Chapter Seventeen - Bric
“I could care less about the parties, or the people, or the holidays, for that matter,” I say as I dance with Chella.
“Then why do you come?” She laughs. It’s a slow song and we are facing each other. Close, so her words and her breath heat up my chest because she’s resting her head there. Our feet move in slow circles around the dance floor, just one couple among dozens.
I don’t know what she’s thinking right now. I certainly gave her a lot to think about. Not to mention all the things that were said—and left unsaid—at the Club meeting. But she seems to be taking it well. She’s smiling, and being friendly with the many, many, many people who feel the need to come up to me tonight and thank me for Club contributions over the years.
“To dance. Slowly,” I say. “Just like this.”
“It’s nice,” Chella says. “What’s this party for again?”
“Cancer research fundraiser. The Club gives a lot of money to this organization.”
“Oh,” she says, pulling back a little. “Is the Club your job?”
“Kind of. I run it, and we use the dues to donate. Plus Smith’s money. Most of what I hand out is Smith’s money.”
“Where does he get his money? Does he have a job? I’ve looked him up on the internet and there’s really nothing there aside from—well, things like this. Charities and foundations.”
“He doesn’t get money. Or make money. He just has money.”
“It has to come from somewhere.”
“It comes from his trust. If you had to give his job a label, then I guess you’d call him a philanthropist.”
“Hmm,” Chella says. “I don’t think that word fits him at all.”
“Why not?” I’m actually fascinated to hear what she thinks of Smith. I know he’s playing some kind of game with her that doesn’t involve Quin and me. But what it is, I’m not sure yet.
“Well, philanthropy implies a love for humanity that involves caring about people and nurturing them as a group. And maybe I don’t know him well, but he comes across as crass and egomaniacal. Not someone concerned with the welfare of the human race as a whole.”
“He actually does a lot of good with his money. This organization isn’t even one of his top ten beneficiaries and he gave them twenty million dollars last year. He gives mostly to humanist endeavors, and mostly to organizations overseas. So you’ll never go to one of those parties. Unless of course, you marry him or something.” I laugh. “And he gets you all to himself for weeks at a time. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
She smiles weakly, but gets my meaning. Smith is off limits to everyone, even her.
“We shouldn’t waste our time talking about Smith. He’s a lost cause. Besides, I’m curious to know what you’re thinking.”
“About?” Chella counters. She knows what about, but I’m happy to spell it out.
“About the last rule.”
“The gang bang?”
I laugh so hard people start staring at us.
“Quiet,” Chella says, looking around nervously.
“I’m sorry. I just… didn’t expect you to characterize it that way.”
“That’s what it is though, right? The three of you taking turns with me. At the same time. I’m a realist, Bric. I like to call things like they are. I don’t need pretty words or false promises to understand the darkness.”
I stop dancing and look down at her. She’s not short, but I’m tall, so her eyes only come up to my neck. “It’s not a gang bang, Marcella. It’s a ménage, just like Quin said. It’s a relationship. Not a one-time group fuck.”
My words are a proper chastising and they make her shrink a little. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m just having a hard time understanding what the three of you have going. What do you get out of it?”
“Aside from you?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.
“But that’s the thing. You don’t really get me. You get to share me. Why would you want to share me when you can each have whomever you want all to yourselves?”
“Maybe we want that with each other?”
“So you’re all gay?”
“No.” I laugh. “No, we’re not gay.”
“Do you fuck them?”
“Chella—”
“I’m serious. I need to know. I just need to understand and I need to put a label on this.”
“No, I don’t fuck them.”
“Have you ever kissed Quin or Smith? Or touched them erotically during one of these… ménage episodes?”
“Ménage episodes,” I say. “Well, I’ve heard it all now.”
“I’m serious, Bric. It’s an honest question.”
And just looking at her, I realize it is an honest question. She is calm, and serious, and curious. “I’m sure I have. But it’s not a memory I hold on to and think about later.”
“So let’s say you’re having sex with one of your… toys in the game of Taking Turns.”
“OK,” I say.
“And everyone is turned on. Things are hot and carnal.” I smile just thinking about the images in her head right now. “Where do you draw the line? With them, I mean. Do you suck their cocks?”
“Fuck, Chella—”
“Just answer me. Why won’t you answer me?”
“I have no issue talking about this at all. Or telling you anything you want to know. But just so we’re clear, you’re turning me on.” I take her hand off my shoulder and drag it down my chest until I can feel the warmth of her palm pressing against the thick, hard outline of my cock through my pants. “We go as far as we want.”
“So, if Smith was fucking me and your cock was right there, like you wanted to put it in my mouth, he could suck it instead? And you wouldn’t mind? Because it’s all in the moment and the moment is all about peeking into the forbidden?”
“Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
“Would you let him?”
“If he wanted to.” I shrug. “If I was in the mood to let him. Why not? Does that bother you? Would that be a line you wouldn’t cross?”
“I would probably suck it with him,” she says. Dead. Serious.
We just stare at each other. So many silent seconds tick off and I have so many questions for her right now, I don’t even know where to start.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice says off to my left. “Do you mind if I cut in and dance with your date, Elias?”
Chella smiles. Maybe at the conversation we were just saved from. Maybe because this guy called me Elias instead of Bric, and that implies a different world than the one we inhabit together. Or maybe because she’s the one playing with me, and not the other way around.
I step back and greet Bernard Millington with a handshake, a clap on the back, and hand Chella over to the old geezer who probably just wants to piss his wife off by dancing with a younger woman.
Bernard dances with her only briefly and then whisks her off to make introductions to other members of the board we sit on together.
She finds me with her eyes when she can. And I never stop staring at her at all. Not even when I pull out my phone, dial Smith’s number. He answers with, “Yes, Mr. Bricman? How can I help you?” in that smug I-told-you-so voice.
“Set it up,” I say. “I think we’re a go for tonight.”
The party goes late. And Chella is busy avoiding me the entire time as I suck down several drinks and try to assure board members that there will be similar, and possibly more generous, donations next year.
It’s after two in the morning when we finally make our way back inside the car and head North towards downtown. “Did you have a nice time?” I ask.
“Did it look like I was?” she asks.
It’s easy to forget who she really is when we have her in a vulnerable state. But right now—all night, in fact—she’s been reminding me.
Marcella Walcott is the only child of a US senator who spent most of his adult life in DC. She grew up in it. She grew up with people like the ones we were with tonight. She knows how to dance to the music of a string quartet. She knows how to make polite conversation. She knows how to talk to people about politics, and societal concerns, and money.
“I think you did,” I say.
“I did.” She laughs, wrapping her hands around my upper arm and leaning into me just enough to let me know she’s receptive to whatever I have planned when we get home.
“Good,” I say. “Because we have two more weeks of parties.”
“And then what, Elias Bricman?”
I look out my window and smile, sure she is watching my reflection in the dark glass very closely.
“What will you do with me when we run out of parties to keep us busy?”
I look back at her. I admit, I was not convinced of Smith’s characterization of her all week long. He’s got theories upon theories about why she’s here. Why she’s playing along. I didn’t see it, I guess. Couldn’t imagine it, maybe. But when she said she’d suck my cock with Smith, I have to admit, he might be right.
I see it too. A little, I suppose. When I first asked her to be part of this I saw the cravings she was trying to hide. I felt the darkness underneath, trying to get out.
But I think this way about all of them. There has to be a deviant side to the women we play with, or we’d never get very far.
Rochelle had a dark deviant side too, but it didn’t run deep. Not deep enough at least. Not for Smith.
I figured Marcella Walcott was the same way. She likes a little edge to her sex. A little gagging, a tight blindfold, a spanking or two.
But even if I could imagine what she’s hinting at tonight, I never imagined she’d offer it up so soon.
“That’s up to you, Marcella. You’re the one in control, regardless of how this looks. Do you want me to call Smith?” I offer. “Tonight? Are you entertaining the thought of giving in?” My heart races with the thought of getting her to comply so quickly. So easily.
“No.” She laughs. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Hmmm,” I mumble.
“Does that make you mad?” she asks. “After I teased you tonight?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I wasn’t after that tonight anyway.”
“What were you after?”
“Another option, maybe.”
She smiles and raises an eyebrow. “Cheating? Do you cheat, Elias?”
“No,” I say. “We don’t cheat. Ever. But as I’m sure you’re aware from Smith’s little offer to shave your legs that first night, we have ways around the rules.”
She’s silent after that. I let her keep her thoughts to herself as we make our way through the streets of downtown and back to the front curb outside Turning Point Club.
I walk her into the lobby and up the second-floor stairs that take us to the elevator. We are silent as we ascend. I fully intend to go inside the apartment with her, but when we get to the door, she turns and rests her back against it, barring my way forward.
“I had a nice time,” she says. Just like a woman on a first date.
“I’m glad. We have so many more nice times ahead of us, Chella.”
“So I’ll see you tomorrow? What time?”
“We can have a dinner alone if you’d like. No other players to distract us this time.”
“That would be nice.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me right now?”
“I don’t want Smith here. I might say yes to that another time, but not tonight, Bric.”
“We’re back to Bric, huh? No more Elias?”
“I think Elias is reserved for honest moments. And this one doesn’t feel honest.”
“To who?” I ask. “To you? Or me? Because I’m OK with being one hundred percent honest about what I want right now.”
“You want me, but in order to have me, I have to let Smith be a part of it.”
“Like I said, Chella. We have ways around the rules.”
“How then?” she asks, her fingers playing with the lapels of my suit coat. She looks up at me and I know she wants this so bad. She just can’t admit it. Something inside her is telling her it’s wrong, and it’s dirty, and it’s forbidden.
But that’s what this is about, isn’t it? The forbidden.
I lean down and kiss her mouth. She is so ready for me, my dick grows hard beneath my pants. “We have cameras,” I whisper into our kiss. “Set up all over the apartment. I had Smith turn them on earlier. So I can fuck you tonight. Alone, just the way you want it. And he can watch like some pathetic piece of shit who can’t manage to get his own girl. We won’t break the rules and he never has to come near you, Chella. I’ll make sure he never touches you again.”
She says nothing. Not yes, not no. So I take over. I open the door, push her inside, and then I walk her backwards, making her bump against the wall, and slip my hand up her dress.
“Are you gonna say no?” I ask, finding her pussy with my fingers and massaging the wetness out of her.
“No,” she says.
I withdraw my hand and slide her coat down her arms. Then grab the front of her dress and rip it down the middle. She gasps in surprise, but I just take that as an opportunity. An opportunity to push her to her knees, unzip my pants, pull my cock out, and shove it down her throat.
She gags, her hands pressing on my muscled thighs, pushing me away. But I hold her in place. “When no means yes and yes means no, Chella, and you say no, then it’s on.”
I pull her to her feet, drag her over to the couch, bend her over and smack her ass so hard, she yelps.
I rub her red cheek for a few moments as I calm myself. I can feel the urges inside me taking over and it’s way too soon to let them out.
I stand her up again and twirl her around. Her eyes are glistening, like she might cry. But when I kiss her mouth, she melts into me. Her hands on my cock, pumping me. Squeezing so hard I have to close my eyes and enjoy it for a second.
“Do you like it rough?” I ask, when I pull myself together.
“I like it,” she says. One simple sentence that says so much more than she intended.
“Good,” I say, petting her messed-up hair. “Good.”
I take her hand. Gently. And lead her down the hallway. She’s wearing nothing but her shoes. When we get in the bedroom I lead her to the bed and push down on her head until she’s kneeling again.
Her mouth is open. Ready and willing.
“Oh, no, Chella. It’s not gonna be that easy. You kept me guessing all week. You hid your dark side and had me worried we’d made a mistake.”
She doesn’t move a muscle. She sits still, looking up at me like I am her whole world.
God, it’s like she knows my soul.
I reach into the new bedside table, already stocked with the things I like. The ball gag. The rope. The whip. The blindfold.
I place them on the bed and point. “Choose.”
“All of it,” she says.
But I shake my head. “No. You’re going to hear no from me a lot now that you’re ready to say yes. Choose one.”
I expect the blindfold. Or the gag. But she chooses the rope.
I pick her up and throw her down on the bed, opening her legs. I take one length of rope and wrap it around her ankle, tying it to one corner of the bedframe. Then do that again with her other ankle.
She is moaning softly each time I touch her. Her fingers, still free to do as they please, seek out her own pleasure as she watches me work. “Chella Walcott,” I say as I finish tying her legs open. “You are a freak after my heart.”
She says… nothing.
I take my coat off, then my suit coat, throwing them both down on the floor. I unknot my tie and use it to bind her hands together in front of her stomach.
Still, she says nothing.
“You like this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes on my cock, still peeking through the zipper of my pants. “I like it all, Elias. Give me what I like.”
I leave my pants on. I like the way the zipper bites at my balls when I bend down to lick between her legs, my tongue sweeping up and down her pussy, flicking against her clit until she is writhing and begging me to whip her, and slap her face, and come all over her tits.
“Getting ahead of yourself, Marcella,” I say in a low growl as I straddle her hips and walk my knees up her body until my cock is hovering right in front of her mouth. “We’ve got a long way to go before we get to that little corner of your dark mind.”
I straddle her shoulders and slip my dick into her wet mouth, grabbing her hair as I push myself so far inside her, she gags hard.
But it only turns me on more. It only makes me go deeper, thrust harder. Her face is covered in her own spit, her eye make-up running down the sides of her cheeks.
Still, her eyes never leave mine.
I can do anything I want with this woman. Anything I want. She will never again tell me no.
I fuck her after that.
I put my dick in her so deep, she wails, her bound hands grabbing for my shoulder as I thrust, over and over. Her nails bite into my skin and she’s whispering in my ear. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—”
I fuck her like I’ve wanted to fuck her all week. I fuck her the way I imagined it. I look at the cameras—because I know where each and every one of them are—and I flip Smith off as I do it.
Fuck you, Smith, I think. Fuck you for being right. Fuck you for bringing her here. Fuck you for watching.
Fuck you for ruining her, just like you ruined all the others.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
But he’s the one who wins tonight.
And we both know it.