La Contessa

Author note: this chapter is an edited version of part of my Literotica story 'La Contessa's Game'.

Chapter 5: The Party

The next day the palazzo is propelled into a hive of activity. Harassed servants are rushing around in a frenzy whilst the kitchen staff are busy preparing dishes for dinner. Julia, stressed with issuing mistress's commands to the rest of the staff, visits me to explain what's going on. I have to say Julia looks sexy when she's in a fluster; her hair dishevelled and her cheeks flushed red. How I'd love to fling her on the bed and take her there and then, but I know I won't be popular if I try, so I restrain my desires.

She explains in a breathless voice, "La Contessa has announced that she's holding a party. She can be capricious, just suddenly decide to do something. It's not a large one, like her famous masquerade balls in the grand ballroom, but an intimate party for a select group of her confidantes. La Contessa will want everything to be perfect. She's very particular, and it's important her parties have the right ambience; everything, the decoration of the salon, lighting, food, music, and her dress must be exactly as she desires. The success of her parties is founded on this attention to detail."

I know from her reputation that La Contessa di Nemesia's parties are renowned throughout Venice as being amongst the most risqué and erotic events in the city. For those in the social circle who favour the sexual and bizarre, it's a great privilege to be invited. I mention that I'm rather looking forward to seeing what goes on at them.

"Be careful what you wish for," laughs Julia, "I think you'll get a closer look than you might like. She wants you to be part of the entertainment for her guests!"

"Me. Have you any idea what she plans?" I ask.

"None at all, but she did warn about setting you a test. This will be it. She'll want to see how you perform for her guests, I expect. I have to go, I'm meeting with the florists to arrange the bouquets of roses to decorate her salon. Oh, I've an important message as well. You are to attend her private boudoir at six. I expect I'll see you there as I shall be helping her get dressed."

Julia leaves in a hurry, no doubt having a long list of tasks to do for her mistress in preparation for the party. That leaves me the rest of the day to complete the menial tasks I've been given and ponder what La Contessa might have in store for me.

The time for the arrival of her guests is fast approaching. In accordance with my instructions I go to La Contessa's boudoir and knock tentatively on the door. I hear Julia's voice ordering me to enter and wait until her mistress is ready for me. Julia is helping with her toilette and dressing in preparation for the party. I stand silently and patiently. La Contessa sits at her dressing table with her back to me as Julia brushes her hair. The table is scattered with ivory combs and brushes inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Julia is absorbed in her task but finds a moment to flash me a welcoming smile.

I watch intrigued at the interaction between the two women, especially Julia. She's brushing La Contessa's hair in long deliberate strokes with a care and tenderness bordering on intimacy. She stops every so often to gently stroke and re-arrange the striking auburn locks.

"Oh, you have such lovely hair, madam," whispers Julia.

"Thank you."

And it's true, La Contessa's hair is striking. It's thick and lush, and glows with a reddish hue in the candlelight.

"I could spend the whole evening brushing your hair. It smells delicious madam. I do love it when you let it cascade over your shoulders like this. It's such a shame to cover such lovely hair up in a wig, even though I know it's the fashion these days."

"Yes, Julia, I prefer to wear it this way, but regretfully the formality of certain occasions demand I wear a wig."

The dialogue is an insight into the relationship between Julia and her mistress. On my introduction she appeared tense, presumably anxious for her mistress's approval of her choice, but watching them now, there is an ease to their exchange. It's noticeable that Julia takes great pleasure in the intimate act of brushing her mistress's hair.

I'm jolted out of my observations by La Contessa's voice, now cold and hard, "Come over here, slave. Let me take a closer look at you."

I move forward and she appraises me quickly with a contemptuous glance.

"So you are my new slave, aren't you? Are you innocent of what goes on at my parties?"

"Mistress, your reputation proceeds you, I only know the rumours which spread throughout the city."

"I have chosen you to be the entertainment for my party. Go away and take a bath so you are clean and fresh for my guests, then return in another hour. After you enter my boudoir you will remove your bath robe and kneel before, naked. Do you understand slave?"

"Yes, mistress," I reply.

"Good, you are dismissed now," she says with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

Returning to the servant's quarters to bathe, I'm nervous about what La Contessa plans for me. I expect complete loyalty to her will be required. I don't have long to dwell on these thoughts. The hour passes, and it's not long before I'm tentatively knocking on La Contessa's boudoir door again.

"Enter slave," she commands.

I enter her room. Julia has gone and La Contessa is alone, still sat at her dressing table, but with her chair turned to face me. I drop my bath robe onto the floor so I'm naked, and drop to my knees.

Her voice is severe. "You will be the entertainment for my guests tonight. This is a great privilege for you. I expect complete obedience from you. You will follow my instructions precisely. You will not address me or any of my guests unless you are spoken to. To do otherwise will be considered the height of rudeness and will be punished accordingly. You will assume the role of slave and submit to whatever pleases myself or my guests. I trust this is clear?"

"Yes, mistress," I reply.

"First, I will collar you; to show that in my presence you are no more than a pet. Indeed, I treat my dogs with more attention than I do one of my slaves."

She takes a leather collar from her dressing table, puts it around my neck and buckles the collar tightly. Then she takes a lead and attaches it to the collar.

"First, you must be humiliated in front of the other household staff, so you know your place. You will walk to heel and follow behind me on all fours."

La Contessa stands up and walks towards the door, giving the lead a sharp jerk to make sure I follow. I get on my hands and knees and crawl behind her. We go along the corridor to the main staircase of the palazzo. At the bottom of the stairs the household staff is lined up, ready to serve at the party. I'm made to descend the stairs on all fours past the silent stares of La Contessa's staff, who stand on either side forming a corridor of humiliation. La Contessa leads me into her salon.

It's a large room, though presumably not on the scale of the palazzo's grand ballroom, and decorated sumptuously in a baroque style with rich colours and gold leaf. Most striking though is La Contessa's collection of erotic art adorning the walls. There are tapestries depicting naked Greek gods and goddesses in scenes of sexual debauchery. On another wall are sketches from India showing acts of sodomy and fellatio. In alcoves there are sculptures of naked men and women, their sexual organs shamelessly exposed or entwined in sexual acts. The whole salon exudes an air of richness and decadence. In the centre of the room is a dais, and by its side a large wooden chest with sliver clasps. In front of La Contessa's throne is a bench covered in red leather and suspended from the ceiling by chains. A chamber orchestra sits in a bay window patiently waiting for La Contessa's orders to play.

She mounts the dais and sits imperiously on her throne. La Contessa wears a stunning gown cut to enhance her ample decolletage, with her auburn hair swept back and decorated with pearls. A golden mask, adorned with emerald and ruby feathers, covers her eyes. With a single gesture of her hand I'm ordered to crouch at the foot of the dais, my mistress still holding the lead.

She issues a command to one of her servants by the door, "My guests may enter now and pay homage to me."

La Contessa's guests enter the salon. It's a select party with only eight guests. They are a stunning sight. They are dressed in cloaks and hoods of crushed velvet in rich, dark hues; deep blues, rich reds, purples, indigos, and maroons. They wear silk gloves in colours matching their cloaks. The guests are masked in white

morettas

with a variety of expressions.

La Contessa must have given precise instructions as to the dress code, and the impact is stunning. Dressed, as they are, in similar loose fitting cloaks and masks, it's impossible to tell which guests are male and which female. One by one each guest comes forward to La Contessa on her dais. She holds her hand out, and the guest is permitted to touch her hand gently with their masked lips.

"Thank you for coming," she announces. "I hope you will enjoy the entertainment and pleasures I have laid on for you. Join together in pairs and dance. Let the party begin!"

On her prompt the string quartet and harpsichord start to play. The guests form couples and dance a stately minuet around the dais where La Contessa sits, and also around me, still crouched obediently at her feet. It's a magical and intoxicating sight as the cloaked figures glide elegantly around me.

La Contessa claps her hands. The orchestra stops playing, the couples halt their dancing and the pair immediately in front of La Contessa advance towards her.

"This servant has recently entered my employment as my new slave and needs to learn the arts of subservience. For this evening he is our entertainment, a toy you can play with for your own amusement and pleasure. Slave, this guest needs some boots cleaning," La Contessa says, gesturing to one of the figures before her. "Make yourself useful and use your tongue to lick them clean."

I crawl nervously forward. The guest hitches up a cloak to reveal a pair of brown ankle boots of soft Italian leather. I stroke my tongue gently up to the top of the boot then back down again. Meanwhile, the other guests have gathered round to watch me undertake this demeaning task. The masked guest turns to La Contessa, and an indignant female voice rings out.

"Contessa, this is hopeless. If you wish to keep the hard earned reputation of your parties, you must find slaves who carry out their tasks more thoroughly. I expect my boots to be licked clean with more enthusiasm than this."

La Contessa replies. "You are right. I cannot have my guests offended by such dilatory service. Slave, get on all fours and spread your legs whilst you perform this task." She turns to her other guests, "he needs punishment to encourage him. Kick him in the balls whilst he performs this task."

I suffer a crushing blow of leather boot on my balls and gasp in pain.

"Slave, did anyone tell you to stop your task while you were being punished? No, they didn't, did they? Keep licking my guest's boots and don't stop until I order you."

This time I work my tongue up the leather more vigorously. I receive another kick in the balls from the other guest. Even though the pain is excruciating, I try not to let it distract me from the task at hand. I keep working my tongue across the leather boots, every so often receiving another kick. Eventually, La Contessa orders me to stop. She turns to her guest.

"Are you satisfied with this service yet?" she asks.

The guest answers, "Yes, this will do. After a poor start your servant has cleaned my boots thoroughly."

Leaning down from her dais, La Contessa examines the boots, "You are being generous. I still think he needs to be punished more, so he realises he must carry out his tasks with more enthusiasm from the start. Kick him in the balls again to teach him a lesson."

At first I experience several gentle blows to my balls from the other guest's boot. The intensity builds up as the blows get faster and harder until I'm in agony, and my balls throb with every kick.

"That will be enough for now," pronounces La Contessa, "change partners and let us have more dancing."

On her command the music starts up again, and the robed and masked figures start their parade around La Contessa and myself again. The dance is a

furlana

, currently popular in the ballrooms of Venice. It's a fast and furious dance as the guests fly around the salon their velvet cloaks a blur of vibrant colour. The dance mimics the behaviour of courtship and this version emphasises its flirtatious and erotic elements. La Contessa claps her hand and the dancers drop onto one knee with an extravagant wave of their hands.

"I think to get our enjoyment from this servant he should be put into bondage so he is completely at our mercy."

A man's voice replies from behind a mask, "Yes, Contessa, I agree. We like to see slaves tied up and defenceless so we can do whatever we like with them. We'll perform this task for you so your servant is prepared for our pleasure for the rest of the evening."

The two guests hold out a hand each and pull me up from my crouching position at La Contessa's feet. They lead me over to the red, upholstered bench suspended by chains from the ceiling, and place me on it, their masked faces leaning over me. Together they secure my ankles and wrists to the dangling chains and pull ropes through hooks in the side of the bench to secure me. I'm now at the mercy of La Contessa and her guests.

"Excellent. Now my servant is prepared, change partners, and let us have another dance."

The sound of the violins and cellos swell up around me. Once again the velvet- cloaked bodies swirl around the room, so close that I feel the lightest brush of the soft material against me. The same ritual is repeated with La Contessa clapping her hands and two guests coming forward, whilst the others gather around the bench to watch proceedings.

La Contessa announces, "Now my servant must pass through a trial of fire and ice."

A female voice calls out, "I'll apply the ice Contessa," and then a male voice, "And I'll apply the fire."

One of the guests moves forward. She carries a small pouch out of which she takes a handful of crushed ice into her silk-gloved hands. She holds the handful of ice against my cock. At first I'm startled as I react to the intense cold against such a sensitive part of my body. But she continues to press the pack of ice hard against my cock and the feeling increasingly becomes one of burning. I squirm and moan as the intensity of the pain builds up. I hear La Contessa and her guests, who are watching my humiliation intently, laugh at me. As the guest with the female voice withdraws, the guest with the male voice approaches carrying an ornate, brass candlestick.

"This should be amusing," he says, "let's see how he squirms when the hot wax touches his ice-cold prick."

La Contessa leans forward, "Don't hold back, hold the candle close to his cock so the heat of the wax is intense."

He holds the candle over me. The flame dances near my flesh, and then the hot molten liquid is poured onto the tip of my cock. I let out a squeal of surprise and pain at the shock of the heat on my cold penis. The warmth of the molten wax penetrates me in waves, a sensation both painful and deliciously exhilarating. Then I get another shock. As I'm concentrating on the attention given to my cock, I suddenly feel the silken hand of the female guest press ice against my nipples. The two guests work together alternating the ice and hot wax on these most sensitive parts of my anatomy.

"There's nothing like seeing a slave squirm with pain and discomfort inflicted by his mistress," one female guest laughs.

A male voice replies, "He almost looks as those he's enjoying it now he's got used to the sensations."

La Contessa intervenes, "I can't have that. He is not here to receive pleasure, he is here to entertain me and my party guests. Anyway, we must get the wax off now."

She reaches into her box and pulls out two whips passing them to two of her guests, "Hit him hard until all the hardened wax has been whipped off."

The two guests set about me, one whipping me on the cock and balls, the other on my already sensitive nipples. I shout out in pain.

"We can't have his noise disturbing our fun, you ought to shut him up Contessa," suggests one of her guests.

"Yes," she replies, "servants must suffer their punishments in quiet dignity not draw attention to themselves and disturb our peace."

La Contessa pulls another object out of her box and steps from her dais. She dangles it in front of my eyes and smiles cruelly. It's a gag, a ball wrapped in leather. She lifts my head, tells me to open wide and thrusts the ball into my mouth, fastening the strap behind my head. The ball fills my mouth and the only sound I can summon is a muffled grunt.

"That's better, now you can carrying on whipping him without any disturbance."

The two guests continue their whipping, the strokes getting harder and more frequent. There's no protest I can make. I'm completely under La Contessa's, control, and have to accept the punishment given me. Eventually, the wax is whipped off and my nipples, cock, and balls are left red and throbbing.

"Stop now, choose another partner, and we will do more dancing," La Contessa proclaims.

The guests pair up again and dance around the salon in time to the music. My head is throbbing with the intensity of the experience as the cloaked and masked bodies spin around me. La Contessa claps her hands again and another two of her guests step forward.

"Now, let us prepare this slave for a test of his endurance before we head off for the feast I have prepared for you," says La Contessa, handing out more objects to her guests.

"I am sure you know what to do with these."

"Yes, Contessa," says a female voice.

"Yes, Contessa," echoes a male voice, "we will make him suffer with these for your amusement."

The male guest ties my cock and balls up tightly whilst the female guest puts clamps on my nipples, sore from ice, hot wax, and whip. The pain is intense, but I can make no response. I'm completely at her mercy. With the clamps secure, she squeezes them tightly between her fingers. My body jerks. The pain is excruciating.

"I think that hurt," the guest laughs, and laughter echoes around the salon.

The male guest has the thin rope strapped tightly around my balls and cock and threads it through a pulley above the bench. He pulls the ropes hard and ties a lead weight onto the end of them stretching my cock and balls. The female guest does the same at the other end of my body, so the nipple clamps are pulled by another lead weight. To finish off, another guest applies pegs onto my stretched genitals. The pain is intense. Yet, because I know there is no way out of my predicament, I try to endure the punishment and humiliation.

La Contessa stands up and descends from her dais. She announces to her guests, "Now is time for feasting. Whilst this slave is left to suffer, we will retire to my dining room. Whilst we are drinking fine wine and feasting on a splendid banquet, this worthless slave will be left in isolation until we return, fed and refreshed, to take him to new levels of pain and humiliation."

At this La Contessa strides towards the door of the salon with her guests following in procession.