Taking Turns (Turning #1)(62)

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 * 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 f*cking 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.

Not all of them have the glowing paint. Only the ones with more than two partners, I realize. It must be a signal. It must mean that she’s up for more than just a threesome. There is an overwhelming abundance of men compared to the number of women. Which I find—not unusual, exactly, because more men are interested in the sex club scene than women, but it’s worth noting.

It’s also worth noting that Smith brought me the mask and the hair tie, but not the paint. Because everything they’ve told me so far indicates that they want the foursome from this arrangement we have.

Smith guides me through a more crowded room. People are standing in front of an open area, like there’s a scene going on beyond them. A woman is moaning, and a man is talking dirty. There’s the familiar slap of skin smacking skin as a woman gets f*cked from behind. I stop walking, trying to see through a gap in the sea of bodies. Men stand in my way, as eager as me. Women are kneeling on the floor, sucking their dicks through their open zippers. Or standing, pushed up against a wall, or another man’s body, as she is f*cked.

“Don’t stop,” Smith says, leaning down into my ear so I can hear him over the moans and music.

He pulls me along until we reach a stairwell, and then we go up. At the top is a little room with a glass floor, so we can see the scene down below. There are six people in the little observation studio. Four men and two women. Both of them have paint on their bodies and all of them are busy in erotic activities.

Smith snaps his fingers and says, “Get out.”

All six of them look up, surprised. But they don’t argue. They stop, mid-act, and leave.

Smith walks me over the top of the glass floor. I step onto it carefully, wondering how much weight this thing will hold. And then he pushes on my head and says, “Kneel, Chella.”

I kneel down even though it hurts my knees, and Smith stands behind me, one hand on my shoulder, one hand pushing my head down, until I look at the people down below.

It’s Bric, and Quin, and some other guy. They have a girl lying flat on her back on top of a white vinyl cage bed. She’s not tied down, but she’s not getting away either. Bric’s knees are straddling her shoulders as he shoves his cock down her throat. Quin is straddling her hips, his cock buried deep inside her *. And the third guy is lying underneath her, f*cking her ass.