A painter’s apprentice chapters 1 and 2 (more to come) - Sex Stories

A painter’s apprentice chapters 1 and 2 (more to come)

... altarpiece. Her mother had died when she was a small child and her father, Jacopo della Rizzi said it was because of the falling sickness; she perished of epileptic fits. There was no further need for explanation because she could still remember them; her mother collapsing and going rigid, her limbs trembling and her body writhing, and the incoherent mumbling afterwards. Father Bellicci at first concluded that the fits were brought on by demons. After several unsuccessful attempts to cast them out, he moved onto other remedies. “This,” said father Bellicci, giving Jocopo a ring “is made of iron and carries the blessing of St. valentine. It cures falling sickness.” Jacopo sought remedy after remedy until his wife finally went into a fit on the floor and writhed until her face turned blue and her body went cold and still for good. From that day on they never went to mass again. Jacopo began to beat Lecretia, and forced her to milk and tend the cows from sunup to sundown. He drank away their wages and left Lecretia cold and hungry. She thought of the painting at the altar. The man’s ribs were protruding and gnarled like dead branches and in them she saw her own hunger. His eyes were rolled back in pain and in the man’s eyes she saw her own suffering. “Why don’t we go to mass again?” She asked Jacopo timidly. Jacopo’s eyes suddenly brimmed with hatred, but he kept his composure. “You’re dumb aren’t you, little whelp? Do you even know what Father Bellicci preaches about every ...

... Sunday?” Lecretia looked down, her face red, and shyly dug her toe into the dirt. She didn’t want to be called dumb and longed to prove her father wrong, but realized that she had no idea what father Bellicci preached about, since she never listened. “He preaches about giving to the poor! Why then, does he try to build the grandest cathedral in all of Italy while the peasants go hungry?” Lecretia didn’t know. “He’s a damn liar!” “The choir boys, they have the voices of angels, no? Why do their voices never change? Their voices never get deeper as they age. Why?” Lecretia didn’t know. “Because they’ve been castrated like steers.” He paused for a moment to relish the horror on Lecretias face. “Father Bellicci preaches about chastity while he fucks the altar boys. What do you think he’d do to your cunt if he got the chance?” Lecretia said nothing. She never asked about mass again. Lecretia was now fifteen years old. She was thin from hunger, but her eyes were large and bright and her hair almost black. She still thought of the altarpiece and dreamed of the day she could meet the artist and praise him for his subtle brilliance. She once traced the form of the dying man onto a scrap of wood using a piece of lead. She was concentrating on capturing the curves of his form and the expression on his face from memory when her father walked into the barn. Jacopo was accompanied by his neighbor, Giovanni D’antonio. Their lips were stained purple with wine. “You never told me you were an ...