by JA Huss
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.”
Chapter Seventeen - Bric
She starts to cry. Which doesn’t surprise me. It’s a hard drop coming down from subspace. She surrendered completely to us tonight, even when she thought she wasn’t.
Her trembles become shivers, become shaking as we hold her tight. Wrap our warm bodies around her cold one.
“It’s OK,” Jordan says. “Just relax now. It’s done. You did so good, Nadia.” He kisses her forehead and smooths her wet hair away from her face. “You made us so happy. You were perfect.”
“You trusted us,” I say, squeezing her body a little to make her feel surrounded and safe. “We love you a little more for that, you know.”
“I didn’t trust you,” she sobs. “I hated you.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “You can think that now because what we did was very confusing. So it’s gonna take a while to sort it all out. But you’ll understand what really happened in a few days. You’ll see.”
“And I don’t love you,” she spits. “I quit. Fuck this game. Fuck this game!” She tries to get up, but both Jordan and I hold her tighter.
“No,” Jordan says. “You can’t leave. We’ll tie you to the fucking bed if you try to leave. You can’t walk out on the mind fuck. Not until it’s over. And it’s not over until aftercare is finished. You need this night to process, Nadia. So just lie still and relax. We’re through playing tonight. You’re safe.”
She cries harder after that. But she gives in to us. Again. Completely. And when her sobs turn silent, Jordan looks at me and shakes his head. Good game, he mouths.
I let out a long breath in agreement.
Fantastic fucking game.
She falls asleep first, her breathing finally even and slow. Then Jordan. His grip on her body looser than before. But the dawn is peeking through the sheer curtains before I finally surrender to the win and relax.
I wake up at the motion of the shifting mattress. Nadia is crawling down to the foot of the bed, still between Jordan and me. I grab her ankle out of instinct, startling a gasp out of her as she looks over her shoulder. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” she says.
Her voice is low. Calm.
So I let go of her and she stumbles her way across the room, closing the door to the bathroom behind her.
“Fuck,” Jordan says next to me. “What time is it?”
I glance over at the clock on the nightstand. “Eight fifteen,” I say, croaking out the word.
“Way too fucking early.” Jordan sighs, turning over on his stomach and bunching up the pillow beneath his head.
“Yeah,” I mumble, eyes on the bathroom door. “Should we sleep or eat?”
“Fuuuuuck,” Jordan groans into his pillow.
“We have to feed her before we can let her leave. And she might be ready to leave.”
“Call room service then,” he says, barely audible since he’s talking to the pillow.
“It’s a Club holiday,” I say. “Everyone has today off. No room service.”
Jordan lifts his head and stares at me. “You dick. Are you fucking serious?”
“I didn’t really think this through.” I laugh. “I really thought she’d bolt last night before we even got as far as the chains.”
“Yeah,” Jordan laughs, turning back over, his chest bare and ripped with muscle. His hand wanders down to his dick, absently playing with it. “What a great night.”
I want to fuck them both, I realize. Before we end this session. We were spent last night by the time we got her up here, so we never did get a real threesome.
“Nadia,” I call to the closed bathroom door. “What are you doing in there?”
No answer. “Nadia,” Jordan yells, “Answer him.”
“Fuck off,” she says through the door. I can faintly hear the sound of water.
Jordan grins, still playing with his dick. Eyes closed. “Be nice to her,” he says in a low voice so Nadia can’t hear. “She needs it.”
“Does she?” I ask back. “Because I’m not getting that impression.”
He opens one eye to look at me. “She does.” Like this is final.
So I just shrug, taking his word on that. He’s the one who knows her, not me.
The door opens and Nadia appears. Naked. Her long, lean, ballet body perfect in the morning light. Her dark hair is falling over her breasts like a soft blanket. Her expression is ang
ry, then confused. Then soft. She takes a deep breath. “I’m going home now.”
“Wait,” I say, sitting up in bed. I reach for Jordan and place my hand over his as he strokes himself. “Come be with us for a little bit longer. Then we’ll make you breakfast, and then you can leave. You can’t leave until we feed you. It’s part of the rules.”
“There are no rules, Elias.” I smile when she calls me Elias. “Despite what you think,” she says, her words crisp and clear, “you do not own me.”
I lift my hand off Jordan’s and then drag the white down comforter off him. He grins at her as he masturbates, his cock long and hard, the tip of his swollen head emerging through the grip of his fist on each downward stroke.
She watches him for several seconds. Unconsciously licks her lips.
“Get in bed, Nadia,” Jordan says. “We’re gonna give you something nice now.”
“What,” she asks, “could you possibly give me that I need?”
“Submission,” I say, like this was always in the plan. I just made that up on the spot, because I’m playing the A-game right now and Nadia is so… not.
She scoffs. “You two are going to submit to me?”
I shrug, looking over at Jordan. His smile is so fucking wide. He says, “Within reason. I’m not gonna fuck him and he’s not gonna fuck me, either.”
Nadia takes a deep breath. Considers this. Then smiles and walks towards us. She places both hands on the bed, the same space she crawled out of, and crawls her way back between us on her hands and knees, her long hair almost touching the mattress. “But you’ll suck his cock?” she asks, looking at me.
“If the conditions are right,” I say.
“What conditions?” she asks.
“He means,” Jordan says, smiling up at her like he’s having the time of his life, “if he’s fucking you and I make an offer, he might. Or”—Jordan considers his options for a second—“if I’m fucking your pussy from behind and he’s licking your clit. He might pull me out and have a taste.”
She holds her breath at that.
“I’ll even let you tell me to do it, if you want,” I say, waggling my eyebrows at her.
She sits back on her butt, breasts out, hair falling over them, hands on her thighs like a good little slave, and weighs her options. “I’m too sore,” she says. Wistfully and with regret. Like she’s really disappointed.
“Aww,” Jordan says, pulling her down onto his chest. “Then just watch us, OK? Just let us watch you watch us.” He kisses her softly, making Nadia melt and give in. She twists her body, so she’s lying back on the pillows, but can still see him.
I reach for my cock, which is ready and hard, and then sit up and reposition, so my head is at Jordan’s feet and my feet are at his head.
I know what he’s after. Quin and I used to do this with Rochelle. And I’m all for it.
Our hands begin at the same time. I watch him, he watches me, Nadia watches both of us as we watch her.
Pure porn upcoming in five… four… three… two…
Nadia leans over and takes Jordan in her mouth. At the same time she reaches for me. Her hand squeezing my fist as I slowly pump. “Fuck,” I say, slapping Jordan’s leg. He lets me maneuver, so his legs are hanging over my thighs. I scoot up, until my balls hit his, and Nadia’s mouth is on my cock now too.
“Shit,” I say, shoving Jordan’s legs off a little so I can sit up and see better. I gather up her hair into a ponytail so I can get a good view as she rubs her lips across the tips of our cocks. I have to close my fucking eyes for a second. Enjoy it. God, how long has it been since I had a relationship like this? Even when Rochelle and Quin and I were together last month, it wasn’t this.
“Do you like it?” Nadia asks, her lips wet with spit. She looks up at me through a few strands of dark hair.
“Fuck, yes,” Jordan says. “Don’t stop.”
Nadia smiles at me. I push on her head to give her encouragement she clearly doesn’t need, and she stuffs the fat heads of both our cocks into her mouth.
Good fucking God.
Drool drips down her chin as she pulls back, and then she says, “Fuck it,” in a low, heady voice, as she gets up, straddles us, and then lowers her pussy down. Jordan’s hand is there to guide her, scrambling to stuff himself inside her as I do the same.
Nadia moans. Jesus fucking…
“Yes,” she says.
I want to come right now.
“Yes,” she moans again. “Hurt me,” she whispers. “Hurt me just like that.”
I don’t even pay attention to what she’s saying, let alone what it might mean. And neither does Jordan. He’s sitting up now too. We’re practically hugging each other as we hold her. His hands are all over her breasts as he kisses her neck.
My hands are on her hips, moving her to the rhythm we’re creating together.
I kiss her face, then feel Jordan’s breath on her neck and lean down to kiss him too. He grabs my hair, pulling me into it, and he moans into my mouth as Nadia throws her head back and starts panting out our names. “Jordan,” she sighs. “Elias. Yes. Yes. Make me come. Choke me and make me—”
Jordan’s hand is wrapped across her jaw, his palm squeezing her upper throat. It’s a serious choke and she gasps until he loosens his grip. I take his other hand and push it down to her pussy, urging him to play with her clit.
She comes undone at that move. Goes completely fucking wild. Wriggling, and bouncing, her fingernails digging into my shoulder. And still… Jordan’s mouth is there on mine. His tongue pushing against me. Pushing inside me.
I come first. Jordan moans, fisting my hair as he turns his head aside and bites her shoulder. He comes next, his hot semen mixing with mine.
And then Nadia just… loses it. She goes limp, falling back into Jordan, making him crash back into the bed pillows. My cock slips out and I watch the milky-white cream of our desire leak through the lips of her pussy. I push my fingers inside her, coating them with slickness, and pump them until she’s screaming my name. Screaming Jordan’s name.
I take them out, slide up the bed until I’m on top of them both, my cock still hard, my hips still grinding against Jordan’s, and stick my fingers in her mouth.
“This is what submission means, Nadia. Total surrender to everything you ever thought was forbidden. Welcome to my world.”
She licks me, sucks my fingers, her tongue playing with them inside her mouth. Keeps her eyes closed.
And then I fall off to the side, utterly satisfied and spent. Jordan’s hand reaching for me. For us.
It’s real, I think, lying there in the midst of heavy breathing and complete exhaustion.
This is fucking real.
Chapter Eighteen - Nadia
When I wake up I’m alone in bed.
I turn over, my body aching badly. But I ignore it. I’m so used to it.
“Jordan?” I whisper to the empty room. My eyes are still adjusting to the light when I shift my gaze over to the clock on the side table. Four thirty-seven. Jesus Christ, I slept all day.
I can hear banging in other parts of the apartment.
I’m at Turning Point Club, I remind myself. Bric’s apartment.
There’s food in the air and my stomach rumbles from the emptiness. So I swing my legs over the side of the bed and all the memories of last night come rushing back with the blood to my head. Which makes me dizzy.
What a crazy night.
But I smile. Because I liked it. It wasn’t anything like I imagined, and yet… it’s everything I’ve come to expect from this crazy world Jordan has pulled me into.
I wander over to the closet to look for clothes. It’s a huge closet filled with suits. Black, charcoal gray, blue. And a whole rack of crisp shirts. His ties are all hung on a long rack and each pair of shoes has a home in a cubby.
Elias Bricman is a neat freak.
I feel the sleeves of the shirts, choose a white one, and slip it off the hanger. It’s cool and soft against my skin
and my fingers find a small embroidered monogram on the stiffly starched cuff.
TPC.
Turning Point Club. So not his initials.
Why, I wonder? Why would he have that monogrammed on his shirt? It’s like this is his uniform. I wonder what he wears when he’s not in uniform?
And then I wonder why I care. He’s not the reason I’m playing this game. Jordan is. He’s the one who brought me in. He’s the one I trust. Bric is just another player as far as I’m concerned.
And last night… God. It was fun, but now all the feelings I had when I realized what they’d done—the mind fuck—the emotions come back to me.
I felt really stupid last night.
But then they were nice, weren’t they? They took care of me. Aftercare, Jordan said. Tie me to the bed if I tried to leave before they were done.
That was unexpected. Not something I have participated in before. Not like that, anyway. Jordan doesn’t push me that hard when we’re together. He doesn’t really fuck with my head. Yes, we have our little game-playing moments. I resist, he punishes me, I give in, repeat. But last night was something very, very different.
I don’t bother buttoning the shirt, just let it hang open as I back out of the closet and walk to the door. I listen for a moment. More sounds of cooking. The aroma more pronounced. My hunger gets the better of me until I open the door and walk out into the long hallway that leads to the main room.
The dark hardwood floors are cool against my bare feet and I can hear music now too. Classical music. Music I recognize and love. In fact, this song he’s playing was a warm-up song for my class last week.
I can’t wait to get back to work tomorrow. Teaching the kids is fun for a little bit, but I’m definitely ready to get back into my routine. Long days, long hours, hard training.
The living room has obviously been professionally decorated for a bachelor. Everything is monochromatic gray, black, white. The couch and chairs are all dark gray leather with silver nail-head trim, the coffee table is a brushed stainless-steel rectangle, and the lamps on the coordinating end tables are chrome.
Sexy, I guess. For a man’s place.
