Chapter 25: The Carnevale Ball
All is prepared. The guests have finished their banquet and file into the ballroom to wait in excited anticipation for their host's appearance. We follow them to take up our allotted positions, still dressed in the silk cloaks and peacock, phoenix, and swan masks. I'm excited. I've heard much about the palazzo's ballroom, and now I'm finally getting the chance to see it.
It's like walking into a dream. There's so much happening it's hard to take it in. The overwhelming impact is one of opulence. The ballroom is vast, accommodating hundreds of guests with ease. I'm surprised at how light and airy the room is. I was expecting baroque grandeur, but the panelled walls are in pastel shades of blue and green, decorated with delicate filigree patterns of foliage in gold. Along the length of the ceiling are candelabra of Murano crystal with candles set in them, making it rain sparks of rainbow light on the revellers. It's an architectural delight, and beautiful because it has a sense of restraint. This glorious light filled space is a delight. I stand there open-mouthed looking around.
Then there's the art work, all by renowned artists and tasteful. Well, it's extremely explicit but executed in a tasteful manner! There are huge canvases on the wall between each set of window frames. The overall theme is classical, specifically classical love stories; more specifically love stories involving perverted sex. The ballroom is bursting with rosy buttocks, bouncing breasts and rampant penises.
I recognise the stories they depict. Zeus features prominently, but then he was a horny god. There's Zeus as a cuckoo proposing to Hera, seducing Europa in the form of a bull, fucking Leda in the shape of a swan, and abducting Ganymede as an eagle. There's a definite bestiality and shape-shifting theme going on. There's one shockingly explicit painting of a god peeing. It takes a while for me to work it out until I realise the painting depicts Zeus seducing Danae as a shower of gold though in this depiction the golden shower is painted literally. I hope to examine them more closely in daylight, but for now I scan the room transfixed as I appreciate the rich colours of the oils as they glow in the candlelight.
To my surprise I get a gentle nudge from Becky; she glances across at me and mouths, "Wow!"
The ballroom alone is enough to take the breath away, but the revellers packing it out add yet more colour and magnificence. Venetians dress up for Carnevale and, given the room is full of people from La Contessa's inner circle and many of the city's wealthiest inhabitants, it's hardly surprising to see an array of outrageous ball gowns, tunics and masks. My flamboyant peacock mask looks restrained compared to others. There are silk, damask, and velvet dresses with extravagant collars and lace ruffs. The jewellery on display is breath taking in its opulence. The guests glitter with silver, gold, pearls, and precious stones, an abundance of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds being on show. There are embroidered masks of white, black, silver, and gold decorated with exotic displays of feathers. There are panniers so wide the women can barely fit through the door. Mademoiselle is wearing such a gown made of emerald silk decorated with orange flowers with a massive golden bow. The ballroom is filled with a rainbow of colours, blinding in their dazzling brilliance.
The atmosphere is raucous and licentious. They're drunk on wines and brandies, and ready for a party. They want entertainment and, this being the decadent republic of La Serenissima, and these being amongst of its most liberated citizens, they want debauchery. Their eyes turn to the centrepiece of the ballroom, a large platform in its centre set out as a dungeon, with a rack, metal chair, suspension frame, St Andrews cross, swings, and ropes. The steps leading up to this stage are where Becky, Julia and I wait, expectant, like lambs for the slaughter.
The guests cheer as the gilded doors of the ballroom swing open. Leading the way is a procession of belly dancers in silver masks with glass candelabras mounted on their heads. La Contessa follows them, riding across the dance floor on a pure white horse, the guests parting for her to form a passage to the centre of the ballroom. The horse's bridle and stirrups are made of solid gold, diamond jewellery hangs on its brow, and on its head is a headdress of ostrich feathers. La Contessa pulls the horse to a halt at the point where we stand, and surveys the throng of revellers in their gorgeous costumes and spectacular masks.
Her mask is magnificent. It's golden, decorated with pearls and golden feathers; arms of golden material stretch out from it like the rays of the sun. Her cheeks and lips, visible below the mask, are dusted with gold. In her hand she wields a sceptre topped with a silver moon. She is the sun and the moon. She is a celestial being descended from the heavens to appear amongst the revellers.
Whilst La Contessa sits on her mount towering over the crowd, another figure mounts the platform. He's dressed in a multi-coloured harlequin costume with a preposterously huge, false phallus, which masks the bulge in his crotch, and matching harlequin mask. From his bulk, I realise it must be Alessandro Fernasse.
"If I can have your attention," he shouts, and the crowd silences to an expectant hush. "It is an honour to be a guest of La Contessa in her magnificent palazzo. It is an apt finale to Carnevale to have it hosted in the most stunning ballroom in the Republic. It is apt because I have a most important announcement to make this evening, and it is fitting you should be the first to hear it. The Council of Ten met yesterday and took the momentous, but necessary, decision to depose the current Doge of Venice. In his place the Council has taken the unusual step of appointing a female Doge. I bid you welcome the new Doge of Venice, La Contessa di Nemesia!"
There's a momentary silence as the guests absorb this shocking information, and then a roar of approval and raucous applause to welcome their new Doge.
So that's her game. She's after power, and she's manipulated the Council of Ten into giving her the ultimate prize, the ceremonial head of the city. The conversation I overheard makes sense now. They are in her control. Whatever offer she made, perhaps to write off their interest payments, was impossible to reject given their straightened circumstances. The repercussions are enormous. A woman as the leader of the city... it's unprecedented. Never in all the centuries of the Republic has such a thing been countenanced. But she's brilliant and formidable. Trust La Contessa to pull this off!
The crowd quietens to a murmur when La Contessa, still sat in the saddle of the white horse, begins her speech.
"Thank you my friends. I am a daughter of La Serenissima. I love the city of my birth. I love its liberated people, I love its extravagant pleasures... and I love its decadent licentiousness. I represent all that is great about this Republic. Under my rule your political... and sexual freedoms shall be upheld. I shall free you from the last vestiges of oppression by church and state. These are my first acts: I shall put an end to the censorship of political views, published works, the arts and theatre; I declare brothels, bawdy houses, and prostitutes to be working legally, and not subject to harassment from either state or church. Lastly, I declare sodomy to be legal and, forthwith, sexual acts between members of the same sex shall be tolerated by the state."
The guests shout and cheer. She's awesome. I find myself applauding wildly, caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment. I notice Lucretia and Viola amongst the crowds gathered around La Contessa and her horse. It was hard to spot them at first because, at this occasion, their flamboyant dresses and masks merely blend in with the other revellers. But at the announcement of the legalisation of sodomy, they jump up and down waving lace handkerchiefs to catch La Contessa's attention, signalling their approval for her declaration.
"Welcome to the Carnevale ball, my friends. You are Venice at its glittering best. The wine is flowing, the music will start playing. The whole palazzo is at your disposal. You must feel free to do whatever you desire. My dungeon is here for anyone who cares, or dares, to use it and my slave and slave girl are available to any of my guests. Enjoy the ball!"
Spontaneously, the whole crowd raise their glasses and toast La Contessa di Nemesia, the new Doge of the Republic of Venice.
I offer my hand to help La Contessa down from her horse. Her dress stands out, not because of its extravagance, but because it's so distinct. She's decided not to compete with the other women in their magnificent and elaborately decorated ball gowns. She wears a jerkin and skirt in white kid-skin leather with subtle swirls of golden thread sewn into it to match her sun mask. The jerkin is sleeveless and strapless, and she wears golden shoulder clasps and a torque in a Celtic design. The top is cut low and the curves of her breasts, a fake mole on each one, squeeze out above the leather. It's simple, but strikingly different and sensual, making her standout from her guests. She needs help to get out of the stirrups, as the dress clings tightly to her hips, so I step over to help her. I gently support her waist, the kid-skin jerkin being the softest leather I've ever touched, so she can slide off her horse.
"Mistress, may I congratulate you on your elevation to high office so ingeniously achieved, and ruthlessly executed."
"Thank you, my slave. Yes, you may. How do you like my ballroom?"
"It's spectacular, mistress, and the works of art are astonishing." I point to a painting of Andromeda chained between rocks with the sea crashing at her feet. Her rosy arse glows as the sea creature Cetus bears down on the ancient Greek princess, ready to penetrate her with its monstrous phallus, "Is it a Titian?"
"Why yes, well spotted slave," replies La Contessa.
"Well, you can't beat a Titian arse, mistress."
She laughs. "No, indeed, you cannot."
She gathers us around her.
"Julia, you can stay with me. Though you will be needed, I don't intend to have you used by all and sundry. But my slave and slave girl, you must make yourself available to any of my guests for any debauched activity they demand. I know you understand this."
"Yes, mistress," we reply in tandem.
"So, you can remove your cloaks but it is the etiquette of the Carnevale ball for masks to be worn at all times. Prepare yourselves. The fun is about to begin."
Becky and I unknot the ties around our necks and let the silk cloaks slide off our backs. Underneath the cloak I wear a collar and outfit consisting of no more than criss-cross leather straps in azure leather matching my mask, whilst Becky still wears the silver chastity belt and breast plates. La Contessa attaches leads to rings in our collars and has us crawling behind her, up the steps onto the podium which acts as the ballroom's dungeon area. Julia, still cloaked, helps Mademoiselle, in her huge pannier, up the steps. A dark shadow of a figure follows. From his build and the set of his jaw, I recognise him as Il Padrone from the warehouse dungeon where the Syrian merchant was taken. He's dressed in a mask and cloak made of black raven feathers.
"Oh, the whole spectacle has made me so horny," gasps Mademoiselle. "I can't wait any longer, I have to come. Get under my dress,
ma cherie
, and lick my cunt."
Mademoiselle lifts up a panel of silk at the front of her dress to reveal the arrangement of willow hoops forming the structure of the pannier, and invites Becky to crawl inside. The girl disappears and gets to work on the desperate French woman. Mademoiselle leans against the side of the rack gasping as the girl works her tongue into her cleft.
"Oh, that's so good. You are so good at pleasing me. Make me come
ma cherie
