On Display (Deep Desires) Read online

  Table of Contents

  On Display

  All Rights Reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Also by Liza Mitchell

  About the Author

  On Display

  Deep Desires

  Liza Mitchell

  Published by Feather & Bleed Press, 2019.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language that may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual. No one is related in this book.

  ON DISPLAY

  Copyright © 2019 Liza Mitchell

  Edited by Jennifer at Mistress Editing

  Proofread by Paula Grundy

  CHAPTER ONE

  _____________

  POPPY

  A brisk breeze tore through the street, pulling at her laurel crown and whipping her crimson hair around her body. She’d been standing in front of the massive sandstone building for almost ten minutes, trying to gather up the courage to walk up the steps and go inside. Other guests strode right past her and excitedly dashed inside. But they weren’t going to have the same evening she was. And her excitement had to overcome her anxiety first.

  A group of women walked by with open coats, showing off skimpy costumes of fishnets and bustiers. One even had her breasts out entirely, and her tits moved freely as she bounced up the stairs and into the temple; small tassels attached to her nipples swung with each of her eager steps.

  She needed to channel that energy, that excitement.

  Three performers—two women and a man—flanked the doors, greeting guests. The women were performing a slow and dramatic dance as the fall wind swept their thin cream dresses around them, revealing glimpses of blood-red lingerie.

  The man stood on the other side of the door. He wore only pants and a goat mask and leaned forward as he projected a seductive voice out into the city. “Come on in. Tonight we feast with the Lord of Darkness and his ladies. Virgins are most pleasing to him, but I see no virgins here.” He leered at another group of partygoers dressed as mobsters and cigar girls. They wore authentic 1920s garments, and the women wore their hair in perfect finger waves. No one fucked around with costumes from a big box store for The Masquerade.

  She wasn’t anxious about entering the Masonic temple or scared by the ominous performance out front. She’d attended The Masquerade every October for the past decade. She’d just never come alone before. And the throngs of people milling throughout the crowded rooms and gathering around stages and pressing in on her from all sides… Just thinking about it made her heart race. But that’s why she was here: to do something she’d never had the courage to do before.

  Poppy took the first step toward the building, exhaling slowly. She could do this. She wanted to do this. And she could leave at any time. She lifted her head and confidently strode up the steps. Fake it till you make it.

  “Now here’s my virgin,” the man in the goat mask said as she approached. “Dressed in white. Flowers in your hair. Perfectly adorned for our Dark Lord.”

  “Let’s hope he finds me pleasing,” she said, smiling playfully at the performer. See, you can handle one person. Just focus on one person at a time. Then the crowd disappears.

  She slipped inside and quickly checked her coat. The interior of the Masonic temple was just as intimidating and awe-inspiring as the exterior. Expansive marble floors drew her through the lobby, and she followed the line of massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The deep secrets and conspiracies surrounding the society always seemed to add to the ominous feeling she got in the temple. It didn’t matter if she was here for The Masquerade or a musical—hell, her brother had graduated high school in this building—she always felt on edge… like some virgin sacrifice was actually happening deep in the basement, hidden by secret tunnels.

  The Masquerade itself was shrouded in secrecy, an unspoken rule that all the guests respected. You wouldn’t see pictures on social media beyond a few selfies or group shots. And any official photos posted by The Masquerade were usually highly curated and limited to one or two rooms. The secrecy was part of the allure.

  She moved through the lobby, taking in everything and nothing. It looked like every variation and rendition of the underworld and the devil were represented here tonight. The staff were dressed as demons, captive virgins, gargoyle creatures, and the devil himself. The temple was decorated as an elaborate dinner scene in an underground cavern, complete with long tables set with deep-red linens, gold plates, and silverware. Candelabras, vases, and morbid artifacts were scattered along the crowded tables.

  This year’s theme was "Devil’s Night"—the night before Halloween when mischief is encouraged to both delightful and destructive ends. She wasn’t sure which one awaited her…

  She followed the crowd toward a large archway covered in fake rocks where full-size wrought-iron gates stood open. The Gates of Hell. Smoke machines or dry ice covered whatever was beyond the gates in a dense fog.

  She crossed through the gates and was immediately plunged into a thick crowd of people. Her heart slammed in her chest, so fast and so hard that her lungs didn’t have any space to expand, to take in oxygen. She immediately turned around, her instincts screaming at her to run. It wasn’t her instincts; it was her irrational brain. Focus on one person. The first stage was only a couple of yards away, and a woman hung from the ceiling in a piece of wide fabric, wearing only a black mask, thong, and rhinestone-encrusted pasties. She was the perfect welcome to The Masquerade—welcome to an evening of dark, sensual theater.

  The acrobat climbed up the fabric and paused feet from the two-story ceiling. She spread her legs into a perfect split and twirled back down to the floor slowly. Poppy kept her eyes on the performer as she made her way through the room. Many people got caught up in the first few scenes, but the evening sprawled throughout the temple, and she knew that all her fun lay in the belly of the beast.

  Smoke still snaked around the room, and the excited buzz of the crowd mixed with the thick air and a rich smell of incense, making her feel dazed, almost disoriented. She reached the next doorway and let out a long breath, her gaze still fixed on the woman spinning in the air.

  A deep whisper behind her sent shivers down her spine. “Aphrodite, are you here alone?”

  She turned around to see a handsome man with a waxed mustache dressed as a circus ringleader. “You’ve confused me with my sister. But I won’t be alone for long.” She smiled, and the ringleader took a step toward her. “Soon I will be dragged down to the underworld by my lord.” His face fell as she smirked and walked away.

  Dragged down to the underworld. That’s what she was here for—to be dragged down into her darkest fantasies.

  CHAPTER TWO

  _____________

  DIEGO

  He wandered through the crowd, making his way through the very first scene he’d constructed. He was buzzing with excitement, and alth
ough he should be at his own performance, no one would notice he was missing, and there was no way he could possibly stand still right now.

  He angled his shoulders and squeezed past a group of women, making his way closer to the stage. The lights were low, and the glow of deep-blue waves covered the walls and floor of the stage. Dancers appeared in white shifts and spread out across the stage. Their hair hung down in wet strings, soaked from previous performances. But there was nothing to be done about that. Diego had made sure that they at least had a dry costume for each show.

  The women’s bodies flowed like water, their arms sweeping and backs arching with grace. Slowly, as the music picked up, their movements became more erratic, their kicking and jumping revealing that they were dancing in a stage covered in water. With each sweep of their legs, a spray of droplets arched across the stage, catching the light. It was almost hypnotic. The water saturated their dresses more and more, gradually revealing their nudity beneath until finally their dance brought them all the way to the floor, and they were rolling on the stage in the mad chaos of a choreographed orgy.

  Diego had auditioned this dance troupe. He’d worked with them throughout the creation process and even attended a few rehearsals. This was easily his tenth time seeing this dance, and it still made his cock throb.

  But that was part of the appeal of The Masquerade. A night shrouded in secrecy, filled with elaborate performances, dripping with sensuality, that welcomed guests who were open to anything and everything.

  Every year, the board outdid itself. The props became more elaborate and realistic, the performers were more skilled and creative, and they pushed themselves further and further. He’d earned himself the scenes at the very back of the temple where there truly were no rules. And this year, his performance went beyond anything he’d done before. And it was more than a performance. It was an experience. It was a gift.

  He left the underwater theater and moved to the next room. Cages lined the walls, and dim lights cast harsh shadows throughout the room. A smoke machine pumped a cloud of fog across the floor, and only a few dozen people wandered around. This space was meant to scare the partygoers, make them feel so uneasy that they couldn’t go any farther; they needed to turn around. The real prize lay just beyond the final door, but only the least inhibited would make it that far.

  The cages were filled with prisoners and Furies. In one cage, a Fury appeared to force a performer to swallow knives, and he begged for mercy and acted as if the blade were truly slicing his throat. In another, a fire breather tormented a naked woman who cowered in the corner of her cage. Still another Fury appeared to forcefully fold an acrobat into a contorted form. Actors moaned lowly, making even Diego’s skin crawl. If he hadn’t seen all these performers hours before, smiling and putting on makeup, he wasn’t sure if even he could have made it through this last room.

  Diego walked to the far corner of the room and took up his place next to a final Fury and a massive statue of Cerberus, his three-headed dog. Cerberus should be keeping tormented souls in the underworld, but tonight he was the gatekeeper to the final scene of the party. And soon Diego’s performance would begin.

  “How do I look?” Diego asked the Fury out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Like I want to know what's under that toga,” she answered playfully, tugging at its hem.

  “Perfect.” He grinned. “Too bad you don’t get to see it.”

  “Are you nervous? I’m not sure many people would be able to pull this off.”

  “They do it every day,” he said. “And this is far more exciting than having the filter of a camera.”

  “And you’re sure people won’t get upset? The board has never tried anything like this before.”

  “You seem to be the one that’s nervous. Guests won’t care as long as you’re here telling them before they enter. Then they can decide if they want to take part or not. Plus what the board doesn’t know won’t hurt them.” He winked.

  “Damn it, Diego. They really don’t know?” She scolded him in the raspy whisper of someone desperate to scream instead.

  “Listen, there are so many whispers and hyperbolic stories that travel around town after The Masquerade that this will just be part of the noise. No one will believe it.” The Fury glared at him. “Look, you’re finally getting into character!” he joked. She didn’t move.

  “For all of this talk of consent, you kind of left me out of the whole picture of your plan.”

  “Fair. But are you still in?”

  The Fury rubbed her forehead and grimaced before looking back to Diego. “Fuck,” she said reluctantly. “Yes, but mostly for her.”

  “Trust me, I never thought you were doing me the favor.”

  “Do you think she’ll make it all the way here? I can’t believe you convinced her to come here alone and then forced her to make it all the way through to the very end. I can’t remember the last time she went alone to a mall willingly. The Masquerade would be like the gauntlet for her.”

  “She knows what’s waiting for her. And this was the only way I could think of to make her fantasy a reality. I know she’ll be here.”

  A group of guests approached the two of them. “What’s behind the door?” one asked.

  “You’ve come through hell and reached paradise,” the Fury answered. Then she leaned in and whispered into the guest’s ear.

  “Seriously?” He turned around, and the whole group erupted in conversations.

  Another guest asked, “Do we have to do anything? Can we just watch?”

  “Of course,” answered Diego as he opened the door. A soft, rosy light spilled out from the room beyond.

  More partygoers came over and joined the first group. Like a game of telephone, whispers spread throughout the room, and more people filed past Diego.

  A courtesan in a bustier and short skirt stopped in the doorway. “There’s nothing going on in there,” she said to Diego.

  “Soon.” He smiled. “I’m just waiting on my Persephone.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  _____________

  POPPY

  She maneuvered her way through The Masquerade slowly, but steadily. In each room she entered, she would pick a single person, a single spot, and focus the entirety of her attention on that one focal point. She relied on her peripheral vision and brief glances in front of her to ensure that she didn’t cause any major collisions. She almost felt as if she were missing The Masquerade entirely, but she did what she needed to do to get to where she needed to be. This would all be worth it.

  She passed through a narrow doorway and entered a theater bathed in blue light. Navy curtains hung from the walls, and a group of women danced in water on the stage. The River Styx. She was getting close.

  She didn’t even bother using her coping skills to make it through this room. Excitement and anticipation were enough to keep her moving. She picked up her pace and made her way to the next archway. It looked as if complete darkness lay beyond. She pushed her way through the crowd and emerged on the other side and stumbled to a stop.

  The room was an underground chamber, and the only lights came from bare bulbs swinging from above darkened cages. A chorus of moans echoed against the high ceilings as sporadic screams erupted from the performers. Tartarus. Poppy hesitated and took small steps into the darkened room. People milled around, watching the performers, laughing and carrying on conversations. How could anyone feel comfortable here? Even though it was all fake, she felt ready to crawl out of her skin.

  But then she saw him. Hades. In the far corner stood one of the largest men she’d ever seen. He looked as if he belonged on Mount Olympus, not deep within the belly of the earth. His white toga shone against his deep skin, and the fabric draped across his chest and waist, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

  But she didn’t need her imagination.

  Her heels pounded against the floor as she strode toward him. His eyes finally met hers, and a sly, mis
chievous smile spread across his face. She was picking up speed and moving as fast as her damned strappy sandals would allow her, but it took Diego only two steps to close the distance between them.

  She leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and twining her hands through his shoulder-length hair, burying her face in his neck. He smelled of coffee and cloves. Dark, rich, powerful. He held her with one hand beneath her body and the other across her back, pressing her against his chest. She could stay here in his arms for hours. They had plenty of time to make up for.

  “Ready?” Diego asked.

  Poppy lifted her head and looked around. “Right here?”

  “No,” he said as he walked back toward his post. He took his hand off her back and cradled her face in his palm. “If this, at any point, turns out to be nothing like what you expected, you promise to tell me?”

  She nodded eagerly. She’d waited months for this. She’d waited months for him. She was so excited just to have him again, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was back in their rented house or at The Masquerade. “Do we need a safe word?”

  “Just tell me to stop.”

  She leaned forward to kiss him. They hadn’t even kissed yet. This was happening so fast, but she had no desire to slow down. Diego’s thumb covered her mouth, and he pushed her gently away. “Save it for the show.”

  His hand left her face as he reached down to open the door and carried her into the room that glowed with a soft, rosy light. She heard whispers and shuffling feet, but half of the space was shrouded in darkness, hiding their audience. Stage lights with pink filters were angled toward a corner of the room piled high with cushions while a mosaic of flowers—hundreds, thousands of mirrored petals—reflected fragments of light into the darkened corners of the room.