Artistic Licence

by Vivienne Lafay

  Following Father Giacomo’s confident stride Carla reached a small chapel with family tombs and an altar which had a plain reredos. He gestured towards it with a smile.

  ‘Your masterpiece shall be displayed right there behind the altar. What do you think of that, eh? Everyone will see it when they kneel and pray.’

  ‘I am very honoured, and I am sure my master will be too.’

  ‘Come, I wish to show you the other works of art we have here in our church.’

  First he showed her a Madonna and Child, which he claimed was far inferior to her own work although Carla found it quite charming and well-executed. There was an elaborate altarpiece with Christ in Majesty and the saints ranged behind; statues of the Virgin with Saint Jerome and Saint Paula; an attractive painting of Saint Martin dividing his cloak for the beggar, and a large fresco showing a group of flagellants in procession. It was before this last picture that the priest lingered, with a wistful expression on his face.

  ‘You see how those men in black are atoning for their sins?’ he said. ‘One of them is me. Can you recognise which one?’

  Carla peered at each face in turn until she found the unmistakably pudgy features of the priest. She pointed to it and he smiled. ‘That’s right,’ he sighed. ‘I was a member of that order until my hands were stricken. Now I can only just manage to grip the chalice and perform other sacred tasks. God sends such afflictions to try us, child, but sometimes it is hard to fathom why He should deprive me of the means to serve and honour Him.’

  Father Giacomo led the way back through the cloister to his study. He went to a small cupboard and brought out a long box of carved cedar wood which he laid on the table. ‘In here is my most prized possession,’ he smiled, opening the lid.

  Carla was amazed when he brought out a leather multi-thonged whip, with a beautifully decorated handle inlaid with coral and mother of pearl. The tip of each thong was threaded with a turquoise bead and he caressed them thoughtfully as he spoke in a dreamy, distant tone.

  ‘Those who have never experienced it cannot imagine the purifying power of the scourge, the immense relief that follows a vigorous self-cleansing. I tell you, boy, it is a mystery every bit as sacred as that of the Holy Mass. To feel the flesh chastened and subdued beneath the flying lash, to have one’s sins purged through suffering just as Our Lord made atonement for the sins of mankind – oh, it is a consummation most devoutly to be desired, and I bitterly regret its absence in my miserable life.’

  To Carla’s horror he tried to give her the leather handle around which he had bound the thongs. She shrank back, unwilling to believe what her mind was beginning to suspect. The priest gave a horrible smile, a wheedling look coming over his face as he took her right hand and pressed the whip into it, closing her fingers over the thick, stubby handle.

  ‘There, you now hold in your hand the instrument of my greatest bliss,’ he murmured, his eyes staring at her with the fevered intensity of a fanatic. ‘Just a few strokes will suffice to satisfy my soul, child. You need not attempt more than your strength will permit or your soul can take. I understand that, to a tender spirit, the very idea of afflicting pain is distasteful, but consider my need more than your squeamishness, I beg of you.’

  Carla felt the horrid thongs untwine from the handle and hang down, as if ready for service. She stared at it in horror. ‘I – cannot, forgive me!’

  ‘No, it is I who needs forgiveness. And I know it will not be granted to me until I have atoned for my sin. For me, there is only one way. If I could administer the flogging myself I would gladly do so but, as I explained to you, I am unable on account of my infirmity.’

  ‘But why me?’ Carla was near to tears. She was trembling all over at the thought of what she was being asked to do, wondering how on earth she could get out of it.

  Father Giacomo’s face softened as he gazed into her face with a look of blind adoration. ‘Because you have the face of a Madonna, my child. No matter that you are not a woman. Sometimes boys have a purity that women lack. That is why we choose their sweet voices for our choirs, and imagine them as little angels when they walk up the aisle in procession carrying their candles.’

  ‘But I am no angel.’

  He put his finger to his lips, shaking his head. ‘Indulge me, child, let me keep my illusions. If I can believe that I have been chastised by an avenging angel how much more complete will my purification seem. Now see, I get down on my aching knees to plead with you!’

  To Carla’s horror he lifted up his black skirt and fell with a groan onto the stone slabs. She felt mesmerised by his strange passion. Although she recalled Piero’s advice to make excuses and run she was rooted to the spot and could no more flee than she could speak. Her embarrassment increased as the priest hitched his robe into the cord at his waist and revealed his withered genitalia.

  Before she could recover her wits he was bending over on all fours, displaying the sagging cheeks of his naked buttocks. ‘Now, strike!’ he commanded her. ‘As many as you can manage, sweet angel of holy retribution, for I have grievously sinned!’

  She heard him muttering his prayers over and over in the silence that followed. At first she simply stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do, but the sight of his prostrate flesh was oddly tempting and soon she found herself raising the scourge aloft. The leather felt warm in her palm and she shook it experimentally to see the fronds dance in the air. There was a soft clinking of the little stones as they clashed together.

  ‘Ah, divine sound!’ the priest exclaimed, without looking round. ‘It is the music of the ancient sistrum that the Egyptians used in the worship of Isis. Sweet Virgin Mother, I now consecrate this instrument to thee! May my pain bring me closer to thy dear Son, whose agonies have ransomed the soul of every Christian.’

  Carla was disturbed by his talk, and grew impatient. If the only way to shut the old fool up was to whip him then she would do it. Hesitating no longer, she brought her hand down sharply and the thongs cracked as the stones buffeted against his pale backside.

  ‘Ah, bliss!’ the man exclaimed. ‘At last my miserable flesh is being healed!’

  Carla found the sight of him ridiculous, his words absurd. She remembered the village priest who had last heard her confession and a wave of irritation spread through her. What did those stupid priests know of life and love, cloistered in their make-believe world of sin and atonement? She raised her hand again, and this time the whip fell with more assurance upon the quivering flesh beneath.

  ‘Here’s one for Father Andrea!’ she thought. ‘Here’s for making me feel guilty when I was a willing partner and had no cause to feel shame!’

  The priest groaned as the little stones made their smarting impact on the soft cushions of his behind. His prayer became more fervent, taking on a grovelling tone.

  Carla smiled, lifting the instrument on high for another stroke. She thought, ‘This one is dedicated to you, dear cousin Stefano. For first seducing me, then thinking you had me in your power forever more!’

  This time the leather bit into the priest’s backside along with the stones, making red marks. He gave a long, shuddering moan and bent forward so that his chin was on the ground and his posterior raised even higher in the air. Looking down, Carla could see his balls swinging beneath his thighs in their flaccid sac.

  ‘Another?’ she enquired.

  ‘Yes – please, dear angel!’

  This time the blow would fall on Piero’s behalf, she decided. For keeping her in thrall to him in exchange for his silence, and for using her body without regard to her own feelings. The whip snaked down viciously and Father Giacomo shrieked with the pain, but now she was inured to the priest’s cries. He had become symbolic of all the men who had abused her in any way. This one was for Giovanni and his spiteful remarks. It proved to be the unkindest cut of all and it left the man prostrate and gasping, his buttocks a red lattice of weals.

  ‘I can do no more,’ Carla said flinging down the whip, her arm aching.r />
  The priest eventually managed to turn his head on his creaky neck and gave her a wan smile. ‘Thank you, thank you, blessed boy!’

  ‘May I go now?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I am duly shriven and my soul rejoices, even as my body suffers. Help me up, child, so that I may give you your just reward.’

  He staggered to his feet, leaning heavily upon Carla’s shoulder, then went over to a drawer and withdrew a small purse on a thong. ‘Here, your wages. You are to take these back to your master, and he will know what share you are to have. Let me fasten the purse on to your belt, for safe keeping.’

  Carla felt decidedly uncomfortable as the groping hands felt under the fold of her tunic for her belt. She was afraid he had other intentions and all the time that he was trying to tie on the purse she was expecting his hands to wander. Much to her relief, they did not. Once the money was secured he stepped back, smiling broadly.

  ‘You may tell your master I am well pleased with you – with your painting, I mean. If he will come to our church this Sunday he may see it fixed to the altar in the chapel I showed you. If it pleases him to bring you I shall be glad to see you both, and perhaps we may take wine together afterwards? That would please me greatly. Yes, greatly.’

  His manner was obsequious now, and Carla could not get out of his oily presence fast enough. She hurried back to the workshop with her hand over the bulge in her tunic where the purse was, and it was with great relief that she finally set foot through Piero’s door once again.

  They were very busy, as usual, and the minute Carla appeared there were cries for help from all sides, making her flustered.

  ‘Can you put some gesso on for me, Carlo?’

  ‘Where are those brushes you made yesterday? I’ve been looking all over for them.’

  ‘Do you know where there’s some more ochre and umber? We’re running out fast here.’

  She sighed, realising that until there was another commission she must go back to being a dogsbody again. Still she accepted her fate. In theory her status was less than even young Antonio’s, since he was a proper articled apprentice and she was not. So far she had been extremely lucky to be given the kind of work she had.

  Lucky? Nonsense! Carla corrected her thoughts as she bustled about the workshop. It was her talent that had brought her those opportunities. If only some day she could be fully recognised as an artist she would live and die happy.

  That evening Piero showed his usual curiosity about how she was received by their patron. His eyes gleamed at her in the twilight as he sat on the bed, pulling off his boots, and she knew that he was having lascivious thoughts about her.

  ‘What did that old bugger of a priest want from you?’ he asked, slyly. ‘More than just the painting, I’ll be bound. Tell me everything, Carla, and don’t spare any details. I’m in the mood for a bit of titillating fun!’

  She smiled at him, not averse to the idea herself, and settled down beside him on the bed. At first she described their visit to the church to see the altar where their work would hang.

  ‘Yes, yes, we shall go there on Sunday and see it for ourselves,’ Piero promised. ‘But what happened when you went back to his quarters. Did he make a grab for you, or what?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. It seems that he is one of those weird flagellantes who beat themselves cruelly to atone for their sins.’

  ‘I’ve seen them processing around from time to time, and a gruesome sight it is too.’

  ‘Well, he told me he couldn’t do it to himself any more because of his afflicted hands.’

  ‘Ha, that’s a good one! I must remember that next time a pretty girl is reluctant to wank me off! So, did you oblige?’

  ‘Yes. He brought out his whip, a rather beautiful one adorned with coloured stones, and asked me to lash his bare behind. I felt sorry for him, he pleaded with me so strongly. At first I was reluctant to inflict pain on him, but he entreated me and at last I knew that was really what he wanted.’

  Piero chuckled. ‘So you went ahead and beat the shit out of him? Good for you! There are a few more of those priests I wouldn’t mind giving a thrashing to myself. Not all of them, mind you. Like any profession the Church contains some pious and sincere men. But the ones I’m thinking of are those who preach hellfire and damnation, filling people’s heads with all sorts of nonsense just to keep them under their unholy thumbs.’

  Lazily, he lifted up Carla’s tunic so he could reach her small breasts and fondle them while she talked. ‘Tell me more,’ he went on. ‘Like I said, every detail.’

  ‘I was very nervous at first, afraid of hurting him too much,’ Carla confessed. ‘But the harder I hit him the more he seemed to like it. He called me his “avenging angel”, and praised our Lord and Holy Mother at every stroke.’

  ‘Ha! And how did his fat bottom look when you had finished with it?’

  ‘Very red and sore, but he didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, at the end he looked well pleased both with me and with himself. It was very strange. I could not understand it at all.’

  ‘Well I don’t know about going to extremes. I don’t think I’d like that either. But a little friction where it stimulates at a crucial moment can be extremely pleasant, and it’s given me an idea. Here’s how I want it to be tonight. First you will lick and suck me to the best of your ability so that my cock is strong and raring to go, but you will stop short of a climax. When you judge I’m teetering on the edge and about to come, I want you to turn me over and spank my bare backside until I shoot my load. Do you think you could manage that?’

  She told herself that at least she would be safe from getting pregnant that way. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Good girl. Take your clothes off then, I want to see your luscious little body in all its naked glory before we start. Madonna indeed! You’d be a better model for the Magdalene – before her conversion!’

  Carla stripped and knelt before him as he lay on the bed with his arms above his head and an expression of pleasant anticipation on his face. She felt a brief pang of disgust, seeing herself about to perform an act which she had come to regard as commonplace even though she knew nothing about it a few months ago. How far she had come since then: or was it a case of how low she had sunk? A priest would certainly tell her so, even that same priest that she had given such a beating earlier that day. Men! They were such hypocrites!

  Once she saw Piero’s thick member rise up to greet her, however, all such thoughts were banished as she applied herself enthusiastically to the task. She turned herself round, at her master’s request, so that he could fondle her genitals while she licked him and it wasn’t long before she felt the fire within and began to enjoy it as much as he. While she lapped at his glans with her little tongue she fondled his balls, feeling their hardness within the soft sac.

  What was it like to have a cock and balls, she wondered, not for the first time. Living amongst men as she did, she felt as if she had forfeited a part of her womanhood, for everything that made her a woman was hidden most of the time and she had no one with whom to share her feminine preoccupations. She did not have the time to be lonely, yet sometimes there was a wistful yearning for her gentle mother, her sister and village playmates. Men were coarse and vulgar, thought nothing of teasing each other to the point of cruelty, or turning their petty squabbles into fist-fights. Many times Carla had been obliged to dodge when someone threw a punch in her direction over some imagined misdemeanour.

  ‘Careful!’ Piero admonished her when she squeezed his scrotum rather too hard, a timely reminder that men could be sensitive creatures too.

  She licked the length of his shaft and he groaned in delight when she sucked at the slit in his glans which had just begun to ooze. Her hands caressed his stomach and thighs, feeling the furry layer of hair that made him a man and different from her. There was already a hollow ache inside her like a hungry wound, a craving to be filled. Now she could understand what desire was and how hard it could be to resist. The knowledge that
Piero had no intention of penetrating her this time only made her want it more.

  ‘Mind you don’t go too far now,’ Piero warned her. His voice was strained and she knew he was on the verge, so she slowed the pace, licking his bollocks instead of his dick and avoiding the swollen red tip entirely. She would make him wait for his satisfaction, the pig! Her own satisfaction would come when she took her hand to his bare backside and gave him a good walloping!

  His mouth moved to her pussy, gobbling hungrily, and the throbbing of her clitoris increased almost unbearably. She could feel the juices running out of her and trickling over her hairy lips, mingling with his saliva to bathe the whole region with musky secretions. She thought of Marco, imagined him coming in and finding them like that, and her imagination took it even further.

  What if he should join in, entering her from behind while she was thrashing the master? Her insides seemed to take a somersault at the very idea and she gave an involuntary moan. Piero grinned up at her. ‘What is it – are you getting excited too? Little minx, you’ve grown more and more randy since you’ve been living here. I’ve taught you a thing or two, haven’t I? You’ve got a lot to thank me for.’

  Yes, she thought, for without you I should never have been able to live here under the same roof as my beloved Marco. But her thoughts threatened to turn melancholy, and that would never do. Resolutely she applied herself to licking the tumid shaft once more and when it was practically bursting at the seams with unfulfilled lust she finished with a flourish of her tongue across his glans.

  ‘There you are – now turn yourself over and let’s have a look at those buttocks of yours!’ He obeyed with a groan, rearranging his tackle as he sank back onto the mattress. ‘Not like that, up on all fours!’ she told him. ‘Then I can feel your posterior nice and hard when I slap it.’

  ‘Oh, you are a little harridan!’

  ‘I’ll be whatever you want me to be, you know that,’ she said, but her tone was cynical as she added, ‘I’m Piero’s dog: you whistle, and I’ll jump.’