Page 60 of His Turn

I come on someone’s fingers. Moaning into someone else’s kiss. A hard cock presses against the small of my back. I lean into him. Letting him wrap his arms around me. Letting him press his thick head between my ass cheeks. Letting him enter me as someone else plays with my clit.

I come again. And again. And get fucked over and over and over. So many times, I lose count, but it’s up there around seven, maybe eight times as the night passes and people around me fuck, and suck, and get off. Women are screaming with pleasure. Men are groaning and ordering them to get on their knees or take them deeper.

They are talking dirty to each other—and me. Always talking dirty to me. So many whispers up to my ear as the hands caress my body and rub me raw… until I’m so exhausted, I can’t stand upright. I slump, making the chains holding my arms above my head taut. Making the leather cuffs pull at my wrists until they burn.

And when I’m finally released, I fall to the floor, my body spent and worthless, as I lean against the cold, hard steel of the pole.

The blindfold comes off and the first face I see is Bric, staring down at me with those dark, inky blue eyes. Then Jordan is there. It’s midnight, I realize. People are standing around, naked, spent. Slumped just like me. And they start counting down from ten… nine… eight…

Bric has my cuffs off. Is placing my hand on his dick. I caress him automatically. Out of habit.

And then Jordan is there, same thing. His cock out. Hard and waiting. His fingertips squeezing my nipple as I take him in my hand, make a fist round his shaft, and give him what he wants.

Three… two… one…

Balloons fall, confetti spills out from the ceiling, and they kiss me. They pull me to my feet and kiss me again. Every one is yelling, “Happy New Year!” and blowing horns as a string quartet plays Auld Lang Syne. And I find myself singing into their kisses. They sing with me.

And when the song is over, they hug me close and we dance close. Just the three of us. Slow and close. Everyone dances as the quartet plays something else. Chopin or Brahms, maybe. I’m so spent, I can’t even tell the difference and that strikes me as ironic, because my days are filled with nothing but classical music and I should know this. I don’t even know how we dance, since we are three, not two. But we manage it, and it feels… good.

“Would you like to go upstairs?” Jordan asks. “Can we take you to bed now?”

I look at him and wonder. Wonder why the fuck he plays these games. But I say, “Yes,” instead of asking him that question.

They take me up the stairs. Practically carry me. And I think I even drift off, because the next thing I know, I’m in Bric’s apartment and they’re running a bath. The water is hot. So hot, steam winds up and over my body as they lower me in. And then the hands are different. The hands wash me. Caress me. They talk softly to me. The lights are all off. There are only candles lit up. Flames flickering in neat rows along the edge of the tub.

They wash my hair and rinse it off with silver cups of cool water that wakes me up and makes me new again.

“I’m tired,” I say, looking up at Jordan as he holds a towel open.

“We know,” he says, shaking it for me as Bric helps me out of the tub. Jordan wraps me up and they both hold me close as they walk me over to the bed and lie me down.

Bric strips down to naked as Jordan flicks on a TV mounted on the wall.

I have to watch the scene on the screen for a few seconds before I realize what it is.

Me. Tonight. Chained to the ceiling of Turning Point Club lobby. Men are all around me. Bric in his throne. Jordan off to the side, hand over his face, like he’s worried about something.

“I don’t want to see that,” I say.

“We don’t care,” Bric says. “You’re going to watch it anyway.” He slips into bed beside me. Arms wrapping me up in his. Maneuvering me around until I have a good view of the screen and I’m pressing my back into his chest.

Jordan joins us. Naked now. Facing me. Smiling. Lifting a piece of wet hair off my face and tucking it behind my ear. “Look,” he says, nodding to the TV.

I close my eyes to shut it out. But he just says, “Nadia,” in a stern voice. Which snaps me to attention. “Look at what we did tonight.”

I glance over at the TV and watch. Men come up to me. They whisper in my ear. They retreat and more take their place. Over and over and over again.

But the only men touching me in that film are… Bric and Jordan. The whole night, it was them. Just them and only them, all night long.

I look at Jordan with squinted eyes and furrowed brow. My mind overflowing with questions.

“We like sharing you together,” he says, laughing a little. “But we’d never share you with the goddamned Club, Nadia. Give us a little credit.”

I turn a little, so I can look over my shoulder at Bric. He just shrugs as he grins. “Welcome to the mind fuck, Miss Wolfe.”