Wicked Masquerade

by Diana Rose Wilson

  “See, you are naughty! You are just trying to hide it behind this shy mask. All right, so what will you call me?” He seemed to be so comfortable with this. How long had he been involved in this play-party scene?

  “I am going to call you Cupid,” she told him, willing her voice to stay steady.

  He seemed startled, then coughed. “Really? Are you sure?” She thought his narrow wings curled back as though trying to hide. When she nodded, his smile brightened. “All right. I will call you Owl. And what word might I use to respect your limits?”

  “Yes. All right. The safe word is Tangerine.”

  “Tangerine. Got it.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I always use a condom. Fantasy is great, but no amount of hotness is worth risking your future on. If you need to go raw, it’s a deal breaker for me.”

  She nodded. “Of course!” Relief rushed over her, because who knew how many people that beautiful man had been with? She felt her shoulders relax and he inclined his head toward her.

  “You can touch me anywhere. Anytime. Any way you like. As long as I wear your token, you own me. I am yours to command. I like to be bottom, though I can be sweet- talked into topping in the right situation with the right person. Sometimes.” His eyes gleamed behind the mask and he obviously wanted to know about her. Her desires. Her needs.

  She felt embarrassed and suddenly very shy as she lowered her eyes. “I…don’t really know. I’m not exactly experienced. I’m not a virgin, mind you, but my experiences have been…”

  “Vanilla?” he suggested in understanding.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Only, I want to explore more. It was so hot to watch.” Admitting that made him smile and she continued, “I just haven’t found the right person to explore with. I know enough to respect my safe word though.”

  “Good. House Mistress would tan your ass in a non-sexy way for pressing your luck and getting yourself hurt. We’re not playing fifty shades of dumbass here. So, may I touch you as I desire it?” He lowered his voice and continued, “Because I have wanted to get my hands all over you since I saw you come into the foyer earlier.”

  Her stomach tightened down to the coiling squeeze of her sex. An eager thrill of pleasure spasmed through her at his words and the sweet, chocolaty scent of him. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure? You seemed to hesitate a little,” he teased and reached forward, not quite touching her, but she could feel the warmth of his palm close to her bare arm. “Would you rather be hands off?”

  He smiled as she reached out to splay her hands over his chest. He was hot to the touch, his darkness a contrast to her creamy skin. She was about to respond when heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Startled, she tried to jerk her hands back but his fingers pressed her against him.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her, moving to the side so his back was to the people coming up. “I want people to see you touching me, Owl.”

  “Why?” she asked quietly, searching his dark eyes.

  “Because it’s exciting, like the couple we watched.”

  “Hello there,” a man called as he came up the steps. He wore a stag mask with intricate black antlers like the branches of a tree, and his key around his neck. He hauled a woman by her hair. It struck Ursa as odd, not the way the man pulled roughly, but because her pretty dove mask looked damaged and as if it was about to fall from her face. The dove-woman sobbed loudly, babbling and begging for mercy. Was that rough sport? The man didn’t seem concerned about her well-being or excited at her suffering.

  “Are you all right?” Ursa asked the woman.

  “Of course, she is. Not everyone needs or wants to be rescued! Don’t talk to her. Address me. She is being punished like the wanton animal she is.” The man’s voice slurred at the edges. A little too much drink and it wasn’t even very late into the evening.

  She ignored the man and focused on the woman behind him. “Ma’am, are you all right?” Somewhere behind the mask, the eyes were glassy and distant, lost in the sensation of emotional and physical pain. Was that lust and pleasurable, or not? All she needed was a nod, at least, to know that was their game and she would let them be. Was it really her job to monitor someone’s hard play?

  Cupid turned and was frowning at the scene and the woman, who was swaying from side to side. “You might want to get her some care.”

  “You might want to mind your own fucking business,” the man snarled and yanked on the woman’s hair, making the mask slip all the way off. The woman didn’t even notice as she tried to curl in on herself, tears trailing down her cheeks. “You wouldn’t want me fucking around with your Mistress would you? Oh, that’s right, she moved on to bigger and better things, didn’t she?”

  The woman’s blonde hair was still held in the man’s fist and she sobbed brokenly, makeup streaked, and a purple bruise marring her cheekbone. Rough play indeed. Ursa didn’t see any token on her, but her bodice was ripped and her breast was bare. A tattered blue ribbon dangled from her shoulder.

  “We’re going now,” the man sneered and moved to continue up the steps, uncaring that he was leaving her mask behind or that she banged her knee painfully on the stair with a bark of pain.

  “This isn’t cool. Have some respect for…”

  “When she stops spreading her whore legs for anything, I might.”

  The Stag turned to face off with Cupid, balling up his free hand to threaten a fist at both of them. Things might have gotten out of hand quickly from the way Cupid started forward, but suddenly a trio of men in suits came up the steps almost at a run. The doormen had eyes on the situation.

  One of them spoke into his headset, “We have visual on the north wing. Stag with the Dove.”

  Letting out a breath, Cupid eased back to Ursa’s side, slipping his arm around her to offer some protection. He glared down at Stag, but the man’s widening gaze was diverted to the arrival of the men in suits. Ursa shifted closer to the warmth radiating from Cupid, curling into him while he kept a sharp eye on the newcomers and Stag.

  One of the doormen grabbed Stag by the nape of the neck, sliding the stun gun free of his pocket. “We don’t need more trouble. Release the woman and let’s go. House Mistress wants to talk with you.” Another of the men had a billy club and looked more than capable of wielding it with skill. Stag let out a strangled cry of frustration and flung the woman away from him, cursing her.

  The third doorman assisted in helping the woman while the first two kept hold of the troublesome Stag. “We have a handle on this situation. You two should return to the festivities. Thank you for your concern in this matter.”

  “Is she going to be all right?” Ursa asked through a tightening throat, shocked at the swift efficiency to disarm the situation.

  “We’ll have the nurse take a look at her. Don’t worry, everything is fine now. If we need to make a police report, we know where to find you, Owl. Archer.”

  Stag struggled between the two burly men but they were more than enough to handle his removal without needing to use the club or shocker. The sounds of his ranting echoed within the stairwell as they led him down and out of sight. The other man more carefully attended to the sobbing woman, offering her a cloth for her tear- wet, bruised face as he guided her down the passage.

  “What an asshole,” Cupid snarled as he guided Ursa up the stairs, away from the drama. When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, her pulse still too quick in the aftermath from the situation. “It happened so fast.”

  “They don’t take chances with the rough stuff when someone is pushing limits like that. Let me get you something to drink? I need a moment to calm down.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Thank you.”

  “I know just the place.” He kept his arm around her, pulling her in closer, and she slipped her arm around him, enjoying how her breasts brushed his tight abs.

  “So, you know him?” she asked when they reached the top of the stairs. The spot was empty, b
ut she could hear music and voices nearby where the guests and patrons appeared to have gathered.

  “I have been in this scene and friends with the House Mistress for a long time, so yeah. I know most of the regulars. Can’t be helped, even with a mask I guess. He knew my…uh…my ex-Mistress.” He sighed quietly. “It’s a long, boring and stupid story.”

  “She’s not going to come after me or something, is she?” Ursa asked, trying to make light of it. After seeing the blonde so roughed up, it was hard not imagining something happening.

  “No. It’s been many months now. I took a break from things for a bit to regroup. She’s not the clingy type, which ended up being our problem. Anyway, you’re safe. No drama with me. How about you? Am I going to get pulled around by my hair when some ex-lover comes for you?” he asked, sliding his hand along her side.

  “Um, no. I haven’t dated for a couple years.” She chewed at her lower lip and let out a puff of air. “That sounds pathetic, but I’m picky I guess.”

  “Damn right you are. I had to practically beg to get your attention.”

  They climbed another set of stairs and the room there opened out onto a wide veranda with a bar and grill crowded with loud, cheerful people. The smells of roasting meat floated on the warm evening wind and she felt herself smile at the variety of people around the tables and couches and sprawled on the tiles and rugs that were spread around.

  “Wine? Food?” he asked, leaning in closer to her, his voice warm against her ear and the side of her neck.

  “Yes to both. Do you need help?”

  “Not at all. I’ll just be a moment. You guard our spot.” He led her through the crowd, hunting for a place to sit, and finally found a seat when a group made their departure. There beside the fire pit, she curled herself down and watched him thread his way through the crowd.

  She enjoyed the sight of him moving through the throng, tall and proud, his thick muscles gleaming as he moved. Many people turned to look at him as he passed, and she couldn’t blame them. The mixture of disbelief and wonder made her throat tighten for a moment as she thought about the stranger. He’d rejected several offers and she was the one who had secured his company. It made her feel giddy. Could she honestly follow through with this? Sex with the stranger? A one-night stand? Meaningless sex…

  Watching him, she decided she certainly could. In real life, she’d never have a shot like that. She deserved to bang a hard-body at least once in her life.

  Chapter 2

  “So, you’re still alone?” Peacock came alongside her seat with Leopard and their pair of playmates tagging behind. Sharp, cold eyes swept over her. “I think House Mistress needs to keep some playmates for your type. You know there are refreshments at least.”

  “My type?” She couldn’t keep the fire out of her tone.

  “Chubby girls. You know.” Peacock hadn’t noticed her tone. The man she’d partnered with watched Ursa, his eyes shadowed behind his mask, but she felt his hungry attention rake over her. His cock tented up the front of his loincloth.

  Leopard chuckled softly as she looked at the seating. “Do you mind if we join you? A lot of room here for just a single person. Surely you can share.”

  “Actually, I am just waiting for my partner to return with…”

  “That’s cute.” Peacock laughed and moved to sit on the side of her while Leopard swept in as well. It left the men to sprawl on the ground at the feet of the women.

  Ursa’s pulse speeded up with her irritation, and the warmth drained from her cheeks. These rude women were friends of the Stag fellow they’d encountered on the stairs? “Really, I told you that I am expecting my partner back. Why bother asking if I mind you joining if you’re just going to sit down regardless?”

  “I guess we’re just more Domme than you are. We take what we want,” Leopard said lightly. “She was just trying to be polite and not take over the space, but you can leave if you don’t like it.”

  Ursa wanted to ask if either of them even understood what being a Domme was about but before she could, the soft rumble of Cupid’s voice intruded, “Well, looks like things got a whole lot more cozy.” He sounded amused as he knelt before her, his dark eyes only for her as he held the tray out to her, ignoring the pair of women.

  “It seems so,” she answered, feeling the scowl ease as she watched his warm smile curl up his lips.

  Leopard and Peacock both made choked sounds of shock.

  The men were friendly however. “Hey, man, good to see you,” Hare said with a grin.

  “Missed seeing you at the last few events,” Hound added.

  Cupid inclined his head to the men before turning his attention back to Ursa with the tray still held out for her. She accepted the glass of wine and motioned for him to take his own while she adjusted to make room for the tray of food while he knelt at her feet.

  Peacock found her voice at last. “This is ridiculous! Surely you’re not going to give the pony sports a go?”

  “I haven’t decided what I’m doing,” Ursa said as she lifted her glass to swirl her wine around in the bowl. “I haven’t even had my dinner yet.”

  Cupid’s smile turned wolfish and he glanced at the other men and rolled his broad shoulders without saying anything. He just sized up the other two men with a friendly, competitive posture. Ursa had the impression, from the way the three men posed, that they had raced previously or shared some intimate moments together in these parties. Maybe a bit of both!

  She felt the women watching her as she sipped her wine and felt herself smile, relaxing into the moment. The thought that this handsome man had shared lovers with these other men thrilled her rather than shocked her. A tangle of desire tightened in her. Reaching out, she cupped Cupid’s dark jaw and smoothed her thumb along his smooth skin. Behind his mask, his eyes closed in pleasure. Even the men watched her petting him.

  “I see.” Leopard stood with a jerky movement and snapped her fingers to her partner. “It’s way too crowded here. Let’s go.” She didn’t wait for Peacock to join her. She turned with a huff and flutter of furs and strode away from the fire-lit alcove.

  Peacock’s gaze blazed as she pinned Cupid, and Ursa wasn’t sure what emotions were burning there behind that mask, but it was nothing pretty. Jealousy? Greed? Hunger? She snapped at her partner and the man let out a low huff and stood before following after his playmate.

  Cupid bowed his head forward and kissed her knee, nuzzling his cheek against her. “Do you desire participating in the pony sport?” he asked quietly, dark eyes lifting toward hers.

  “Yes,” she whispered, unable to keep the quaver out of her voice.

  “Want to show those women how it’s done?” he asked, and his full lips brushed over her skin.

  “Yes!” She sipped her wine and savored the berries and tannin of the red mingling with oak notes as his lips kissed the inside of her knee. “I want to show you off.”

  “Do you have gear for a pony of my caliber?” he murmured, his voice so low it was more vibration against her skin. “I am a very proud beast, and require to be shown off in the finest equipment to do my best.”

  “I might manage something. Would you enjoy some pony sport? I have the feeling you used to be a competitor.”

  He laughed and nipped her thigh up higher, careful not to jostle the tray or his wine. “When I was into the game, I had a bit of a reputation. The biggest thrill is knowing my Mistress enjoys the show.”

  “It means I will need to stay tomorrow, hmmm?” she asked.

  “There’s so much to see here. More than you can squeeze into one evening,” he assured her and kissed up higher on her thigh. “There’s still time before you have to register me for the events. Time enough to eat and explore before deciding.”

  “And you know those men?” she asked in a soft voice, preventing him from spreading her thighs wider, giving him a nudge back with a hand so she could see his eyes.

  “We have raced against each other and competed in shows. There have
been a few bedroom games between us and our partners over the years.” He grinned at her and moistened his lips before sipping his wine. “Does that excite you?”

  She found it difficult to speak and nodded her answer, watching him. “Are you…bisexual?”

  He chuckled low in his throat. “I guess I am, although I have only been sexual with a couple men and not those two. I’m more attracted to women, and would much rather enjoy a strong woman taking me that way.” His dark eyes burned the question into her and she felt her cheeks heat.

  “Pegging. Right?” she guessed, throat tight and pussy tingling with a thrill. “I’ve seen a video of women using their strap-ons on men. I…uh—” Words failed her as she met his dark, mysterious eyes. How could she tell him how much she’d desired and longed to try that? “I never thought I could overpower someone to do that.”

  He sipped his wine and inclined his head. “Why do I have the impression this weekend is going to be full of firsts for you, pretty Owl?” The way he adjusted himself made it obvious his cock was straining against the heavy leather skirting of his costume.

  “If I stay,” she said with a hint of warning, not quite convinced that was a good idea.

  “Of course.” His eyes glinted with playfulness and he nuzzled her leg again, his smile widening.

  Breathing out a nervous little laugh, she focused on the food he’d brought them and discovered steaks, vegetables and fries. She offered him a fry from her fingers, which he nibbled with care. Then she cut into the steak and as she chewed, cut Cupid a bite, offering it out on the tines of the fork. In near silence they shared the meal and she felt herself relaxing.

  Across the room, the sound of a loud slap echoed through the crowd, followed by a deep, throaty moan of pleasure. She looked up from admiring her companion to find the source of the disturbance. People shifted in the thickening gathering and she saw the man over a woman’s lap, his bare ass in the air, pink from the slap she’d delivered. His masked head bowed forward until she brought the wooden paddle down on his backside with another sharp crack of sound. He arched and thrashed, his impala-masked face coming up, the silvery, spiked horns flashing. The woman was much smaller than the man, but he didn’t resist her, his hands gripping the couch rather than moving to protect his punished backside. She wore a mask that looked like swallowtail butterfly wings and a headdress of matching golden and sapphire silk.