La Contessa
The most decadent city...
The most perverted of mistresses...
Renowned for her cruelty and the bizarre sexual tasks her household servants perform for her, La Contessa's reputation is well established. And Venice of the eighteenth century has degenerated into a decadent and lascivious city, the perfect backdrop for her perverted games.
This is the first chapter of a completed BDSM novel entitled 'La Contessa'. I am publishing it on Literotica a chapter at a time every few days.
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Chapter 1: Roberto
This is a favourite place to ply my trade. Leaning against the flaking stucco of this dilapidated warehouse, the flickering wall lamps transform me into a shadowy figure of mystery as my alluring silhouette entices clientele into the dark passages of Venice.
From this spot I can see down the alleyway to a landing stage where gondolas are moored. If I glance to the left, I have a view of Campo di San Canciano with its numerous taverns and brothels, and the customers of Il Toro Nero as they stumble drunk into the night air. There can be no doubt in anybody's mind what I'm offering when they see my slender, well-toned frame leaning against the wall, and the seductive glint in my eye. Oh yes, the Cannaregio is notorious. No-one scouring the alleyways in this district is ignorant of the erotic delights on offer here.
Tonight is unusually quiet. From this location there are many places I can take my clients depending on what perverse desires they have. There are the hidden, arched entrances of the disused warehouses and dilapidated merchant houses, once thriving and bustling, but long empty since the decline of trade through Venice. Occasionally it's possible to sneak down to the gondolas bobbing restlessly on the canal for an encounter requiring more comfort. Often I've been chased off by an irate gondolier. Others know me well and, when it's quiet, will let me use their gondola in exchange for a few soldi.
I could choose to work in the comfort of a brothel or a tavern like Il Toro, but why should I have my hard earned money creamed off by the madam of a bawdy house? No, I can make a fair charge for my special kind of service and keep the proceeds. And business is good.
You'd think anybody looking for a sexual liaison would yearn for a soft feather bed and a warm fire but no, often that's not the case. Many of my clients prefer the debauched excitement of being fucked against the wall in an alleyway or having their cock sucked in the gloomy light. The frisson of being discovered is part of the allure. I know I'm good at what I do. I'm young, fit and in good shape. I know my boyish good looks appeal not only to the women seeking sexual excitement, but also to those men whose sexual preferences are for other men. I cater for them all.
My clientele is more varied than you might imagine. You'd think offering myself on the alleyways of Venice would only attract the lowest classes, but that's not so. Eighteenth century Venice is an open minded, many would say decadent, city. You find all classes here, from nobility, who fancy a dalliance with the perverse, to working men, who will blow their wage on an encounter with a prostitute. They'll all happily wander the lanes of the Cannaregio to satiate their sexual needs. Yes, I know; I've fucked duchesses and countesses, sucked the cocks of dukes and counts.
And then Venice has many foreign visitors on the Grand Tour. They may profess their motive for visiting the city is the magnificent architecture and brilliant art, but the underlying reason is far more risqué. It's surprising how these aristocrats open up to a street-boy offering sexual services. It's as if they have a perverse excitement in doing so. I can smell their anticipation as they scour the streets choosing the right woman or man, depending on their preference.
Don't make the mistake of thinking it's only men. Oh no, I've had countless young aristocrats, married off to an ageing heir by their families, who come to the streets of Venice solely to get fucked. You can hear the sly arguments they put forward, "Oh but Lord Chichester, we simply must go to Venice. It's the most fashionable place to be seen and the buildings and art are a marvel to behold. Why I was only speaking to Lady Sykes the other day. She has recently returned from a tour of the Alps and Northern Italy, and Venice was the indubitable highlight of her trip." Yes, I've heard the stories. "I'm going to midnight mass in Santa Croce, my love," she will say, and a compliant servant will chaperone her whilst my cock thrusts into her willing cunt. No other city offers the same range of erotic delights as La Serenissima, the serene Republic.
Mind you, I can't do this for the rest of my life. There's only so long you can be on the streets at night in all weathers and it not take its toll. The prostitutes in the Cannaregio have a longer working life; they can use layers of make-up to disguise their age, but in my game youth is everything. I care for my body and groom myself well as it's essential for the success of my trade but I know I can only do this for so long. I'm careful with what I earn and keep it stashed away in my lodgings, hoping one day I'll earn enough to buy myself into an apprenticeship, perhaps in the glass blowing works in Murano, since I'm especially good at blowing. In the meantime, I enjoy my work. I revel in the thrill of the unexpected and get a buzz out of the dark and dangerous side of my occupation.
The sound of two revellers turning out of the square and into the back-lane in my direction disturbs my reverie. Their bulky frames are silhouetted in the gloomy lamp light of the alley, a twin vision of bustles, busts, and curly wigs teetering on Italian leather shoes, waddling purposefully down the alleyway. A less expert eye might be fooled by them. Being familiar with the clientele who frequent these alleys, there's no disguising what these two figures are. Something in their demeanour betrays them, as if they are trying too hard to walk with effortless, feminine grace without quite succeeding. It's a familiar sight in the Cannaregio. After all, this is Venice; the dark underbelly of its decadence is never far beneath the surface. However much they try to hide their maleness, it's obvious they are transvestites.
As they approach I play along with their game.
"Greetings ladies," I take my hat off and bow extravagantly, "and what service can I give you tonight?"
I can't fault their make-up, it's flawless, but the lie of their Adam's apple betrays their true gender. The night air becomes infused with powder and sweet perfume as their magnificently coiffured wigs bob to and fro before me.
"What a sweet boy, isn't he Lucretia?" he says, admiring my good looks and sleek black hair tied into a queue which hangs on my neck.
"Yes, but is he old enough to be on the streets of these parts of Venice? Does your mother know you're here?"
I smile benignly and play along with their joke, "I promise you ladies, I appear younger than I am. I assure you I'm old enough not to need my mother's permission to service any needs you ladies might have... for a price."
"Oh, he's a cheeky one, isn't he Viola?" giggles Lucretia.
"And you'll do anything we ask of you?"
"Oh, yes my lady, I'm willing and very... adaptable, as I say, for a fair price."
After a brief exchange we agree upon a price and a silver ducat is passed into my palm. The charade of seduction begins.
Lucretia, the taller of the two transvestites in a blonde wig, runs a fingernail along my cheek. The fingers are expertly painted but there's no hiding the roughness of his skin. Venice is a tolerant city, but even here there are risks for homosexuals and transsexuals. Sodomy is illegal in Venice, frowned upon by the ruling Council of Ten and the church, though it's hard to believe, given how prevalent it is. But they must still be careful, hence the extravagant disguise, and why they come to this place to satisfy their sexual urges. Viola, the second transvestite who is thicker set and has a black wig, reaches his hand down to my breeches and runs his fingers along them, feeling the line of my hardening cock. I have no problems responding. Male or female client, my member is always ready and willing and my powers of recovery are renowned, which is necessary in my trade.
"Come, let's retire to a more secluded place," I urge. "If we go into the alley, there's a porch where we're less likely to be disturbed."
The two transvestites readily comply with my suggestion. I link my arms with theirs, one on either side of me, and lead them towards a hidden alleyway. I flatter their beauty extravagantly whilst we walk and they respond with delighted amusement, revelling in the belief their secret has not been discovered.
