[The Turning 01.0] Taking Turns

by JA Huss

  “We each get you two nights a week,” Bric starts. “Quin gets Monday and Tuesday. I get Wednesday and Thursdays. And Smith gets Friday and Saturday. Your free day is Sunday. You will stay here in your new apartment—”

  “Wait,” Marcella says. “I have a house. I can’t live at my house?”

  “What part of ‘we own you’ don’t you get?” Smith asks.

  I’m surprised he’s so rough with her after all that bullshit he was talking upstairs.

  Marcella, however, does not seem taken aback. “I’m just trying to clarify things, Smith.” The way she snarls his name almost makes me smile.

  “We like you here, Chella,” Bric explains, tapping on the table. “So you will stay here. On Sunday you can do anything you want. But on our days, we call the shots.”

  “What do I get out of this?” Marcella asks. Smith laughs. “Besides sex.” She glares at him. “I get that part, thanks. Because although I’m sure you all have golden cocks that can bring virgins to orgasm without foreplay, I’m not sure it’s enough compensation for being bossed around and treated like shit.”

  This time I’m the one who laughs. Pretty loud, too. “Burn,” I say, unable to hide my delight.

  “You get,” Bric continues, shooting me a look that says ‘shut the fuck up,’ “your dream. Fulfilled.”

  “My dream?” Marcella asks, confused. “What does that mean? I think you guys are all hot, and I’m really OK with the sex part. But my dream? You’re not my dream.”

  “Of course we’re not your dream, Chella,” Bric explains. “You hardly know us. But you do have a dream, right?”

  She’s still got a confused look on her face.

  “Oh, my God,” Smith says, his patience wearing thin. “A dream. Money, new house, new job, or opportunities. Or stupid shit you just don’t want to spend your own money on, like a puppy and a trip to the Arctic to see the Northern Lights. Your dream,” Smith says. “I don’t understand how this is confusing. Everyone has a dream.”

  “I see you’ve given this a lot of thought, Smith. Is that your dream? A puppy and a trip to the Arctic?”

  “Or,” Bric says, trying his best to control things—but I have to give Marcella props for turning what is supposed to be a tightly controlled meeting run by Bric into a circus—“something more meaningful. A gallery of your own, for instance.”

  “Hmm,” Marcella says.

  “What?” Smith asks. His arms are stretched out on the table in front of him, palms open, as he leans forward. Like he’s about at the end of his line.

  “I already have all those things. Not the gallery. But I don’t want a gallery of my own.”

  Smith sits back in his chair, snapping to attention. He looks at Bric. I look at Bric. Bric looks back at both of us.

  “Then why are you doing this?” I ask.

  It’s Marcella’s turn to straighten her back. She bristles at the question and does not answer it.

  “You don’t have to decide what you want right now, Chella,” Bric says. “Whatever it is, between the three of us, we can manage. Think about it. I’m sure there’s something you want. Something you’ve always wanted but never had. Sometimes you need more than money to buy happiness.”

  “The next rule,” Smith says, taking over—he points to the contract on the table—“is the most important. Because it spells out your purpose in one very simple sentence. You exist to play the game of Taking Turns with us. And you agree to try your best to make us happy in all ways, at all times.”

  Marcella looks up and swallows.

  “It’s not as ominous as it sounds,” Bric says. “We’ve been in this arrangement for over a decade, Chella. We’re not looking to hurt you or make you miserable.”

  She clears her throat. “Understood.” Her gaze lands on me. “But what if I don’t make you happy? What if I fail?”

  Bric puts an arm around her shoulder and smiles. He leans in and kisses her while his other hand reaches for her breast, pinches her nipple. Her mouth opens for his. Their tongues intertwine. I don’t see it, but I know her hand is on his cock already. No encouragement necessary.

  When I look over at Smith, he’s transfixed. Unable to stop staring. His hand on his cock too. God, they really want her. I don’t recall ever seeing them so… interested. The meeting we had with Rochelle didn’t go anything like this.

  Bric pulls out of the kiss and smiles at Marcella. “You’re already making us happy. It’s going to be easy.”

  But again, her wary gaze lands on me. “I don’t think I’ll make Quin happy.”

  I get a sharp look from Bric. And even though I don’t turn to see if Smith is giving me that same snarl, I know he is. “She’s overreacting,” I say with a sigh. “I’m fine. It will be fine.”

  “You said yes,” Bric replies. “So it better be fine, Quin. The rest of it is just messy details, Chella. Are you on birth control? I, for one, do not like children. So I’m not interested in that. At all.”

  “I am,” she says softly. “And I’ve just had a check-up last week and I’m clean.”

  She’s clean? I have so much to say about that little remark. Like… she got herself tested last week?

  Smith shifts the papers on the table, revealing our own health records. “This is all you need to know about us.” He ignores her remark, as does Bric.

  How badly they must want her to just gloss over all these warning bells. “Are we done now?” I ask.

  “Is that it?” Marcella asks, leaning in to get a better look at the contract.

  “Except for the payout,” Bric says. “But that’s all about the dream. When you get an idea of what you’d like, you come tell me, Marcella. We’ll make it happen.” And then he holds her chin as he kisses her on the lips one more time, whispering, “Sign the contract,” into her mouth.

  Smith pushes a pen in her direction, but she ignores him until Bric is done owning her lips.

  Her hands are shaking when she picks up the pen. And I don’t know what her signature normally looks like, but when she signs and pushes the contract across the table at me so I can sign next, it’s almost illegible from her unsteady hand.

  I sign and pass it to Smith. He signs and pushes it across the table to Bric. Bric looks at us both like he just hit the bullseye and won the biggest prize at the carnival.

  He signs his name as a big, dramatic swoosh and then folds the contract up, tucks it back into the envelope, and slides it into his suit coat pocket.

  “Great,” Smith says, pushing back from the table, his chair making a loud scraping sound. “Then let’s get started, Marcella. It’s Friday, so looks like I get to break you in first.”

  Marcella Walcott goes completely pale. The reality of what’s happening hits her and she puts both hands up, like she needs to ward off Smith. “Tonight?” She’s breathing hard. “Not tonight. I’m not staying here tonight. I don’t have any of my things. There’s nothing of mine in that apartment. I need time to adjust. Next weekend. Can we start—”

  “No,” Bric says. He’s not loud, but he’s got a way of commanding people into shutting up.

  Marcella shuts up.

  “You’re going with Smith, Chella. He’s right. It’s Friday and your part in this game is to make him happy.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Hey,” Smith says, his word coming out light and easy, interrupting her. “I’ll take you home tonight if you want. I’m OK with that. No big deal, right? Relax, Chella. Like Bric said, we’re not out to hurt you or make you miserable.”

  He walks around behind Bric and then pulls Marcella’s chair out. She gets up on instinct. Like she knows just what to do when a man pulls out a chair. Smith latches on to her arm and leads her away, leaning into her ear to say, “I’ll take you home. Just calm down.”

  Marcella looks over her shoulder as she stumbles towards the stairs. The look is really a plea for help from Bric.

  But Bric knows he’s got no power tonight. His power comes later next week.

>   So he shuns her. Lets her go.

  Tonight, she belongs to Smith.

  I hold my glass up to her as she’s led down the stairs. “Cheers, Marcella Walcott. Welcome to Turning Point Club.”

  Let’s just see how long you last.

  Chapter Eleven - Smith

  Marcella’s reluctant, but I don’t care. I have one goal, one focus, one way to end this night. And all of that revolves around her. She gets in the car when I open the door and then I say, “Scoot over,” before sliding in and placing my hand on her leg.

  She draws in a deep breath that I almost miss due to the soft clunk of the driver closing the door.

  “Are you afraid yet?”

  “No,” she says, not looking at me. Looking at everything else but me. The backseat, which she already knows, because this is the same car I sent her home in last weekend. Out the window, where the capitol building dominates the skyline. Her feet. Her hands. My face.

  I smile.

  She swallows.

  “One of these days, Marcella Walcott, I’m gonna get your story.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath for that,” she mumbles, turning away just as the driver gets back in.

  “Why not? It’s a secret?”

  A long, deep inhalation of air.

  The car moves forward and I settle in. The drive over to her place is short, practically over by the time her shoulders relax. But maybe it’s the thought of home that relaxes her?

  We pull up right in front of her townhouse and I’m out of the car, extending my hand. She takes it and I help her step out of that world and into this one.

  More silence as we walk up her front steps, She starts digging into the decorative clutch she’s using as a purse for her keys, but I’m already unlocking the door.

  “You have a key to my house?” she snaps.

  “What did you think I was doing on Monday?” I practically laugh the words out.

  “You left the gallery to break into my house?” She is angry now.

  But I don’t care. Better to get things out in the open as soon as possible. “Why are you surprised?”

  “I shouldn’t be,” she says. Her jaw is clenching and her lips are pressed tightly together.

  “Get inside, Chella. I’m fucking cold.”

  She looks at the car as it pulls away and she understands. She knows what’s happening. What she’s got herself into. Or at least, she’s telling herself that. She’s busy rationalizing this as some sex experiment. Something she’ll walk away from in a few weeks, probably? Something dirty, yes. But very, very temporary. She will have her fun, we will have our fun, and then she will get out.

  So she thinks.

  I grab her arm when she refuses to move and push her across the threshold, dropping my new set of keys into a tray on the side table and locking the door behind us. I turn to the alarm panel on the wall and arm it.

  “You have the code to my alarm? How?”

  I just smile as I take off my coat and hang it in the coat closet. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Small chuckle from me. “Fool me once, Marcella. You locked me in that first night. I wasn’t expecting it. My research shows you almost never use the alarm. Which is stupid,” I add. “This neighborhood looks nice. It’s got streets lined with multimillion-dollar houses. But it’s fucking downtown Denver, Chella. I thought you were smart.”

  I leave her standing there in the foyer as I make my way through the front room, past the coffer-paneled fireplace that separates the front room from the dining room, and then into the large kitchen that shares a space with a nicely appointed family room.

  The small, slow clicking of high heels follows me as I reach into the fridge and take out a bottle of 1995 Clos d’Ambonnay. “We should celebrate,” I say, taking the champagne to the island where I have two tall-fluted glasses ready. “Why are you still wearing your coat?”

  “What’s happening?” she asks.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, popping the cork on the champagne. “You just signed a contract.”

  “Yeah,” she says, her voice a little louder as she recovers from her shock. “But you didn’t know that. You got my key five days ago. So why the fuck—”

  “Don’t,” I say in a loud, firm voice as I put up a hand. “You do not talk to me that way. Understand?”

  She exhales, like she was holding her breath for a few seconds. “You didn’t know I was going to sign.”

  “I knew. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “And if I didn’t sign? Then what? You’d still have my key? My alarm code? What if I wanted to—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up, Marcella. You’re ruining my night.”

  She blinks at me. Twice.

  “OK, look,” I say. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll help you tonight. It’s an adjustment. I get it.” I step around the island and start unbuttoning her coat. But when I try to slip it off, it gets stuck because she’s still holding her little clutch purse. I take it from her hand, place it on the counter, and take the coat to the front closet by the door. When I come back to the kitchen, she’s sitting in a stool at the island, head in her hands.

  “Why are you so moody?” I ask. I’m starting to get annoyed with her.

  She lifts her head up and stares at me while I pour our drinks.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Answer my questions. If I didn’t sign, then what? You’d keep that key, wouldn’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Chella. You did sign. Do you want out already? Because you can tell me to fuck off and I’ll be happy to fuck off.”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds. Maybe ten or more. She is silent.

  I hand her a glass and she takes it.

  “See,” I say. “It’s not so hard. What should we drink to?”

  She looks at her champagne, just staring at the bubbles in the light amber liquid. She takes a deep breath and says, “I’m going to give it a week.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “So I can see if this is something—”

  “No.” I laugh. “Why not get out now? And be honest, for once, Chella. You’re such a bad liar.” I come around the island to her again. Place my hand flat on her knee. Slip it under her dress and press my fingers against her pussy.

  Her gaze slowly lifts up to mine.

  “Just say it,” I whisper. “Because I get it. You’re turned on, Chella.” I slide my fingers into her, making the wetness pool around my skin. “It’s erotic, right? The thought of the three of us sharing you?”

  She swallows hard, but she nods her head. My eyes search her eyes. I watch her breasts lift and fall as her heart rate picks up.

  “It’s OK. If we didn’t think you’d be into it, we’d never have asked you in the first place.”

  “Whose idea was it?” she asks. “Yours? Or Bric’s?”

  “Why not Quin’s?”

  “Ha.” She laughs. “He hates me.”

  “He doesn’t have to like you to want to fuck you.”

  “Was it you? Or Bric?” she repeats.

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters,” she says, “because I’d like to know who’s on my side and who’s just here for the game.”

  I press my fingers deeper into her pussy and she closes her eyes for a moment, unable to stop herself. I move close, erase the space between us until her knee bumps up against my hard cock. “We’re all here for the game. It’s just a peek, Marcella. A little glimpse into the forbidden. Just some filthy, taboo sex, and nothing more. Don’t read too much into it. But don’t take it for granted, either. We can vote you out if we get tired.”

  She gives in. Her shoulders slump and the tight line of her mouth drops into a frown.

  “Don’t worry so much,” I say, taking her hand and placing it on my cock. She squeezes without any more urging from me. A few seconds later, she’s stroking me through my pants. “It’s just fun. It’s not a life commitment. We’re not holding you hostage. And if it makes you feel better,
if you had said no, I’d have given you your key and new alarm code back at Turning Point Club. I’m not about to fuck up my life over a woman.”

  She looks up at that, still frowning.

  “Do you want out?” I ask. “Do you want my key back?”

  She shakes her head no. But she is still frowning.

  “Good,” I say, leaning in to kiss her lips. “Then let the games begin.” I hold up my glass and say, “Make a toast.”

  She looks away, maybe thinking of something to say. And then she raises her glass and looks me in the eyes. “To the peek,” she says. A long inhale of breath to steady herself. “Because that’s all it is. Just a peek.”

  “To the peek,” I say.

  We drink. But I catch a small whisper just as she brings the champagne to her lips. “I just hope I don’t get lost in this peek.”

  “You’re gonna,” I say setting my glass down and taking my attention back to her pussy. “That’s how we keep them, Chella. We feed the craving, turn it into an addiction, and then we own you. We will own you. There’s no telling how long it will take for you to kick the habit of us. But after this week, you’ll be in too deep to walk away. You’ll need your fix. You’ll see what I bring to this little arrangement. You’ll want Bric to do things to you that will make you feel shame. You’ll fall for Quin and his contagious personality.”

  She laughs and breaks a smile. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t know him yet. I know him very well and I know he’ll be the first one you fall in love with.”

  “Come on,” she says. “That’s never going to happen. I know what this looks like, but it’s not what it looks like.”

  “Liar,” I say. “You’re hanging in mid-air right now and what happens next is just… gravity.” I kiss her again. She responds with her tongue. We linger in the kiss as I insert another finger into her pussy and my thumb finds her clit.

  She’s moaning when the angel on my shoulder surfaces.

  Just for a moment.

  So I do my good deed for the day. I warn her with a whisper into her mouth. “Just don’t fall too hard, Marcella Walcott. Because that’s exactly when we’ll cut you off.”