Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
I'm free writer, and I write for free for my friends!
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Amica
- Thread starter Velut Luna
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I'm free writer, and I write for free for my friends!
You are too generous to us, but we love it
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Always money ! We also could be payed to open our legs ... to anybody ...
Attachments
I see Messa is no capitalist - but I'm not certain that the analogy is a sound one...
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Obviously it was a little exagerated, but it was to do people reacting ...
In waiting, profit that our crotch could be free exposed...
... 
RacingRodent
Consul
Obviously it was a little exagerated, but it was to do people reacting ...
In waiting, profit that our crotch could be free exposed...
Are we sure Messa is no capitalist?
indeed real flower powerIn waiting, profit that our crotch could be free exposed...
even if they can only afford to drive a Clio?
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
In his dazed state in the middle of the night Pp only saw the Cli....and misread the word.even if they can only afford to drive a Clio?
A Clio ?! Are you joking ???
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
All my friends don't disturb me.To be not disturbing more this thread, I invite you to my "World Of Messaline" for more ...
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
Amica 70
Didia almost flies down the stairs between the terraces of Rectina’s villa, as she reaches the pier, with a cry of joy like a swallow's trill, she hugs me, shaking my hips, her head sunk on my chest, crying with joy.
'I haven’t forgotten you! I haven’t abandoned you, Didia, You’ll always remain with us, it's true isn’t it, Fannius? '
A smile, a nod, a pat on her black hair from Fannius, my little orphan will have a family that will take care of her.
Rectina has stepped regally down the first flight of steps, and is waiting for us, having been advised of our arrival. She has had a banquet prepared in our honour, because she couldn’t be present at our wedding, she has go to Rome for some time.
I'm almost overcome by melancholy, revisiting the magnificent villa, now no longer my home, and meeting once again all the people I encountered here, with whom I shared a part of my life, albeit short.
Among those invited are a number of owners of the villas located here, near the coast between Herculaneum and Oplontis. Everyone has a gift for us future spouses, we are amazed by the richness of the jewels that have been spread out, as if they were as nothing, on the table in the triclinium. Matrons have vied to outdo each other, ampullae of scented oils, precious and miraculous essences, sculptures of ivory or exotic woods, funny Priapi with their huge penises. This poor slave will never be able to repay, not having anything of her own that she hasn’t been given. Perhaps the beauty of giving and receiving is this, the giver can donate knowing that she cannot be countered, the recipient knows she cannot reciprocate.
And as always in moments of joy, there’s a veil of sadness at the thought of those who are not here with us to share this happiness – Eulalia, who is far away, Lucius and Fulvia Lucilla who are in Rome, all those poor girls, my fellow-slaves, who arrived on that Phoenician merchant’s ship – where’s darling Udji now? The morsels of delicious food almost stick in my throat, I hope she’s with Lucius and Fulvia in Rome. I lost track of most of the others almost immediately after our arrival, I wonder what their fate might be? They can’t have been as fortunate as I, who am now to marry the son of my master - but what have I done to deserve it?
Rectina has become aware that something’s disturbing my thoughts, and proposes a toast in our honour. Everyone raises their bowls full of the most precious wine, a wine that has a delicate, lively bouquet, that fades into an aroma of wild herbs, it has the 'warm scent of the breath of the earth of Vesuvius, the smell of the wind over the vineyards in autumn, the fields of black earth on the flanks of the mountain.
'Let us drink. This wine is pressed from grapes of Vesuvius, it has the flavor of the mystic fire. We drink this sacred and ancient wine.'
Now night falls, the grey mist on the sea is broken by the white flash of the gulls, the wind pushes before it white sails, lost, seeking refuge in the port of Stabia, intent on escaping the livid black clouds of a storm. There’s a blinding flash, sulphurous cracks rend the black sky with claws of fire, deep wounds from which flow flames. Tomorrow we return to Pompeii.
Didia almost flies down the stairs between the terraces of Rectina’s villa, as she reaches the pier, with a cry of joy like a swallow's trill, she hugs me, shaking my hips, her head sunk on my chest, crying with joy.
'I haven’t forgotten you! I haven’t abandoned you, Didia, You’ll always remain with us, it's true isn’t it, Fannius? '
A smile, a nod, a pat on her black hair from Fannius, my little orphan will have a family that will take care of her.
Rectina has stepped regally down the first flight of steps, and is waiting for us, having been advised of our arrival. She has had a banquet prepared in our honour, because she couldn’t be present at our wedding, she has go to Rome for some time.
I'm almost overcome by melancholy, revisiting the magnificent villa, now no longer my home, and meeting once again all the people I encountered here, with whom I shared a part of my life, albeit short.
Among those invited are a number of owners of the villas located here, near the coast between Herculaneum and Oplontis. Everyone has a gift for us future spouses, we are amazed by the richness of the jewels that have been spread out, as if they were as nothing, on the table in the triclinium. Matrons have vied to outdo each other, ampullae of scented oils, precious and miraculous essences, sculptures of ivory or exotic woods, funny Priapi with their huge penises. This poor slave will never be able to repay, not having anything of her own that she hasn’t been given. Perhaps the beauty of giving and receiving is this, the giver can donate knowing that she cannot be countered, the recipient knows she cannot reciprocate.
And as always in moments of joy, there’s a veil of sadness at the thought of those who are not here with us to share this happiness – Eulalia, who is far away, Lucius and Fulvia Lucilla who are in Rome, all those poor girls, my fellow-slaves, who arrived on that Phoenician merchant’s ship – where’s darling Udji now? The morsels of delicious food almost stick in my throat, I hope she’s with Lucius and Fulvia in Rome. I lost track of most of the others almost immediately after our arrival, I wonder what their fate might be? They can’t have been as fortunate as I, who am now to marry the son of my master - but what have I done to deserve it?
Rectina has become aware that something’s disturbing my thoughts, and proposes a toast in our honour. Everyone raises their bowls full of the most precious wine, a wine that has a delicate, lively bouquet, that fades into an aroma of wild herbs, it has the 'warm scent of the breath of the earth of Vesuvius, the smell of the wind over the vineyards in autumn, the fields of black earth on the flanks of the mountain.
'Let us drink. This wine is pressed from grapes of Vesuvius, it has the flavor of the mystic fire. We drink this sacred and ancient wine.'
Now night falls, the grey mist on the sea is broken by the white flash of the gulls, the wind pushes before it white sails, lost, seeking refuge in the port of Stabia, intent on escaping the livid black clouds of a storm. There’s a blinding flash, sulphurous cracks rend the black sky with claws of fire, deep wounds from which flow flames. Tomorrow we return to Pompeii.
Last edited by a moderator:
Oh, Luna, I can almost smell the sulphur!
RacingRodent
Consul
Check your eggs
Still Luna Brava, the scene is compelling, it is easy to feel and see the social whirl and the subtle and not so subtle shifting emotions behind Amica's brave front and all the while...well we know what looms
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
Amica 71
How sad is the day of farewell, sitting in the room that opens onto the garden, watching in the dusk the silvery expanse of the sea where the wind lifts the golden shards of the moon, so they flash like fish scales.
The strong scent of the sea, which mixes the clear breeze and the fresh garden smell from the moist, sleeping flowers and the grass quivering wet with the dew of the night, wafting in through arches, a warm smell, with the savour of seaweed and crab, which, borne by the languid cool airs of spring, raises the hem of the curtain to dance in the wind. A cloud of pale green is rising at the base of the mountain of Surrentum, I seem to hear a lone, wandering sailor singing a sad song of the sea, it is already almost dawn.
The air is so transparent, and green veins stand out on the immense azure sky, drawing strange lines like ribs of leaves. The whole sky is trembling in the morning breeze, and the singing of birds in the gardens below us fills the air, like a tremor of foreboding of the day filling the atmosphere. The warm aroma of the sea is now full of a thousand subtle whispers, chirrups of birds, fluttering of wings, transforming it into a sweet, sad music.
The light of dawn seems to surge up from the bottom of the sea, the gulf between Surrentum and Ischia looks like a rosy open shell. Capri in the distance, with her pale, naked stone, sends an icy tinge of pearl. Pompeii is still shrouded in the black fog of the night, the moon, now declining, spreads across the roofs, where smoke still lingers from hearths just smouldering, his pallid silence.
A star crosses the firmament and plunges herself into the waves between Capri and Surrentum - even the stars are falling from the high gardens of heaven, a subtle horror gradually creeps over me.
Rectina approaches, enwraps me lovingly in her arms, each of us embraces the other, trembling and in tears. We move slowly, she’s like a mother who’s bidding farewell to her daughter when she goes to be wedded in another house, leaving forever the roof has guarded their love. We remain a long time together, I sense the scent of her body, the beating of her heart, so fast now, the sobs of her weeping.
How sad is the day of farewell, sitting in the room that opens onto the garden, watching in the dusk the silvery expanse of the sea where the wind lifts the golden shards of the moon, so they flash like fish scales.
The strong scent of the sea, which mixes the clear breeze and the fresh garden smell from the moist, sleeping flowers and the grass quivering wet with the dew of the night, wafting in through arches, a warm smell, with the savour of seaweed and crab, which, borne by the languid cool airs of spring, raises the hem of the curtain to dance in the wind. A cloud of pale green is rising at the base of the mountain of Surrentum, I seem to hear a lone, wandering sailor singing a sad song of the sea, it is already almost dawn.
The air is so transparent, and green veins stand out on the immense azure sky, drawing strange lines like ribs of leaves. The whole sky is trembling in the morning breeze, and the singing of birds in the gardens below us fills the air, like a tremor of foreboding of the day filling the atmosphere. The warm aroma of the sea is now full of a thousand subtle whispers, chirrups of birds, fluttering of wings, transforming it into a sweet, sad music.
The light of dawn seems to surge up from the bottom of the sea, the gulf between Surrentum and Ischia looks like a rosy open shell. Capri in the distance, with her pale, naked stone, sends an icy tinge of pearl. Pompeii is still shrouded in the black fog of the night, the moon, now declining, spreads across the roofs, where smoke still lingers from hearths just smouldering, his pallid silence.
A star crosses the firmament and plunges herself into the waves between Capri and Surrentum - even the stars are falling from the high gardens of heaven, a subtle horror gradually creeps over me.
Rectina approaches, enwraps me lovingly in her arms, each of us embraces the other, trembling and in tears. We move slowly, she’s like a mother who’s bidding farewell to her daughter when she goes to be wedded in another house, leaving forever the roof has guarded their love. We remain a long time together, I sense the scent of her body, the beating of her heart, so fast now, the sobs of her weeping.
foreboding, farewell, embrace, love, wanting....all good stuff that promises more to come....
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
But are the start of a very sad ending of the story, the fortune is changing....
Read that....
...A star crosses the firmament and plunges herself into the waves between Capri and Surrentum - even the stars are falling from the high gardens of heaven, a subtle horror gradually creeps over me...
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
No hope!
