[The Turning 01.0] Taking Turns

by JA Huss

I stew in my thoughts like this for hours. Until it’s after eleven o’clock and I’m about ready to call it a night.

  And then Chella walks in the front door, wearing a white dress that shows more cleavage than I need right now. For a second I’m enraged, thinking she’s going to join Quin and Bric downstairs. But she leans in to talk to the hostess, who smiles and nods at the sentry standing guard in front of the black velvet rope in front of the main staircase, and she is given permission to go upstairs.

  What the fuck is she doing?

  I watch her with interest as she ascends, and then our eyes meet. I repeat my thought out loud. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  She turns her head and keeps climbing until she gets to the landing and presses the button for the elevator.

  “Chella,” I say again, a little louder this time as I get up and walk to the opening of my private bar and look down at her. “What are you doing?”

  The elevator doors open and she steps inside without answering me.

  I jump down the six steps that lead to the second-story landing and follow her, just in time before the elevator doors close.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Do I appear deaf? Of course I heard you.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I live here. Top-floor apartment. Brand new furniture. Ringing any bells?”

  “No,” I say. “You do not live here. You live down on Little Raven Street and there’s where you need to go. Right now.”

  “No,” Chella says, her back straight, her chin tipped up. Defiant. “No. I’m not going back there. I’m bored. And you already told me you wouldn’t be around this evening. So why should I stay there? I’d rather be here.”

  “It’s Saturday night, Chella. You don’t need to be here, trust me.”

  “Rochelle stayed here on Saturday nights.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was Number Two with Rochelle.”

  “And?”

  And I wasn’t playing games with her like I am with you. But I don’t say that. I say, “It was a lot simpler.”

  The elevator doors open and she steps out, the keycard to her apartment already in her hand. She unlocks the door and swings it open, then blocks my entrance so I can’t come in. “I’m tired, so you don’t need to babysit me.”

  “Move,” I say. “I want in.”

  “I thought you don’t want to spend time with me?” she says.

  “I thought you wanted to stay at your own home as much as possible,” I counter.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Well, so did I.” She steps aside and I walk past her, go into the kitchen, and immediately take down a bottle of Scotch I stashed in the cupboard while she was at work this week.

  Chella closes the door and walks down the hall to her bedroom.

  I pour myself a drink, take a long gulp, refill, and then follow her. She’s undressing. I can see her through the open door of the massive closet. I see Quin has been busy, because she’s got a lot more clothes in there than she did the last time I was in here.

  “You know,” she says, “if you want me to go home, you might consider lifting the order on that sex tape you’ve had running on my bedroom TV for three days.”

  I almost laugh. “You didn’t turn it off?” And then I do laugh.

  She glares at me as the dress slips down her body and pools into a puddle at her feet. “You told me not to. Am I the only one following the rules anymore? I mean I figured things would go off the rails, but I didn’t think it would only take a week.”

  “Hmm,” I say. “Is this about Bric coming to see you yesterday? Because I never told him to.”

  “Of course you didn’t. He was there asking me to deny you access to our bedroom and cut you out of the relationship completely by making you watch remotely.”

  I just blink at her. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

  “Why would I lie about that?”

  I can think of about two dozen reasons why one of our toys might lie about that. But none of them ring true about Marcella Walcott. She stands there naked, waiting to see if I’ll answer. But I suddenly have the urge to shut the fuck up.

  Bric is getting bold.

  Chella shrugs at my silence and then turns to her underwear drawer and takes out a cream-colored lace nightie that has Quin’s handiwork all over it.

  I mostly like them to sleep naked. Quin likes to dress them up like dolls every chance he gets.

  I lean against the closet door, trying my best to look nonchalant as I watch her pull the lace over her tits and then jiggle them around to get them situated.

  Chella ignores me, pushing past with a hand on my chest to give herself room to get by. And then she walks out of the bedroom and down the hall, back to the living room.

  I did not miss the fact that she has no panties on. Or that she touched me.

  Is she trying to fuck with me tonight? Is she baiting me to break the rules? Is she really considering Bric’s advice?

  He doesn’t want me out. That defeats the whole purpose of what we’re doing. So he’s added this little interesting element to push thing along quicker.

  Is that what he’s doing? Or is he serious? Does he want her to cut me out?

  I don’t why it hits me so hard, but it does. I have never thought of these girls we play with as something to own. But suddenly things feel… different.

  Does he want her? For himself?

  I shake my head at that. It makes no sense. I mean, I want her for myself, but I’m me. I’m a selfish asshole. I want everything for myself. It’s in my blood. It’s part of my charm.

  Even I have to chuckle at that last one.

  I’m pretty sure no one calls me charming. That’s Quin, if it’s any of us.

  But fuck Bric for telling her to cut me out even if it was part of his game. Has he done this before? He didn’t have to do it with Rochelle. I was Number Two. I had her whenever I wanted her. Which was often in the beginning. But she got old fast. We had nothing in common.

  But Chella is the exact opposite of Rochelle. I can’t think of a single commonality about them. Except us, of course.

  Did Bric play this game with Quin, when he was Number One with Rochelle? I suddenly have the need to ask him. I head down the hallway, leaving to go downstairs and have this out with Bric and Quin, when Chella says, “What do they do down there?”

  “Huh?” I ask, my hand reaching for the doorknob. I turn and look over my shoulder. She’s sitting in a chair in front of the window. My chair in front of the window. The one I should be sitting in as I watch her. And she’s got her legs open, flashing that wet, pink pussy at me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  She smiles. Shrugs. “What?” she asks innocently. “I thought you liked to watch.”

  I do.

  “Downstairs. When they go downstairs in the basement. Rochelle said she’d never been down there.”

  An evil idea is percolating in my head. “And you never will either. It’s not a place for you. You’re not even a member.”

  “So what’s the big secret?”

  “The secret?” I laugh. “It’s not a secret. We fuck people down there. In groups. A husband-wife team chooses others to join them, and we all fuck until we’re spent. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

  “Is Bric down there now? And Quin?”

  Yes, evil little idea, come to Daddy. I’ll take care of you. Nurture you. Keep you alive and healthy. “What do you think?” I ask her.

  She lets out a long exhale. “I want to think no. Because I should be enough.”

  “Oh.” I laugh the word out. “Enough, you say? That’s so fucking interesting coming from a woman who needs three men to satisfy her.”

  “Who said I do?” she snaps, anger all over her red-flushed face. “I never said that. You guys offered this to me.”

  “You invited yourself in knowing full well what it was. So hey”—I laugh—“If
you’re gonna get jealous about Bric and Quin fucking other women, then you better keep that to yourself. We don’t put up with it.”

  “But you put up with Bric telling me to cut you out?”

  Yes, evil idea, I will take you home and keep you forever. “Would you like to go downstairs, Chella? Would you like to see what Bric and Quin are doing right now?”

  “Is that a joke? Or a real offer?”

  I shrug. “Take it any way you want. But if you say yes, and you don’t like what you see, don’t come crying to me when your filthy deviant heart gets broken. Because I’ll you tell something right now, Chella, you can’t ever compare to the sluts we have down there when it comes to sex. Bric will never give that up. Quin, maybe. But Bric is in for the duration.”

  “And you?”

  I laugh again. “I don’t go down there. That night Quin found you in Rochelle’s bed was the first time all year for me.”

  “Then why go that night?”

  “Because you made me.”

  “I made you?” She laughs.

  “You and your wet pussy in that closet. You with your innocent eyes and dirty mouth. You with your big idea to come rock our world and join our game. I went down because of you, Chella. And when Bric fucked his four—yes, four—sluts that night, I painted your face on each one of them as I jerked off and watched.”

  We stare at each other. It seems like years go by in silence. “Take me down,” she finally says. “I want to see.”

  “See?” I shake my head. “Everyone who goes down participates, Chella. It’s not a spectator sport.”

  “But you just said you only watched. That you jerked off. So why can’t I watch with you?”

  Because I won’t be able to control myself. Because I’ll end up pushing you into a corner and fucking you from behind. Because I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who comes near you, looks at you wrong—

  “Smith?” she says, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Please take me down. I’ll do whatever you say. If you want to go dark, then don’t take a light, right?”

  I smile. “Marcella Walcott wants to leave her light behind?”

  “I’m yours tonight, Smith Baldwin,” she says back.

  My evil idea is bigger now. Blossoming into something beautiful. “Take off your nightie. All the women have to enter naked.”

  Chapter Twenty-One - Chella

  “I’m not walking through the lobby naked.”

  Smith gives me a look that says, Don’t be stupid. “We’re not going to the lobby, Chella. We’ll take the freight elevator.”

  “What happened to ‘I’m Smith Baldwin and I’m too good for the freight elevator?’”

  “Do you want to see it or not?” he asks. “Because you’re not supposed to be down there and if Bric and Quin see you…”

  “Then what?” I ask. “What will they do?”

  “They’ll just be pissed off. The reason we have you is to keep you separate from all that.”

  “So why are you going to ruin it?”

  “OK,” he says. “We won’t go.”

  “I’m not saying that. I want to go—”

  “Then shut the fuck up and take off your clothes,” Smith growls. “I’ll take you down in the freight elevator. It’ll bring us to the back end of the space and then I’ll give you a peek.”

  “Just a peek?” I ask. “You guys seem to throw that word around a lot. ‘It’s just a peek, Chella. A little glimpse into the forbidden.’” He’s about to say fuck the whole thing, I can tell. But I have a point, so I get to it. “Why don’t you guys just admit it?”

  “Admit what?” he asks.

  “That it’s not a peek at all, it’s full immersion. It’s not dipping a toe in the water, Smith. It’s drowning in the dark depths.”

  He lets out a small laugh and then that surly frown turns into a grin. “You want to live in it, Chella? Do you want me to invite you deeper?”

  “Obviously that answer is yes, Smith.” I stare at him as he reassesses me. “If you think I don’t know what I’m getting into, you’re wrong.”

  He rubs the stubble on his jaw. “Really? You’re an old pro at the fine art of sex club navigation, are you?”

  “I’ve been to them before,” I say.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me, as if intrigued. “When? Where? With who?”

  Do I detect some jealousy in those questions? “It’s not important,” I say. But I’ve hit a nerve with Mr. Baldwin. “How cute that you think I’m so innocent, Smith.”

  “I have never thought you innocent, Chella,” he says. “But a little inexperienced… yes,” he admits. “So you’re playing a game with us, as well?”

  “I’m just along for the fun,” I say, slipping the chemise nightie up and over my head and dropping it to the floor. “So why don’t we stop talking and just do what we both know we want to do?”

  “You want to get fucked down there tonight?” He laughs. Kinda loud. Like this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I can’t fuck you down there, Chella. And no one else will be allowed to get near you. You can walk into the ocean and drown yourself in the dark depths on someone else’s time. But when you’re with me, it’s just a peek.”

  He’s dead serious about this and I have to admit, I didn’t expect him to remain so loyal to Bric and Quin. Especially after I goaded him with what Bric said to me about cutting him out of the game.

  “Fine,” I say, shrugging my shoulders like I hardly care. “Just a peek then.”

  He stares at me for a moment, opens his mouth like he might say something, then thinks better of it. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand. Already breaking the rules.

  We leave the apartment and go down the hall to a door. We go through it, then down another dark hallway, until we reach the back of the building where the freight elevator is located. This is how Rochelle got me upstairs to her apartment that first night.

  Smith punches in a code to open the doors as I watch, fascinated by the world they’ve created here in the middle of downtown Denver.

  A secret world. A forbidden world. A world I haven’t thought about in a very long time. A world I left behind. A world I’d very much like to be part of again.

  “What’s on the other floors?” I ask as the doors close us in.

  “Rooms,” Smith says, utterly uninterested.

  “I guessed that, Smith. I meant, what happens on the other floors?”

  He looks at me, annoyed for some reason. “Sex, Chella. We’re a hotel so rich men who are bored with their wives can come here during the work week and fuck someone new.”

  “So you have prostitutes here?”

  “No.” He laughs. “They have to bring the pussy with them.”

  “Do you bring people to those rooms?”

  He looks away, up at the illuminated numbers ticking down the floors until the elevator gets to the one lit up as B. When the doors open, he waves me forward and says, “If you think I’m a sick sex freak, you’re wrong. I’m the most normal person down here, Marcella Walcott. And you should really keep that in mind going forward. Stay here for a minute. I need to get you a mask.”

  Before I can ask any more questions, he walks down the hallway, towards the flashing lights, and the music, and the sound of people caught up in a primal state of lust.

  I wait. My hearts beats fast, but I take a few deep breaths as I ask it to be calm.

  I want to be here, I remind myself. I was lying to myself when I accepted Rochelle’s offer, thinking it was just a peek.

  A peek is not what I’m after. Not at all.

  If I’m going to risk everything again, if I’m going to play this game with them and throw away years of building my life back up after all the failures and falls, then I want the full experience.

  Smith returns with a black mask that covers my whole face. Just slits for eyes so I can see, and a small slit for my mouth, so I can breathe.

  “Put it on,” he says. “All the women wear masks.”

  “
Why?”

  “Because I said so,” he snaps.

  “No.” I laugh. “I’ll put it on. But why do the women wear masks?”

  “To protect them.” He says those three words like it should be obvious. “Why else?”

  “To protect them from what?”

  “Chella,” he says. “Come on. From themselves, of course.”

  “I’m not following.” He’s very annoyed at this point, so I slip the mask up to my face and let him tie the black satin ribbon around my head. “Just explain it to me. So I understand.”

  “It gets out of hand sometimes. Lots of husbands bring their wives down here. Lots of these wives are up for anything, or so they think when the lust overtakes them. Lots of them have regrets afterward, once the orgasm has subsided and the reality of what they did sinks in. So we make them all as anonymous as possible. We also like to avoid targeting. Most of them are very beautiful and have drawn the attention of other men in the Club over time.” He hands me a hair tie. “Put your hair up in a ponytail. That’s another rule. And it’s not so you can suck cock better, so don’t even start asking me about that.”

  I smile as I tie my hair back. “You’re not as big of an asshole as I first thought,” I say.

  “Well, thanks,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I guess that’s a compliment. When we go in there,” he says, switching back to business mode, “don’t talk to anyone. Don’t even look at anyone. Just let me get us to where we’re going and then we can relax a little. Enjoy the show, if you’d like.”

  I would like. I would very much like to enjoy this show.

  “Ready?” he asks, drawing in a deep breath like this makes him very nervous.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  He takes my hand and leads me towards the lights and music. We turn the corner and there’s a few people. A couple fucking in a white vinyl chair while another man watches and a third stands behind her, rubbing his cock—peeking through his zipper—along her back.

  The black light makes the chair glow. And the woman has white paint—or makeup, maybe—on her body, making it glow as well. Everything else is black. The men she’s engaged with are all wearing formal black suits, just like the one Smith is wearing. In fact, once we move past them and see more people, I realize all the men are wearing suits and all the women are naked with black masks.