Wychwood Venice - The Doge’s Ball

One

Sandy woke to the aroma of coffee, and it took a few seconds of sleepy confusion before she realised where she was. She opened her eyes to see Ricci making coffee in the kitchen, wearing Sandy’s Ramones T-shirt and a pair of knickers. She watched Ricci for a couple of minutes as memories of the previous night returned, bringing a sudden warmth to her face. It hadn’t been a dream after all, she thought, squirming with pleasure.

“You look so sweet in that,” Sandy said, making Ricci jump.

“Buongiorno, Alessandra. I hope you don’t mind me borrowing it.”

Sandy shook her head. “Uh-huh. It looks better on you.”

Ricci brought two small cups of espresso to the bed and handed one to Sandy. The cups were small, but the coffee was strong enough to wake the dead. Sandy sat up to drink it, using the sheet to cover her chest.

Ricci laughed. “It’s too late for modesty, Alessandra,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. Sandy blushed and let the sheet slip. She knew she should say something, but what? This moment always felt awkward. You had slept with someone, but was it just a one-night stand or the beginning of something more serious? She had crept out of bedrooms in the early-morning dark before, to avoid the conversation while the other person slept, realising what a drunken mistake she had made. She had also sometimes woken to find herself alone in bed. Equally embarrassing, she had thought. Of course, that had been in her other life, as she now thought of it. This felt different. She desperately didn’t want this to be a one-night stand. But what if Ricci didn’t feel the same?

As if reading her mind, Ricci said quietly, “Alessandra, I have to go soon. I will be making the alterations to your gown for the Ball. Before I go, I need you to know I had one of the best nights of my life. I do not want this to be the last time. If you agree, you can give me your answer at the final fitting later. I will understand if you say no, but I hope with all my heart that you say yes.”

Sandy’s throat tightened, unsure what to say. ‘Don’t be a fucking coward. Say something, you idiot,’ she told herself.

She coughed to clear her throat. “Ricci, I don’t need to wait. I don’t want this to end either.”

Ricci squealed and hugged Sandy so hard she thought her ribs would crack.

She finally let go of Sandy and said, “I’m sorry, but I have to get ready now. I will see you later.” She slipped off Sandy’s T-shirt, sniffed it with a grin, and said, “It has your scent, caro. It will stay with me all day.”

She threw it at Sandy and stood there, naked except for her knickers. Sandy looked at her, desire rising once more. Ricci grabbed some clothes from a rail in one corner of the room and disappeared into the shower room. Sandy dozed for a while, her muscles aching from last night’s exertions. She wasn’t used to the kind of gymnastics they had performed.

Ricci emerged, made up in what was obviously her usual chic goth look, wearing a black men’s shirt and wide-legged black trousers. She pulled on her puffer coat, then leant down to kiss Sandy once more.

“I can’t wait to see you later in your gown. Close the door when you leave; it locks itself.” With that, she opened the door and disappeared. Sandy lay back on the bed and smiled. Life was looking up at long last. She showered and dressed, after searching for her underwear, which she eventually found under the bed. She was about to leave when she caught sight of Ricci’s drawings on the walls. She took out her phone and snapped pictures of the designs, thinking they would be a memento of last night. She closed the door behind her and rode the vaporetto home with a huge smile on her face.

Two

A few hours later, Sandy stood nervously outside Beatrice’s studio. She had worried all morning about whether she would ever be able to carry it off at the Ball. Would everyone laugh at her? Would she be exposed? The elite of Venice would be there, and for the first time it occurred to her that Overstrand would probably be attending too. That set her nerves jangling, but she calmed herself when she remembered they would all be costumed and masked, and that he wouldn’t expect her to be there. She would have the advantage over him. Gathering what was left of her courage, she rang the bell.

Beatrice opened the door, dressed in her customary black outfit, and led Sandy through the studio to the fitting room. In a corner of the room hung the gown she had chosen the previous day. To her eyes, it looked even more stunning than it had the day before.

“It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” Said Beatrice as Sandy’s fingers gently touched the gown. “If you don’t mind, I’ve asked Ricci to join us because she has done the alterations and will do anything else necessary.”

“No, that’s fine, Beatrice,” said Sandy, smiling to herself, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time Ricci would see her almost naked today.

“Very well, I’ll fetch her if you want to take off your clothes. There’s a cubicle over there.” She closed the door behind her, then undressed and slipped into a robe she found in the cubicle. She wondered how she should react when she saw Ricci, and how Ricci would be with her.

There was a knock at the door, and Sandy said, “Please come in."

The door opened, and Beatrice entered, closely followed by Ricci. As she caught sight of Ricci, Sandy’s heart danced a little rhumba. She thought she caught a tiny smile at the corners of Ricci’s mouth, but otherwise Ricci appeared coolly professional. An image of Ricci straddling her from last night flitted through Sandy's mind’s eye, and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Calm down,’ she told herself. ‘You’ll make a fool of yourself.’

Thankfully, Beatrice’s voice broke into Sandy’s daydream. “Ricci and I will help you into the gown. Please pass Ricci the robe so we can begin.”

Sandy slipped off the robe and, as she handed it to Ricci, saw Ricci’s eyes flick up and down her body, naked except for her knickers. “Grazie, Ricci,” said Sandy, and as their hands brushed, a shiver fled down Sandy's spine.

Beatrice had told Sandy to bring a pair of heels for the fitting, and Sandy sat on the couch to put them on. “Allow me, signorina,” said Ricci, taking them from Sandy's hands, kneeling in front of her, then slipping the heels onto Sandy's feet, taking the opportunity to slyly stroke Sandy's calves with her fingers. Sandy had to close her eyes and stifle a moan at the touch. She prayed that Beatrice couldn’t notice what was going on. Sandy glanced at Beatrice, but she had her back to them, fiddling with something on the gown.

Ricci held out her hand to help Sandy up, and then looked Sandy in the eye, grinned and slowly slid her tongue along her lips. Sandy leant forward and hissed, “What are you doing? I’m nervous enough already.” Ricci pouted and blew Sandy a kiss.

“Is everything alright, signorina?” asked Beatrice.

“It’s all good, Beatrice. Thank you,” said Sandy, glaring at Ricci.

“In that case, let’s get you into the gown.”

Ricci carried the gown over to where Sandy stood and knelt so Sandy could step into it. Beatrice carefully pulled it up and over Sandy's shoulders. It felt surprisingly light to Sandy, which she thought would be a blessing at the Ball.

“Ricci, can you tighten the laces please,” said Beatrice.

An alarm went off in Sandy's mind. Laces? What the hell did that mean?

Ricci giggled as she saw the look on Sandy's face. “I added a little corset to the gown, to give you a shape. I have to tighten it from behind.”

Ricci began to pull the laces tight, and Sandy felt the corset tighten around her chest and waist. “Oof,” she squealed as Ricci pulled the laces even tighter. “Is this necessary?” she muttered to Ricci.

“Look in the mirror,” was all Ricci said.

Sandy glanced at her reflection, and was staggered to see that the corset had given her something of a more feminine shape. Ricci pulled the laces even tighter, and Sandy thought she would never be able to cope with this for a whole evening.

“Take some shallow breaths, and you will get used to it,” said Beatrice.

Sandy did so, and it was true. It did feel a little easier.

“Told you so,” whispered Ricci in her ear.

Beatrice fussed about examining the gown’s fit, and found a few things that she pinned. “Ricci will make some further alterations, but I’m happy with it. Are you. Alessandra?”

Sandy was still gazing at herself in the mirror, transfixed by what she saw. “Oh, yes, Beatrice. Very happy. Thank you, both.”

Ricci unlaced the gown, and Sandy felt her internal organs sigh in gratitude. She stepped out of the dress, and Ricci carried it away, presumably to make the alterations.

“That’s all for us,” said Beatrice. “The gown will be delivered to the salon tomorrow. I will send you the address and time.”

“Thank you, Beatrice. You have been so kind to me.” They embraced, and Beatrice left to let Sandy get dressed. She was a little upset that Ricci had left without saying goodbye.

In the same cafe she had used the day before, Sandy wondered if she should message Ricci about meeting later on, or would that come across as too needy. She was saved from that dilemma as Ricci sent her a message.

Ricci33: “I’m sorry for not saying goodbye, but there’s a lot of work for the whole studio today before the Ball. I wanted to see you tonight, but everyone has to work late. I thought you looked beautiful in the gown. Can I see you after the Ball? You might need some help getting out of the gown.”

Arossi: “Yes, of course we can meet. Shall I come round to your place? It may be late. And thank you for your work on the gown. I think it’s beautiful too.”

Ricci33: “I have the day off after the Ball, so just let me know when you leave the Ball. I will be waiting for you.”

Arossi: “See you then.”

Sandy felt dizzy with excitement. She was living her best life.

Three.

The Calle Larga XXII Marzo, a few hundred steps from Piazza San Marco, is home to some of the most fashionable and expensive shops in Venice, and the address Sandy had been given for the salon was in an alley branching off the Calle. It was an unpretentious entrance, but Sandy knew that meant nothing. Plain doors could hide many secrets in Venice. She announced herself to the intercom, and it buzzed open, revealing a brightly lit reception area. Behind a desk sat a pretty girl who greeted Sandy with a smile revealing teeth so white they would dazzle oncoming traffic.

“Buonasera, signorina Rossi. Please take a seat. I will let your stylist know you’re here.”

Sandy sat at a low table covered with fashion magazines. She picked up a copy of Grazia, but before she could open it, a tall, blonde woman in a white coat appeared.

“My name is Elena. Welcome to our salon.” Sandy looked up in surprise. Elena spoke with a distinct Eastern European accent. She must have caught Sandy’s glance, because she added, “I am Ukrainian, from Kyiv.” She said it with a hint of wariness, as if she had had to say it many times before. She would be among the tens of thousands forced to leave their country by the Russian invasion, joining the Ukrainian diaspora worldwide.

“I’m sorry for what your people are enduring,” said Sandy.

Elena nodded. “Thank you, Alessandra. That’s kind of you. We pray it will end soon.” She opened a door and ushered Sandy into a treatment room. “Please sit, and I will explain what will happen.” She sat opposite Sandy, slipped on a pair of reading glasses, opened a folder, and read what was inside. It gave Sandy a chance to take a proper look at Elena. She was extremely beautiful, with long, straight blonde hair, blue eyes, and a complexion that looked as if it had never seen make-up. She could easily have been a model, thought Sandy. Elena looked up suddenly, catching Sandy’s gaze. She smiled, as if aware of what Sandy had been thinking, and said, “You are booked in for a makeover for the Doge’s Ball, and then to help you with your gown before you are escorted to the Ball. Is that right?”

Sandy nodded, “I think so. A friend of mine organised it.”

“I see that your friend has asked for a waxing session, then hair and make-up suitable for the Doge’s Ball.”

Sandy almost choked. “Waxing? Is that necessary?”

“Show me your legs, please, Alessandra.”

“What? I think they’re fine.”

“Show me your legs,” Elena said, rather forcibly.

And just like that, Sandy was back in Wychwood, being told what to do by Samantha. And just as she had at Wychwood, Sandy did as she was told. She stood up, undid the loose trousers she had put on that morning for comfort's sake, and slid them down her legs. She normally shaved her legs, but hadn’t bothered recently because it was winter, and she wore trousers or jeans most of the time. Elena leant forward and ran her fingers down Sandy's legs.

“Yes, they need waxing,” said Elena. “Underarm and bikini wax, too.”

Sandy was too stunned to object, and she briefly wondered why domineering blonde women turned her into such a submissive wimp.

“Good,” Elena continued. Then let’s get started. Do you prefer a male or female therapist for the waxing?”

‘Oh shit,’ thought Sandy. She had not expected this, and mumbled. “Oh, er, I…Look, Elena, I don’t know if you know, but—“

“Ah, I see. Please do not be concerned, Alessandra,” Elena said with a smile. “Your secret is safe here. Our therapists are very discreet and experienced.”

“Oh,” said Sandy, blushing. “In that case, may I have a female therapist?”

“Certo, Alessandra. I will leave you to disrobe. You will find a cover-up through that door over there. I will only be a few minutes.”

After Elena left, closing the door behind her, Sandy was left alone to wonder why on earth she had agreed to this. She felt lightheaded as doubts elbowed their way into her mind. Surely she couldn’t get away with it. It was all too much; she couldn’t possibly carry it off, could she? It had seemed a wonderful idea at first, but Sandy was now on the verge of a panic attack. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. She had got this far, and she couldn’t back out now, if only because Annabelle and Fleur must have laid out a small fortune for her to do this. They had thought she could do it, so she opened her eyes, straightened her back, and walked to the door Elena had indicated.

It turned out to be a small shower room, and Sandy quickly stripped off, though she left her knickers on. She wrapped herself in a robe hanging from a hook, then returned to the treatment room to wait. A few minutes later, Elena opened the door, this time dressed in a white cotton tunic and trousers, her hair tied back in a ponytail.

“Alessandra, I will be your therapist, if that is alright?” she announced. Sandy swallowed, thinking how incredibly sexy she looked.

“Oh, yes, Elena. That’s fine.”

“Good, then let me help you with the robe.” She moved behind Sandy and gently lifted the robe from Sandy's shoulders. The touch of Elena's fingers on Sandy's bare skin sent shivers through her. “Oh, God. Please don’t let me embarrass myself,” she thought.

“Please lie on your back on the table,” said Elena. Sandy did as she was told while Elena wheeled a small trolley of waxing materials over to the bed. Sandy had never had a wax before, and she eyed the trolley as if its contents were instruments of torture. Elena pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and smoothed the warm wax onto Sandy's thigh. When Sandy stiffened, Elena paused and asked, “Is this your first time?” Sandy nodded.

“Do not be a baby. It will not hurt,” Elena said, then ripped off the first strip, making Sandy squeal. It stung a little, but it was gone quickly, so Sandy relaxed and let Elena get on with it. Elena worked quickly, and it wasn’t long before she asked Sandy to raise her arm so she could wax Sandy’s underarms. Then, Elena told Sandy to raise her bottom, and before she knew what was happening, Elena pulled Sandy's knickers down and examined the label.

“Victoria’s Secret. Very nice,” said Elena approvingly. Dreading what was to come, Sandy covered herself with her hands. Elena moved them aside and said with a disapproving frown, “I have seen one before.”

Not mine, thought Sandy, but she resigned herself to what was to come.

“Tssh.” Elena hissed. “You have not taken care of yourself here. The hair is too long. It will hurt, but I will trim it.” To Sandy's horror, Elena picked up a small pair of scissors and began snipping. Not for the first time, and not the last, Sandy asked why, in God’s name, she was enduring this. Elena finished snipping, and Sandy lay back and closed her eyes as Elena spread wax over Sandy’s pubic hair. To her surprise, it stung only a little more than on her legs, and she let out a sigh of relief.

“Your torture is over,” said Elena. “Come back more often, Alessandra. It will be much easier next time.” She looked down at Sandy, admiring her handiwork, and smiled. “You look so cute now.” She reached down and stroked Sandy’s cock. “It is a very pretty little one,” she murmured as if giving it a score.

Stunned, Sandy managed only to say, “Thank you.” Elena nodded, then said, “Please put on the robe and follow me.”

Four

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, as different stylists shuttled in and out to do her hair, nails, and make-up. It was a level of pampering Sandy had not believed possible. Elena hovered in the background, supervising and offering water, prosecco, or coffee. Of course, as the afternoon progressed, despite Elena's words of support and encouragement, Sandy's anxiety grew. She finally accepted a glass of prosecco, hoping it would help, but her fingers shook as she held it.

At that moment, Elena appeared, and for the first time, Sandy noticed a small emblem stitched into the tunics worn by Elena and the other stylists. It looked like a bird, and a tiny inner voice prompted Sandy to ask what it was.

“Una corvo,” Elena answered. “A rook. It is the name of the salon. The woman who started the salon thought they were a lucky omen. As for me, I’m not so sure. Do you like them, Alessandra?”

Sandy’s heart skipped a beat, and she was back at Wychwood, staring at the rook that had crashed through the window, saving her life.

“Alessandra, are you alright?” asked Elena. “You look far away.”

Sandy shook her head to clear the image. “Scusi, Elena. Yes, I think rooks are a lucky omen. It’s a long story from somewhere far away.”

“Bene.” Elena beamed. “So, we are nearly finished. Did you bring your own intimates for tonight?”

“In my bag. My shoes are there too.” Sandy had picked out some beautiful lingerie and stockings to match the occasion and because they made her feel good. She had chosen a pair of red shoes to match the outfit, and, most importantly, they would be comfortable. Elena fetched the bag and examined the lingerie inside.

“Mmm, La Perla,” Elena said approvingly. “You have excellent taste, Alessandra. Do you need any help with them?”

Flustered by the suggestion, Sandy said, “Oh. No thank you. I can manage.”

“Very well, I will leave you for a few minutes to change and then come back to help you into your gown.”

Sandy quickly pulled on the knickers and suspender belt, then slid the stockings up her legs and fastened them to the garter tabs. She slipped her feet into the shoes and waited for Elena. Somehow, the memory of the rook at Wychwood had given her the courage to face whatever might happen this evening.

The door opened, and Elena returned. Sandy turned to face her, noticing Elena’s eyes flick up and down as if judging a horse show. Elena must have approved, for she smiled and said, “You are lovely, Alessandra.” The compliment sent a thrill through Alessandra, and her cheeks reddened.

Elena helped Sandy into the gown, careful not to disturb her hair. She tightened the laces at the back so hard that Sandy worried she might faint. Sandy took a few shallow breaths, and the feeling passed. She hoped she would be able to last the night like this.

“Are you ready to see yourself, Alessandra? asked Elena.

Sandy nodded, unable to speak. Elena had placed a drape over the full-length mirror and led Sandy to stand before it. Sandy's heart was pounding and her mouth dry as she waited anxiously for Elena to remove the drape.

“Close your eyes,” said Elena.

She did so, offering up a silent prayer that she wouldn’t look like a freak. It seemed an age before Elena said, “You can open them now.”

Sandy opened one eye a fraction, in case she had to close it again at what she saw. Instead, she opened both eyes wide, and her hands flew to her mouth in surprise. The beautiful woman staring back at her from the mirror could not possibly be her. This must be some kind of illusion, she thought. Yet the woman in the mirror had her hands to her mouth, too, and when Sandy turned her head sideways, the woman in the mirror did the same.

Her hair had been braided to frame her face and pinned into an elegant updo. Her lipstick and nails matched the colour of her gown, and her eyes smouldered beneath beautifully groomed eyebrows and perfect eye shadow. The gown sparkled and shimmered as she moved. She turned to Elena, her eyes glistening. “I cannot thank you enough, Elena. This is incredible. I can’t believe it’s really me.”

“It has been our pleasure, but do not cry. We haven’t got time to redo your make-up.” But she was smiling. “You look ravishing, Alessandra.”

Sandy excitedly spun and swirled in front of the mirror, unable to drag her eyes away from what she saw. Eventually, she asked Elena to take some photos of her on her iPhone, who happily obliged, taking shots of Sandy in different poses. Sandy quickly reviewed the photos and sent what she thought were the best to Annabelle first, with a message: ‘Thank you so much’, adding several heart emojis.

She then sent them to Ricci, asking, ‘How do I look?’ with even more hearts.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Annabelle. ‘OMG. You are drop-dead gorgeous. Have a wonderful time. You deserve it. Fleur sends her love too.’

The next message came from Ricci. ‘Sei bellissima, amore XXXX’

Sandy hesitated, then sent the pictures to Samantha with a simple message. ‘Thank you.’

The phone pinged with a message from Samantha. ‘You’re welcome. You look like a princess.’

Sandy was finally ready. She pulled the cloak over her shoulders and followed Elena down to the Grand Canal, where a gondola was waiting at the dock. Elena kissed her cheek. “Good luck, Alessandra. Remember, you look radiant.”

The gondolier held Sandy's hand as she stepped in, but she was startled by camera flashes as a group of excited Japanese tourists snapped pictures of her. She gave them a gracious wave, which made the Japanese take even more pictures, before settling back into her seat. The gondolier then pushed off and set off effortlessly down the Grand Canal.

Five

Arriving at the palazzo hosting the Ball, Sandy stepped from the gondola, walking carefully up the wet, slippery steps to the front door, flares lighting the way. A liveried servant bowed and took the cloak that had kept her warm on the chilly evening, and she nervously touched the double string of pearls at her neck. The servant gestured for her to enter a magnificent Ballroom lit by hundreds of candles. The elites of Venice and the rest of the world would be here tonight. The revellers filled the room with noise and laughter, and, because tonight was Carnevale, their faces were concealed behind elaborate masks, some beautiful, some ugly caricatures. Women in elegant Ball gowns and men in frock coats, wigs, and hose danced to music played by a string quartet on a balcony. Through the windows, she glimpsed the Basilica Santa Maria della Salute in the distance as gondoliers criss-crossed the canal to deliver their masked passengers.

A man in a frock coat, a golden mask, and a tricorn hat appeared and bowed before her. She bent one knee behind the other and curtsied to him, and he took her hand and led her into the midst of the dancers. They danced around the room, and she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, dressed in a dazzling red gown, her hair piled atop her head, her face concealed by a cat mask. Another man cut in to dance with her, then another, then another, until she was dizzy. Each wore a different mask, and she could only wonder who lay behind them. This was everything she had imagined it would be and much, much more. The music, the dancing, the excitement, and the atmosphere created a high she hoped would never end.

As she gazed around, Sandy felt a sudden sense of déjà vu. With a jolt, she remembered this had been one of her dreams at Wychwood. It shook her, bringing back so many memories, good and bad, of that place. Exhausted from dancing, and her feet aching despite the comfortable shoes, she went to find a drink. Prosecco, of course, was the only drink on offer. As she approached the bar, a tall man in a Scaramouche mask and a feathered cap offered her a glass. Sandy gratefully accepted it and curtsied to him. “Grazie, Signore.”

The man bowed in return. “Prego, signorina. Come stai?” he responded.

Sandy’s heart almost stopped. She would have recognised that terrible accent anywhere. She peered up at him. “Robert, is that you?”

The man laughed, swept the cap from his head and, bowing deeply, said, “At your service, Signorina Rossi. What gave me away? I thought nobody would recognise me in this.”

“It was your…oh, never mind.” Sandy looked him up and down. “I must say you look… er, handsome in that outfit.” In truth, Sandy thought he looked utterly divine, but she kept that to herself. 

Overstrand grinned and said, “Thank you. May I say how beautiful you look in your gown?”

Sandy felt her cheeks redden beneath her makeup. “How did you know it was me?” 

“Easy,” he said with the boyish grin that had never failed to make Sandy melt. “Your hair is longer now, but I couldn’t forget that colour and your eyes. I would recognise them anywhere, even behind that mask.”

He clinked his glass against Sandy’s. “Cin cin, Sandy.” They each sipped their drinks then fell into an awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say next. 

“How are…” They both spoke at once and then laughed at each other, breaking the tension. Overstrand bent close to Sandy’s ear and whispered, “We can’t talk here. It’s too loud. I would love to hear how you’ve been.”

Sandy breathed in Overstrand’s cologne, closed her eyes, and she was back in Wychwood, where that scent had made her heart race and her head spin. She opened her eyes again as Overstrand was still talking. He said, “I promised you once to show you my place here. Would you like to see it now?” Seeing the look on Sandy’s face, Overstrand quickly added, “No strings, Sandy. I want to know you’re okay.”

Sandy opened her mouth to reply when a flash of light brighter than the sun scorched her eyes, and a wind lifted her off her feet and slammed her backwards until her head hit something solid. The last thing she heard before the blackness took her was a scream.