As Jutta entered the ballroom the party guests quieted in overlapping waves, like wheat in a windblown field. The crowd had never seen anything quite like the tall black-clad vision that swept through the room. She wore a midnight silk gown designed by her servant, Samira. Venice was notorious across Europe and the Ottoman for its outrageous costume balls, populated by women who wore the most daring and even scandalous of gowns. But no one had ever seen anything like this. There was no highly structured bodice, just embroidered silk that clung to Jutta’s body. Her full firm chest and narrow waist was presented as it was. There was no corset forcing her waist to narrow and her breasts to push up and out. Every man and woman could see that each curve was naturally hers. The back and necklines plunged. The long flowing skirt was split in the front, and her long Dutch skater legs peaked through with every stride. She wore her yellow hair, not up in an elaborate headdress as was the predominant fashion, but down and long, like a peasant. Most shocking of all, was her mask. It was not gold foil, it was not a colorful plaster, it was a leather grotesque that covered most of her face.
She was not a stranger to these people any longer. The striking Dutchwoman had made an impression over the last few weeks, making the rounds with most of the lords and ladies of Venice, spending hours at Court, exercising her fastly improving Italian, and flashing her crystal blue eyes and perfect smile when words failed her. She charmed the Doge, the Doge’s wife, and the Doge’s grandchildren. There were rumblings among some of the young counts. Surely, she would not marry the ugly dark Moor -- Il Mostro.
Her entrance, and her choice for her first dance partner, sent the message loudly and clearly, that she very much was attaching herself to the fearsome and hideous Count Nero. The Count, in the costume mask he normally wore to these events, clearly a model for Jutta’s, struck his usual presence. Taller than any man in the Republic, with massively broad shoulders and powerful legs, set off by the cut of his uniform, made every woman swoon -- if they could put the memory of his smashed face and head out of their mind. Together Jutta and Nero swirled and twirled around the ballroom enjoying the stares and the whispers.
At midnight, Count Nero strode to the landing of the grand staircase. The Doge joined him briefly, raising his hand to quiet the party-goers. He needn’t have bothered. The Count’s booming voice drew every eye and ear to him. He spoke of love, and beauty, and charm, and intelligence, and everyone in the room knew he was speaking of the beautiful girl from the North Sea. He beckoned Jutta with an outstretched arm and the tall beauty climbed the stairs. And with that, their betrothal was announced to the Republic. Some men whispered false laughs. Most looked at one another with mouths agape, betraying their jealousy of the Count’s wealth, might… and now his stunning wife to be.
At Jutta’s insistence, they were married secretly in a tiny chapel just the next week. A grand ceremony and celebration could wait. Jutta needed to begin her new life. And she needed the Count. That their confidant and mistress, the nun Maria, had been doing her best to excite and tease Jutta to the very edge, every day for a month, even adding the lovely, North African servant Fatima to their naughty escapades, no doubt contributed to Jutta’s haste.
The couple boarded the Count’s private brigantine -- the same ship he had offered to return her to Holland months prior -- for an impromptu honeymoon cruise. Oh, she was now so pleased that she had not taken up his offer and had instead stayed in Venice. She had found a new home, a life purpose, and most surprising of all, she had found love and passion for this beautiful beast of a man.
With favorable wind and smooth seas, they made good time getting out of the Venice lagoon and well across the Adriatic toward the islands of the Dalmatian coast that the Count knew and loved so well. It was after midnight when they finally moored and the light crew quieted for the night. Jutta waited nervously, apprehensively, excitedly, impatiently in the huge stateroom that took up the entire back quarter of the ship. Large windows allowed the sea air, and the moonscape, to fill the room. Jutta had put on and taken off a half dozen nightgowns as she waited. In the end, she wore nothing other than her own perfect form. She knelt upon the silk-covered feather bed, facing the door. Her heartbeat quickly and firmly. She felt her own wetness between her legs. The cool sea air, a welcome relief from stifling Venice, stiffened her nipples.
The Count entered their cabin clad in his uniform, with his elaborate corsair’s hat and leather bandana covering his deformed face, as usual. He chuckled at the sight of his beautiful new wife, waiting for him invitingly. “Maria is a saint of a different sort,” he thought to himself.
“Sei bellissima il mio amore,” he whispered as he tore at the loops, hoops, and scarves of his uniform. He had been thinking of this moment all day… indeed he had been thinking of it since he laid eyes on the gorgeous fair Jutta. When he, at last, freed himself of his pantalones his excitement was on full display.
Jutta had seen the Count naked before, from twenty feet above as he and Maria had pleasured one another in the courtyard below the library, but within an arm's reach, in the moonlight reflected off the sea, he was truly a sight to behold. Dark skin stretched over taut muscles and appeared to almost glisten in the blue light. And of course, there was his organ. His huge, scary organ, engorged and turgid, arching slightly in her direction and weeping at its bulbous tip. Maria had told her not to be afraid. It would stretch her at first, it would likely even hurt for a moment, but she assured Jutta that she would adjust, and experience a pleasure like no other.
The Count bent toward her but Jutta stopped him. “Togliere la maschera,” she said. The Count hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. Slowly he undid his elaborate leather wrap, revealing the grotesqueness of his battle-damaged face and head. Jutta reached up to him and cradled his face in her soft hands. She pulled him toward her and then placed gentle kisses on every scar, every smashed bone, every misshapen form. “Sei bello amore mio,” she whispered, echoing the Count’s pronouncement about her. A whispered laugh escaped the Count’s lips and with it went his self-consciousness.
Jutta’s excitement, already beyond her experience, grew as she ran her hands over the Count’s firm body. The flex of his buttocks against her palm, the feeling of his hard chest against the soft pillows of her own, the hardness of his thighs and arms as he wrapped himself around her. And, of course, his stallion cock, pressed between their writing bodies was like a giant, warm melanzana between them.
Jutta rallied her courage and slid down the Count’s massive body. She kissed and nuzzled the giant member, pushing the thick sleeve back to fully reveal the thick head. The Count smiled to himself, again thanking Maria for her generous tutoring to his amorous young wife. She would need more actual practice, he thought, as Jutta clumsily tongued the stream of fluid that ran along his bulb before attempting to take the head into her mouth. Jutta gagged almost immediately, and not wanting to spoil the moment, Nero pulled her back to him and immediately reversed his position, plunging his massive tongue against her sweet-smelling pussy.
Jutta had come to love the feel of first Maria’s and later Fatima’s tongue. But the Count’s was different … firmer, hungrier, and larger. Whether it was his technique, or his equipment, or simply that Jutta had been desperate to be with him for weeks, she quickly entered what Maria called an “amorous sneeze.” Her body convulsed and trembled with the pleasure of his giant flat tongue pressed against her engorged nub, and whereas Maria always stopped, the Count kept going until Jutta saw stars and she had to twist away from his powerful grasp.
