"Dominatrix of Venice"
by J.D. Savanyu
Venice, Italy
March 4th, 1672
*
The Doge of Venice gazed out a gothic third-story window with a grand view of the Grand Canal, with a cool salty breeze wafting in from the Adriatic Sea. Hearing the twinkling harpsichord strains of Agostini's "Anchor que col partir" as performed by his wife Elisabetta. Pietro Ballerini sighed in frustration, three years into his scandal-plagued regime. He lived in the lap of luxury in a large stone palace, but the rest of his empire was crumbling. Spain, France, Holland, and Britain were expanding their foothold in the New World, bringing abundant gold and timber back to the Old World with massive sailing ships that far outmuscled the meager Venetian fleet. The once-mighty Mediterranean empire was gradually losing territory, with many citizens retreating toward the watery capital city, built on top of a tidal marsh.
Pietro's domestic life was also crumbling. His marriage to Elisabetta of Vienna was merely a political arrangement; securing an alliance with the Hapsburg Empire to protect against the rising western menace. That black-haired maiden was ravishingly beautiful, but rather boring intellectually and sexually. He needed an intelligent yet devilish woman to quell his raving masculinity.
They still didn't have any children to carry on his legacy. Two miscarriages left Empress Elisabetta emotionally devastated, but they hoped the third time would be the charm. He dearly wished for a male heir to succeed him as Doge, keeping his wealth in good hands. She was eight months pregnant, and hadn't let him fuck her in nearly six months, fearing another tragic result.
Pietro turned away from the window and strolled toward his wife, gliding her fingers gracefully across the ivory keys. The custom-made harpsichord was decorated with gold filigrees and a Lombardian pastoral landscape. Agostini's haunting madrigal tune enhanced his paranoia, with many rivals conspiring against him, foreign and domestic, real and imaginary. He sought comfort by massaging her slender shoulders, covered by fine red Tussar silk from far flung Oriental lands.
"What a lovely song from a
bella donna
."
"You flatter me too much, Doge Ballerini," she replied sweetly, pausing her musical performance.
"I can't wait until our baby is born, so you can dance like a ballerina again."
"I shall dance and dance and dance, until the world disappears and all I see is you... and our child."
"That would be marvelous, darling," he beamed, kissing her dainty hand. Another superficial display of affection, compensating for their lack of true romantic chemistry. "In the meantime, I believe I shall pay a visit to Madame Coletta."
"
Another
visit to that mystic soothsayer?"
"Yes, my love. Madame Coletta has been divining many good things about our future together."
"Let's hope they all come true," Elisabetta sighed wearily, stroking her child-swollen belly.
"Me too, for the sake of all Venice," Pietro sighed back. "Farewell, Elisabetta."
"Farewell,
il mio impavido capo,
" she replied sarcastically, thinly veiling her own creeping dread about the future. Pietro slowly exited the ornate parlor room, blowing a kiss at her as he shut the gilded doors. He descended a grand staircase toward a private dock on the Grand Canal, grinning at how easily his mousy wife was deceived. He patronized Madame Colletta fifteen times over the past two months, but she was far from a fortune teller. She was a high-class harlot, taking his gold ducats in exchange for erotic "punishment."
He summoned his gondolier staff and stepped out to a mild April afternoon. The Grand Canal was full of small boats, ferrying passengers and cargo between the many small islands of Venice. A cacophony of barking hucksters and crowing hens echoed off the stone walls from nearby Saint Mark's square. A flock of seagulls squawked overhead, attracted by the pungent aroma of sardines and branzino in fishmonger stands. The iconic red Campanile tower of Saint Mark's basilica soared 160 feet above the Doge's palace. The huge bells rang out to indicate two o'clock, reminding him of his neglected spiritual duties amid a hazy hedonistic lifestyle. (He preferred a more earthly form of discipline.)
Pietro sat down in a fine gilded gondola, and two muscular men rowed it southeasterly, following the shoreline. A cool sea breeze ruffled his white mink robe. Many ragged commoners recognized their sharply dressed Doge and bowed in due respect, no matter what ill thoughts they privately harbored toward his regime. Anyone who dared to publicly criticize their leader was quickly dispatched to a dank dungeon.
Many other gondoliers sang Italian folk songs in a maddening cacophony. Pietro leaned back on a wooden bench and soaked it all in, fantasizing about the finest dominatrix of Venice. His fantasies would soon become quite real, painfully yet pleasurably.
The gondoliers turned left, entering the smaller Rio del Palazzo. They passed underneath the infamous "Bridge of Sighs," an enclosed elevated walkway between the Doge's palace to the New Prison. Two small windows in the middle of the bridge offered the last view of the outside world for convicted felons, before they were imprisoned (if they weren't immediately hung to death in Saint Mark's square, in front of hundreds of gawking citizens.)
Doge Ballerini ordered the execution of four hundred thieves, swindlers, murderers, rapists and traitors so far. Establishing law and order with an iron fist in the impoverished overcrowded city. He was notoriously tough on every form of crime... except prostitution.
The stately architecture near the Grand Canal faded toward mediocrity; floating past the homes of minor nobility. The gondoliers turned left near ca'Soranzo and entered the Rio de San Zulian. Madame Coletta's brothel soon came into view. The three-story renaissance-style building had black wooden window shutters that were never opened. The feminine moaning and groaning emanating from within betrayed the true immoral nature of the Madame's business.
"Easy now," Pietro told his gondoliers as they maneuvered into a small dock along the edge of the brothel. "Don't splash my fine mink robe with dirty water, like last time."
They tied the boat to a wooden mooring post, and the Doge eagerly disembarked, scattering several pigeons. He darted up a short flight of stairs and knocked on a heavy wooden door.
"Who calls here?" Coletta's husky voice asked from the other side.
"Your favorite student, Pietro. Here for another 'music lesson'."
A small wooden panel slid open in the middle of the door, revealing her big beautiful sky-blue eyes, framed by dark mascara.
"Ah, yes," she grunted, opening the door and beckoning him inside with a bemused grin. That tall busty raven-haired harlot wore a black leather skirt and a tight black leather bodice that enhanced her ample breasts. Her mysterious gothic charms were enhanced by a black cap and veil with black raven feathers sticking out the back. A dark mistress with a vaguely malignant allure. Ten other male customers waited in the lobby, but of course the Doge got top priority.
"Greetings, Your Serenity."
"Greetings, Mistress. I'm so glad to see you again. Lovely weather in Venice today, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes," she grunted distractedly. "I have many other customers during
Carnevale
season, so let's dispense with the pleasantries, and get right down to business."
"Very well,
la mia severa padrona,
" he chuckled warmly. Colleta turned around and marched up another flight of stairs. Pietro trailed behind, admiring her amazing backside. He followed her down a narrow hallway lined with "dormitories." The only "sleeping" that occurred in those rooms was of the euphemistic variety. The sound of moaning and ass-spanking reverberated down the hall. One of the harlots shouted: "Fuck yes, squeeze my titties! Squeeze them as hard as you can!"
She led Pietro into a candle-lit "dormitory," filled with kinky toys and bondage racks, with a plush feather bed in one corner, and a harpsichord in the opposite corner.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you, all week long. I need your tough love, m'lady."
"After your music lesson," Madame Coletta replied sternly. "And
after
I receive payment for my services.
Before
I render them."
"A wise business policy," he murmured, reaching into a deep pocket inside his robe. He pulled out a golden ducat and thrust it in her direction. The large coin was decorated with a majestic eagle on one side and Doge Ballerini's likeness on the other, riding a mighty war stallion. His favorite harlot took the coin, admiring the play of candlelight on the gleaming surface. She bit down on it with her pearly-white incisors.
"Thank you kindly," she replied with a husky voice, setting the ducat down on a small table by the bed. She picked up a large hourglass and turned it over, initiating their hour-long session with falling grains of sand. "Now
strip!
"
"Yes, Mistress."
He quickly removed his brown leather boots, white furry robe, brown silk tunic, and white linen loincloth. His thick eight-inch penis sprang outward, pointing at her leather-covered pussy. The humid air felt invigorating against his naked body, with distorted echoes of seagulls and singing gondoliers filtering through the black window shutters.
"Very nice, Your Serenity," Coletta murmured, admiring his well-toned muscles. "You've been following my diet and exercise advice to the letter. Let's see if you've been sharpening your musical skills in that big stuffy palace."
"Very well, Mistress," he uttered wearily. She pulled out a small bench in front of a harpsichord with a mermaid sculpture nestled between the three support posts. An idyllic seaside landscape was painted on the underside of the lid, propped open with a wooden rod. Pietro sat down on a red velvet bench and gazed blankly at the ivory keys.
