Page 52 of His Turn

The third boy lifts up her legs and opens them, just as the second places his face between her legs and begins to lick her.

The first is bent over the booth, still kissing her mouth. I don’t feel her moans now, he does.

Her back begins to arch as she enjoys the one between her legs. The third player caresses the back of the first and I wonder how far this will go.

People are watching. Some of the young men already jerking off. Some of them with girls on their knees, taking out their cocks.

It’s Turning Point Club. But not private. Nothing about this moment is private. And even though it should make me angry, even though I should want to take her out of here right now and whisk her away, back to the world I live in—the world I control—I don’t do any of that.

I just enjoy the show. The whole show. All of the people. All of the music. All of the club.

Nadia begins to writhe and I know she’s about to come. So quick, but it’s too erotic not to come. Too many eyes to not be ready. Too much stimulation. Too much hard music and way too fucking hot.

The third boy has his hand between her legs, his fingers playing with her clit as the second one licks.

I grab my cock again, wishing I could fuck her, right here, right now, in front of all these strangers.

She moans loud enough to be heard. Her body twists as the boys touch her, lick her, kiss her.

She comes all over the third boy’s fingers and when she calms down, breathing hard and eyes still closed, she reaches for his hand, finds it, guides it up to her lips, and puts his fingers in her mouth.

Her eyes open and she looks right at me.

She smiles, then lifts a leg and kicks the boys away. They back off, unperturbed, and slink back into the crowd, which has gone from clubbing kids enjoying an illicit party to writhing erotic orgy. All on the command of Nadia Wolfe.

She stands up and turns to me, her silky shirt falling back down to cover her tits. Her fingers reach for me, begin to unbutton my shirt, and then she pulls it open, exposing my chest. She is hot and sweaty from the thrill of other men.

And I don’t care.

I stand up and take her hand, pulling her towards me. Kiss her. My hands on her face as I hold her close. And then I push her face first onto the table, pressing her cheek into the hard wood. I lift up her skirt so I can see her pussy. Wet and glistening in the flashing lights from being licked to orgasm.

And then I look over my shoulder, find the first guy who gave me a peek at his girl, and give him a peek at mine.

He smiles big, gives me a thumbs up—all the while, his girl is sucking his dick—and then I turn back to Nadia Wolfe, take out my cock, and push it inside her as hard as I can.

I fuck her. I fuck her until I come inside her pussy and then pull back to watch the creamy evidence of my arousal leak out from between her lips.

We dance after that. Her body is a work of art. Her long hair stuck to her face from the sweat. My fingers inside her sometimes. Her hand on my cock sometimes.

We drink the brandy but get drunk on each other. We get drunk on the night, on the dancing, on the sweat, and the lights, and the music.

I fuck her again when we get to the car. Face first on the hood of the cold metal. Her moans loud, and clear, and erotic as they echo through the dark night and turn into screams of ecstasy.

People watch us.

People I don’t know. People I don’t trust.

People like me.