The Baroness and the Painter

A village on the Peloritani Hills, Province of Messina, Sicily, the late sixties

They called him the painter, but no villager had ever seen his paintings; nobody bothered, because all the art they knew was that of Madonnas, baby Jesuses, and Saints from the crude frescoes that decorated their rural church. They thought, and rightly so, that the man with the unshaven look and the stained clothes could not be the author of images of any religious inspiration.

That afternoon he was sitting at a table alone, outside the bar of the village, drinking a beer.

A large, black Bentley parked at the other side of the street.

It was rumored that the young Baroness, owner of the Manor was an eccentric, and using this vehicle on the narrow, dusty road that led to her villa surely confirmed this impression.

But It was not just the car to leave an impression: the driver was not like anyone they had ever seen.

it was a woman in her late twenties, in a tight light grey uniform that barely restrained her wide, but shapely frame, with large, curved hips and round, soft breasts that pushed against the jacket closed by gold toggles that shone under the sun.

That majestic figure was completed by a beautiful face, with large chestnut eyes, a sensual mouth, a strong chin, and thick hair, the color of ripened wheat, tied in a bun.

She looked around, as if she owned the place, projecting all the dignity of the aristocratic woman she served.

She ordered a coffee at the bar and the only male customers stared at her with a mix of awe and desire.

Only the painter dared to comment, without addressing anybody in particular but loud enough for everybody to hear:" I can take this woman, undress her and then fuck her on the floor, squeezing her fat boobs, until she starts mooing, just like the cow she is."

She finished her coffee, like she had not heard anything, and then on the way out she looked straight into the painter's eyes.

She pulled off the comb that held her hair; now a golden shiny halo appeared around her beautiful olive oval, and she smiled at him.

"What's stopping you?" she said, and then walked back to the car and left.

The next day when the painter arrived at the bar, the owner had a written message for him: "Tomorrow after lunch I will come to pick you up."

He did not order anything and went back home.

The next day he had shaved and wore a clean white shirt and velvet trousers; the car arrived, and he left sitting next to the driver, while the village's children run happily behind them.

Of course, she had changed; possibilities had become certainties; but this was more in a certain flash that crossed her eyes, than in her body, that had remained lean, but soft around the hips and the chest; after all, the Baroness was not yet forty.

"You have aged," she remarked instead, unkindly, grinning.

"I can't say the same of you."

"Lying will not take you far," she replied.

"I don't need to go anywhere, I reached my destination," he insisted.

"It was stupid of you to leave Palermo and your wealth."

"When you refused to marry me, the city seemed boring, and my brother will surely make a better use of our family's possessions."

"When I told you no, I knew I didn't want to be yours. Soon after I realized that I couldn't be a man's property."

"That's reassuring."

Suddenly her silver-green eyes became colder.

"You provoked my driver...to be summoned, I assume."

"I waited years in the village close to your villa, initially I just wished to be near a place that belonged to you. Then I discovered that you also withdrew to the countryside."

"You escaped like a defeated soldier, I moved to advance like a winning heroine establishing the source of her power."

"When I saw your driver, I understood that."

As to confirm these last words, a young man, naked, but for a ribbon around his waist, entered the room.

He had the greyish skin of the local peasants when they are not exposed to the sun. He was hairless, but for the short bristly, black hair on his head.

He moved next to the Baroness, who took his elongated, but soft penis and started playing with it. Even under the stimulation, the boy remained still and expressionless.

"Damiano has been well trained from young, I wonder if the same can be done with an older man, his fickle cock might need harsher ways to subdue it."

"Sometimes a foolish man can mend his ways, and accept that he tried to escape his destiny, to which he will need to be led back, sometimes with painful means. He can only hope to be up to it."

"What I should add is that I learned that I was born to own men and be served by them. I learned that I was born to make them know pain and to break their pride."

"I realized that much, Anna."

She slapped him.

"From now on you should address me as Baroness, or Mistress. I won't tolerate any familiarity. Now, if you are ready, kneel and lick my feet, Cosimo."

She kicked one of her exquisitely embroidered slippers, and at the same time the painter kneeled and started licking the bare foot.

It was clear now that she was enjoying her victory; she was stroking excited the boy's cock, which was unable to resist. It had become rigid, long but thin like a flute. A soft cry escaped his mouth.

Cosimo continued, with increasing fervor, under her triumphant eyes. She was now squeezing the boy's balls, who repressed a cry of pain.

Beyond the faint taste of limestone dust, he could smell the fragrance of her lavender soap, and of course, the rich aroma of her skin, distilled in sweat - he felt that there could be no greater act of intimacy.

Suddenly, annoyed by that demonstration of devotion, she removed the foot that he was licking and kicked his chin, making him lose balance.

He composed himself and looked at her, still bent on the floor, waiting for her to speak.

"You understand that Emilia needs to get satisfaction for your impudence."

"I understand that. It's not that I can have a choice, Mistress."

"Undress then."

He was soon naked. The signs of age showed, but he was not yet at the point when being mature meant decay.

He had a robust complexion, a strong stomach, but it was clear that he was fit, through the long walks and the labor work he undertook in the village. His penis was thick, a true manifestation of manhood, and the exchange of words had made it hard.

He looked at her, and she enjoyed his uncertain look.

"You seem a virgin on her first night...aren't you pathetic?"

He didn't say anything.

"Turn! I want to see your ass!"

He obeyed, and then waited for further instructions.

This was not something he had expected: to be examined in a room, exposed like a piece of meat at a market, or a horse at a fair. It was a strange and new feeling hoping to be appreciated for his buttocks.

"It's all yours! You can turn Cosimo." The driver was now with the Baroness, and a third woman in uniform was with them. With a light spank on his muscular ass, Donna Anna asked the young boy to leave the room.

Then, looking at him she said: "Let's go!", and they moved to the next room, a large hall, flooded with light, with open windows which gave on a lemon orchard.

The driver and the third woman tied his wrists and calves to a large wooden frame, that occupied the center of the room; he could barely move now.

With a corner of his eyes, he saw Emilia taking a long leather whip from a drawer. The other woman instead held a long, thin stick, similar to a conductor's baton.

"You'll spend the rest of the afternoon here. Emilia and Vincenza will take turns in punishing you. By the evening hopefully you'll have learned your lesson."

The swooshing sound of the whip breaking the air announced the first, vicious blow, and more followed, leaving him breathless. Then, totally unexpectedly, the stick hit the basis of his penis shaft.

"Vincenza is the stewardess of the house and has little sympathy for erected cocks...she thinks that they are a sign of disrespect..." laughed the Baroness, while the other two women continued to hit him methodically, without caring for his cries of pain.

"I leave you in hers' and Emilia's hands...see you later!"

He wished to beg for mercy, but he knew that it did not make any sense. He watched the woman he loved leave him alone at the mercy of the two tormenting strangers.

How could he stop the caning and the whipping? He wished his cock could become as small as that of a little child, soft and harmless so that Vincenza would not take offense from it, and for the whip, he hoped that sooner or later Emilia would be convinced that the marks on his ass and back won't make him forget easily to avoid improper comments.

The beating stopped suddenly, and he lay, motionless, suspended to the frame through the ropes. He breathed heavily, covered in sweat and blood.

"You heard it...this is not over...we will visit you again from time to time and check on you, make sure you haven't forgotten your lesson...now you can thank us!" said the driver.

Vincenza hit him once more, this time on the scrotum.

"Ahahah!...thank...you...Vin... - another blow arrived - ah-hah! Miss...Vincenza..:" now it was time for the whip to be heard. "Ahahah! Thank ...you...Miss Emilia!"

He was alone now, in the large room, made hot by the sun rays that hit through the windows. Sweat poured copiously not only from his forehead but from all his body. He guessed that he could be seen from far, a naked beaten body suspended to a wooden frame. Anybody living and working in the estate could see him; he wondered how often this happened and if he was setting an example for others, though it was difficult to imagine that Damiano, that little, meek boy, had ever deserved such a punishment.

True to their words, the two women returned, from time to time, usually alone.

Emilia was happy to repeat her whippings at once, while Vincenza, who had not uttered a single word so far, seemed to challenge him. She did not hit Cosimo immediately, but waited for his cock to rebel, even against his own wishes, and wake up. Only at that point, she smiled at him, cruelly, and the stick landed its precise, powerful blows, which left him breathless.

Naked boys took turns to visit him: they cleaned his back with a sponge, once they made him pee in a bottle, and another time they came to make him drink water from a glass.

Much like Damiano, they seemed local country boys, used to serve without questions their superiors. They all wear ribbons around their waist, with the same gold and myrtle green colors, and their penises hanged lifeless; they surely had learned from Vincenza's lessons. One of them though wore a steel cock cage, with a ring at the basis, that continued with a thick wire that ended inside his anus. Was that a punishment of a sign of distinction? Of course, there was no way to ask.

Vincenza and Emilia returned together; this time the stewardess didn't lose time. He was already broken, ready to take anything, and for the first time, he looked at her, trying to distract himself from pain. Like Emilia, she had blond hair, but in her case longer, parted aside. She was taller, and somewhat slimmer, but still full; he thought that she might be the elder sister.

Of course, the whip was dancing on his back too, but it was the stick that robbed all his attention, all his hope that this could stop; and when it happened, finally, two boys walked in and untied him. The sun was still high, but it didn't have anymore the fierceness of noon.

He couldn't stand on his feet; the two boys took him to an adjacent room, almost bare, and he lied in the dark on the white porcelain tiles.

Here they started cleaning him, more thoroughly than they had done before, a rivulet of blood and water flowing from his body to an outlet at the center of the room.

Finally, they gave him more water, and they led him through the house until they reached a cabinet room where Donna Anna was waiting for him.

The small space was not any different from others in patrician palaces, not only in Sicily but in the whole of Europe: flowery wallpaper, fragile furniture passed by through generations; chinaware of uneven quality, in this case with a prevalence of rococo Capodimonte figurines, shared the furniture tops with fading family photos in silver frames.

On the walls, among paintings of ancestors and landscapes, hang a large wooden emblem of the family: it represented a tree of lemon, with yellow fruits and green leaves.

He understood now that the ribbon that girded the boys' hips was just a sort of essential livery.

Cosimo knelt, and without saying anything reached for her feet, in an act of submission.

"Stand! I want to look into your eyes!"

"Yes, Mistress!"

She saw what she needed to see, that he had learned that what his hopes and wishes, his desires and needs, didn't count anymore. That any mistake, any disattention, was going to be punished, without mercy. That nobody cared for him, that he was alone in this, that his training would never end and his obedience never taken for granted, but always tested.

"Vincenza and Emilia didn't spare themselves...I guess that Emilia was truly angry and Vincenza...well...she needs no excuse to bend a man's will...I guess that making your cock hard now would be a very painful exercise..."

She extended her hand, held his limp penis, and then let it go and swing.

He clenched his teeth, even the slightest touch renewed the pain.

The woman he desired caressed his cock with her long, translucent fingers, but he was unable to react, and indeed she was testing exactly that, that he did abdicate control of his sex.

He only wanted to lie down, maybe sleep, and absorb the day's lesson.

Another young man, whom he had not seen before, entered the room. Like the others, he was naked but for the ribbon, but at the same time he looked very different. If the other boys seemed peasants' sons, this looked more of an aristocratic scion. He was tall, with sculpted muscled and a narrow waist. He had lovely curls, that made the painter think of Michelangelo's David. The tiny penis too, made him think of that statue: if the convention had restrained the sculptor, he wondered if in the case of the boy in front of him, it was just nature or if it had been the patient job of the women of the house that, through restraining devices and education, had made his penis not match bigger than his wrinkled prepuce, matched by a miniature scrotum.

He knelt on an ottoman, turning his back to him. Damiano entered with an ampoule. The Baroness immerged two fingers in it, extracted them dripping with oil, and slide them into the anus, that the young man, holding his butt cheeks, was offering her.

The painter couldn't avoid admiring his beautiful, tonic skin, white like alabaster; around his shaved anus it faded in fuchsia pink.

"Isn't he a beautiful toy? "commented the Baroness.

Now she pulled the fingers out and reached one of two tall glass cabinets: from it extracted a rubber dildo, complete with its harness.

Looking better, Cosimo could see that the cabinet was full of similar objects, in different materials and shapes.

"Ahahah - laughed Donna Anna - in the last eight hundred years the ladies of the house have always known how to entertain themselves without their absent or indifferent husbands ... I guess that a few of these objects have historical and artistic value..."

Keeping her blouse on, she let her skirt fall and wore the dildo; glimpsing her beautiful ass made the painter blush, overwhelmed by desire.

Now the young man had turned toward him, and they looked at each other: he could read the very moment she penetrated him by the way he bit his lower lips.

She continued moving inside him, with all the rich variations of strength, speed, and rhythm of a musical sonata. The boy reacted at them like a well-tuned instrument, docile yet responsive. In the end, blushing, he expelled a stream of fluid.

Satisfied, the Baroness stood and untied the dildo.

"The little bitch can't resist a proper anal fucking...clean the floor Federico, and you, come here!"

While the younger man started licking his fluids from the wooden parquet, Cosimo moved to kneel in front of Donna Anna. She lit a cigarette, extended a heeled shoe to play with his exposed cock.

Even if swollen and bruised, it couldn't avoid reacting at the stimulation and the sweet smell of the Baroness' vulva; after all, even if the blouse covered her hips, she was naked below the waist.

"Would you cum by making love to a shoe? You never learn!" she said, with irony, and soon a hail of blows hit his back, like burning flames.

He imagined a bald, muscular man whipping him, like the cart driver he had seen once whipping mercilessly his rebellious mule, but then he turned, and of course was Vincenza who had entered the room, swiftly and unannounced, to attend to her work; this time with a whip made of coiled steel wires.

"Stop now, Vincenza! Bring Federico out and call Emilia! You can stand, Cosimo!"

"It was nice to meet you again - continued the Baroness - and I am sure you realize I own you now. I own your body, your holes, you cock, your produces...or course you can't fuck or be fucked without my permission, you can't spill your sperm...I could say you can't eat, drink, pee, or shit without me allowing it...but for these last, I'll pass. When you are at the villa you'll be naked...of course, you'll get your ribbon, like the other boys..you've earned it," she added laughing.

"Emilia will take you home now."

The painter looked at the Baroness once more, he wanted to keep her image in his memory, then he left behind the driver.

They crossed the Italian-style garden in front of the main entrance - Emilia in her severe grey uniform, he naked and marked by canes and whips, and they reached the small porter's lodge.

He found his clothes there, discarded on the floor: he wore them and took his place in the car. While driving,

A few months later

Many in the village thought that Assunta brought bad luck because her husband had died young while working as a construction worker abroad.

After that, she had sustained her living, besides receiving a small pension, by cutting and arranging the hair of the women and children of the village.

She was tall, and maybe too thin, with a large mass of unkempt black hair that seemed to contradict her profession; her raw sensuality made a few men forget superstition for the pleasure of sharing her sheets.

Yet she was able to keep her independence, and maybe for that reason, she seemed to be favored by the women at the villa.

After his first meeting with the Baroness, Cosimo had been instructed to come to see Assunta before visiting the villa.

She had a shed, attached at the rear side of her house.

Here the painter undressed completely, kneeled on his fours on the floor covered by straw, and let her fill her anus with a full bucket of water through a large, tin syringe. She sealed his ass with a plug made of cork, and then proceeded to shave his pubis, his balls, and the hair that grew on his inner thighs; for the last, Donna Anna said: "You look like a goat with them on!"

After that, Assunta made him expel the dirty water under her eyes, without allowing him a minimum of privacy, on the opposite, commenting loudly on the foul smell he produced.

Complete that operation, it was time to shave his anus too, a job which she seemed to enjoy particularly.

He didn't know if the hairdresser was paid to take her of him; he knew that once she had finished, she pretended that he lowered his mouth on her hairy vulva and worked with his tongue until she cummed.

Only then he could dress and wait for Emilia.

Once in the car, she always slid her hand to undo his trousers and extracted his member.