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.
