La Contessa Ch. 12

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

Warning: this chapter contains non-consensual scenes.

Chapter 12: Becky

A few weeks after the card game, La Contessa invites me to accompany her on a different venture. She's on a mission. She's searching for a loyal female submissive. She wants me to go with her to the Cannaregio again to make use of my contacts in the district to search the brothels for a young woman who can play the role of slave girl. This is how we find ourselves in a tavern I know in Campo di San Canciano where a madam I know specialises in procuring submissive girls. I wait attentively whilst she's deep in conversation with the madam.

La Contessa takes pleasure in visiting these places in Venice's dark underbelly, often in disguise. But today she appears as herself, dressed sumptuously in an indigo gown woven with pearls, her auburn hair swept above her head and held by two ivory combs. Over her shoulder is a black velvet cape. She wears a plain white mask over her eyes to disguise her identity.

All eyes in the tavern turn towards us. The brothels of the Cannaregio attract a diverse clientele, and it's not unusual to find noblewomen here searching for sexual excitement. They wouldn't normally attract a second glance, but La Contessa is a woman who commands attention wherever she goes. Her statuesque figure and voluptuous curves attract stares from everybody in the tavern.

"I think I've found what you're looking for," the matron of the house says.

"So, what makes you think she will be suitable?" La Contessa asks.

"I got a chance to speak with her. Her tale is a sorry one. She's had many unfortunate encounters. She says she's genuinely submissive, and I believe her."

"Do you think she understands what being in my service means?"

"I can't say for sure, your ladyship."

"I can procure plenty of girls who will prostitute themselves for me, who are only too willing to suck cock or offer themselves to be fucked at my masquerade balls. But I'm looking for someone special, a girl who's prepared to go further, who has the imagination to join in my games, and is willing to do anything for her mistress."

"All I can say, Contessa, is this girl struck me as being different. I see plenty of pretty girls who come here to work, but this one isn't like the others."

"Hm," La Contessa ponders, "I'm definitely interested in her. Where's this girl now?"

"Ah well, there's a problem your ladyship. She's in the hands of a merchant from Syria who's been staying here. He asked for a private room where he could keep a girl. I found him a cell room in the cellars where he keeps her. I don't know what he does to her there; it's none of my business, your ladyship, I'm sure you understand, I don't interfere in anyone else's business. But I bring her food and get the chance to chat to her. She's a lovely girl, though I've got to say she's in a bit of a sorry state at the moment."

"Take me to her."

"Oh, it's difficult your ladyship, only the gentleman is with her now."

"Dare you cross me, madam?"

A fierce stare, a raised eyebrow and a few harsh words and the poor matron of the house is catapulted into a state of agitation.

"Of course not, your ladyship. I don't mean to contradict you. I'm sure I can arrange something. Come with me."

La Contessa has a satisfied smile on her face. We follow the matron down winding stone steps to the cellars where she points to a door hidden away in the corner and leaves us. My mistress gestures for me to be silent as we creep forwards. There is a metal grill in the door and La Contessa positions herself so she can see through the door without being seen herself. I take a position on the other side so we can both peep through the opening in the door.

The matron of the house is being coy about the purpose of the cell as it's obviously a service she provides in her brothel and is designed for clientele with more sadistic tastes. It's a dark cell fitted out with numerous chains and hooks. At first all I can see is a man's back, dressed in baggy light blue pantaloons and tunic, and a turbaned head. When he turns to one side, I see a pot-bellied Arabic man with a long black beard, who must be the merchant from Syria.

Looking past him, I see the girl. She's crouched in a corner, chained and shackled like a wild animal in a cage. The waves in her fair hair are matted, and her body bears the marks of physical abuse. There's a metal collar around her neck attached to a long chain fastened to a hook in the stone wall. At the moment this affords her some freedom of movement but her wrists and ankles have heavy metal shackles on, which have been used to secure her to the wall.

The merchant takes a pace towards her, slapping her hard across the face with the palm of his hand. He draws it back again, striking her other cheek with the back of his hand.

"Whore slut of Babylon," he shouts at her. "You're my slut and sex slave now. When I get you back to my land, you'll be made to service my family. I have seven sons, all of them randy. They'll take pleasure in having a little, white girl to fuck. You'll be my sex slave for life, what do you think of that?"

The girl remains silent, and the merchant slaps her violently across the face again.

"I said, what do you think of that, girl?"

"Yes, very good master," the girl replies quietly.

La Contessa watches intently. Will she intervene I wonder? At the moment she appears content to let the scene unfold, her eyes gazing with studied fascination. I try to gauge the girl's reaction to her abuse. Is she enjoying this treatment? I know that's possible. I've been tormented by La Contessa and have learnt to appreciate the blurred line between pain and pleasure. I stay loyal in my service to her because of, not despite, her treatment of me. But I see no hint of pleasure or engagement in the girl's face, only a blank stare. Her expression is resigned as if this is a fate she must accept.

The merchant pulls at the girl's bodice and rips it apart releasing her ample breasts. He bends down and bites her tits. I see the red marks he has left on her soft flesh. He reaches out for a whip from the floor and lashes her across the breasts. The girl doesn't moan or whimper, let alone scream. The act of striking the girl is arousing the merchant sexually because the outline of a hard cock pressing against his loose pants is obvious.

"Get on your knees bitch," he shouts at her. "I'll make you my bitch-dog, you fucking slut. Now, get on all fours."

With a clank of the metal shackles on her ankles and wrists on the stone floor, the girl clambers onto all fours as she's ordered. The Syrian merchant stands over her, pulling the chain attached to her collar so the rough edges of the metal dig into her neck. He grabs hold of her hair and yanks it hard. The girl lets out a gasp and, egged on by the reaction, the merchant twists her hair around his fist and pulls even harder. This time, the girl, anticipating what's next, doesn't react. He pulls her head around and puts his face close up to hers.

"I'm going to take you girl, like a bitch in heat. But I'll punish you first for being an insolent whore. What are you?"

"An insolent whore and a bitch slut, master," she answers obediently.

He releases her hair and, whilst she's still on her hands and knees, pulls up her skirt and sets on her backside with the whip. The blows rain down on the peachy flesh of her arse. The whacking sound of leather on skin fills the cell. The blows get harder until her backside is glowing red.

"Take that you bitch. What do you say?"

"Thank you, master."

He throws the whip onto the ground, drops his pants and kneels in front of her. He twists her hair around his hand again and pushes her head down onto his erect cock.

"Now suck on it, slut."

The girl responds to the command at once, takes the angry hardness in her mouth, and sucks. Her head bobs up and down as her lips run along the length of his throbbing member.

"Ooh, yes, suck hard you bitch, suck harder."

Still holding onto her hair he pushes the girl's head up and down his cock in fast rhythmic movements. He lets go of her hair and the girl continues the tempo of her sucking, her mouth moving in a frenetic pumping motions. The merchant looks as though he's going to burst, his face is bright red and he's moaning in ecstasy shouting, "suck me whore, suck me!"

He pulls his cock out of the girl's mouth and moves behind her. She's still in a doggy position and the merchant let's go of her chain lead to grasp her hips and ram himself into her cunt. He's so close to coming it only takes a few hard pushes before he releases his load into her. He moans in ecstasy. She pants for breath with the shock and force of the final penetration. She collapses onto the floor, no longer able to hold the position on her hands and knees, and the weight of the Syrian merchant's corpulent body falls onto her.

La Contessa and I gaze on the scene transfixed. I can see mistress is not interested in the cock sucking or the forced fucking. She's studying the girl's behaviour, her facial expressions, and her reactions, weighing up her potential to participate in La Contessa's more refined erotic play. The girl can definitely take punishment, but it's hard to judge if she's taking it because she has to or because she genuinely desires it. La Contessa will want more than a passive vehicle for the crude abuse the merchant administers; she will want a slave willing and open, who will be prepared to explore the sadistic fantasies La Contessa can offer her.

Having taken his pleasure, the merchant sits the girl up with her back against the wall of the cell, spreading her arms and chaining them to the wall Then he spreads her legs and locks them to rings set in the floor.

"I'll be back to take more pleasure from you later," he threatens.

It's at this point La Contessa decides to intervene. She pushes the door open and strides imperiously into the cell. She towers over the merchant, filling the small room with her feminine power and beauty. The merchant is startled. Before he can respond, La Contessa proclaims her intentions.

"You have a pliable young girl there. I am looking for just such a girl for my household. I will offer you good money for her."

The Syrian's brown eyes light up at the word money, but he's too experienced a haggler to sound overly eager.

"She's my sex slave now. She's mine. Why should I give up my slut-bitch to you?"

"I will give you a good price."

"How much?"

"Four silver ducats."

"No, six."

"No, four. Come, with four silver ducats in your pocket you can fuck every whore from here to Damascus five times over, and still have change."

"No, six," insists the merchant.

"I will offer you five. Besides, she's damaged goods. It's a good price and you know it. If you carry on treating her like this, she'll be worth nothing. Even fully fit you'd be lucky to get one ducat for her at the slave market. Five is my final offer."

The merchant pretends to ponder awhile but they both know he doesn't want to lose the sale.

"Ok, mysterious masked lady, you have a deal."

"Excellent, my servant will return with the money and collect the girl this evening. It's been good business for me."

"Likewise for me, Madam," says the merchant as he takes La Contessa's hand and plants a kiss on it.

She bristles, pulls her hand away, and throws him a disdainful glance before sweeping out of the cell. Her look throughout the brief negotiations for the girl is inscrutable, and I'm amazed she would hand over five silver ducats to the sadistic Syrian. Against my better judgement my curiosity gets the better of me.

"But mistress, are you going to pay the rat five ducats?"

"Idiot. Do you think I would hand over good money to a worthless serpent like that? I want the girl. I'm interested in the girl. She has potential. But I'm not paying five ducats for her. Take my signet ring and go to the procurator of the Sestiere di Cannaregio and demand he sends constables to arrest him. I have plans for him. You will go with them. Say the girl has been stolen from me and then bring her back to my palace."

I smile; how foolish of me to doubt La Contessa's determination and ingenuity.

"Yes, mistress. It will be a pleasure."

When I return with the girl, my instructions are to take her to Julia and report to La Contessa's salon. She's sitting on her throne, expecting me. She orders me to strip off and get on my hand and knees at her feet so she can use me as her foot stool. It's from this position I explain that the girl has been successively procured. La Contessa is pleased.

Soon after Julia arrives, beckoning the girl into the chamber. She looks forlorn and bedraggled; her hair is a tussle of fair waves, and her bodice and skirt are rough and torn. She has scratches on her cheek, bruises on her upper arm, sore marks around her neck, wrists, and ankles where the iron shackles have been. There are welt marks all over her, the results of her abuse at the hands of the Syrian merchant. But La Contessa has seen beyond her battered body and unkempt appearance to recognise the potential in her.

La Contessa rises, pushes me onto the floor with a booted foot. Stepping onto me, she pauses for a few moments as I try to support her full weight with the sharp heels of her boots digging into my back. Then she steps off. Two deep indentations are left on my back. She steps forward a few paces, her penetrating green eyes appraising the girl.

"What's your name girl?" she asks.

"Rebecca, madam, but I'm known as Becky."

"Becky, what a strange name."

"It's foreign madam. I'm from England."

They stand facing each other, La Contessa in her sumptuous indigo gown and the girl in tattered rags as if she's been dragged through the alleys of Venice; one imperious, the other forlorn, but with a quiet air of dignified resilience. La Contessa runs her painted fingers sensuously across the girl's face, gently straightening a few strands of tousled yellow hair.

"She's lovely," La Contessa says, turning to Julia. "I love her fair hair and pale skin. It's so unusual to see such a complexion even in a cosmopolitan city like Venice. My companions will love her; I think they will be attracted to her peachy complexion. When she is bathed and dressed, her underlying beauty will shine for all to appreciate. Tell me girl, how is it you find yourself in Venice."

"It's a long tale madam, but I'll try to be as brief as I can. I once served a master back in Norfolk in England. I submitted to him dutifully, and he dominated me like a true master but he lost his money when the wool trade collapsed and he sold me to a German merchant from the Hanseatic League. Much of his trade was through Venice and he brought me here with him as his sex slave. A few days ago he bet me as a stake in a game of dice to the Syrian merchant and lost. The Syrian was even crueller and abused me terribly as you have seen."

"I hear you are submissive, yet you speak of your abuse as if it were a trial for you?" La Contessa queries.

"This is true, but yet the German and Syrian did not truly dominate and control me madam, they used me abusively," Becky replies.

La Contessa nods quietly.

"Well-spoken girl. Yes, few men understand how to truly dominate. They think beating a girl up and raping her is sadism. They are wrong, true sadism is an art form. Don't you agree slave?"

"Oh yes mistress," I concur enthusiastically, "and you are its most skilled proponent."

La Contessa curls her red lips into a smile.

"To be a true sadist, you must have the artistry of a painter, the perception of a mind reader and," she lets out a wicked little laugh, "a cruel and twisted imagination. It is not brutal but subtle and refined. It takes a special person to possess it and a particular quality to receive it. Are you that girl Becky?"

At this, La Contessa runs her hands over Becky's neck and pulls her ripped bodice apart to expose her tits. She runs the tips of scarlet fingernails across the pale flesh of her breasts and takes a nipple between her fingers. The two women stare into each other's eyes. La Contessa squeezes the soft buds of Becky's nipples between her hard nails. Becky expels a gasp of air and the slightest shudder ripples through her body, but she does not flinch for one second, and her eyes stay fixed on La Contessa. She takes Becky's other nipple between her nails and squeezes them both simultaneously. I have been subjected to this treatment myself. I know how sharp La Contessa's nails are, how painful when she squeezes nipples so tightly. From my position crouched on the floor, I watch on fascinated. La Contessa is testing the girl and she, for her part, is showing her what she's capable of taking. Her eyes have glazed over with the effort of enduring the pain, but they are still locked onto La Contessa's.

"Do you know what it means to serve me, girl?"

"No, madam," Becky whispers.

"I am a demanding mistress. I am cruel and capricious. I expect my servants to obey my every word without question. I demand a lot from them. The nature of my household is, how should I say, bizarre and perverted. Yet for those who genuinely give themselves up to me and embrace their servitude the rewards are great. Isn't that so slave?"

"Oh, most definitely mistress," I reply with feeling.

La Contessa, still gripping Becky's nipples tightly with her nails, twists them suddenly and firmly. The girl's eyes flicker momentarily but then stare dreamily back into La Contessa's.

"Do you still wish to serve me?"

"Yes, madam. Yes please madam, I do. Very much."

"I don't accept anybody into my household. There must be a test, an initiation, to see if you are truly worthy to serve me. You have passed one little examination, but this will be a far more strenuous challenge. Do you still want to go ahead?"

"Yes please, madam."

La Contessa finally releases Becky's nipples. They are reddened and sore. I notice the deep impressions La Contessa's nails have made in the soft flesh.

"Very well, I will make the plans for your initiation ceremony. Julia," she calls to her maid, "this girl desires to join my household. As you can see she is in a poor state. I want you to care for her. Run her a bath and put rose water into it. I will have her smelling like an old fashioned English garden. Find a salve for her cuts and bruises. Then find some suitable clothes for her. Report back on her progress, I want her ready for me a week from today. You will bring her back as my little rosy-faced, fair-haired, submissive girl, dressed for her introduction into the perversions of the world of La Contessa."

With these ominous words La Contessa dismisses us from her presence with a wave of her hand.