Artistic Licence

by Vivienne Lafay

  They were entering into the spirit of it with gusto, and Carla began to relax and enjoy herself. This might be the only chance she had to get real kisses out of Marco, and she was determined to make the most of it. Her lips parted through the mask and she savoured the taste of his tongue as it probed into her mouth, making her knees weak. His hand squeezed her right breast and she could feel her nipple harden with desire. Oh, how she wanted him!

  To be simulating passion in front of the crowd was one thing: to be really experiencing it was another. There was a sweet torment in her predicament that only made her want him more and more. She was surprised at the strength of his performance and began to wonder if he could possibly have guessed her secret. His lips moved near to her ear and he whispered, ‘Your padding’s very realistic, Carlo. I could well believe your tits were real!’

  Their dalliance was suddenly broken off when the cuckolded husband appeared and became the laughingstock of the audience as he ranted and raved in his despair. Carla felt disappointed as their little show drew to its close but she knew it would not be long before the whole thing was re-enacted again. She took up her statuesque pose and the cart rattled on its way to its next destination, but beneath her cool exterior Carla was feeling very hot and bothered. She could scarcely wait for their next stop!

  There were to be four playlets in all, at various points in the city, and each time Carla fancied that Marco was becoming increasingly amorous. Had he forgotten that she was supposed to be a boy dressed up? The way he kissed and caressed her could not be more convincing. Each time he seemed to hold her more firmly, to kiss her more passionately and to caress her more intimately. Was he becoming as aroused as she? Carla certainly liked to think so. While they performed she began to imagine what it might be like if he knew her real identity and was truly in love with her. She knew she would go on imagining such a situation for weeks to come, after Piero left her alone at night. Marco was giving her plenty of fodder to feed her dreams!

  Piero followed along behind the other floats, acting as cheerleader for the crowd although they hardly needed it. Carla noticed him watching her with increasing mirth as the afternoon progressed towards evening. He drank frequently from a wineskin and his face was flushed in the heat, his hair tousled. Even as she dreamed of what she and Marco might do together if they were lovers in real life, not just in fantasy, the spectre of her nights with Piero continued to haunt her. He had awakened a hunger in her that he could not assuage, and she increasingly believed that only her make-believe lover could really satisfy her.

  The carnival procession came to its final resting place near the cathedral and the apprentices were free to leave the float and enter the Baptistery, where the votive candles and other offerings were displayed. Carla was disappointed that her love scenes with Marco were at an end. She stuck close by him as they entered the candlelit building and he winked at her, whispering, ‘I can’t get over how like a girl you look, Carlo!’

  ‘What if I were a girl,’ she responded, daringly. ‘Would you fancy me then?’

  He gave her a bashful look, which pleased her immensely.

  The celebrations continued late into the night, with side-shows, ceremonies and concerts. At midnight the apprentices practically had to carry Piero home. He kept insisting he was fit to find his way to the whorehouse, but he was obviously incapable of doing any such thing. In the end they bundled him on to an abandoned cart and wheeled him through the streets.

  Carla was secretly relieved that she would have no trouble from him that night. She had spent the day dreaming of making love with Marco, savouring every one of his kisses and caresses, and she had no wish to have it all spoilt by the carnal demands of their master. She watched with amusement as Luigi and Matteo lugged him up the narrow stairs to his bed.

  Down in the apprentices’ quarters Marco and Giovanni were warming up the little cakes they had bought and putting on a hot posset. The youngest boy, Antonio, was already sleeping in his little alcove, overcome by drinking too much wine. Carla sat before the fire in her long dress, looking forward to her supper, but soon she became aware of Giovanni’s eyes upon her. They were hard and lascivious, and sent a cold draught of fear through her.

  ‘What do you think to our young impostor here,’ he said to Marco out of the blue, making her quail. ‘If you didn’t know he was a boy, wouldn’t you swear he was what he appears to be, a rather beddable young girl?’

  Marco laughed. ‘I’ve already told him that. It’s been weighing on my mind all day. I had to keep reminding myself that he has a cock and balls under those petticoats.’

  Giovanni’s next words chilled her even more. ‘Maybe we’d better check, just to make sure! I didn’t like the way Piero kept looking at her, as if he knew something we didn’t. You don’t suppose he’d be keeping something from us, do you?’

  Carla was terrified. She stared into the red heart of the fire, trying to pretend she could not hear what they were saying, but then Matteo and Luigi appeared and Giovanni enlarged on his suspicions to them. ‘What do you fellows think of our sister, here? Seems she’s become our master’s favourite ever since she gave him good head. Piero keeps her all to himself up there, doing heaven knows what to her and giving her all the best jobs. Doesn’t it make you sick, lads? I know it does me.’

  The others thought it a great game and joined in with enthusiasm. ‘Maybe she’d give us good head too,’ Luigi grinned. He pulled down his hose and waved his flaccid cock. ‘Can you breathe life into this thing then, little sister? I’d like to see you try!’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Marco said, but it was only a token protest.

  Carla sensed the mood of the company and it filled her with dread. They had all drunk a good deal of wine and were over-excited by the events of the day. In their eyes, the presence of a female impersonator in their midst was a poor substitute for the real prostitutes that they had been unable to engage since they were all occupied with more wealthy clients. They were full of the immoderate and indiscriminate lust of drunken men, and she could not predict what they might do next.

  ‘How about a game of “blind girl’s bluff”?’ Luigi suggested with a grin. ‘I don’t see why Marco should be the one to get all the kisses.’

  The idea was taken up with enthusiasm and before Carla knew it she was being blindfolded with a rag. Trembling with fear she stood before the warmth of the fire, wondering what they might do to her now she could no longer see.

  ‘Turn her round three times!’ Luigi commanded.

  Dizzy and disoriented, Carla stretched out her arms in front of her and heard the giggles and scuffles of the men pushing each other out of the way. The game was repugnant to her. She was afraid of falling into the fire, afraid of being brutally seized and subjected to all sorts of indignities. Worst of all, she was afraid of discovery. Her heart raced like a downhill stream as she bobbed her way unsteadily around the room.

  Someone touched her and she screamed aloud. ‘Hush you fool!’ she heard Giovanni say. ‘You’ll waken the master then we’ll all be in trouble.’

  ‘We can do something about that!’ Luigi said.

  Someone held her fast while another rag was pulled across her open mouth, effectively gagging her. She hated the oily taste and stink of the cloth but there was nothing she could do while they were pinioning her arms at her side, and she knew it would be futile to try and remove it. They were four strong men, and they had her at their mercy.

  ‘Let her go!’ she heard Marco say.

  ‘All right, let’s see who she catches this time,’ Giovanni said.

  She was spun round again and the room fell silent as she groped her way through thin air, feeling the masculine presence of the four sturdy apprentices even though she could see nothing. Every so often she would trap a tantalising scrap of cloth between her fingers, touch a lock of hair or skim a cheek, but every time they would be jerked from her grasp. She sensed that they were pushing each other away, but were they trying to escape her or vying
to be the first to claim the sweet forfeit of a kiss? The game had a peculiar edge to it since they believed her to be a boy. There was a tension in the air, the atmosphere one of ambiguity, of simultaneous desire and repulsion, of pursuit and flight.

  Despite her apprehension, Carla felt herself growing sexually aroused. What if Marco should be the one to catch her? She would give anything for another of his kisses, yet she sensed the others would not let him embrace her since he’d had more than his fair share already in their eyes. She fancied that she could sense his nimble form, pick him out from the others even though her eyes were bound.

  The game was growing more hectic, with giggles and curses whenever Carla’s outstretched hands lighted on a body. Once she touched someone’s codpiece, felt the unmistakable profile of a hard cock within the pouch and withdrew her hand as rapidly as if she had plunged it into the fire, giving rise to a chorus of mocking laughter. Someone took her by the wrist and made her feel it again, made her cup the taut balls and stroke the length of the shaft, while he asked her, ‘Can you tell whose packet this is?’

  The others laughed raucously when she shook her head. A familiar voice said, ‘I think she has me by the balls. I claim my kiss!’

  Carla knew it was Giovanni, and all the pent-up desire within her curdled then evaporated as she knew she must obey him. He took her in his strong arms and pulled her close, stifling her mouth with his own and thrusting his big tongue between her lips. She quailed, feeling the raw physicality of the man envelop her, body and soul. He was too strong for her, she couldn’t fight him. While he rammed his tongue halfway down her throat, as if she were a whore to be used as he liked, his hands swept over her body in such an exploratory manner that she was terrified he would discover the truth about her.

  At last he tore his mouth away. ‘The boy kisses like a woman!’ he declared, with an undertone of disgust. ‘Feels like one too. What say we strip the little faggot and see what kind of creature it really is underneath all this frippery?’

  Three pairs of hands were suddenly groping at her, pulling off her wig and fumbling with her skirt and bodice. A scream came from Carla’s throat but it was instantly stifled by the filthy gag and became a strangled moan. She tried to pull away from the marauding fingers and her blindfold came awry revealing the hot, grinning faces of Luigi, Matteo and Giovanni, while Marco stood aside, scandalised.

  ‘Let him go!’ he barked. ‘Leave the boy alone!’

  ‘Keep out of it,’ Giovanni snapped back. ‘We’re entitled to some sport on Carnival night.’

  ‘Then find it on the streets. If you torment this poor lad any more I’ll report you to Piero.’

  There was hesitation then, just enough of a pause for Carla to spring free and stand by Marco’s side, seeking his protection. He pushed her towards the door that led upstairs.

  ‘Go on, up you go while you have the chance.’

  She made an undignified exit, tripping over her skirt as she went, scrabbling up the narrow stairs on her hands and knees like a hare fleeing from hounds. Downstairs she could hear the men arguing, turning on Marco because he had deprived them of their prey, but Carla did not stop until she was in the attic room with the door closed behind her. Only then did she pause to catch her breath.

  Piero was snoring soundly on top of his bed in a drunken stupor, still wearing his boots. Carla knew she had nothing to fear from him. Wearily she stripped off her fine clothes, letting them stay on the floor where they fell, then sank beneath her coverlet. She felt sore all over from the pinchings and pokings she had received, and her pulses took a while to settle down after the shock of being set upon.

  Why had Marco come to her rescue? He was risking being ostracised by the others, she knew that. Carla wanted to believe that he had just been sorry for her as the new boy in the household, but she couldn’t help wondering if he had guessed her secret. He, of all the apprentices, had been most intimate with her, in friendship as well as physically. If anyone other than Piero had divined the truth about her it would be him.

  The door suddenly opened and Carla cowered beneath her bedclothes, but then she saw Marco himself coming towards her bearing a beaker in one hand and a cake in the other. It was as if her thinking about him had summoned him to her side. He knelt down beside her bed and she propped herself up on her elbow with a grin.

  ‘I brought you some refreshment,’ he whispered. ‘I reckoned you could do with it after all you’ve been through.’

  ‘You’re so kind, Marco!’

  Her eyes gleamed lovingly at him in the darkness and he regarded her solemnly. ‘I can’t bear to see an animal being tormented, much less a woman or a child.’ There was a pregnant pause. Surely he must know, she thought. But then he went on, ‘I know you’re not a child, Carlo, but there’s an innocence about you sometimes that makes you seem even younger than Antonio. I suppose it’s because you’ve lived in the country all your life.’

  She nodded and grinned, thankful to be let off the hook. ‘You never talk about your family,’ he went on. ‘Don’t you miss them?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ she admitted.

  ‘So why did you leave?’

  She shrugged. ‘I didn’t like the life they had mapped out for me. I’ve always wanted to be an artist, ever since I discovered I could draw. There was no chance back in my village, so I thought I’d chance my arm here. I was very lucky that you found me, Marco.’

  He smiled, handing her the steaming mug of wine. ‘Your talent deserved to be recognised. Maybe when I or Giovanni leaves you can take our place and be a proper apprentice.’

  Carla gave a wan smile. She knew that was impossible, and her heart grew heavy, but she hid her feelings by taking a sip from the beaker. The mulled wine soothed her spirits and when she took a bite out of the little cake she realised how hungry she was and wolfed the rest down. Marco grinned, producing another from his pouch.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Marco,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can, while I’m still here. Giovanni has a down on you for some reason, and that’s not good. But he’ll leave and set up on his own before long. Even so, you mustn’t get too dependent on me. I’ll have to go myself some day. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity.’

  He ruffled her hair then rose to his feet, looming over her in the dark. Carla murmured her thanks and watched him move like a shadow towards the door, cradling the hot mug to her breast. She didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that he was still ignorant of her true nature. It would have been a great comfort to share her secret with him as well as with Piero. But perhaps it was better this way. They could be friends without constraint and she would not be putting him in any danger.

  Although her body was extremely weary after all the events of the day, Carla’s mind was still awake and she lay there after Marco had gone thinking wistfully of how he had looked beside her bed. What if he had knelt down beside her and drawn back the covers, seen her breasts peaking beneath the thin chemise and had his suspicions aroused again? She knew that he regarded her as something of an effeminate child, but the way he’d kissed her on the float that day had half convinced her that he’d guessed at the truth.

  A smile floated about the corners of her mouth as she imagined with what rapture he might greet the discovery that she really was a woman. How sweet his confessions of love would be then! How relieved he would be that the strange yearnings for her that he’d been experiencing were not prompted by some perverse and latent desire towards his own sex, but by those elemental promptings through which nature propagates the race.

  Voluptuously Carla wriggled in her bed, letting the shift ride up until her thighs were exposed. She pictured Marco stroking her breasts in wonder, repeating over and over, ‘So you are a woman after all!’ Perhaps she would reach out and feel the springing cock within his hose, much as she had felt Giovanni’s, only far more willingly. He would joke with her, let her take his member out and use it as her plaything, laughing to see it resp
ond by growing even thicker and more full of rampant life.

  What a pleasure it would be to suck at his cock instead of Piero’s! The practice she had had would be put to good use, and soon Marco’s desire for her would be unstoppable. He would clamber up on to her bed and take her in his arms, kiss her passionately and fondle her breasts until she gasped and moaned for him. Then, quite slowly and carefully, he would make his way into her willing cunny.

  What unimaginable bliss that would be! If only he had been her first lover, she would never want any other man. Her feelings for him would turn the event into the most ecstatic consummation she could imagine. As Carla thought of it her body seemed to become incandescent, glowing and throbbing with untrammelled lust. She threw off the coverlet and felt the cool night air caress her skin, but the empty ache inside her was a torment that nothing could ease. If only she had been bold enough to reveal her secret to Marco as he knelt at her side, to let him kiss and comfort her as he swore he would never betray her.

  Carla hugged her breasts, put her hand between her thighs and squeezed it so that the wild pulsations hammered through her fingers. Desperate for some relief she thrust those fingers right inside herself and felt the moistly padded walls of the little cell within, where a man might be a prisoner and yet the happiest man alive. Over and over she whispered the name of the man who had won her heart, but the spell did not make him appear again. With a sob she turned on to her side and prepared for sleep, knowing that only he could satisfy her.

  Before sleep came, however, she was brought back to the sordid reality of her fate. Not only was she enslaved by her secret to Piero but now she had made an enemy of Giovanni too. She had no doubt that he would find some way to get back at her, now that she had escaped his clutches and made him lose face in front of the other apprentices. To make matters worse, Marco would be leaving before long. He had told her not to rely on him, but what would her life be like in that place when she was alone and defenceless? As the church bells chimed in the night, reminding her that she had only a few hours left before she must be up and at work again, Carla felt as if her death knoll were being tolled.