[The Turning 01.0] Taking Turns

by JA Huss

  The question kinda surprises me. It was my idea in the first place. I’m the one who found the first six girls. I’m the one who helped perfect the rules. I’m the one who seemed to get the most out of it.

  But it doesn’t feel that way anymore. It doesn’t feel necessary anymore.

  “Well?” Quin asks.

  “What?”

  “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? I asked you what you think she’ll say.”

  “Smith says she’ll say yes within two weeks.”

  “I think so too.”

  It pisses me off that they know her well enough already that they can even form an opinion. I don’t know her at all. I had one night out with her and it doesn’t count. Tonight won’t count either, we have to have the conversation about the rules. And then the party and then…

  It’s depressing. I lose either way. Number Three is such a fucked-up arrangement.

  Quin talks about other shit until it’s time for me to leave, but I just tune him out, finish my drink, and then walk down to the elevator and take it up to the top floor. I don’t knock—I don’t have to. I just walk in.

  The place looks completely different.

  “Hey!” Marcella calls from the bedroom. “I’m ready, I swear.” She giggles like she’s having fun.

  Is she having fun? Already? What part of this is fun so far? “Uh… I see you got some new furniture.” Gone are the sleek couches I chose to replace the earthy thrift-store look Rochelle had going on. It’s been replaced with more classic, traditional pieces. It looks very… homey. Nuclear family, two point two kids kind of homey.

  “Yes,” Chella says, peeking around the door of the bedroom as she fastens her earrings. “Quin took me shopping. We picked out new stuff. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No,” I say, looking around. Kinda. “I didn’t know what your style was. I guess I missed the mark.”

  “No,” she says, coming out of the bedroom. “It was fine. But given the choice…” She laughs again. “I guess I prefer this. Normal stuff, you know? And Quin is a shopper.”

  I smile. Sort of. Normal stuff. I have so many questions about that seemingly innocent remark.

  “I’m excited,” Chella says, grabbing her coat from the front closet. “I don’t usually go to Christmas parties.”

  I take her coat and drape it over my arm. She won’t need it until after dinner. “No? Why not?”

  “My dad. He’s not a Christmas party guy.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She died three years ago.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I say. Fuck. “Sorry, I knew that. I should’ve know better than to ask.” I’m so off my fucking game.

  “It’s OK,” she says, smiling as she drags a piece of hair off her face and tucks it behind her ear. “I’m over it.”

  Over it. Normal. Yeah, I have a lot of questions for Chella Walcott. “Well, you look very pretty.” And she does. The black dress fits her perfectly. The lace bodice is tight, her tits look fantastic all pushed up and perky, and her waist is tiny. I envision dancing with her tonight. Placing my thumbs on her hips, my fingers splayed across her ass.

  The dress is long, touches the floor. I asked for this specific dress on this specific night for a reason and that, at least, is going as planned.

  And then I notice the necklace. The choker. The collar.

  “What?” Chella asks. Her hand goes to her throat. To the collar I can’t stop staring at.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Smith gave it to me. That first night when he took me home? When he dressed me up? He put this jewelry on me.” She raises her hand to show off the gold cuff bracelet and then I notice the earrings that match. “I figured it needed a night out as much as I do.”

  I don’t like it. Rochelle was supposed to be eradicated before Chella got here. Gone. Thrown out. Given back to the world. And yet there is still something left of her. But if it makes Chella happy… “It looks beautiful, Marcella. And so do you.”

  “Thank you,” she says, blushing pale pink.

  “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am. Quin told me I have access to the kitchen any time I want. But it’s no fun eating alone. And I already did it twice today.”

  I force a smile. And then I lie. “Sorry about that. The Club was so busy today I just couldn’t get away.”

  “I understand. I always get lonely on my days off work. And now that Matisse will be on display until March, well, I have four full days off a week. I feel lucky that you guys came along. My whole week is planned, it seems.”

  “You like that?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says. “I like it.”

  I give her a real smile for that answer. And as we take the elevator down to the second floor, I start to think that maybe… just maybe, Smith is right.

  Maybe this one will pull me back into the life?

  When we get off the elevator Smith is in his usual chair, so I place Chella’s hand on my arm, hand her coat off to a server to check downstairs with mine, and lead her up the short flight of stairs and towards to the table overlooking the Black Room and the lobby.

  Smith and Quin both stand up as we approach, and then Smith backs out and waves his hand at the chair to his left.

  I shoot Quin a look but he’s too busy kissing Chella on the lips. They linger for a moment, and then he backs off, leaving Chella embarrassed as she looks at me.

  “It’s OK,” I say, motioning for her to take a seat next to Smith. He boxes her in with that seat because it’s next to the railing that gives her a view down into the Black Room. Quin takes the seat across from Chella and I take the seat across from Smith.

  “Nice dress,” Smith says, looking at me instead of my date. “Full length. Smart.”

  “What?” Chella asks.

  “Bric always tries to stop Smith’s wandering hands.” Quin chuckles. “The dress is Bric’s way of keeping Smith’s fingers dry while we dine.”

  Chella laughs.

  I don’t. “Do we want to eat first? Or talk first?”

  “Let’s talk,” Smith says.

  “OK,” Chella agrees. “I’m dying to know what this is all about.”

  “This is about the rules, love,” Smith says. “Bric’s rule and the final rule.”

  Chella bites her lip as she looks at me in anticipation.

  “My rule,” I say, “is…” God. I hate being Number Three. “I can’t have sex with you unless Smith is watching.”

  Chella’s smile drops. Like immediately. And I get more satisfaction out of her disappointment than anything I can recall in recent memory. “What?”

  And then Smith makes his move, long dress be damned. His hand is in her lap. Rubbing her thigh, fingers pressing down between her legs. She’s looking down at it like it’s a spider, or a bug, or a mouse. Something disgusting. “What are you doing? I thought your rule was no touching me?”

  “And that’s the final rule we need to discuss, Chella,” Smith says. His smile’s as dirty as his mind. Filled with filthy fucking and hot sweaty bodies all twisted together in one bed. Arms and legs tangled together. Our hands all over her body as we fill up her pussy, and her ass, and her mouth all at the same time. “When the four of us are all together, we have no rules.”

  Chapter Sixteen - Chella

  I am quiet for so long Quin reaches across the table and takes my hand. But Smith’s fingers are trying to stimulate me under the table. He doesn’t care about the fabric of my dress holding him back from what he wants. He simply lifts it up—yards of expensive fabric pool into my lap as he finds what he’s looking for.

  My pussy is wet and in this moment, I hate myself. I hate that everything they are offering me is something I want.

  “Chella,” Quin says, squeezing my hand.

  But Smith has found what he’s looking for and I have to draw in a deep, deep breath so I don’t close my eyes and moan.

  I concentrate on Bric instead. He gives me a weak smile. �
��Are you OK?” he asks.

  I push Smith’s hand away, expecting a fight, but he retreats and pulls my dress back down again.

  “What do you think?” Quin asks. “Do you want to walk out?”

  “You can,” Bric says.

  “You won’t,” Smith adds.

  I look down at the place setting in front of me. The china is classic white with a black stripe around the edge. The white linen napkin is folded like an envelope, just like the last time when Smith brought me here with Matisse. As a test, he said. But this time there’s writing underneath the envelope flap. Right on the napkin in bold black marker are the words, Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.

  I look at Smith, still lifting the cloth flap.

  “Don’t give me that look of doubt, Chella,” Smith says. He claims the message in his response.

  I was wrong the other night when I thought Taking Turns was a lifestyle. I was one hundred percent wrong. Because this is nothing but a game of one-upmanship between these three men using me as a pawn on the chess board.

  Which of them can get the upper hand? Which rule will be their downfall? And which rule will make them winners?

  “For fuck’s sake, Chella,” Quin blurts. “Say something.”

  I clear my throat and when I speak, my voice is small and weak. “You’re playing with me. Like a toy.”

  “Like a toy,” Smith repeats. “Yes. You’re our toy.”

  “You can say no,” Bric says. “Just get up and walk out and we’ll never bother you again.”

  “You like this?” I ask him. “You like the thought of Smith watching you? Watching us?”

  “We’ve been doing it so long, Marcella, I barely know he’s there.”

  “Liar.” Smith laughs. “He’s lying. He gets off to it, Chella. He gets off to some pretty sick shit. I should know. I’ve seen him do it all downstairs.”

  I ignore Smith and concentrate on Bric. “So you do like it?”

  He shrugs. “I wouldn’t let him watch if I didn’t.”

  “And I wouldn’t want to watch if I didn’t like it.”

  I look at Smith. “You, I understand. You’re weird. You’re a deviant. You’re on the verge of being a predator. I just need to know where the rest of you fall in this. Are you like him?” I ask Quin, but motion to Smith.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I like it. I like being Number Two this time, I’m not gonna lie. I get to fuck you any way I want and no one gets to be there but me. But I like being Number One as well. And Number Three. And if you give it a chance, Chella, you’ll like it too. I know you will because you’re a dirty fucking whore.”

  “Just like us,” Bric says.

  Smith laughs.

  I’m quiet again as I think things through. This time they stay quiet with me. All the noise from downstairs in the lobby and the Black Room disappears as I run the consequences of this game through my mind.

  “Explain everything,” I finally say. “Tell me why you do this. Why you do it this way. And if you lie to me”—I look at Smith for this—“I will walk out. I want to know the truth and if you give me that, I’ll think about it some more. But if you don’t, if I get an inkling that you’re manipulating me, I’ll leave. I will, Smith Baldwin. I’ll walk away from you and never look back.”

  “Of course we’re manipulating you,” Bric says. I’m confused for a moment, unsure if Bric is telling me to walk away, or just stating the obvious. “We’re manipulating each other too,” he continues. “Smith can’t touch you. At all. Quin gets anything he wants, as long as you become friends at the same time. And I only get you with Smith’s permission. It’s a fucked-up game, Chella, but it works.”

  “How?” I ask. “How the fuck does any of this make sense to you?”

  “We’re building trust, Chella,” Quin says. “We trust each other to follow the rules and if we all do that, if we all keep to the plan, we end up happy.”

  “Together,” Smith says. “You’re forgetting the final rule. There are no rules when we’re all together.”

  “You want to gang-bang me?” I laugh. I laugh because it’s sick and dirty and the fact that I’m thinking about it makes me…

  “The other night, Chella,” Quin continues, “you said something like, ‘Who enters a plural relationship with rules like no fucking and more talking?’”

  Smith laugh. “God, Chella, I kinda love you already.”

  Even Bric laughs.

  “She’s fucking funny as hell, you guys,” Quin says. “I can’t wait for you to see it. But Chella, it’s not a plural relationship. It’s a ménage.”

  “That’s not what Rochelle told me. She said—”

  “We never got this far with Rochelle,” Bric explains. “She never liked Smith. They never became friends. She liked Quin and me, and we were One and Three, so we didn’t need Smith. It was always off-balance.”

  “But I like you, Chella,” Quin says. “I’m not gonna walk away from you like Smith walked away from Rochelle. I’m gonna show up every Sunday at midnight and I’m gonna fuck you senseless until I have to leave. And then Bric will come and you will let Smith watch.”

  “And then one day, Chella”—Smith picks up the conversation—“you’ll want all of us. At the same time. We can go right to that tonight, if you want. We can jump right in and get started. Forget about all this bullshit getting to know each other. But even if you take your time, we will end up together. We will all fuck you,” he says, leaning over to kiss my mouth.

  I want to collapse from that kiss. His hand is on my neck, his thumb feeling my pulse. And then he whispers in my mouth, “You put my collar back on. You want this. You know you want this.”

  He holds on to the gold choker even as he backs away. His fingers threaded underneath it, pressing against my neck. He holds on to me like I’m already his.

  We are all silent for a moment because the server comes asking about food. One of them orders for me. But I am stuck in my thoughts, my head a jumbled mess from their offer.

  How did I get here?

  Champagne is poured and Smith is placing my hand on a fluted glass, lifting it to my lips. I drink, a long gulp as I work through what this means.

  “Have you ever had a threesome?” Bric asks.

  It takes me a second to realize he’s speaking to me. I want to say no. I want to say it emphatically. Loudly. Loaded with self-righteous indignation.

  But I can’t. Because it’s a lie. And they’d know it was a lie. They obviously see something in me that gives them permission to make me this offer. Maybe it’s the fact that you agreed to Rochelle’s plan? And maybe it’s because you let Quin fuck you, even though he thought you were Rochelle? Maybe it’s because you’ve been down this road before?

  Yeah. It might be that.

  So I say, “Yes.” Because Quin is right. Bric is right. “I’m a dirty fucking whore.”

  “Just like us,” Bric says. “We’re all dirty here.”

  “Be dirty with us, Chella,” Quin says. “I’m gonna be dirty with you no matter what. I’m counting the fucking minutes until Sunday night. But it gets so much better when you give in completely.”

  I take a deep, deep breath and then let it out in a long, controlled exhale. “I need to think about it. It’s a big decision for me. It’s one thing,” I say, gathering my courage. “It’s one thing to date three guys at the same time.”

  “You do that often?” Smith laughs. “Jesus Christ, Chella. I really do love you now.”

  “No,” I say. “Not anymore. But it’s another thing altogether to let you…”

  “Fuck all your holes at the same time?” Smith finishes.

  “For fuck’s sake, Smith,” Bric says, pounding a fist on the table. “Would you shut up and let her finish.”

  “Sorry.” He laughs. “I’m sorry.”

  But he doesn’t look sorry.

  “I need to think about it,” I say, looking at Bric. He’s the sensible one, I can tell. The boss of this place. He’s running the sho
w. Keeping Quin’s big personality in check. Keeping Smith’s deviant side under wraps. “I just want to go to the party and forget about it for a while. I don’t even want dinner. I just want to have fun and come home, and then sleep on it. Can I do that? Please? With no more comments?”

  They all look at each other, silent for once.

  And then Smith says, “It’s just a peek, Chella. If you stay. It’s just a peek into the forbidden. You can leave any time you want. It can last one night, or one week, or one month, or… forever.”

  He says the word forever softly. Almost hesitantly. It makes me look at him differently for a moment. Like he’s a person and not an asshole.

  “It’s carnal, and sensual, and erotic, Chella,” he continues in that same voice. “That’s all it is. A small trip into the dark.”

  “A peek,” I say, remembering our toast.

  “Just a peek,” Quin echoes. “You don’t even have to like us. You can just do it once and leave. Or you can keep the plural relationship going for a while, try it out. Get to know us better. We’re not bad guys. We just like to have some really sick sex.”

  I smile at his words. Smith was right the other night when he said I’d fall for Quin first. I like him already. So what does mean for the other two? I can see why Rochelle fell in love with Quin. He’s sweet. He’s not overpowering like Bric. But he’s still in control. And he’s not demeaning like Smith, even though he says some of the same things. It’s different coming from Quin. It’s fun, not dark.

  “Come on,” Bric says, pushing back in his chair so it makes a scraping sound on the floor. “Let’s go to the party. Have some fun tonight. You can think about it later.”

  Smith and Quin both stand as I do. All our chairs scraping across the floor together.

  I let Bric lead me downstairs and wait as he gets our coats. He helps me put mine on and then takes my hand and leads me out to the car. When I get in, he slips in next to me, leaning forward to tell the driver the address of the party before making the blacked-out partition go up to give us privacy.