#3218: Paraguay
Original photo: thefudeexperience
Fernanda is a talented lacemaker living in a small village. She’s so famous in the community, her clients travel to her and, among them, Ornella, who is in desperate need of lace for her dress. Once the women meet, there’s an instant connection between them that turns into more than a brief meeting.
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Transcript
My morning would usually start early. I always loved to catch the sun of the morning sun during breakfast, it always helped me to wake up and feel the full force of the day that was about to come. I could sit on the porch of my house for a few hours, just looking at the way the light would color the greenery around me, making everything look even brighter and more colorful than before. I felt inspired by the beauty around me, by nature. Even when I traveled to the city for supplies, it looked just the same – green overtaking buildings as if reminding people that they only came second to this earth and that it was its own place at first, free from civilization. I smiled to myself, thinking about it. I much preferred the quiet of my village, the tight community we had here. It always felt special to me to have this type of connection with the people who didn’t have any other connection but to the place we all shared, and all wanted to take care of.
Once my lazy morning was over, I’d walk back into the house to start the work. It just so happened that I was one of a few lucky people in the world who had their passion as their work. I was a lacemaker for as long as I could remember. My grandma taught me the easy patterns, and I would spend days trying to repeat them as carefully as I could. Of course, it took me a long time to get where I was, where I could create complicated, one-of-a-kind compositions with nothing but threads, pins, and patience, but I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. I didn’t mind spending hours and hours on one piece, on a small ribbon of lace, but when it would leave my house, I knew that it was perfect, that no one else could’ve done it the way I did it. That was the reason why, even with how far I lived and with how much I was asking for my work, I still had a backlog of orders.
I never got tired of the work. Yes, some might think that you lose spark once you start doing the same thing over and over, once you create not for yourself, but for others, but I didn’t share this sentiment. No matter who I was creating the lace for, I still felt connected to my craft, still loved every piece I created, and I think it was the biggest part of it all – love. As long as I loved what I did, I could always feel the threads under my fingers turning into something I cherished. Even if the pattern wasn’t always the one I would make for myself.
My hands would start to hurt throughout the day, but it was a price one had to pay for being creative. No matter how many things I tried to make the pain go away, it was almost always present in my joints. I took care of my hands as much as I could, but as long as they stayed the instruments for my work, I couldn’t give them a proper rest. It was a sacrifice I had to make for doing something I loved.
Later in the day, when I was almost done with the latest piece, I heard a knock on the door. It wasn’t unusual for someone to come to me uninvited, local hospitality meant that everyone was welcome, and some people very much abused that notion, but I didn’t mind that much. I enjoyed hosting people, and if someone came to me either for a meal or for a cup of mate, I would always accept them and offer a seat and a conversation.
The woman behind my door was unfamiliar to me. She was tall, beautiful, and had on an outfit locals usually wouldn’t wear around in the village. Her dress was clearly expensive and made just for her. She might’ve been a few years older than me and very well taken care of, but the state of her glowing skin was. I smiled at the stranger, asking what she came to me for. At that, she introduced herself as Ornella and asked if she could speak to me about my work. It just so happened that my work was one of my favourite topics for a conversation, so, of course, I invited her in so we could talk over it properly.
We sat at the table in the kitchen. I asked Ornella if she wanted to share a meal with me, but she politely declined, so we shared mate instead. I could tell by her clothes that she loved well-made things, expensive things. I could already tell what she came to me for, but I wanted her to start a conversation before I would jump to a conclusion.
Just as I suspected, she needed lace. Not that anyone came to me for anything else. The problem was that she needed it as fast as possible, which wasn’t something I could do for her, not only because of other orders, but because of how long and meticulous the process was. I could say by the look on Ornella’s face that she was more than used to getting what she wanted, and that characteristic both intrigued me and made me a little wary. Who knew what a woman like her was capable of doing to get what she wanted?
I listed all the reasons as to why I couldn’t make it happen for her. I was reasonable and clear about why it was happening, but I wasn’t sure that Ornella heard me. Because she insisted I could do it, once again. I sighed, realizing that I couldn’t fight against her stubbornness. The only way to change her mind was to show and explain exactly how much work it was getting into creating a piece like the one she requested, so I offered to walk deeper into the house so I could show her.
That’s how we ended up in my workspace, where I could make Ornella lean over the latest pattern I was creating. I showed her just how much time even the smallest amount of progress took. I showed her one of my latest pieces, a ribbon of lace with a delicate flower design, to explain just how long it took me to not only put it down, but also create a pattern. Ornella looked at my work as if she was charmed, and I couldn’t help but smile at that. It seemed that she was slowly starting to understand that I wasn’t just being difficult, that I was actually trying to tell her that it was going to be something she’d have to wait for. She still held the lacy ribbon in her hand when she took my palm and looked at me. She frowned, saying that it must’ve hurt to create those things all the time, without a stop. There was something in her tone, in the way that she looked at my hands, that made me swallow hard. It wasn’t just a professional interest anymore, there was something heated in her gaze. Before I could say anything, she took both of my hands and wrapped the ribbon around my wrists, looking into my eyes for a challenge. I felt my creation holding me down, and I didn’t say anything because I enjoyed Ornella taking the lead so much.
She told me that after such tiring work, I deserved some rest, I deserved not to think or plan for the next project, but just exist. I felt the rush of heat go through me at her words. I wanted it, I wanted to be taken care of so badly! And it seemed that Ornella was more than willing to give it to me. She gently pushed me to sit down on the closest chair as she got down on her knees in front of me, her eyes shining as she looked up. There was something exasperating about the fact that a woman like her, who clearly got everything she wanted in life, was on her knees in front of me, her hands running over the top of my shirt as she touched me. I wouldn’t say no to her. Not to this request, at least, because I felt just too weak for her at that moment, unable to move or do anything else that might’ve ruined the moment. I knew that the lace around my wrists wasn’t strong enough to hold me down if I really tried to get out, but I didn’t want that. I wanted to stay, I wanted Ornella to get something that she wanted, and if at that moment she wanted me, I was more than ready to submit to her.
I felt her tongue on my neck and moaned, feeling my body react to her touch. It was electric and exciting in a way I didn’t expect. She couldn’t take my shirt off, but she pulled it up, making me hold the hem of it between my teeth so she could get to my breasts. I felt her hot breath against my skin, and I soon I also felt her mouth and her tongue on me, teasing and teasing, making me whimper and moan. I felt my body shaking with need I didn’t know was hiding inside of me all this time. Ornella was giving me constant praise about how good I looked, how good I sounded, and that made me want her to continue even more. I spread my legs, feeling the heat between them getting just too strong, and Ornella already knew what I wanted and what I was asking from her. She smiled at me and shook my head, as if reminding me that she was in charge. But she still pulled my skirt up, took off my panties, and started to tease me with her hand as she looked me in the eyes and kept teasing my breasts. I might’ve been a master with my hands when it came to lace, but Ornella was also a master in an entirely different area. The way her fingers moved against my pussy, teasing my clit, was making me feel sensations I had never felt before. It was hot and pulsing against her hand, and I knew that she was well aware of the state she was pushing me into.
I took a deep breath, trying to control the situation when there was clearly no control left. I was meant to enjoy it, nothing else, and I gave myself a chance to do exactly that. Ornella kept teasing, kept telling me how good I was doing, while she pushed her fingers into my, and I knew that I was gone. It felt too wonderful the way she was rubbing her fingertips against my walls just right to make me lose it. I moaned out again, unable to say anything, do anything but feel her inside me, until I felt a rush come over me, leaving me breathless and spent in a way I couldn’t imagine before. Ornella looked at me happily as she licked her fingers.
Before she left, we agreed that I would make a custom lace piece for her. I already knew that I would try to finish her order quickly just so she would return and I could get another taste of how her touch felt like.