Italian Women's Erotic Sins, Volume I

This book is a creation of the imagination. Any reference to real people o objects is purely casual.

All rights reserved.

© Giovanna Esse - 2017

Translator: Clarissa Cassels

Editing and Paging: Pakal

Cover Image: Arianna del Filo

http://giovannastory.altervista.org

Publisher:

Tektime - Traduzionelibri.it

(http://www.traduzionelibri.it).

Credits

(for The iron Fairy)

A tender thank you to my friend “Princess” who has agreed to donate her story. In fact, this is a real story, interpreted with only with some crumbs of fantasy.

(for My Princess)

This is a true story. As sensual and sinful, angelic or infernal it may seem, it's true.

I’ve had to bare myself of my preconceptions and my education to be able to accept it… partly understand it, and finally love it.

The force of this story also comes from it’s “Source”, my friend. The most delicate, fine and sensitive girl I have ever had the honour of knowing. The same one who, a few years ago, donated to me the story of her youth, condensed by me: The Iron Fairy. I thank her and give her my unconditional affection.

Thank you A., sweet creature, wherever you are, maybe I cannot understand you but I am certain that from your “execrable” sense of Love scatterers culture, goodness and respect. While in my long proclaimed “moral” of the “civil world” only selfishness, lie, greed for power and war are born.

Often, who indulges in professing is only trying to hide his incapacity to learn, to change his disponibility to tolerance and respect towards others.

Reader

I thank those who have read me and I hope that these true stories, revisited with a lot of imagination, have been enjoyed.

I invite you to read the next volume, which features new, exciting, adventures.

A very special thanks to Clarissa Cassels.

She translated my words carefully. She allowed my book to cross the borders of my country. She has translated well everything except these phrases, which are all wrong ... but you will understand the same, because they come from the heart.

Giovanna Esse

  Credits

  The iron Fairy

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  Epilogue

  My secret wife

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  7 Extra

  My Princess

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  Condemned by vice

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  THREEWAY LOVE

  Travelling

  Ambientation

  Fraternize

  The adventure approach

  Night games

  Relaxing

  Exercises

  Change of roles

  Crazy Path

  End...

  Giovanna Esse

The iron Fairy

A girl is always a mystery: there is only to rely on her face and the inspiration of one’s own heart.

E. De Amicis

1

A fairytale… with as much as a Fairy and a Princess, a hut in the woods and an enchanted trail.

Once upon a time, there was a young princes named Dawn.

One day the king and queen, her parents, decided that the small reign, that the good God had reserved for them, was too limited and the money, to such a royal couple, was never enough. Beyond the woods, not too far away, there were other realms… all of wealthier and more sumptuous appearance. Certainly, emancipated, they could enhance their noble lineage, entertain relationships and friendships with important families; increasing their prestige and finally, perhaps, they could find that wonder that we all seek but no one ever finds: the Source of eternal youth.

As it is known, on the other side of a dark forest one can find anything, perhaps this is why each person undertakes the same journey without asking too many questions. So the royals made their bags and left, together with their dearest people and princess Dawn, their beloved daughter.

The journey soon became exhausting and full of dangers. The woods are always mysterious and intricate: by day full of illusions but by night inhabited by ghosts and nightmares. The illusions push the brave wayfarers to overcome ordeals that await them, but the ghosts scare them and make them lose orientation and safety.

Overcome by the many and unexpected obstacles adventures, the queen realized she didn’t have time to take care of the young princess. So she remembered that, long before, she had met a very special fairy that lived in the forest, in a small place not too far away. Not that she blindly trusted her, but deep down, just like satyrs and mermaids, fairies are just a figment of our hopes and imagination. The forest is insidious, confuses the traveler and fear often leads us to hasty choices. She summoned the little Dawn and said:

“My dear, our journey is more complicated than what we could have wished for.

By now, as you can see yourself, all around us the plants have become an inextricable tangle, and the trails are more and more obscure. We started amid the rolling hills and now we are surrounded by ravines and gullies. The light no longer filters joyously from the tall green treetops, leaving in its place only darkness, cold and dampness. I don’t want you to suffer for our difficulties, there are thousands of paths, many of which are wrong and others that don’t lead anywhere…!”

The princes hang from her mother’s lips, young as she was she did not realize the pitfalls she could have been encountering. Happiness, to her, was to be with her parents; her world only extended until there. That was her only measure of joy. The queen continued: “This is what we will do! While we attempt to get out of this situation, you will wait for us in the home of a fairy I met a long time ago, an old friend. I still remember where the little road that leads to her house begins, come!”. Taking her by the hand she lead her to a nearby clearing. “There” said the queen, pointing with her finger at a delightful alleyway, “Look carefully! That is the path that leads to her house. You can’t go wrong because at the entrance there is that sign on an old pole.” Dawn sharpened her eyes and in fact saw a small pole on the edge of the path, with a little post carved from the trunk of an ancient tree. “There, go to her have faith in her hospitality. Every now and then we will meet here, until we will have found our way.”

They kissed and hugged and not without a shade of fear, Dawn watched her mother get lost in the undergrowth. Her discomfort only lasted a moment, then with typical curiosity of young people, she hurried along the path indicated by the ancient sign.

On the wood she could barely read an epigram faded by time:

“Here lives the Iron Fairy.

She loves everybody and nobody.

She defies life but fears it.

When she rejoices… later it hurts.

She is not a real Fairy

But she can’t even be

A real Witch.”

The blurred letters, penned with the colour of rusty blood, affected the little princess, but she decided to walk the alley which, with each step enriched with flowers, colors and perfumes of Guerlain.

2

Problems and solutions: mum's friend. (Reality)

“And this is Nicòle! See? I told you she is no longer a child. Time goes by fast, damn!” the girl's mother smiled at her old friend Flora. “Come on, Nicòle, shake Flora's hand and introduce yourself properly. Come on!” Her mother cared of making a good impression, of flaunting the daughter like a trophy to highlight how smart and lucky she had been. Nicòle puffed saucily and mimed a theatrical bow, sharpening the whole formal scene with a smile:

“Nice to meet you!” she said quickly “Sorry but my mother would make me parade like at the circus, if she could.”

“Of course!” said the mother, making full of her. “Because only in the circus you find parading monkeys like you!”.

Flora laughed entertained:

“There is only to say” she began “that you couldn't be more "diversely" similar.” She shook the small hand of the girl, looking at her from head to toe, “Your mum is right, you are truly beautiful… to be a little monkey, I mean!”. They all cackled.

Nicòle and her mother followed Flora inside the small mansion, which although being suburbian was very well connected to the city centre.

“I'll make you a good cup of tea, would you like that? Or hot chocolate, don’t be shy!”

The kitchen was part of a large hall out of a big flat which hosted a series of sofas and a big dining table. In the back of the room, in front of a wide window, a long wooden walnut bench served as divide with the cooking zone, covered in ceramic tiles in an infinite sequence of warm shades that spread between yellow and brown. Floras's house was welcoming and clean!

They hadn't met in years and Nicòle’s mother enjoyed those moments of thoughtfulness. “If a fortune teller had predicted this to me, I swear I wouldn't have believed it... so far from home and finding ourselves here! I am so happy!”

While Franca was lively, at times almost fierce, Flora was had a joyful character, but spoke little. She was one of those people who inspire security: a quiet smile accompanied each movement. Watching her make tea was relaxing, just like the whole environment that she had created around her.

Nicòle immediately liked the figure of the mature and prosperous woman, with generous breasts that squeezed under the thin shirt that she wore at home.

“Nicòle, do you prefer hot chocolate?” asked Flora with her stroking voice which the girl couldn't resist.

“Oh, yes, please! Thank you, Mrs. Flora” she answered, as she looked around inspecting the house.

“No need for formalities, Nicòle: I ain't no married old lady like your mother!” she laughed, showing her small white teeth that looked like little pearls. Franca protested, but kindly.

"Come Nicòle, I may have something for you. You should enjoy it more that our chit-chat". Flora made the way to the living area, where a large TV towered on a coffee table, full of DVD movies.

"Here you should find something suitable to you; the daughter of my brother leaves around a lot of these disks, she is more or less your age. "

"Wow!" She exclaimed ecstatic, leafing between the clamshells "but this is the last concert of my favorite singer. Please, please ...!" She preced in attempting the best doe-eyed interpretation ever carried out "Can I watch it?” Flora had to make an effort not to stand still and enjoy watching those beautiful languid eyes. Briskly, Flora replied:

"Ah, my dear, as far as I am concerned you can even marry it, I never watch such modern stuff."

"Nicòle! Be aware that we will go home shortly!" Screamed Franca in the direction of the living room, where her daughter had already taken possession of the remote control. With the typical craftsmanship of the young, she had already performed all maneuvers to start the movie on the big flat screen.

"We have to return home soon." Franca told Flora, "You know dear, I couldn’t wait to see you, but we just got here ... Picture that at home I still have the workers assembling the furniture, and Monday we have to already uptake service." Meanwhile Flora, heedless of the tornado that as usual unleashed Franca, methodically continued her operation of serving a good tea for two on the kitchen table. She then brought Nicòle a cup of steaming hot chocolate and a plate of homemade cookies, which disappeared soon from the tray.

In the meantime Franca had spang on her feet: "Come on, I'm curious to see your home!" She said, simultaneously secretly using her chin to point at her unaware daughter, who had already been kidnapped by images. Flora understood so, cup in her hands, she made way to her friend towards the staircase leading to the upper floor. There were two very comfortable and spacious rooms and a bathroom.

"It's so cute, beautiful! And these tiles: delightful. Mind if I take advantage? "

"Are you kidding? Be my guest" The host replied watching her friend quickly lowering her pants and tights to urinate. "They come from Italy," continued Flora, pointing at the tiles. "Vietri sul Mare, to be precise; the planks are decorated by hand, one by one. I also really like them. They have those strong colors born in places where the sun shines strong". While Franca reassembled giving herself a check in front of the large ground mirror encased in plaster and surrounded by a ceramic frame, she took more confidential tones, and quickly told her latest adventures.

They were at a moment of total confusion. Her companion, Nicòle's father, had been transferred quickly from their city. She had fortunately found work, with the help of a colleague, as a cashier. She would often have to cover the evening shift, but she did not complain. After all, the important thing was that she already had a job. Franca was very fond of appearances and with little money she wouldn’t bare it... he had two other children, the fruit of the first marriage, who were grown up. The young adults had moved with them out of necessity, but they were soon arranging to go and live in Paris to attend university.

Flora tried to follow her hurried description as she quietly sipped her tea. The friend had mentioned something about some "help" on which she was counting. She listened carefully and curious to see where the monologue would land. Franca’s problem was not just practical: the whole family was going through a time of confusion and she tried to do her best. The eldest children, irritated by the forced move, had become impossible to deal with.

The coexistence threatened to crumble because of her husband's affair with a colleague. finally, Franca was depressed, and was searching, for her part, for something different... Old unsolved problems had crept into the family and now were undermining the relationship.

"The little one is agitated and nervous," Franca continued "and our family is so messed up... We are uncertain about the choices to be make."

Franca stared at her, "Behold, I would like to entrust Nicòle to you for after school care, so you can teach her the language and help her to overcome this complicated moment. Of course you will be paid. It's obvious! Please, I do not feel like leaving her with a stranger in a country she doesn't know. For her it would only deepen the trauma so, frankly, I would avoid it."

Flora interrupted, raising a strong hand:

"Stop, my darling!" Said. "It is not a question of money, imagine that. However, what you ask me represents a big responsibility. You think that the Italian tiles and the kitchen on the veranda represent a heaven on earth?”. She glared at her, almost offended. "I also have my own life, you know? I live alone but it does not mean I don’t have someone and especially I have my problems, unfortunately. " Her face was overcome by a gentle sadness. Their eyes met eyes. Flora smiled, reviewing the haggard look on Franca; she seemed like the confused child, now.

"Oh, well," he said resolutely. "All right! We will make a week test, ok? "Franca nodded with the same expression of a happy dog wagging its tail.

"But I want to know precisely the days when she will come to me. I can receive her from three o’clock. Not before. I'm busy with work and more... and in the evening, at home by eight".

Later, alone in the big bed, Flora closed eyes and mentally returned to the emotions that had provoked the encounter with the young Nicòle. The immature shapes, small breasts certainly, hard as marble ...

At that point, her thoughts languished, imagining the immature flower that the young girl guarded. She would pay to be able to at least admire and smell it, but this could only remain a dream. Her thoughts, however, became more and more lascivious, despite efforts to divert the mind. Then the images, which at present were mere figments of her imagination, mingled with memories of the past. The face of the young girl overlapped with those of her mother, when she was young and fresh. She saw her lowering her flowing hair, diving onto her body, which smelt of pure pleasure. Franca’s tongue’s insatiable search. She remembered all the times they had reciprocated that exasperating poking, with their mouth, into the other’s secret spaces. The dream of Franca’s young body, in the excitement that had seized her, mingled with that of another. An unknown woman with undefined contours, illuminated by a light behind her back, which discarded her features. Shortly, however, as fresh as dew, the innocent vision of Nicòle appeared again.

Panting and dripping, the woman reached a languid and intense pleasure that rather than satisfying, disturbed her and left her on the bed full of a renewed thirst.

3

In the wonderful world of the Iron Fairy (Fairy Tale)

The Iron Fairy had a house that can only be imagined in the world of fairy tales. The young princess had introduced herself, armed only of her innocence, her love of life and her fears. She had lived too long among the mysterious echoes of the forest, seeking the strength to overcome her uncertainties; she had felt upon herself the crushing weight of indifference. Now, all this was contrasted by the fantastic ambient before her.

Immediately she was hailed as the most beautiful of princesses: the most exclusive cocoa mixtures came from all over the world to for her chocolates, while biscuits, marzipan and honey jujube, never lacked at tea time.

The Fairy Iron was uncompromising: first of all you had to do homework; but then, as if by magic, they flew past fast. It was nice to even study if the prize was an affable and allied smile of the fairy. The young girl did her best to collect good grades, not to interrupt the happy union.

The Fairy Iron proved to be the best and most trustworthy of friends. Beautiful, large and prosperous; she always wore colorful and cheerful clothes: a real ode to joy. She had a thousand outfits, all too short to hide the thick buttery legs; all too narrow to contain the swollen breasts and round buttocks.

In the Fairy's house everything was available and there was nothing to do but be happy. The hostess helped Alba in her choices without overpowering, sharing ideas. The girl would find no objection to the whispered advice, but would hanging on every word she would whisper. It was amazing to receive her full, unconditional attention.

Nothing in that house was more important than the princess; she was the Iron Fairy’s center of the universe, all that Alba was interesting, unique and valuable.

Although we would be pleased to see her family, she could never wait to run back to the world of fairy tales, to the house at the end of the path, amidst the colored and poisonous bougainvilleas and oleanders. Each day the princess felt bigger and stronger; running toward new experiences day by day. And, hidden in the heart of small sinner, she had a shameful but sublime secret. One of the things that attracted her was the body of the fairy; she could have remained hours admiring her. Only that enchantment was enough to make the visits hurried.

She was beautiful and, to the delight of Dawn, very distracted. When they sat at the delicacies table, she would often opulently cross her legs, careless of the rising of her apron going up, with every movement disclosing her stockings; always of different, new colors. The ones she liked the most were black. The black stockings seemed smaller by a size, the silk stretched on her skin creating mouth-watering lights and shades. Her gaze, hypnotized by that vision, would search the place where the strong black laced rim freed, with very slight snort, her rosy, clear fresh. Even when she sat on a low ottoman, munching beans and Tears of love, it was not difficult for Alba to steal a picture of her panties, squashed between her thighs. The poor fairy sat there, to not to steal Dawn’s space that, as the princess she was, reserved the place of honor on the couch. Sometimes she wandered around the house, looking for a coward speck of dust, or one of the many items that, in the fairy house, had the terrible tendency to fall into the most hidden corners. Since he had found out that, to find them, the fairy would get on all fours, showing her ass or her glorious breasts; Dawn, although of affectionate and obliging nature, never offered to volunteer for the research. The fairy had infinite patience and asked nothing of its precious guests. Fortunately, all the redness and flushing of the sinful girl passed unnoticed. Until one day Dawn gathered her courage and called her godmother from the toilet with an excuse, letting herself be found sitting on the pot, her thin legs parted. Even then, the fairy said and saw nothing, locked in her “chaste” indifference. On the contrary, the princess fell in unexpected shame after the excitement, she seeked a hasty excuse to go home and for a few days there was no sign of her. But on the third day the fairy called, and everything resumed as before.

4

The governess: charm, but firm hand. (Reality)

Flora thought she was going crazy, the situation had become untenable. Despite the promises made to herself and to the mother of Nicòle, the girl`s presence had become too intriguing, however oppressing for her. Her pleasure in feeling secretly observed from that little slut stirred the blood in her veins and, as soon as she saw or thought of her, she would find herself horny. From the very moment Nicòle would arrive at her home, her most inner part would begin to drool pleasure; she desired the orgasm for hours, while her cheeks glazed and her breasts sweat. She wanted her! And, of course, in the end she was left frustrated by the “stalemate” that she had solemnly imposed herself. She wanted to vent about her delicate body that infinite desire. The first day that Nicòle deserted lessons, Flora breathed of relief, after weeks of stress she seemed to regain control of her life and home. She had become a small despot; a real little rogue, that princess! The second day she got gloomy. She missed her. She wanted to still be bullied by the impertinent spy. She missed her eyes staring at her thighs. True that Nicòle had gone too far; being found naked on the toilet, still wet. Delicious thoughts had crossed her mind, as galvanic sparking currents, but she had to behave like a responsible adult. She had to resist! That evening she made up her mind and called one of her friends to give vent to her volcano of lust, but the man already had a commitment. The fact that she could have not him made her even more furious. She fumbled in her intimacy mechanically in bed, but the pleasure made her even more excited and unable to overcome her desire for Nicòle.