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

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

... herself she was mortified. She prayed that Mesalina hadn’t noticed. All Mesalina had done was wash her because she couldn’t wash herself. It seemed innocent enough. She just wanted to help. Yet it made her want to be touched in all the wrong places. She avoided Mesalina’s eyes. What would she think? She’d be disgusted with her if she knew. How disastrous that would be… If she disgusted Mesalina. As she thought of Mesalina’s bright brilliant eyes, and her kindness, she realized with great perplexity how much she wanted Mesalina to like her… To approve of her… She just wanted to please her. Lecretia looked up shyly and saw no judgment in her eyes. Her hands and her face were reassuring. But to her slight apprehension something in her smile seemed knowing. “Well at least you scrubbed the manure off.” Said Severina approvingly as she approached. “It’s up to my husband if you can stay. I’ve told him you were here and he wants to see you now.” They supported her as she walked and led her to a man sprawled out in an embroidered armchair. There were several empty wine bottles scattered around the floor. He smelled like liquor and sweat. His face glistened with snot. His swollen eyes were closed, and he breathed in a rumbling snore. His shirt was open around his barrel shaped chest. She suppressed an appalled gasp to discover that his trousers were unbuttoned and he lay carelessly exposed. She couldn’t quite hold back her disgust. To her he seemed entirely comatose. Suddenly he opened ...

... his mouth and a curt voice startled her. “Bring her closer,” he barked. She stepped anxiously nearer. “Lecretia, this is Lorenzo Sacci,” said Mesalina. “He’s a painter.” “One of the greatest painters in Italy!” said Severina straightening herself with dignified pride. Mesalina snorted sardonically and remarked under her breath, “He’s no Titian, but he’s good enough for Muro Di Pietra’s cathedral.” Lorenzo seemed not to notice either of them but Mesalina’s remark had hit her like lead. She felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. She struggled to wrap her head around this new revelation: This was the man who painted the altarpiece. Lorenzo Sacci. Was her childhood hero. She now looked avidly into his bloodshot half closed eyes. His mouth opened. He was about to speak. She listened earnestly. She thought excitedly of the altarpiece and keenly searched his snot-covered face for a trace of It’s genius. Instead purple vomit bubbled down his chin and he began to snore again. “I don’t want her.” He said at last. “This one’s too scrawny. “She looks like a prostitute’s whelp. And obviously the litter’s runt. She’s not good enough to be my servant.” Not good enough? Had she heard him right? Lorenzo’s words fell on her like a hammer and felt like a lead weight on her insides. Of course she’d been called worse things. But coming from the man she’d worshipped for so long… This unknown artist had felt like her only friend for her entire childhood. She felt her lip tremble and her ...