La Contessa Ch. 25

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, make me come!"

Whilst Mademoiselle is being brought to a climax, La Contessa, and Il Padrino lead me to the suspension frame. My wrists are tied and pulled up, my legs spread-eagled and bound to the frame.

"Excellent," exclaims La Contessa, "I see every sensitive part of your anatomy is exposed for my guests. Hopefully in a few minutes they will join us up here. I will go and encourage people to make use of the equipment I've kindly provided. Let me see, who can start proceedings. Ah, Julia. You love your mistress, yes? So, you will do whatever pleases her?"

"Yes, mistress," she concurs.

Handing Julia a flogger made in red leather to match her costume, La Contessa continues, "Besides, I know how much you enjoyed punishing him on the gondola. So, let me observe how you do it, let me see you whip your lover."

"Yes madam, anything you ask of me."

Julia grasps the handle firmly in her hand. She faces me, her hazel eyes behind the red and orange feathers of the phoenix mask staring into mine. She runs the strands of the flogger across my shoulders and neck. The leather is tantalisingly soft. She takes one of my nipples between her scarlet-gloved fingers. The silk is sleek and smooth, but the twist of my nipple bites. I squirm against my restraints. Julia runs the flogger along my chest until its leather tongues brush my pubes.

"Madam wants me to punish you. Do you recall when I spanked and whipped you on the gondola when we first met? Well, I'm going to punish you again, and this time you're tied up for me so there's no escape."

Her words are calm and seductively threatening. My heart is racing. La Contessa has been giving her lessons or maybe Julia has learnt from observing her. Yes, I remember the corporal punishment she administered when we first met. Then she was hesitant, but looking into her eyes now, there's a glint of sadistic pleasure in them which reminds me of La Contessa.

My cock is starting to swell. Julia takes it into her hands and runs the flogger across it. She releases my cock, now fully erect, and steps back. She raises the flogger over her shoulder and slashes it across the hard flesh. She lashes the leather thongs against my cock again and again. It retains its hardness but throbs with the pain, but it's an exquisite pain.

"What do you say?" asks Julia.

"Thank you," I gasp.

She arches an eyebrow through the eye-hole in the mask in a familiar gesture.

"Thank you... mistress," I add.

She smiles, "That's better."

La Contessa gazes on approvingly. I wonder if she's been training Julia for this. Perhaps she's introducing a sadistic little twist to the understanding between her, her maid, and her slave, for her own pleasure. I settle into my bondage and wait for more... yearn for more.

The tension between Julia and I is momentarily broken by the screams of Mademoiselle's delight as she reaches her climax. She grips onto the side of the rack as her whole body, hidden in the preposterously large gown, spasms with her orgasm. Her work done, Becky emerges from the willow frame supporting the billows of material, Mademoiselle's cunt juices dripping from her lips.

"Thank you ma cherie. God I needed that," she pants.

As soon as Becky is on her feet, La Contessa offers her a flogger, this one white. She steps forward to take up a position alongside Julia, and in front of me. The two women turn to face each other. The phoenix and swan masks face up to one another; Julia's the fiery red of passion and Becky's the cool, dispassionate white of submission. Julia reaches out to touch the girl's cheek. Immediately they are locked into an embrace, their lips pressed together in a passionate kiss. La Contessa demanded all jealousies be put aside, and here's the evidence they have. They kiss with the ardour of lovers.

La Contessa is amused, "Very good, perhaps the three of you should engage in a little menage a trois... with your mistress's full approval, naturally. But you should be focusing on the slave's pain rather than your own pleasure."

Hearing La Contessa's words their lips part.

"Yes, mistress."

"Of course, madam," echoes Julia.

Julia is behind me and sets to work flogging my backside, whilst Becky stands before me slashing the red tongues across my cock and balls. The two women work in tandem, one strike following the other. They are hard strokes. I noticed this on the gondola, for a woman with a delicate build Julia can wield a whip with force.

By now the guests are starting to fill the platform, either to watch the spectacle or join in. Il Padrino has a woman tied onto the rack, her arms outstretched, legs apart and gown rolled up to expose her cunt. He runs his fingers along her crack making her squirm and squeal. A naked man, save for his white mask with a leering grin, is being paraded around the stage by a lady in a vivid purple gown and mask, wielding a whip. A lady dressed as a mediaeval maiden in a tall, conical hat is tied to the St Andrews Cross as a group of men dressed in golden crusader costumes emblazoned with gold Maltese crosses and gold masks line up to penetrate her. La Contessa watches proceedings approvingly, conducting the action and supplying her guests with the tools for sexual pleasure and torment from her vast array of equipment.

There's a group clustered around the frame where I'm strung up. It's obvious they are keen to join in so, being good hosts, Becky and Julia hand their floggers to the guests. One is taken up by a stunning, black-haired woman wearing a striking scarlet gown in a devil mask with black horns. She takes the lead in punishing me, slashing me with powerful strokes, revelling in the opportunity to administer severe punishment on a willing subject. My back and buttocks must be covered in welt marks by now. Whilst the devil woman whips my arse another reveller dressed in an azure gown, her lips dusted with ground lapis lazuli, is on her knees before me, threading my cock into her mouth. She devours me with gusto, leaving blue flecks of dust sticking to the saliva and pre-cum on my cock by the time she's finished.

Other guests want to use the suspension frame I'm hanging from, so La Contessa unties me to free the equipment for them.

"I think you're ready for a change of scenery," she explains, strapping me onto a whipping bench with leather straps.

Whilst being secured I glance to one side to see a naked lady tied onto the rack with ropes, and Il Padrino orchestrating her torment. She has a massive dildo inserted into her cunt whilst at the other end her head is enveloped in a vast indigo ball gown as, underneath it, she's licks out the cunt of one of the revellers. Whilst she's doing this Il Padrino is drizzling hot wax over her breasts.

I'm on my front, my knees bent, arse in the air, and head locked in a wooden yoke so I can't see what's going on behind me. In front of me is another guest in a golden mask with red flames around it, her ball gown and undergarments discarded, wearing only a strap-on secured around her waist with a leather belt.

"Take this for me," she exclaims, threading the false cock into my mouth.

The strap-on is broad; I open my mouth wide to receive the smooth wooden object. She pushes it deep into my throat and, taking my face between her hands, rocks her hips back and forth pushing it inside me. It's only then I see the ingenuity of the design of this strap-on. It's carved in such a way that a protruding piece of polished wood fills her cunt so with each thrust into my mouth, she's penetrated as well. The harder and deeper she pushes into me the greater the pleasure she gives herself.

"Take it deeper for me," she gasps, penetrating my mouth with hard thrusts.

Before she comes, she slides the object out of my mouth. But there's no respite for me. She steps around to the rear of the bench. She runs her hands over my backside, covered with red marks from my earlier whipping, then probes my anus with the fearsome strap-on. She pushes it inside me. It stretches me but soon pushes past the tight ring of my anus deep into the passage. It's a strange sensation being filled, yet oddly comforting. She gets to work on me. Her thrusts are deep and powerful and, as the pressure on her own sex mounts, she groans and whoops with pleasure.