Page 132 of Taking Turns

“What?” she asks softly.

I reach for the deeply plunging neckline, grab one side with each hand, and rip it open, exposing her bare breasts. Chella gasps, takes a step back, but I pull her forward and kiss her lips, both hands holding her face close to mine as I breathe heavy into her mouth. “I told you not to move,” I whisper.

She nods, looking me straight in the eyes, Smith temporarily forgotten as she deals with my demands.

“I don’t like the fact that I wasn’t the one who picked it out.” I rip the rest of the dress, right down the middle of her stomach until the tear meets the long slit up her front and comes fully open. Little beads go flying everywhere, bouncing along the black marble floors until they roll out of sight.

Chella gasps again, looking all around as her ruined little fantasy disappears.

I laugh. Like loud. “I don’t know what you thought tonight would be like, Marcella, but this is how I like it. And since Smith was so kind and gave me control first, I’m gonna make the most of it.”

I warned her on Christmas Eve that I was dangerous when it comes to domination. And I am. I need her to know that about me. I need to get that message through to her loud and clear.

I take her hand and find it cold and trembling. She squeezes as I lead her across the room, yanking the rest of her dress off her body as she walks. It’s left in a tattered puddle on the floor.

I point the arm of the couch where Smith and Quin are sitting. Quin is jerking off too now, his dick fully erect, his eyes pinned to Chella and me.

Smith has not changed one bit. His hand still moves up and down his shaft, his gaze still on Chella.

“Lie down,” I tell Chella. “Face first.”

She gives me a confused look and I almost smile. But she doesn’t get any smiles from me. Not yet. We’re not even close to the part where I smile with satisfaction.

I push her forward until she falls on top of the couch arm, then kick her legs open. She still has her fuck-me heels on. They are pearly white, to match the beads on her ruined dress. And they scuff on the marble, leaving white marks on the dark floor.

I position her body so her pussy is pressed into the black leather of the couch arm, and then press her head down so hard she has to turn it to the side and look at Quin, who is sitting just a foot away. Smith is on the other side of Quin and he stands.

For a moment, I think he’s gonna stop me.

But I’m wrong. He walks over to a chair on the other side of the room and sits down.

To get a better view, I realize.

I ignore him. Just start rubbing Chella’s upturned ass. She moans a little as I stroke her, my fingers slipping in between her legs to find her already wet.

And then I bring my hand down so hard on her ass cheek, her head lifts up and she squeals.

“Hold her head down,” I tell Quin.

He does as I ask. But I don’t think he holds her too hard. Just pets her mostly, whispering things in her ear. One hand still on his cock, the other rubbing the redness creeping over her pale skin.

He looks at me and I nod, so he takes his hand away and I smack her again.

She holds it in better this time, but a few whimpers escape her tightly pressed together lips.

“Do you think I’m punishing you, Marcella?”

“No,” she whimpers.

“I’m not. You’re right.”

I smack her again and this time she takes it like a champ. So I keep going. Smack, smack, smack, smack. On and on and on so that’s there’s no time for Quin to ease her pain, or tell her nice things, or make her feel better. Her ass is so red by the time I stop, I can hold my hand two inches above her skin and feel the heat.

I reach between her legs and check her again.

Sopping wet.

I stick three fingers inside her pussy and use a fourth to caress her clit.