Rome, in the year 1600, Lorenzo da Roccia’s antique palace. Smooth and intense was the smoke that arose in the sombre atrium of the palazzo. It came forth from the last of the beeswax candles which had died out. She liked it that way. Darkness surrounded her, soothed her, while she was looking out of the open window and let her long, curly hair and flowing gown flutter in the fresh night breeze. Her sensuous mouth curled into a soft smile.

Her Master was out there. She knew he would come very soon. Her heart was beating faster than usual. She hugged herself and rubbed her arms, it was rather chilly here… but her cheeks were burning. Good idea, that she had sent all the slaves away. They could think she had caught a fever. She knew better, though. And she never could decide whether it was a good thing or a bad one to be in his company…

Tonight she would tell him, she thought with a sudden flash of bravery. It had been weeks since she last had roamed the city, on her own and unguarded except for one of the women, her personal servant, who had accompanied her. She took some strolls in the garden every day, but this had begun to bore her in the long run. She sat down on the cool stone bench and mused. Why did her Master keep her in so strictly? Why was she not allowed to leave the palazzo grounds any more, like before, and why did he regard such silence over it? She should be granted far greater freedom in her position. After the death of her Master’s wife long ago, she was practically the lady of the house and could command the slaves while the Master was away. Not that she remembered this or any other wife of his, nor did her Master talk about the olden days. No…She didn’t even know how old he really was, she thought absent-mindedly. Lorenzo da Roccia is fifty, people always said.

She must have dozed off, for when she heard the treads approaching softly but steadily on the marble floor, she couldn’t remember how much time had passed. She slowly opened her drowsy eyes and beheld his glorious form before her, illuminated by the light of one candelabre he held in his hands. “Cara? Everything alright with you, sweeting? I heard the slaves utter something about a fever you have caught? And for how long are you sitting there in complete darkness, window wide open? It is rather cold for a summer night…” For a moment her speech was cut off as she looked into his radiant smooth face where only the lines around his pastel mouth did form the slightest wrinkles. His brilliant eyes, a deep dark blue, appeared like magical gem stones she could drown in forever…

“Mirabella?” She awoke from her stupor. “It is nothing, Master”, she rushed to say, already on her feet as he had lifted her. “I sent the slaves away because I wanted to be alone…I missed you, Master.” She was surprised about her own words.

Instead of an answer, he seized her - never a serious burden to him, this graceful woman’s figure - and carried her upstairs, away from the chilly draughts into the safety of the masterly bed chamber. She could feel the soft cloth of his royal blue cloak as she snuggled against him, the wind still brushing through her hair. He sat her down on a chair before the antique toilet table. Behind her back arose the luxurious structure of the giant ebony four-poster bed with its ancient carvings and curtains of scarlet.

“No fever, you’re alright”, he told her after feeling her forehead, cheeks and neck. “But you should be more careful next time…” Something about his stern voice excited, even thrilled her in a cryptic way. What was it exactly that made her feel alive as never before, never before indeed since she came to his house as head of the servants? She knew there was a secret, a secret he carried or was part of, and in sharing his life, she would uncover that secret…if she was lucky.

“Did you eat sufficiently?”, he asked. Amazing… He was always so concerned about her! But in this case, she had to give in… She had felt slightly dizzy in the morning, slept until midday and the rest of the day felt a vague nervousness in body and brain, the kind she used to feel as a foreboding of thunderstorms. No, she hadn’t eaten.

Suddenly a young servant girl stood inside the room, waiting for orders. She was hardly surprised. “What do you want, my beautiful?” She raised her brows, looking into his face. Why this sudden boredom of hers? Anger, perhaps…? “Alright, alright… Some meat, and give me some vegetables…not much, please. Grazie.” Off the servant went, followed by minutes of silence. Finally the meal came, and knowing well how he would insist she finished it off soon, despite her slight disgust. But this was excellent food, she knew. Her eyes had remained fixed on the plate, since she knew how intently he watched her eating, swallowing. She was relieved when finally he shoved the plate away, fixing his regard solely on her.

“Oh, bellezza mia…can you guess what it is that I want of you?” Meeting his gaze, she tried to conceal the little shock these words had produced in her. His look was still focused on her face alone, as full of patience he waited for her to take action. Finally she couldn’t stand it no more and slowly moved towards the bed. Deep within she was shaking with painful excitement. She pushed the satin curtains a little to the side and finally lay down on the soft layers of silk. She gave a deep sigh, staring at the dark canopy above her full of tiny, most curious carvings. Her golden reddish curls flowed down like melted amber onto the pristine white sheets. Then she besought herself, repositioned so that her upper body was bent forward. Hesitantly, she began to loosen her light tunic. She didn’t dare to look up, yet she was certain her Master hadn’t moved from his seat. The thin fabric came off quickly. At last she lay on the bed, spread out in a womanly, almost beckoning position and looking steadily into his face. His immovable, stern look made her heart pound. “I want you to stand before me”, his calm voice came after another intolerable period of silence.

She obeyed instantly, though all kinds of probable scenarios arose in her mind the moment she stood up to place herself before him. Upright she stood between her Master and the bed, facing the chalk white wall. It wasn’t the first time she was presented stripped naked before her Master, so she was only half surprised that she didn’t blush. Without further order, she lifted her head, remembering suddenly the female figures she had so often watched in this palace. Proud and erect she stood, and indeed she wasn’t unlike the immaculate white marble statues of Aphrodite, Juno or Diana as she was set there, in an almost frozen position, while only her heart was beating, so very human-like, beneath her delicate terracotta teint.

“You resemble the eternal Venus”, she heard him say, more like a breath than an utter. He had stood up and now was placed to her left, while his penetrating glance glided from her high cheekbones to her neck and further down the luscious curve of her accentuated breast toward her navel. Then he moved behind her where her still pinned-up tresses offered a good view of her elegantly arched back. “Goddess…that’s what you were meant to be.” He didn’t touch her. She did feel not the slightest current of air. Was he still there at all…? “Master…” She hated how high, almost whining her voice sounded. She wasn’t sure what he meant by his words. Again she thought about all the exceptional statues of goddesses and heroes in the atrium and the great sculptor’s hall and how perfectly they were preserved, showing not even the smallest flaw… Many of them were made in recent times, that she knew, but there were also ancient sculptures among them for which the master had insisted that every missing features – heads, arms and all minuter details – were neatly replaced. Most of them were made of impeccable white marble, some of them were black marble, and all of them ever appeared to her as lifelike as any of the dramatically highlighted paintings of Caravaggio. “Do you mean to make me your spouse, Master?” Here it was, her question, brought forth as innocently as possible, though she regretted having asked at once… Apologize, something urged inside her, but she was extremely reluctant to justify herself… She had always been rather quick-tongued and even cheeky in her conversations with men, never caring much about what a girl should or should rather not ask. When she had lived with her father and brothers, she had driven them crazy on many occasions with her inquisiteveness and her thirst for knowledge outside a common woman’s sphere of interest. Women’s advice she sought less, probably because her chronically invalid mother had hindered every genuine interest. Now that it had been arranged for her to serve in one of the most respectable households of Rome, she wasn’t truly willing to keep back her tongue either.

“Cara, ragazza… was that a decent question to ask, hm…?” Her heart tightened, she couldn’t help the sudden flash of anguish his gentle scolding aroused in her. He was standing right behind her. Although she was taller than most other women, he still towered over her by almost two hands’ breadth. She felt the touch of his cool right hand on her bladebone, as sharply as some smack. With the other hand, he slowly unloosened her thick mane, so that it cascaded down her back in magnificent curls, stopping just above her curvaceous buttocks. So swiftly she could barely catch the movement, he had placed himself on the edge of the bed, the slender figure of the woman stretched out across his lap. Without any warning, she felt her plum shaped bottom hit with several hard strokes in quick succession. Soon both her cheeks were inflamed with a stinging pain, and she hadn’t quite had the time yet to gasp out in surprise. Now she gave a little cry of protest, since she found it impossible to move about in this pretty disadvantaged position. “Relax, my beauty…” The strokes had ceased. Instead of pain she felt a curious tingling sensation where the blows had hit, as if the fire had melted into a warm fluid of pleasure… It suddenly reminded her…it reminded her of…

“I knew what to do as soon as you told me you’d missed me… It’s what I always do to little humans, I enjoy thrilling their throbbing living flesh so much…” She closed her eyes in abrupt anger. Why had her imagination to be so vivid? She saw all the servant women parading in her mind’s eye – girls and young women only -, each of them so different, so unlike every other in their singular features, body shapes, hair and skin tones. Was she really merely one of them? Was that what he saw in her, one of his slaves? She couldn’t believe it, and yet it made sense… She was not really in a superior position, she was not treated right… Her demand rushed back, but it was hardly the right time to voice it now. The smacks came back, and she just couldn’t believe it. “Ah, principessa…”, he delighted while he spanked the young woman’s bottom with his firm palm, like a stern teacher punishing a misbehaving child. She decided to clench her teeth and keep quiet until he was finished. Afterwards, she could always invent some ways to claim her freedom…

“Alright, cara, now stand up and follow me… I decided to show you something. Something no other eyes will ever see. It belongs exclusively to me…” Despite her spur of fury, the sharpness of the last blows still stinging, she couldn’t help to look at him with big, wondering eyes. Don’t be a baby, she immediately scolded herself. But knowing well that he held her anew under his spell, she didn’t avoid his oceanic eyes anymore. Bare as she was, she followed him down…to a secret he chose to share solely with her, down dark winding stairs to his underground lair. He gestured for her to enter through a low stone entrance that reminded her of catacombs… And indeed she shrank back a second when she became aware of the vault-like chamber lit in an eerie light… Well, it was torchlight, actually, but who had lighted these black flambeaus on the walls? He must have entered here before. Her heart beat suddenly faster when she saw what the flames revealed… Several instruments, dark wood, and she recognized only a few of them. Several punishment benches, a pillory, a cross, a stretching bank… a torture apparatus with a pendulum… and in the farthest corner - a guillotine…? It was true, her knees went soft a little bit, but she still managed to look him straight in the eyes. A torture chamber, Master…?

And why had he brought her here, and her alone…?

It was then that she heard his blood-curdling laughter for the first time. Unbeknownst to her, he had analysed her look sharply, and he knew that beyond its present uneasiness, her mind was suffused with curiosity. It gave him a further hint of the toughness and fearlessness he had suspected her to possess from the start. His laughter, which for a few moments had been echoing through the ancient chamber, stopped as abruptly as it had started, and Mirabella could have sworn she had felt a touch of evil emanating from him, some inherent depravity she had never noticed before. Could it be that he brought servant women here to torture them…or even worse? It didn’t make much sense… She had never witnessed any loud arguments, never heard any anguished screams, as the Master treated all of his servants respectfully. There never were any punishments, not even sharp words. Yet before he had admitted to chastise some of them…or had he meant others, and whom…? She was determined to question some of the servants next time.

The continued silence between them unnerved her. She managed to break the gaze both seemed locked in and stepped slowly into the centre of the room to inspect the instruments.  All of them were made out of dark brown wood, and she had a hard time estimating them since she couldn’t make out any traces of usage. Only the stretching bank and the pillory appeared quite worn and seemed to be taken right out of a medieval setting. But it was the larger than life-sized cross which caught her attention. It stood a bit apart fixed to the wall on the right side of the chamber, and drawing nearer, she recognized the leather cuffs attached to each end by short chains. She stared at this sight for a long time, wondering how something like this could appear so beautiful. “The Saint Andrew’s cross…”, she heard him whisper close behind. “Want to get a taste of a real castigation?”

She felt his cool hand gliding down her spine, stopping at her tailbone, a feathery touch which nevertheless sent shivers through her whole body. She was held as firmly in his grip as if bound by iron chains. The silken fabric of her Master’s cloak brushed her left calf. She closed her eyes. “Yes, yes”, she meant to say, yet remained tongue-tied. I’m not afraid…

A sidelong glance revealed to her that he had cast off his cloak and now held a whip in his hands. A large crude leather whip. And he turned her around fully, so that she faced the cross again. One of his hands grabbed her mane roughly, tearing at her sculp. “My beloved, very brave…” Then he let go of her. She now was painfully aware of her nakedness and breathless with anticipation. When, after a few more agonizing seconds, the first blow hit her backside, she was surprised at the sharpness of the lashes’ bite. Even more so when he gave her no break from this at all and kept lashing out at her exposed flesh. She clenched her teeth, trying to shut out the pain. In her mind she envisioned the transformation of her backside as it reddened, developped welts and soon there would be blood… She moaned loud at the thought of it. At that moment he stopped and bid her to turn around.

“I’m gonna put you on the cross now. Do you want this new experience? As you can see, your feet will remain safely on the ground, so nothing’s gonna happen to you, my beauty.” She silently nodded. It was almost needless to tell him, he certainly knew she wasn’t afraid to try. She didn’t mind the leather cuffs closing around her wrists and ankles, but her limbs were being spread in a manner that her private parts were shamelessly exposed to him, a situation that embarassed her more than any other ever had. She knew he stood a few feet away from her now, yet she couldn’t see him as she was only thinking: Is this right? Can I let myself being subjugated in such a way?

“Remember, I acquired this cross solely for you…” There was his face again, drawing ever nearer in the half-light of the vault, his dark blue gems gleaming curiously as ever, his face emerging from the shadows to be fully illuminated, mouth half-opened in an indicated grin, blaze of teeth… She couldn’t help but watch fascinatedly…- just as the remembrance of her burning buttocks returned, the whip hissed through the air and cracked down on her breasts. She screamed in pain, but much more in shock.  How could he be so devious…?

The next lashes hit her left thigh, and she concentrated entirely on her position at the cross, her slender outstretched arms and enchained wrists, the view she had from up here… She was helpless, a victim to the blond man down there who kept on aiming the sharp thongs of his whip at her… And yet she also felt superior to him, as if lifted high above, and she wondered if Christ had felt anything like that when looking down at his tormentors. From this perspective, it was almost a welcome feeling, the appearance and the fading of the pain, a sort of triumph that she, a virgin to any torture, could endure it so well… She regretted her little scream. She would be brave for him, she would show him how fearless she really was…

The whipping continued all over her thighs, her knees, her lower legs… Mirabella clenched her teeth so as not to moan in anguish. She began to grimace with every blow, despising the sound of the wicked lashes cutting through the air… Still, he didn’t cease. She looked down on her bare body, surprised that it was relatively unscathed… Then she saw the whip emerging, thrashing her soft defenseless breasts which started to shudder beneath its sway. As the first welts began to form, her Master continued the castigation below them, moving the whip ever lower without lessening the harshness, and the woman could make out deep-red welts on her belly. She closed her eyes, not trying to escape the sensations anymore, and her mind swam in redness… The same treatment was continued on her thighs. Mirabella wished desperately to be able to moan out loud, but she didn’t allow such weakness… It was only when she felt a soft touch on her mound that she gave out a sigh, and very soon she recognized familiar fingers moving up and down her fine golden down, gently pulling at it and sending a tingling down her spine. The fingers retreated, her face was still turned upwards, and the cruel thongs cut into her sore thighs again. Another sigh… and yet another. He stopped!

“My beautiful, it’s almost done… do you wish to be touched?” She opened her eyes wide, staring to the ceiling. “Oh yes…My Master, yes.”

He swung the whip around, patting her mound with its handle. “Soon there would be another night and another instruction”, he whispered close to her ear. When she looked down, he was kneeling before her, his face in front of her invitingly presented vulva. With an almost absurd eruption of pleasure, her whole body a throbbing, aching mass only too willing to be raptured, she let his tongue enter her and drive her dripping flesh to a further series of unknown sensations. His sharp nails prickled her hips and swollen buttocks, mercilessly kneading her tormented flesh and thus heigthening her erotic ecstasies until she could stand it no longer. He was considering retreat, but her pitiful moans made him bethink himself and bury his fingers in her pulsating sanctum until her fount of pleasure rushed forward in one single violent gush. Then he released her from her bonds and picked her up in his arms. She snuggled up against him and tried hard not to sob out of exhaustion and the tension just overcome.

“Remember, all here belongs exclusively to us now”, he told her before he softly kissed her lips. “And I must warn you not to leave this house for a week…”

TO BE CONTINUED