Jutta Meyer was an only child. Her mother died in childbirth and she was brought up in Amsterdam by her loving, doting father, Lukas. She was beautiful, precocious, and strong-willed from her earliest days, and Lukas indulged her in everything.  Not to say that she was spoiled, for she was hardworking, earnest, and unselfish as well.  But, where other girls of her time in Amsterdam would have been discouraged from indulging in “unladylike” things, her father was quite the opposite. 

Jutta insisted on joining in skating and foot races and lawn games against the boys. She engaged adults in conversation and even active debate.  She pursued education beyond the basics that most girls were held to. She was interested in science, philosophy, history, and literature. She had a gift for languages and from an early age was able to read and study primary sources.  And Lukas had her accompany him on business trips whenever possible.  She had seen London, Paris, Rome, Vienna, and Lisbon by the time she was fifteen.  While of little “use” to her by the norms of the day, Lukas spared no expense  -- in money, time, or social standing -- in ensuring she could take herself where her mind and body wanted to go.

Her father died at sea on her seventeenth birthday. Her ne'er do well Uncle Liam took over her father’s business and promptly speculated it into the ground. He withdrew financial support to Jutta’s “useless” pursuits and tried everything he could to marry her off.  Jutta, still overcome with grief, rebelled, and ran into the arms of an older married man. A scandal ensued which ruined her reputation and somehow seemed to enhance the man’s.  Despite her great beauty, a young woman with a sullied past, little family money, and a tendency to question the uninformed opinion of falsely superior men, had few if any prospects in Amsterdam for a “successful” marriage. 

Her Uncle Liam was heavily in debt to a wealthy merchant trader in Venice. This man was known to be in search of a cultured and educated wife.  Liam seized the opportunity. Without Jutta’s involvement or consent, Liam drew up a nuptial agreement with a man she had never heard of, let alone met.  Still in the dark, Jutta was surprised and delighted when her uncle announced that they would be traveling to “take in the beauty” of Venice.  

Jutta could not explain her uncle’s sudden transformation, but she chose not to question it.  They traveled by carriage to Paris, where Liam purchased new dresses for Jutta, and then they continued to Marseille, where they boarded a barque.  They stopped briefly in Rome and Capri, before finally arriving in the grand port of Venice. They stayed in a pension and Liam let Jutta visit the churches and art installations of the city on her own accord. She was in heaven.

On their third night, Liam escorted Jutta to a costume ball at a grand villa. Jutta was dressed in a flowing royal blue dress with what in Amsterdam would be a scandalous decolletage.  With her long lithe body and silken blonde hair, she truly was the belle of the ball. They and the other guests wore elaborate silk masks. A quintet played music as the fifty or so guests danced and drank the night away.

During the evening, Jutta’s most frequent dance partner was a huge man in an ornate uniform.  She had never seen a man so tall or so powerfully built.  He was easily a foot taller than she and possessed massive shoulders.  Despite his great size, he moved with athletic grace as he swirled her around the dance floor. The most striking thing about the man, however, was his dark skin.  Other than in paintings in the museum, Jutta had only seen two black people in her entire life – sailors at the docks.

They did not speak much.  Jutta’s Italian was rudimentary, especially in the Venetian dialect, and the huge man spoke mostly in formalities. But Jutta found she was excited by the man’s touch.  How could someone so strong be so gentle? she wondered.  Despite the color of his skin, the man clearly commanded the respect and gratitude of all the attendees.  People called him “Count Nero”; a very few called him “Hakim.”  Several women – wives older than Jutta -- seemed jealous of her time with “the Count.”  But she also heard some whisper “il Mostro” when the Count was out of earshot.  So, Jutta thought, the man is also capable of monstrous things and some fear him …  She found herself intrigued. The next day Jutta awoke to find that her Uncle had packed their bags.

“We are expected at the Count’s villa for breakfast, Jutta,” Liam said sternly.  “Bathe, fix your hair, and wear this,” he said, tossing her a golden frock.  Excited, Jutta did as she was told.

“You are a beautiful woman, Jutta,” Liam said. The first time she could recall him complimenting her in any way for a very long time.  They walked across St. Mark’s Square and took a gondola to the Count’s home. It was summer, and the heat was oppressive for the two northerners.  Jutta wished she could strip one or two layers of silk and loosen her corset.  Her Uncle pulled at his high collar.  

As they approached the Count’s villa, it looked even larger and more beautiful than Jutta had realized in the dark the night before. An open courtyard welcomed guests from the canal. Two large wings framed the structure, with an expansive shared space consisting of a dining hall and ballroom, linking the two.  Liam and Jutta were led by servants to a salon that functioned as a waiting area for the Count. 

The salon was cooler than the hot and humid streets, but was still warmer than she was used to. The combination of the heat and the excitement of seeing the Count again, caused Jutta to flush. She could feel the blood in her cheeks and her heart beating against her tight corset.  Her Uncle spoke to her but Jutta did not hear.  She heard only the pounding of excitement in her ears and she only saw her memories of the large, graceful masked man that she had met the night before.  She remembered his handsome uniform, and for a moment, she imagined what the man would look like bare-chested.  A servant announced that the Count would be with them any moment, and both Jutta and Uncle Liam stood in anticipation.

“Ah, there you are,” a deep voice boomed in Italian from behind them. Jutta turned to see the ugliest man she had ever seen in her life and fainted to the limestone floor.

~

Hakim Agnabi was born on the Horn of Africa to the fourth wife of a middle-level official in the Ottoman Empire. His father was from Constantinople and had been assigned to help run the Eritrean province on the Caliphate’s behalf. Already an older man with three wives back in Constantinople, upon his arrival in Djibouti, the local lords offered him one of the most beautiful young dark women in the entire province and he was unable to resist. 

Hakim’s father was rarely present, and when he died when Hakim was just fifteen, the family in Constantinople quickly cut both him and his mother off from any support.  Hakim, wiser and stronger than his age, commenced making his way in the world. He pirated in the Red and Arabian Seas with such aggressive cleverness, that Hakim quickly accumulated enough treasure to secure his mother into old age.

The Ottoman authorities smartly realized it would be far better to co-opt the young man’s talents than to fruitlessly chase him all over the Indian Ocean. And so, with the backing of the Sultan’s court, he moved his fierce expertise to the Mediterranean where he harassed the ships of the Venetians, Sardinians, French, and Spanish on behalf of his benefactors in Constantinople. 

A brilliant privateer, the handsome impetuous man was more vulnerable to the weapons of beauty than those of war.  A tryst with the young wife of the English governor of Gibraltor got Hakim thrown into irons and shipped to a rancid Tangier jail. As an experienced sailor and powerful fighter, he brought a large price when he was sold into the service of Venetian ship captain. It was in the hold of that ship on a trading mission to the Spice Islands that his life changed once more.  When the captain and his first mate were both killed in a double-cross with a disreputable trader, Hakim dispatched the killer, put down a mutiny, and returned the ship to Venice full of nutmeg, cinnamon, and ivory.  The sponsor of the mission proved to be none other than the Venetian Doge himself, and Hakim’s station moved from Ottomon pirate to wealthy champion of Venice nearly overnight. 

Hakim fought with bravery and intelligence, beating back his former Ottoman brethren in battle after battle.  It was in Dubrovnik, with the Ottomans raining cannonballs against the thick walls of the old city, that Hakim had his finest and most horrifying hour.  As the Ottomans made one final attack, granite shrapnel split Hakim’s head open, broke the bones in his face, and took an eye. Somehow Hakim did not fall.  Enraged, he led his men to board the attacking Ottoman ships and defeated each, one by one. He then collapsed and fell into a coma that did not lift for three weeks. Assumed to be on the edge of death many times, Hakim survived, and over the course of months gained back his strength.  

He lost forever, however, the handsome face that he had inherited from his beautiful mother. Indeed, he was hideous. His face was split into multiple planes. An empty eye socket sat an inch and a half lower than the good eye that remained.  His nose was smashed and separated into halves. Scar tissue covered most of his head. He wore an ornate cavalier hat and a leather bandana that covered half his face when he was in public, but all knew the ugliness that was underneath.  

Still smarter and more aggressive than any other man in Venice, the Doge continued to rely on him as a counselor in martial and financial matters. In the process, Hakim became “Count Nero” as well as extremely wealthy, and powerful, by proxy.  Men feared and respected him, even if he was a dark Moor.  The church tolerated him, even though he was Muslim. Women were more problematic.  He had once been, despite his blackness, considered among the most handsome men in the Republic.  More than a few ladies of the Court were rumored to have enjoyed him. And though both black and non-Catholic, it was likely before his maiming that some poorer lord would have agreed to a betrothment. Now, repulsive to most, he satisfied his urges with courtesans and the rare “respectable” woman who secretly chose to ignore his face in favor of his powerful body. But what he longed for was a wife that could be his face in Venetian society. 

~

Jutta awoke to servants fanning her, with the Count, now in hat and bandana, kneeling and holding her hand. 

“I’m sorry my Dear,” the Count said in Italian, “I should have known better. But I thought you should see me as I am before our engagement.”  Jutta was uncertain if it was the result of her swoon, the tightness of her corset, or her poor Italian, but she swore he had said “engagement.” 

“Count … “ Uncle Liam tentatively began, “The young lady and I had not yet had that conversation.” He stammered on, in Italian worse than Jutta’s.  The Count kissed Jutta’s hand and gently brushed her cheek.

“Take care of her,” he said to the servants before standing and pivoting toward Liam in a rage. The Count grabbed Liam by the collar and dragged him into his study.  

The servants got Jutta to her feet and led her to a bench. They loosened her corset and dabbed her face and chest with a cool towel.  She heard the muffled sounds of men shouting.  Then only the booming voice of Count Nero. Liam had clearly given up trying to defend himself. “Il Mascalzone! Bastardo! Vile! Non la meriti!” the Count shouted before Jutta saw Liam scurry down the grand staircase without even saying goodbye. 

~

That evening Jutta was fed, bathed, and clothed by the servants. She had been deposited in an apartment at the top of one of the wings of the Villa. She lay on a silken chaise lounge, as one servant fanned her and another brushed her long blonde hair.  She was confused, and frightened, but also oddly relieved to be free of her uncle.  The doors to the apartment flung open and a Catholic nun, in a white lace habit, entered in a flourish. The servants scattered as if afraid. 

The nun sat beside Jutta and took her hand. “Are you well? Do you need anything?” she asked Jutta. Jutta said she was fine. “I am Maria. I am a … friend … of the Count.  You must be very shocked at your uncle's betrayal,” Maria said.  Jutta’s crystal blue eyes watered as she stared into the lovely face of a woman of perhaps thirty years, with large brown eyes, and full lips.  Jutta had never seen a pretty nun before.   

“Count Nero wants you to know, you are not his prisoner.  You are free to go.  You can go back to that awful uncle.  You can go anywhere you like.  The Count has a ship waiting,” the nun explained. “But, Hakim --- the Count -- would like to make you an offer,” she continued. “Your life here can be very good.  I am telling you this, now.  I would gladly take this life.”

“I am told you are a scholar, this is true?” Maria asked. Jutta nodded.  “Do you know that Count Nero has one of the largest libraries in the Republic? Do you know that he is a patron of philosophers and artists?”  Jutta shook her head, still silent. 

“I know it is hard to believe, but he is a very gentle man. Yes, he can split a man open with his bare hands, but he is very kind to his servants, and his friends, and his lovers,” Maria said in a way that revealed more of her relationship with the Count than either she nor Jutta may have wished. 

“You will want for nothing.  Nothing. And you will know pleasure, like no other,” Maria said, with a hint of sadness in her eyes.
“The Count asks that you take a month before making up your mind.  His only requirement is that you have dinner with him each evening. If after a month, you are not certain, his ship is at your disposal.”

Jutta could not answer.  She could barely contain her sobs.  Maria patted Jutta’s hand and left. At the apartment doors, she turned and said, “Don’t be a fool.” 

Jutta spent the next few days in her apartment. She wrote letters to her uncle which she promptly tore to shreds. She stared out at the ships coming and going in the harbor.  She looked down at the canals.  Eventually, she ventured out to the Count’s library and walked about the city. She thought of Amsterdam, less.  She found she actually liked her apartment and her daily routine. The servants would bathe her in the morning and give her breakfast, then she would wander down to the library and pick something that interested her and then go back to her apartment. She could immerse herself in the life of the mind without disturbance or judgement. And, without visitors, she could manage the heat by discarding her silken robes and lie about naked.  She would even venture to her balcony to feel the warm sun against her pale northern skin. It reminded her of running naked on the dunes of the Frisian Islands as a child.  Free.  Innocent. One with nature and God. She was oddly happy. 

Still, she fully intended to leave at the end of the month. How could she possibly stay in this odd, foreign situation?!  But she found she hated Count Nero far less than she hated her uncle.  Indeed, conversations with the Count, at first non-existent, became more animated. They found that if they added French and Latin to their dialogue, they could nearly understand one another completely. She told him of what she was reading and what she had seen during the day, and he showed more interest than a man ever had before in what she had to say. And he shared his day and his business, always with great humor and humility, with none of the bravado that she was used to from men.  In fact, though she loved the solace of her time alone during the day, she increasingly looked forward to long dinners with the Count. 

Maria visited often, helping Jutta with her needs, but also continuing her advocacy of the Count. At some point, Jutta admitted a growing affection for Count Nero, but quickly added, “Not like that … “ 

“Why?” Maria asked. “I am sad I have not convinced you of his goodness.” 

“I … I believe you.  But, how could I be married to such a man? I understand this makes me a horrible person, but he is … so ugly.  Like the most terrible beast. Any time I see him without his mask I am nearly sickened,” Jutta confessed.

“Oh … my young one … he is beautiful. I wish I could show you.” Maria said with disappointment. 

~

The next day Jutta went to the library as usual. She climbed a ladder on the mezzanine, reaching for books on the very highest shelf.  To her right was a small window that opened out for ventilation. The sound of the Count’s deep voice carried up the walls and then was followed by the laughter of a woman. Curious, Jutta adjusted her position on the ladder and peered out. Below her, she could see a portion of the Count’s private veranda. What then suddenly appeared caused Jutta to gasp and nearly slip from her precarious station.

Count Nero walked from the shadows, laughing and gesticulating, toward the ornate fountain that dominated the corner of the veranda. He was nude.  Jutta’s gaze went first, involuntarily, to his tragic face, but then, just as involuntarily, her eyes were drawn to the rest of him. Smooth, dark skin stretched over the powerful muscles of his shoulders, chest, and stomach. His thighs and buttocks were as sinewy and striking as the flanks of a champion stallion. And whatever was swaying between his legs was very different than what she had experienced with her older lover back home.  Jutta’s calves burned, but she did not move from her awkward position on the ladder. 

Her shock continued when a woman, also nude, walked behind the Count.  She was beautiful, with long dark hair, and a full, curvy body.  She embraced Count Nero from behind, reaching around to fondle the thick snake between his legs.  The Count laughed and turned suddenly to take the woman in his arms. He cupped one of her large breasts in his massive hands and bent to suck at her nipple.  The woman threw back her head in pleasure, and it was at that moment that Jutta realized she was none other than Maria, the nun.  Jutta ran a hand over the silk of her own robes, unconsciously imagining the Count’s hands upon her. 

The Count picked up Maria and carried her to the fountain.  They washed one another, splashing and laughing, until Maria sank to her knees. To Jutta’s horror, and excitement, the lustful nun took the Count’s member into her mouth.  The Count leaned against the coping of the fountain and Jutta thought she could hear him moan.  Jutta had heard of how French whores were reputed to service men with their mouths, but did not fully comprehend what that meant until she saw Maria’s ministration.  The Count was now fully engorged.  It seemed to be as long and as thick as Maria’s forearm.  Maria pushed the sheath of skin back to reveal a swollen, bulbous head, which she swirled with her tongue, before kissing her way along its immense length to the Count’s giant balls.  She wouldn’t, Jutta thought, just as Maria placed her mouth on the Count’s black sac. The Count’s horse cock rested against Maria’s nose and forehead, arching up with the curve of a crescent moon.  Maria stroked the massive organ, as Count Nero moaned, “Si, si, e come il velluto ... “ 

Jutta had now opened her robe. Though she gripped the rung of the library ladder for her life, she dropped the book she had been searching for and was now touching her own soft, wet folds. 

“Abbastanza!” the Count shouted as he pulled Maria from her.  He pushed her so that she lay back on the wall of the fountain.  He held Maria’s legs back and open and worked his black cock into the folds of her curly brown pussy. 

“Jesus! Lenta, lenta … si, si … e cosi grande … si, si … e il paradiso!” Maria moaned as inch after inch of the monstrous cock disappeared within her.  Jutta discarded her robe entirely.  She cupped and squeezed her breasts. She stroked her bottom cheeks. She returned to her sparse, blonde pussy.  The fist that clung to the ladder was slick with sweat.  Her heart beat like an allegrissimo concerto. 

The Count now moved within Maria in long, fast thrusts. Maria’s words became only groans and moans as her breasts rocked back and forth in counter rhythm to Nero’s pounding.  She stared up, open-mouthed, at the Count as she was overtaken by what seemed to Jutta to be some kind of seizure.  She arched and tremored, and her eyes rolled back in her head.  For a moment Jutta feared for Maria’s very life, and then she heard Maria’s screamed release, “Mio Dio! Mio Dio! Mio Dio!”  

Count Nero withdrew his dark, wet sword and stroked it vigorously.  He threw his head back and groaned with gritted teeth, “Grrrrrrrr…” as thick spurts of white seed covered Maria’s quivering breasts and tremoring belly. 

Jutta stood, frozen, uncertain of what she thought of what she had just witnessed.  She was shocked.  She was excited.  She was afraid.  She was repulsed.  She was jealous.  She was mystified.  She was enlightened. 

At last, she unclenched her tight grip on the ladder.  She took one last glance out the window before descending.  Looking up at her were the Count and Maria.