Vienna Story

Our scene is set in glittering Vienna, in 1876. The seat of the last significant Habsburg monarch, Emperor Franz Joseph I, it hums vibrantly as the capital of the vast Austro-Hungarian Empire. In addition to being the site of an illustrious high society, it is also noted for its Strauss waltzes, delicious baked specialties, and imposing classical architecture. These days the Emperor keeps busy working to restore his coffers after a recession, but perhaps more importantly, he keeps a sharp eye on the teetering Ottoman Empire to the south. As the Ottomans lose their grip on the Balkans, Austria Hungary shoves its way to the head of the line of European Great Powers, eager for Balkan land and resources. Imperial covetousness will have an utterly disastrous effect on Europe in the coming century, alas.

All chief characters are pure invention, and are meant to resemble no one, living or dead. Certain historical characters are mentioned either at a distance or fairly close up, as a way of adding a bit of realism. There is no intent nor any attempt to impute any malfeasance on the part of any historical character.

Finally, a brief note on Austrian nobility: slotting below the Dukes and Archdukes of royal rank, the titles Count and Countess bear the next highest respect and honors, and normally these families have hundreds of years of noble standing. Barons and Baronesses are generally of more recent vintage; it's a title awarded to capitalists who achieve great success, or august military or political personages, without regard to family background. A Baron's rank is considered lower than that of a Count. And (sorry) one last note: checking the place names on a map may help your comprehension and aid your enjoyment. I find the Balkans can be quite confusing.

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On a narrow street hard by the Imperial Ministry buildings and the Hofburg Palace in Vienna, an elegant carriage pulled through an archway under cover of night and entered a small courtyard. A woman stepped confidently out of the carriage dressed in a dark cloak that concealed a festive ball gown.

She walked to a rear corner of the courtyard and watched as the carriage driver, expertly driving a single black horse, turned the carriage around and returned to the street. All this was done in near-complete darkness; the carriage had lanterns of course, but no light from the street penetrated this small, out-of-the-way space. Faint, minimal light shone from one or two of the curtained windows. That was all.

The woman, Sophia Countess von Zierotin, was the wife of Helmut Count von Zierotin, Minister of Commerce and Public Works for the Austrian Empire. She was very careful to hide who she was, although arriving at her rooms in town would not in itself draw particular notice. The second floor above this small courtyard had an exterior hallway with a colonnade. The woman swiftly mounted a flight of stairs, and turning to the first door on the upper level, unlocked it and entered. She made her way through the small anteroom, through the sitting area and into her boudoir, which was illuminated by a single candle. In it, the woman could see her bed and a tall naked man, his erection proudly jutting forth, engorged fully, with the slight upward curve she was so familiar with.

The man held his hands clasped behind him, assuming the stiff, straight-backed attitude of soldierly attention. She drank in the sight of his body; his hard, shapely pectorals with their darling small nipples; the way his torso narrowed to his waist; his rather flat rear end and mediocre legs. Even in the candlelight, his skin shone pale, and his blond hair, side-whiskers, and mustache melded into the monochrome of his skin.

She trailed a gloved hand across his chest as she inspected him. She said, "You're looking well this evening, Captain Ritter." She bit his nipple and he gasped. She started to circle him slowly and removed her elbow-length gloves. She grabbed each half of his buttocks in a hand and dug her nails into his flesh. Captain Ritter handled this more calmly than the biting. She circled around to his front and held his stiff cock, languidly stroking it.

"I take it from your...anxious state...that you have complied with my interdiction," she said, "about dallying with other women. Is this not so?" She held onto him and gazed up into his eyes.

The captain gazed straight ahead and replied, "Of course, gracious lady" ("

gnädige frau

"), addressing her with the respectful form proper to her rank. "I always do as you direct."

The countess hummed her approval and caressed his straining penis, now seeping with precum, and ran her lips along the upper side of it. Captain Ritter gasped again.

"Since you are ever so compliant," she said, turning her back to him, "undress me."

This presented a challenge to the otherwise resourceful captain. He knelt behind her, which she found charming and not a little amusing.

"A hint, if I may," she said. "You will reach the hooks at the back of the dress more easily if you stand." He stood and began fumbling with the hooks; soon he made progress and Countess von Zierotin was able to step out of her gown.

She enjoyed watching this military officer puzzle out her pair of crinoline petticoats after freeing her from the shaped form, or bustle, that gave her the accepted woman's fashion profile. She watched his face with growing interest as he progressed. He freed her from her corset, her corset liner and cotton chemise, releasing her full and rounded, but somewhat pendulous, breasts. She noted his glance at her chest, and the quick glance away, hoping she wouldn't notice. As if the gracious lady would fail to notice any part of this. But he needn't have worried. She liked both that he'd freed her breasts first, and that he did it for his own viewing pleasure.

He continued to her lower undergarments, a few progressively more plain dress drawers, and finally her inside drawers, with their convenient open-legged design and back button closure.

He started to untie her stocking fastenings but she stopped him. "No, Ferdinand," she said. "That will do...thank you very much." Her pale, almost sheer stockings extended to a few inches above her knees, and she wore dress black shoes with a short heel.

The Countess was not young. She had a distinct roll of fat around her middle, which her full, nearly downward-facing breasts approached, much to her consternation. Her rear end and thighs were heavy, too, and dimpled with fat. Her hair had been light brown, but this was being crowded out by gray, and she wore it in a bun most of the time. It matched her pubic hair, which, while not overly thick, tended to grow slightly long, so that it could look unruly at times. The gracious lady had intelligent brown eyes, but they dwelled beneath the permanent frown lines in her brow, a result of her frequent scowls. She had a keen sense about people that allowed her to fully assess them within a few seconds of meeting them. Even her husband the cabinet minister, a shrewd judge of character himself, could not match the quickness of his wife's insights.

Sophie wrapped her arms around Ferdinand's neck and pulled his lips to hers. Their kisses were the devouring kind, as always. They reminded the couple of their history while anticipating the evening's pleasure and pain to come. The pleasure would predominantly flow to Sophie's part, and the pain to Ferdinand's. Sophie knew he craved the pain; this did not reduce the pleasure she took in inflicting it.

Their rendezvous that evening followed the pattern established in the prior weeks: she would allow the captain to spend while they copulated, and then require his lips and mouth to provide service. The captain would confess to one or more of an ill-defined set of infractions, upon which the Countess would punish his backside with a heavy belt. Early on, it became obvious to Sophie that the spanking was the true highlight of Captain Ritter's evenings. She was only too glad to play along.

"Ah, Ferdinand," the countess said, in a slight daze after the dozen or so orgasms he dutifully gave her in various ways, "I know only too well what you want when you come through my door." He was in a customary pose, bent over the foot of her bed, feet on the floor and hands clenched in the bedclothes. She swung the belt down across his naked rear end with a loud Whack! Captain Ritter hissed his sharp intake of breath but kept his hands firmly on the bed. He'd held his place, completely naked, for the last few of these blows, delivered now in a desultory manner as the two ran out of energy for the game. His cock, however, remained rock-hard, flushed crimson in contrast with the rest of his pale body, and glistening again at the tip, ever hopeful for another release. In his heart of hearts, he knew he would not get it.

"Oh, Gracious Lady!" he gasped again. With difficulty, with quivering legs and shoulders, he maintained his position. "Please! I beg of you!"

At her leisure, the countess paced in back and forth behind him.

"What is it you beg for so passionately, Captain?" she asked him, lightly stroking the backs of his marked-up thighs with the belt.

"Please, Gracious Lady," his voice breaking in sympathy with his bodily tremors, "please allow me to...to give you pleasure again!"

The Countess sang a little sliding note of pleasure. "Oh," she said, "but you have been trying all night to please me...with but mixed success!" She added the last phrase teasingly. "But, oh, very well," she said with an exaggerated sigh.

She positioned herself supine on the disheveled bed and showed Captain Ritter the wet folds of her sex beneath her matted, tuft of hair. She let him stare for a moment. "Perhaps this time you might do a more thorough job. Proceed."

With a groan, the proud officer of the Imperial Austrian Army dropped his face to the Countess's cunt and began lapping up her fluids. She sighed; the Captain was better at cunnilingus than some of the other lovers she'd taken in the last few years, but it wouldn't do to let him become complacent. Besides, he seemed to enjoy the teasing.

He made thorough work of her labia and clit; she accompanied her small convulsions with gasps or "Ohh!" She caressed his head lightly and thrust her hips in his rhythm, soon reaching a level of pleasure that she could see fit to maintain, a plateau. She customarily paced herself, particularly during her lovers' oral attentions, backing off when her orgasm approached, greedy to prolong the glorious sensations, but perhaps the Captain suspected as much this time. He renewed his energy and focused on her emergent clit. Instead of trying to pace herself she surrendered to it; very shortly her legs stiffened and shook, and her hips thrust violently as she came again, again splashing the Captain's face with her essence. She held his face against her, thrusting her sensitive core against his face and tongue.

Some time later she awoke to a pleasant pressure against her sex. She glanced down to see the captain's head resting on her soft lower abdomen. Apparently he'd turned on his side, wedged the broad surface of his shoulder against her vulva, and, using her welcoming body as a pillow, gone to sleep. It was a lovely sensation: warm and respectful -- thoughtful, even. She ground herself luxuriantly against his warm skin, depositing her scent even more strongly on him, and let out a satisfied sigh.

After another breath she disengaged from him with regret and he slowly roused.

"Best to be with your garrison," she said, "as the sun rises." She watched him long enough to see the persistent and very handsome erection still begging for relief. She smiled in the semi-dark. With satisfaction she witnessed her captain as he hurriedly arranged his uniform, bowed slightly to her, and left.

She emerged in the bright morning sunshine in her cloak and after securing her door descended to the gravel of the small courtyard. On the street she directed the taxi driver to the Westbanhof, the rail station where she could catch the train to the neighborhood where she lived in a countess's luxury. Alighting from the cab, she headed toward the main entrance of the cavernous train terminal. She saw the man before he saw her. He was under the portico, loitering near a central door. His dogged persistence in trying to renew their relations was a major irritant. Without a thought to avoiding him, she marched directly toward him. With each step she was more and more outraged. The utter gall of the man!

He was dressed respectably enough, blending in with the hundreds upon hundreds of other men streaming out of the station toward their offices, shops, or factories. And he was rather presentable, his hair and beard well-tended. He glanced up at her as she approached within a few feet, and her withering gaze abashed him immediately.

"Herr Schleicher!" she said angrily. "What is the meaning of this? Is it me you are waiting for?"

Looking at his shoes, he said, "I confess...gracious lady...it is you I was waiting for."

"To what end, might I ask? Clearly you know our time is long past."

"So you said, gracious lady," he replied, "but I thought..."

"Come," she said, leading him to the far side of one of the massive columns in front of the main entrance, out of the endless stream of commuters. "I cannot have you following me, or waiting for me, or tracking me down like this. It absolutely won't do. If I find that this behavior continues, I will inform the authorities that you are shadowing me and I fear for my safety. Is that clear?"

"Yes, gracious lady," the hangdog man said. "It's just that you shadow my dreams..."

"Enough!" cried Sophie. "Any, and I mean ANY, repeat of this behavior and the Imperial Security Guard and the Interior Ministry will hear of it, and also of my and my husband's severe indignation and alarm." She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him to she did not care what.

A few days later, in a suite of offices close by the Commerce and Public Works Ministry, (coincidentally the same neighborhood as the Countess's private rooms), the managing partner of the well-respected Hoffmann law firm walked into the modest cell-like workspace of Elias Jansen.

Jansen stood as the distinguished older attorney approached, almost like a soldier coming to attention. "Herr Hoffmann!" he said. The older gentleman waived his hand for him to sit and relax. Jansen sat down, but he was stiff and still.

"Herr Jansen," he said, sitting in Jansen's guest chair and adopting an informal tone. "A couple of the senior partners have brought you to my attention, in the most complimentary manner. Told me of your handling of certain matters that showed maturity and judgment." He glanced at Jansen and went on. "They're unanimously in favor of moving you to more responsible tasks, now that you seem capable of discharging them."

"Thank you, sir," Jansen said.

"Don't thank me, Jansen," Herr Hoffmann said. "When the time comes, thank the senior partners, and return the favor by doing sterling work for them."

"Yes, of course, Herr Hoffmann."

"Well," the older gentleman said, shifting in his chair. He leaned toward Jansen and said, "I'm coming to you at the moment because there is a fairly immediate matter we would entrust to you, Jansen. Have you an evening suit?"

"An evening suit?" Jansen said, surprised, but he said, "Why yes, sir, I do."

"Good, good. That's splendid," Hoffmann said. "I happen to know you've been quite busy with the partners Stolnitz and Erdich engaging the French consortium trying to buy the Südbahn railroad and, who knows, whatever else they can get their hands on. Fortunately, as you know, they've retained us in the matter. But, much as we love retention fees, they oblige us to toil and earn them. In this case they will certainly dry up if we can't secure the Ministry's approval of the purchase." He paused. "Well, in two days' time, Jansen, there will be a ball at the Hofburg, the first one since the Frenchies have seen fit to retain us. I'm expected, but I have to be in Prague that night. I'm giving you my invitation--Sylvie in my office will see that you get it." He shifted in his seat again.

"Now," he said. "I want you to seek out and find Minister Count von Zierotin. Introduce yourself, butter the old boy up, remind him of the French consortium with their cold, hard cash, and mention how we're anticipating a favorable decision on their purchase. Clear enough? Don't press for an answer there and then. The old boy is nothing if not deliberate, and a stickler for his own processes. Think you can handle it?"

"Absolutely, sir!"

Hoffmann went on: "The Countess, his wife Sophie, is known to have his ear on many issues, and I've found she has a practical take on most matters. If you find her, passing the message to her would likely be effective as well. Maybe more so."

"It all seems clear, sir," Jansen said. "You can count on me."

On the appointed evening, dressed in his flattering evening wear, white tie, white vest, and the well-cut jacket with tails, Elias Jansen cut a very dashing figure. At six-foot-two a taller man than average, his posture was ramrod-straight and he affected an unfashionable style: he was clean-shaven. He was thus able to show off the even features of his face beneath his coal-black hair and let people notice without distraction his large dark eyes--about which one could clearly see a bewitching touch of youthful innocence. He was indebted to his mother and sister for his grooming habits, who both insisted growing facial hair would only age him. Their counsel that he just let his handsome features shine forth would, it was certain, be seconded by the ladies (and a few of the gentlemen) in attendance at the ball.

The managing partner's wife, Frau Hoffmann, accompanied him to the ball, but almost immediately after they were admitted to the sparkle and music and energy of the palace ballroom, said that she had a circle of friends with whom she would sit and watch the glittering gowns and the dizzying dances. (She didn't bother to mention her contributions to the constant chatter and gossip.)

She also said, "However, I will insist, Herr Jansen, that you be my partner through the next two dances. Dancing in your arms will immediately grant me such status among my friends, I will have absolute pride of place!" She tittered behind her fan, then stood still looking expectantly at Jansen. He bowed gracefully low and, offering her his hand, walked her to the floor.

Frau Hoffmann, for all Jansen considered her rather short and frumpy, was light on her feet and was favored with rhythm and grace; she told Jansen he danced exceedingly well, something, she admitted, that would also count in her favor when she joined her friends in the gallery of chairs. She alternated between looking demurely down and smilingly into Jansen's eyes as they waltzed, and allowed herself the comment that she was having a marvelous time.

As the second dance ended amid bowing and applause, she told Elias, "Herr Jansen, I am an old veteran of these imperial balls. Normally I don't even get one dance with Friedrich before he's off to the crowd of ministers and government people who mill around the emperor." She was, in fact, leading him in the direction of the sizable crowd surrounding Franz Joseph I, who as always was dressed in his full military regalia, complete with white tunic. He was the only man in white; even the other soldiers wore dark dress uniforms.

"I want to introduce you to someone," she said, "and I think the task you are burdened with this evening will become much easier." Elias looked at her, surprised that she knew of his assignment. Frau Hoffmann greeted a few functionaries as they made their way through the crowd, with some of the women frankly staring at Elias as they passed. He met the eye of one woman in late middle age a short way off, and she held his gaze as they approached. He had no idea who she was, except she was the frau whose gaze lingered on him longest and most openly. He could see that gray had taken over a good portion of her brown hair and she showed some puffiness along her jaw line. But she had a sharp look around her eyes, as though she squinted or frowned out of habit. She was dressed in a burgundy gown set off by some pink tassels and a modest bustle at her rear. The gown bared her shoulders, and she'd gathered her bosom a bit tightly and showed a line of décolletage above her cotton corset liner. Jansen held her eye, or rather she held his, during the entirety of their approach. As Frau Hoffmann brought Jansen before this woman and halted, the woman's face softened and she beamed a bright smile at him. It was very becoming, Jansen thought. He imagined that he glimpsed what she must have looked like twenty or thirty years ago. Her eyes sparkled into his.