stroked the hard rod in her trousers. Cries of "lecher!" and "boo!" greeted her and she gave a wicked smile and twirled her mustache. Isabella had to restrain her own laughter to continue.

"Oh, my poor Jacquemo!" she cried, "Are you in pain? I have heard said that a passionate man feels physical pain if he cannot ... fulfill his desire."

Jax raised a hand to the side of his mouth and spoke desoto voice to the audience "Now I wonder who put that idea in her pretty empty head?"

"Indeed I am truly in great discomfort, my dear. But I would endure anything for you love. You are my ideal, my goddess and what is a little agony compared to the purity your love?"

"Oh, my love, come to me!" Isabella threw open her arms and Jax rose and almost fell into her opulent bosom. They kissed in violent clumsy passion and Isabella could feel Jax's hands fumbling wildly with her skirts. "Oh! Oh! Oh!' she cried. Finally Jax's hands found flesh and she pushed Isabella's thighs wide apart before suddenly freezing. 

With Isabella half lying back on the settee and her knees up and splayed, Jax turned to the audience and in her normal voice said, "Now, to the casual observer it would appear that Professor Pressardi had all but reached his warm, moist goal. But he was soon to be confronted with an obstacle even greater than the Alicia's virginity. I speak, of course of the dreaded... English underwear!" She turned back to Isabella and lifted her knees even higher, exposing her legs and the great white drawers shielding and enfolding her thighs and abdomen. The audience was delighted and hooted its approval.

Jax dived under Isabella's skirts and thrashed wildly, rising to take a breath before returning to the dark folds. She emerged again shaking her head and looked around for something. Taking a lantern from the floor nearby and nodding to the audience, she lifted the skirts again and peered inside holding the lantern to shed its light on the offending drawers. Still shaking her head, she rose again, leaving Isabella prone and heaving on the settee. Jax paced and scratched her chin. After a circuit of the little stage she raised a finger and smiled. Reaching into her suit coat pocket she pulled out a little folding knife and, prizing it open, re-entered the cave of Isabella's skirts. A few tugs and cuts later, Jax emerged victorious, waving the enormous, but now shredded, garment over her head to the cheers and applause of the audience.

She dived dramatically back onto the settee and her hands this time found Isabella's waiting pussy, genuinely wet. They kissed and thrashed about and Jax stroked her thighs and pussy with one hand while using the other to expose and fondle Isabella's breasts by pulling down the top of her dress. She then knelt between Isabella's legs and pushed the dress up completely. As she started to unbuckle her trousers, she turned once more, as Jax the narrator, to the audience.

"At this point, of course, Jacquemo is about to consummate the seduction of the young Amelia. Now, as Jax, I do not have the required male equipment. I therefore had to innovate. Thankfully a leatherworker in the city was prepared, for a small reward, "Jax smiled and winked, "to fashion for me an item to serve the purpose." She dropped her trousers, unbuttoned a strap on her thigh, and a perfectly formed hard cock sprang up. The audience gasped. Isabella craned her head to see and was surprised, not so much by the dildo itself, but by its veiny authenticity and the ingenious system of narrow buckled straps holding it perfectly in place, rising from Jax's groin. A voice in the audience, Aralia's thought Isabella, called "very nice length but a little thin, I think, Jax". 

"Designed specifically for the deflowering of a virgin", smiled Jax. "I had another made for grown-up fun." The audience laughed and Jax gave Isabella wicked wink. "Of course, I gave darling Alicia no chance to examine the weapon closely before I did this," she lowered herself onto Isabella and used a hand to open her the lips of her cunt and glide the head of the dildo into her hole. Isabella responded with little squeal, as she imagined an English virgin might on first penetration. Jax was gentle and worked the cock gradually into her. Isabella was beginning to respond by instinct and had to stop herself from greeting Jax's thrusts with a more aggressive response of her own. Jax whispered sweet encouragements as she reached full penetration, stroking Isabella's face and breasts and kissing her on the lips. She turned again to speak to the assembly.

"Of course, Alicia was a virgin and, as a cultured gentleman, I was careful to take her slowly and very gently at this point. Isabella, I believe, is not a virgin however, and is lying here impaled on my cock and simply dying to be fucked hard. Is that not right my love?" Isabella meowed and thrust her ass into Jax. "Isabella is also much wetter at this stage than was Alicia, so please understand, dear sisters, that what I am about to do took much longer to achieve with the darling, delicate English girl." 

Gabrielle called "Just fuck her Jax! You are torturing the poor girl!" The others laughed and urged her on.

Jax began to grind the leather cock into Isabella. She increased the pace and Isabella responded, raising her knees and using her ankles to pull Jax into her with greater power. Jax was clearly enjoying the experience and becoming equally aroused. Isabella imagined the view for the audience, the cock gliding quickly, now in, and then out, of her cunt. Jax started to raise her ass higher and pound down on her harder and harder and Isabella was grunting and loosing control. Her hands sought Jax's hips and grasped her there; pulling her in as far as she could as she shouted her impending release. It came quickly and with such power, Isabella could not control her legs, feeling the shuddering in her cunt spread out and shaking her legs wildly in the air. She gave a long exhalation, groaning an "Oh!" as she continued to come with the leather cock still sliding in and out of her saturated hole. Jax herself was also shaking and Isabella knew that she was desperately trying to clench and hold on to her own release.

Isabella let her legs relax and Jax turned to the audience, panting. "That, ladies and boys, was what we professionals call an orgasm..." The women clapped. "A delightful orgasm. And, let me say that Alicia's was also as fine and intense a release as I have ever witnessed in a virgin. I do not wish to boast, but in reality, she could not have had a better first lover."

Isabella had recovered sufficiently to make her own comment. Still lying under Jax, she turned her head to the audience and said, "It is true! He was a wonderful lover. So gentle, so manly, it was everything I had ever dreamed of! I shall love him till the day I die!"

Jax smiled and continued. "I was intending to lick her at this point and then take her again, from behind, but fate intervened. I heard a key in the lock of the front door. Her father was home!'

Isabella's eyes widened and she panicked "Oh, oh, Jacquemo! My father! We must... Please, help me! He must not find us like this!"

Jax leapt up, turning her back briefly to Isabella while she quickly pulled up her trousers and stowed Jacquemo's leather cock. She then helped Isabella to her feet and assisted her to tuck her breasts back into the bodice of her dress. Isabella smoothed her skirts and her hair and Jax dived to retrieve her bloomers from the floor, tucking them under the cushion of the settee just as Gemil, as Ambassador Smythe, made his entrance.

Gemil was little unsure of his role and was guided by Jax, whispering in his ear. He made some noises and Jax took the lead.

"Ah, my friend Sir William! How good to see you. I feared I had missed you and Alicia here was kind enough to ... entertain me," she winked to the audience, "until you came home. I do hope your meeting with the Bey went well?"

Gemil nodded and smiled. Isabella, eyes averted from her father, took her leave, throwing a furtive smile to Jacquemo over her shoulder as she exited the stage. The audience gave her a round of applause and catcalls as she left. She took a position on the end of couch, next to Gabrielle, who put a congratulatory hand on her thigh and smiled at her.

Jax continued. "Now, my gentle friends, I had surmised certain aspects of the Ambassador's character at our previous meetings and determined that, while he may indeed have fathered the lovely Alicia -- although we cannot be entirely sure of even that --his carnal interests lay elsewhere, shall we say. I had him categorized as a definite sodomite and, probably, a pederast. It was this, rather then his daughter's breathless need to loose her virginity, which I had originally planned to exploit as a lever for gaining access to information on the Bey's intentions with regard to French access to naval supplies in Tunis.

"It was perhaps fortuitous that, in the rush to preserve Alicia's dignity and reputation, I had not had the opportunity to properly secure my leather friend to my thigh." Jax thrust her hips towards the audience and the erect phallus, lying at a sideways angle, was obviously straining against the material of her trousers. "After exchanging pleasantries with the Ambassador, he too noticed my condition." Jax drew Gemil closer to him and placed one of his pudgy hands over the bulge in her trousers. Gemil giggled. The boys in the audience called to him in Arabic and he blushed.

"Now the Ambassador was no shrinking violet, and he made his interest known to me in direct and certain terms. What was I to do?"

"Fuck him!" came the response from Aralia, and the audience hooted its agreement.

"Indeed," said Jax, "I shall make intelligence agents of you all yet! But a little subtlety was called for, at this point. I moved him to the couch -- the very scene of his daughter's recent deflowering -- and had him sit." Jax maneuvered Gemil to the couch, loosened the tie of his trousers and sat him down. Jax knelt in front of him, opened the fly flap of his pants and nestled her head into his lap. The boys were laughing almost uncontrollably at Gemil's startled expression. 

Jax simulated fellatio on the eunuch. Rising momentarily, she turned and commented, "small, but beautifully formed," and resumed her task. A moment later, she rose and motioned Gemil to turn around and kneel on the settee. She maneuvered his huge, naked bottom so that the audience had a three-quarter view. Dropping her trousers once more, she commented, "The phallus was still slick from Alicia's juices, but I applied some saliva to his ass hole," she spat on her hand and lubricated Gemil's quivering anus, "and slid it into him." She did just that, to Gemil's moans and the tittering of the eunuch section of the audience.

Jax fucked him like that for a few minutes, making elaborate twists of her hips and finally taking the rolls of flesh around his waist in her hands and thrusting hard and fast. Gemil's moans and sighs told the audience he was enjoying his role as the sodomized Ambassador. The audience started a chant of "Fuck him hard, Fuck him hard," and Jax complied. Her own face betrayed her pleasure, and Isabella assumed that the unseen end of the leather phallus was somewhere inside Jax's own cunt, or at least rubbing her clit with each stroke. 




Isabella Awakening Ch. 09



Finally Jax quivered and clenched her ass as she made a final thrust into Gemil's asshole. She breathed deeply to recover her composure and to make her final speech. "Ladies, gentlemen, invited guests, I submit to you that the distinguished Ambassador of England, Scotland and Wales, the most honorable Sir William Smythe, esquire, Order of the Bath and Warden of the Cinque Ports, grunted like a stuck pig and cried for his childhood nurse as he spurted his semen onto his own trousers, while his fundament was screwed by an agent of the Daughter's of Keira wearing a fake leather cock strapped to her waist." 

She withdrew the cock from Gemil's ass and helped him rise shaking and grinning to his feet. She motioned for Isabella to join them and the three bowed and accepted the tumultuous applause and hoots of the small audience.

"Encore!" someone shouted, but Jax shook her head. "Perhaps later, Kahlia," she said, "when we are alone and I have replaced this standard unit," she indicated the phallus swinging from her groin, "with the grown up model." She smiled and took a final bow, with Isabella to one side and Gemil to the other. "Now, my friends and lovers, let us replace lost fluids and I will take questions on the intelligence implications of this conquest."

As the little crowd drifted in couples back to the dining table, Jax unbuckled the thin belts holding the leather tool to her thighs and waist and wiggled to remove the shaft. Isabella noted that it was in fact shaped like a 'V' and that the end that fitted inside Jax was a slightly thicker mirror image of the cock she had received. She handed it to Gemil with a brief instruction and he scampered away with it. She saw Isabella watching. "Gemil will clean and oil it," she said. "You can play with it later, if you like," she smiled. Jax shrugged off her jacket and white shirt and kicked the trousers away. By rubbing her lip with a finger, she removed the mustache and placed it on the little table. She tousled her hair and shook it. She was naked and wholly feminine again and Isabella hugged her and whispered, "Thank you Jax, that was fun. I'd like to return the favor some time." She held the orbs of Jax's tight bottom and kissed her full on the lips. They walked arm in arm up the stairs to join the others.

Everyone agreed that it had been a wonderful evening, one of their best. They congratulated each other and the boys started to clear away the food and plates. The women drank the last of the wine and started to say their goodnights and drift towards bed. Kahlia winked at Isabella and said she would understand if Isabella needed her sleep but that they would "catch each other" tomorrow. Gabrielle offered Isabella a bed of her own in The Sanctuary, but Isabella decided to return to her apartment in the main building. 

"Then I'll walk you home," said Gabrielle. "I need some fresh air."

They left the Sanctuary through the main doors fronting onto the plaza. Soft moonlight and a few scattered lanterns were sufficient for them to negotiate the paths and avoid the statuary and fountains. The two walked slowly, enjoying the silence and the cool air. Gabrielle half turned to Isabella and took her hand.

"You know, Isabella, it is not always like this here. I mean the frantic sex and the outrageous entertainment. We do have a serious purpose and our lives are full of other things too."

Isabella squeezed her hand, "Thank you, Gabrielle. Today has been so exhausting and surprising, I am glad that it was out of the ordinary for you too. I have been challenged by you all today, in so many ways," she smiled and stopped walking, turning to face Gabrielle. "I said earlier that all this seems like a dream to me. I was not simply being poetic or silly. I really have had many dreams in which a place like this, inhabited by people just like you and Jax and Kahlia and Aralia and Mealis, became my home. Despite the bewilderment I have felt since I arrived in Ghar el Melh, I do already feel part of something that my soul has ached for all my life."

"It is truly a wonder, Isabella," replied Gabrielle. "We are so glad to have you with us. Let me explain a little of our excitement and joy in having you join us. Maybe then you will understand what is happening to you; to all of us." They sat on a bench together and Gabrielle continued.

"For we who were born to the Sisterhood, or came to it before our maturity, this life is our natural state; sensual, free, fulfilling and full of wonder and learning. We are taught that we are privileged and that we are duty bound to use our training and talents to improve the lot of those less fortunate. We are encouraged to explore our world, and ourselves, to our limits and to rejoice in our true natures, in order to bring about within our souls the awakening of knowledge and faith. You, on the other hand, have achieved your awakening by your own efforts and by allowing the sacred source within you to set you free. Only once in three hundred years, so we are told, does such a thing happen to a woman raised outside the Sisterhood. Granted, your mother was Marisa, and you had an early lover well seasoned by Serena, but these influences do not alone explain your abilities and your grace. You are special, Isabella. You give us hope of a continuation of our faith beyond the confines of our order. Keira believed that everyone is capable of awakening and that the world progresses towards a unified vision of humanity and its place in the universe; sometimes in great leaps and sometimes in quiet, non-linear evolution, involving both advancement and retreat. Your dreams confirm your connection with us and with Keira and make us hopeful of a new dawning, a leap forward." Gabrielle was silent for a few moments.

"Isabella, this morning you asked me about Keira's eyes and hair. Why did you need to know?"

Isabella smiled. "Apart from my dreams of a home like this, I have been visited, since I was very young by a wild-haired, green-eyed woman who guided and taught me. At critical times in my life, my sexual life, I have felt her presence, even while I was awake. I have always trusted her and followed the path she showed me."

Gabriele listened but did not immediately respond. Finally after careful thought she ventured, "My dear, our faith puts no great store in the merely supernatural. Keira herself was a pragmatist and sought to open our minds and our hearts with reason, logic and spiritual knowledge that could be confirmed within each woman. She never once, to my knowledge, invoked an individual soul or spirit that transcended time and life. Our faith most certainly encompasses the infinite godhead, the sacred unity; but not the everlasting individual soul. The guide of whom you speak is most certainly an embodiment of Keira herself, but I am at a loss to explain her persistence, or re-emergence in you, through the centuries." Gabrielle shook her head and squeezed Isabella's hand. "We will talk to Aralia about this. She understands the more esoteric articles of faith better than any of us."

"I am confident that my guide is indeed Keira," said Isabella. "Ever since I read her story in Beatrice's book, I knew with absolute certainty. I do not pretend to understand, nor do I know what, if anything, it means, but I am happy to play host to her, and for her to continue to guide me." Isabella rose, still holding Gabrielle's hand. "I would be happy to seek Aralia's guidance."

They walked in silence to the main building where Isabella kissed Gabrielle goodnight and climbed the stairway to her room.

Her dreams that night were as clear and lucid as anything she had experienced in the past. She was walking though the mountains in spring. Keira walked beside her and addressed her by name and they spoke of music and art. As they reached a fork in the path, they were joined by Thomas, who told them which track to take. The three walked on, continuing the conversation and stopping to admire and pick wildflowers. A hawk followed overhead. As they approached a little plateau, Isabella noticed a group of hooded nuns waiting for them. They all embraced Isabella, Keira and Thomas as they arrived on the grassy knoll. These were the women of Ghar el Melh, but there were others too. Isabella's mother, Marisa, drew back her hood and kissed Isabella. A pale, beautiful woman who Isabella knew was Serena, smiled and hugged her. Beatrice stepped forward and did the same. There were others, more and more each time Isabella looked around, and even more were approaching from further up the Mountain and from around groups of flower-strewn boulders. The group went quiet and turned to look out over the country below. It was green and quiet. They saw smoke rising from roof top chimneys marking the farms and villages they had walked by. A bank of fog rolled back to reveal an ocean, studded with emerald islands. Horsemen on a path far below, called her name. 

Isabella felt great joy and Thomas came to her side and said, "Stay with us." She held his hand.

Other dreams followed. Children dancing and splashing each other as they frolicked naked in summer pools, the hawk from her earlier dream visited her on a balcony and told her a secret, she flew above the earth with the hawk and saw her family and Anton walking along darkened streets in Naples, the nuns and children from her old convent school sang sweetly under an arbor of blossom.

When she awoke, morning sunlight was streaming through her open curtain and she lay still, enjoying the remnants of her dreams and the feelings of contentment they carried. She needed no seer or gypsy to tell her the meaning of her dreams. She knew as surely as she knew anything that she had found her people and a place to rest and grow.

She did not know how long she lay like that, still half-dreaming and enjoying the morning air. Then she shuddered as if a chill wind had suddenly blown through her room. Thomas. He would be in Beja by now, doing whatever it was he needed to do to resolve the matter of Natalie's abuse. Isabella knew that his was no mission of diplomacy and negotiation. Thomas himself had admitted the danger.

Isabella rose, trying to dispel the dark thoughts creeping in to push aside her happiness. She washed and dressed and walked downstairs. 

At the bottom of the stairs, Isabella nearly collided with Clara, the shy blonde from the kitchen. Clara apologized profusely but Isabella admitted fault immediately. "I am barely awake, Clara, I did not see you, I am sorry."

Clara was carrying a large pot of coffee and she and Isabella walked the plaza to The Sanctuary together. Aron and Gemil stood beside the doors.

"Good morning to you, Aron," said Isabella as he moved to open the doors. "And good morning, father," she said sweetly, curtsying to Gemil. The boys giggled and ushered Isabella and Carla into The Sanctuary. 

Aralia and Kahlia sat together on a couch eating fruit and drinking coffee. They greeted Isabella and Carla and made space in front of them for the new pot of coffee. Isabella found a clean cup and poured herself a coffee. Jax was seated at a small desk on the upper level, obviously busy with papers. She chatted with Aralia and Kahlia briefly, Aralia inviting her to visit the children's compound with her after breakfast and Kahlia suggesting a visit to the library later in the day. Isabella accepted both invitations happily.

"Gabrielle tells me you have interesting dreams, Isabella," said Aralia. "If you like, we could talk about them afterwards."

"I would like that," replied Isabella. Then turning to Jax at her desk, Isabella called, "can I bring you coffee, Jax?"

Jax looked up from her papers and smiled, "Thank you darling, yes please. I have your Last Will and Testament for your signature."

Isabella poured a cup, took it up the stairs to Jax and sat opposite her at the desk.

"Did you sleep well, dear?" asked Jax, arranging papers.

"Wonderfully, thank you Jax," said Isabella. "I enjoyed the performance last evening."

Jax looked up at her and smiled. "We should perhaps work on few aspects of our performance. A private rehearsal later?"

"I'd like that," smiled Isabella, noticing that Jax was dressed in a full length, plain colored dress draped with scarves and brocade. "You are going out?"

"Yes, I will deliver these," she indicated a small pile of folded papers on side of the desk, "to the captain of one of the Bey's small ships at the dock this morning. He will make the run to the southern Sicilian coast later today. Firstly, however, I will get your signature on this," Jax turned a single sheet around. "Sign it with a slightly shaking hand, please my dear." Isabella read her will. It was all as agreed; Roberto was to have her farm and Maria's sons the funds in her accounts. Isabella read it over again, but could not bring herself to sign it just yet.

Isabella nodded, reflecting on the finality she felt, signing away her worldly possessions and breaking her last ties with family and friends in Naples. She realized how much trust she was placing in Jax, and in Thomas, so soon after meeting them. It was only a week since she had left her mama and papa and Anton standing on the dock in Naples, and here she was, accepting the advice of these...strangers...on matters that went to heart of who she was and how she was to live the rest of her life. Jax noticed the faraway look in her eyes.

"Would you prefer we left these matters for while, Isabella? I feel we may be rushing you out of our own excitement. There really is no hurry, you know. Another ship may make the passage next week, after you have had more of a chance to think through the implications, or discussed them with Thomas perhaps."

"Just give me a moment, please Jax," said Isabella, brushing away a tear.

Jax rose and placed a kindly hand on Isabella's shoulder. "Of course dear, take your time. I apologize for rushing you. Would you like to see Thomas's letter to your parents in its final form?" Jax handed her the letter and walked down the stairway to join Kahlia and Aralia for breakfast while Isabella read and sat quietly, trying to make sense of her feelings.

She read the letter several times slowly, noting the cramped writing and several corrections. Her suggestion of a reference to Anton was included. Isabella's heart was beating fast and her thoughts were in turmoil. She stared into space, beyond the narrow veranda of the Sanctuary, out into the impossibly blue and clear sky. She whispered, "Guide me, Keira. Please."

Far in the distance a dark dot appeared against the blue of the sky. It hung there for several moments before growing slowly larger, pulsing. Isabella focused on it and realized it was a bird, rhythmically flapping its large wings as it flew, apparently directly towards The Sanctuary. It dropped lower and Isabella stood, trying to keep it in view above the balustrade. Then it was gone and she started to move forward. Suddenly, it rose directly in front of the balcony and alighted, wings spread wide on the balustrade, only a few yards in front of Isabella. It was a hawk, golden, brown and black, just like the one in Isabella's dream, the one that had followed her and Keira and Thomas through the mountains. Isabella was dumbstruck and stared at the bird, folding its wings now, but never removing its eyes from her.

"Ishtar!" The call came from behind Isabella. It was Aralia, running up the stairs and towards the balcony. "Ishtar, my darling!" She was addressing the hawk. As if in response, the bird opened its beak and produced a short screech. It stretched its wings wide as if welcoming Aralia.

Aralia approached the bird without fear and put her face to its cheek. Ishtar gently responded with a quick nod of its head. Aralia spoke quietly to it in Arabic and touched a hand to its head. She then turned to Isabella, who was still transfixed.

"This is Ishtar," she said. "She is one of us but has been gone for nearly a week. We had been worried about her."

Isabella nodded and noticed that the bird had refixed its gaze on her, one shiny black eye studying her closely. Isabella returned the stare and instinctively moved slowly forward. Aralia took a step back, watching carefully as Isabella extended an open, upturned hand to the hawk. The bird laid its head in her hand and Isabella bent and kissed it.

Aralia gasped. "She seems to know you," she whispered.

"From a dream," said Isabella, not shifting her gaze from Ishtar's eye. "She followed me in a dream last night."

Aralia nodded. "Is this an omen for you, Isabella?" she asked.

Isabella turned her face to Aralia, "It feels that way," she said, "but I don't understand omens."

"For us they are purely personal," said Aralia quietly. "If Ishtar's appearance and attachment to you has a special meaning for you, it may be an omen. No one else can say. "

At that moment, the bird raised its head from her hand and squawked, looking directly at Isabella. Isabella could see her own face reflected in Ishtar's dark eye.

"What does the name 'Ishtar' mean?" asked Isabella.

"Ishtar was the ancient Babylonian name for the goddess of love and passion," said Aralia. "She was Isis to the Egyptians, Astarte to the Phoenicians and Inanna to the Mesopotamians. The Greeks knew her as Venus and the Romans as Aphrodite."

"And what was her relationship with Keira?" 

"Keira invoked the image of Ishtar as a symbol of our order," said Aralia. "Not as a deity, but as an allegory or metaphor for the goddess within each of us. She urged us to draw our strength from Ishtar in times of crisis."

Isabella nodded and touched the bird on the head again. Ishtar spread her wings, turned to face the open sky and pushed off, taking flight and finding the current of warm air rising from the cliff. She circled and rose on the updraft as Isabella and Aralia watched her in silence. Isabella's spirit rose with the bird.

She turned to find Jax and Kahlia watching her from the top of the stairs. Isabella smiled.

"I see your sacred chicken has returned," said Jax to Aralia.

Aralia addressed Isabella. "Jax is not what we call a follower of the esoteric," she smiled. "Also, Ishtar tends to bite Jax given the opportunity. A wise bird indeed."

Isabella laughed and hugged Aralia. She walked back to the little table, found the will and signed it with a deliberately faltering hand. She dusted the fresh ink with talc and handed the document to Jax. "I think we should get on with the day, don't you?" she smiled.

Jax took the paper from her and kissed her cheek. Jax collected and bound the other documents on the table and slipped them into a black leather satchel. 

Fixing a scarf around her head, and tucking the satchel under one arm, she smiled and left The Sanctuary. "I shall be a couple of hours in the town," she said from the door.

"Don't get into trouble, Jax," called Kahlia after her.

"Come and have breakfast, Isabella," said Aralia. "I would very much like to hear more about your dreams before we visit the children."

"And I will see you later in the library?" asked Kahlia.

"Most certainly!" replied Isabella. "But I still have so many questions, Kahlia dear, that I may be a distraction for you."

"I am sure we will work through it," she grinned, leaving Aralia and Isabella to make their way back to the couches and the coffee pot.

A fresh platter of fruit and pastries had been delivered and Isabella helped herself while Aralia poured her another coffee. Aralia began to question her about her dreams. When had Keira first visited her? What did she wear? Did she speak? Was Isabella aware of specific knowledge coming to her in her dreams? When did Ishtar appear? Isabella answered to the best of her recollection. Aralia was most excited when Isabella described the way that her inner guide gave her confidence and insights when she found herself in new sexual situations.




Isabella Awakening Ch. 09



"Has it always been so?" asked Aralia.

"Since I was first molested by my uncle Anton," replied Isabella, "although I really allowed that to happen. I was aware of his motivation, his feelings and his thoughts. I could see what was happening as if I had a separate ethereal body, floating above me in the room. It has happened that way often; at least when I find myself in a new situation and I feel I need for guidance and reassurance. She always comes to me."

Aralia nodded. "I have never heard of so clear a manifestation," she said. "Some of us believe that we feel Keira's presence when in the throws of great passion, but I have not heard of an outsider making so close a connection, and never one so constant and purposeful. If we were of the regular church, we would say this was a miracle," she smiled. 

"What does it mean, Aralia? Am I possessed?" Isabella asked.

"Possessed?" Aralia replied. "I have never heard of such a thing. But I suppose, in way, you are. Does it concern you? Would you rather be free of this...ghost?"

"Oh no! She and I are like old friends. I have learned to trust her and to welcome her. She makes no demands on me beyond my own wishes. Sometimes it is a little strange," Isabella remembered her rebuff of her brother Gustav's advances after Donna Elvira's funeral. "But I have great faith in her."

"Then there is no problem," said Aralia "only great joy!"

The women finished their coffee and Aralia suggested they make their way to the children's quarters. She produced a plain dress with a headscarf, describing it as an A'abaya, a traditional costume for women worn by the women of The Sanctuary whenever they left the Bey's central compound. They donned the clothes, wrapped their heads and left The Sanctuary through the side door.

The eastern side of the Bey's palace grounds was where the stables and other outbuildings were. Aralia and Isabella made their way among the buildings with Aralia calling greetings to the men and women who worked among the horses, in the laundry or in the large open sheds where machines such as buggies and carriages were housed. Isabella noticed that the work was not necessarily divided along traditional lines -- she saw men washing clothes and women tending the horses. When they reached a doorway in the compound's outer wall, a guard opened it for them and moved aside. Aralia spoke to him and he nodded them through.

Outside, the ground was stony and quite dry. The hot summer sun and the wind had burnt the tufted grasses to brown and the scattered shrubs looked in need of a drink. The contrast with the inner plaza, with its fountains and lush greenery, was remarkable. A well-worn path through the empty, boulder strewn landscape lead to another walled compound 300 yards away and it was to this that the two women walked quickly, both eager to get out of the heat. Before they were half way there, Aralia raised an arm and waved towards the compound. A few seconds later, Isabella saw a door open in the wall and two uniformed guards step out to greet them. They were ushered into the compound.

Aralia took Isabella's hand and walked her to the main building, similar in design and style to the Bey's palace but only two storeys at the front. They climbed the broad steps and the door opened.

Once inside, Aralia removed her headscarf and loosened her robes and Isabella did likewise. Servants were moving through the main entry hall, itself a smaller version of the grand hall in the palace. Aralia greeted the servants and introduced Isabella. She then guided her along a corridor that opened into a large open space where children sat together in small groups or played at games. Isabella saw Gabrielle and Ashanti at the far end of the room with a small child. As soon as one child saw Aralia, there was yelling and a small, noisy stampede started in her direction. Children ranging from toddlers to around 12 were shouting her name and trying to kiss or hug Aralia, who was laughing and trying to greet each child by name. Isabella had to step back to avoid being caught up in the crush.

Ashanti appeared by her side and called out, "Enough, please! We have a visitor her and it is impolite to ignore her so."

There was silence and Ashanti smiled, "Friends, this is Isabella from Italy. She has come to stay with the Bey and she is a good friend of Magus Thomas."

"She is very beautiful, Ashanti" came a small voice from a girl of perhaps seven in the front of the group of children.

"Yes, she is, Marta. I hope you will all enjoy Isabella's company while she is with us."

"Thank you, Ashanti, and thank you, Marta. You are a very pretty girl too," said Isabella. "I would love meet you all."

Gabrielle joined the group and hugged Aralia and Isabella. "Hello, my love. I'm so glad you came today. I was just working with Ashanti. Some of the children have been a little ill lately and we have been checking their glands for inflammation. Everything seems to have settled down now, thankfully."

"So Ashanti is your assistant?" asked Isabella, as the children drifted back to their games or studies. Aralia took a small child onto her knee and they hugged and talked quietly.

"More of an apprentice, I would say," said Gabrielle, looking fondly at Ashanti. "She is very competent and could really do most of the regular work herself. We are hoping that Thomas will consider her a candidate for further training at the school."

"Is that how students are recruited?" asked Isabella, intrigued by the whole idea of women being trained and educated in an environment of open sensuality.

"Certainly many of the new recruits come from the families of past graduates," said Gabrielle. "Others are recommended by Patrons or are 'discovered' by Daughters in the course of their daily lives."

"How many students are there?"

"It varies," said Gabrielle, "Right now, the school is enjoying a great resurgence. We have three centers, in Vienna, in Delhi and at the original monastery at Quillan. I guess there would be around three hundred girls now. We would normally spend around six years as a student before either taking vows or returning to normal life."

"I am truly fascinated by the school and by the Order itself," said Isabella. "You must tell me more. And what of the boys?"

Gabrielle laughed. "Oh, the males are looked after too, but not at the upper school. Children are educated together in parish schools until they are twelve and then the boys will be sent to continue their studies elsewhere. The formal education of the Daughters does not start until a girl is at least seventeen." Gabrielle took Isabella's hand. "Let us go and meet some of the children, shall we?"

Ashanti joined them for a tour of the children's quarters and acted as Isabella's guide. This main room was for day classes and group activities, the children deciding each day what activities they would pursue. Adult guidance and involvement was subtle and provided only on request, the older children taking on supervisory or leadership roles for the small self-selected groups. Languages, art and history seemed to be the main subjects being pursued today but Ashanti explained how nature studies and mathematics were also studied and taught as practical studies, the children encouraged to use their native intelligence to discover things before pursuing book knowledge. Not that books were absent from the classes. Some of the children were reading or writing and a bookshelf on one wall held dozens of volumes.

Gabrielle encouraged Isabella to join on of the groups of children who were discussing historical subjects and Isabella found them to be both knowledgeable and genuinely interested in their subject; in this case the French royal family.

After a few minutes with the group, in which Isabella found she had actually learnt several new things, Ashanti drew her away to visit the rest of the compound. The older children, those over ten, had their own private sleeping and study rooms upstairs, while the younger ones shared rooms on the ground floor. The kitchens were alive with activity and Gabrielle explained that the children were expected to assist, not only in the preparation of their meals, but in the growing and purchase of the food and in the planning of the household. Isabella realized that any child educated here would have sufficient knowledge and skills to manage a household, and probably earn a living, by the time they were thirteen.

In the central plaza, similar to that of the palace but with more open areas, presumably for games, Aralia joined Isabella, Gabrielle and Ashanti for a cool drink. 

Ashanti and her mother sat together exchanging family gossip while Gabrielle and Isabella kissed and talked of Gabrielle's plans for a book on traditional women's medicine.

"The old ways are in danger of being lost," she explained. "Particularly in Europe, where men have taken medicine as their exclusive domain. The issues that women face are considered secondary and not seriously studied by the modern scientific men. Yet the problems and the solutions are often already known and may be very simple."

"Do you mean matters relating to pregnancy?" asked Isabella.

"Indeed, but also difficulties of the menses, moods and diseases that women fall prey to." Replied Gabrielle. "Here, let me give an example I learned last year from a healer woman in Algiers." She rose and went to a nearby lemon tree, selecting a ripe fruit and bringing it back to the table. She drew a folding knife from the pocket of her robe and carefully cut across the lemon about a third of the way from its end. She scooped out the soft fruit, leaving a hollow lined with the white pith.

"That," she said, handing the hollowed out lemon skin to Isabella, "is one of the most effective means of staving off pregnancy and disease I have ever known."

Isabella was puzzled. "How is it used?" she asked.

"It is a cap for the womb," said Gabrielle. "Inserted deeply and firmly," she held the lemon cup with the hollow side upwards, "It provide both a physical barrier to the passage of sperm into the womb and its remaining juices also kill both sperm and disease. I have not known a woman who uses this method to become pregnant or contract the pox. So simple, and much more effective than just douching. Although used together they are a complete answer to keeping ones pussy in good health." She smiled and placed the lemon cap on the table in front of her.

Isabella noticed that Aralia and Ashanti had stopped talking and were watching Isabella's reaction.

"I am impressed, yet again, Gabrielle," she said. "Does the same size cap work for all women?"

"Almost all. A woman can try different cuts of the lemon until she finds one that fits well and is comfortable. Some may need smaller or larger fruit. We are growing grapefruit now so that Jax can use this method."

Aralia and Ashanti burst out laughing and Isabella too giggled and shook her head.

"But we should not use our capacious Sister as the butt of all jokes," apologized Gabrielle smiling. "Would you like to take this," she proffered the lemon cap to Isabella, "to try later?"

Isabella pocketed the lemon cap. "Replace it every day, or night." Said Gabrielle.

Aralia spoke, "Isabella, Kahlia was talking this morning of the Horn of Joy. Did she mention it to you?"

"No, she didn't say anything to me. But we are to meet in the library after lunch, perhaps I should take it to her."

"I'm sure she would appreciate that," said Aralia. "She's very interested in the inscription. It has been the subject of considerable debate over the years. Gabrielle, you have seen the horn. Were you able to decipher the inscription?"

Gabrielle blushed, "I'm afraid I did not look that closely, Sister. I was...more interested in...other aspects of the Horn."

Ashanti blushed this time and Aralia patted her knee and laughed. "I do understand! Praxis first! I would have done the same."

They finished their drinks and Aralia and Ashanti excused themselves to attend to the children while Gabrielle said she had to visit Natalie in the infirmary and offered to escort Isabella back to main compound. They left through the main entrance.

"How is Natalie today?" asked Isabella as they walked, heads wrapped in scarves back to the palace wall.

"Oh, much improved this morning. She is still withdrawing from the opium I gave her during the first few days, but is otherwise in good spirits. She wants to meet you and I am urging her to visit The Sanctuary tonight."

"Will she be up to visit?"

"Oh, it will do her good. And tonight will be a lot more relaxed than last." She smiled.

They reached the door in the wall and Gabrielle knocked twice. The guard opened it for them and they made their way to the side entrance of the palace. Once inside they kissed and parted, agreeing to meet that evening in The Sanctuary.