Chapter Twenty-One - Chella
“I’m not walking through the lobby naked.”
Smith gives me a look that says, Don’t be stupid. “We’re not going to the lobby, Chella. We’ll take the freight elevator.”
“What happened to ‘I’m Smith Baldwin and I’m too good for the freight elevator?’”
“Do you want to see it or not?” he asks. “Because you’re not supposed to be down there and if Bric and Quin see you…”
“Then what?” I ask. “What will they do?”
“They’ll just be pissed off. The reason we have you is to keep you separate from all that.”
“So why are you going to ruin it?”
“OK,” he says. “We won’t go.”
“I’m not saying that. I want to go—”
“Then shut the fuck up and take off your clothes,” Smith growls. “I’ll take you down in the freight elevator. It’ll bring us to the back end of the space and then I’ll give you a peek.”
“Just a peek?” I ask. “You guys seem to throw that word around a lot. ‘It’s just a peek, Chella. A little glimpse into the forbidden.’” He’s about to say fuck the whole thing, I can tell. But I have a point, so I get to it. “Why don’t you guys just admit it?”
“Admit what?” he asks.
“That it’s not a peek at all, it’s full immersion. It’s not dipping a toe in the water, Smith. It’s drowning in the dark depths.”
He lets out a small laugh and then that surly frown turns into a grin. “You want to live in it, Chella? Do you want me to invite you deeper?”
“Obviously that answer is yes, Smith.” I stare at him as he reassesses me. “If you think I don’t know what I’m getting into, you’re wrong.”
He rubs the stubble on his jaw. “Really? You’re an old pro at the fine art of sex club navigation, are you?”
“I’ve been to them before,” I say.
He cocks an eyebrow at me, as if intrigued. “When? Where? With who?”
Do I detect some jealousy in those questions? “It’s not important,” I say. But I’ve hit a nerve with Mr. Baldwin. “How cute that you think I’m so innocent, Smith.”
“I have never thought you innocent, Chella,” he says. “But a little inexperienced… yes,” he admits. “So you’re playing a game with us, as well?”
“I’m just along for the fun,” I say, slipping the chemise nightie up and over my head and dropping it to the floor. “So why don’t we stop talking and just do what we both know we want to do?”
“You want to get fucked down there tonight?” He laughs. Kinda loud. Like this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I can’t fuck you down there, Chella. And no one else will be allowed to get near you. You can walk into the ocean and drown yourself in the dark depths on someone else’s time. But when you’re with me, it’s just a peek.”
He’s dead serious about this and I have to admit, I didn’t expect him to remain so loyal to Bric and Quin. Especially after I goaded him with what Bric said to me about cutting him out of the game.
“Fine,” I say, shrugging my shoulders like I hardly care. “Just a peek then.”
He stares at me for a moment, opens his mouth like he might say something, then thinks better of it. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand. Already breaking the rules.
We leave the apartment and go down the hall to a door. We go through it, then down another dark hallway, until we reach the back of the building where the freight elevator is located. This is how Rochelle got me upstairs to her apartment that first night.
Smith punches in a code to open the doors as I watch, fascinated by the world they’ve created here in the middle of downtown Denver.
A secret world. A forbidden world. A world I haven’t thought about in a very long time. A world I left behind. A world I’d very much like to be part of again.
“What’s on the other floors?” I ask as the doors close us in.
“Rooms,” Smith says, utterly uninterested.
“I guessed that, Smith. I meant, what happens on the other floors?”
He looks at me, annoyed for some reason. “Sex, Chella. We’re a hotel so rich men who are bored with their wives can come here during the work week and fuck someone new.”
“So you have prostitutes here?”
“No.” He laughs. “They have to bring the pussy with them.”
“Do you bring people to those rooms?”
He looks away, up at the illuminated numbers ticking down the floors until the elevator gets to the one lit up as B. When the doors open, he waves me forward and says, “If you think I’m a sick sex freak, you’re wrong. I’m the most normal person down here, Marcella Walcott. And you should really keep that in mind going forward. Stay here for a minute. I need to get you a mask.”
Before I can ask any more questions, he walks down the hallway, towards the flashing lights, and the music, and the sound of people caught up in a primal state of lust.
I wait. My hearts beats fast, but I take a few deep breaths as I ask it to be calm.
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 asshole 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 fucking 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 fucked 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 fucked.
“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 pussy. And the third guy is lying underneath her, fucking her ass.
“Who’s the other guy?” I ask Smith, pointing down to the one beneath her.
“No one you need to know about,” he replies. Smith begins to massage my shoulders, every now and then reaching down to cup my breasts to twist my nipples.
I open my legs a little and let my hand slip between them.
Smith fists my ponytail, pulling my head back until I’m looking up at him. “Did I tell you to play with your pussy?”
“No.”
“Then put your fucking hands on your thighs and sit the fuck still until I tell you otherwise.”
I swallow hard as I pull my hand away from my now-throbbing pussy and do as I’m told.
Smith smiles and then crouches down to kiss my mouth.
I kiss him back as he wraps a palm around my neck and squeezes just enough to make me moan.
“You’re not allowed to kiss me,” I say.
“I am if we’re all four together, Chella. The fourth rule is no rules, remember? And I think this counts.”
I smile. Knowing he will fuck me here in this room before we leave tonight.
“But you already knew that, didn’t you? You already knew that if we came down here and found Quin and Bric, we could do whatever we wanted.”
“You know it too,” I say.
He walks around to stand in front of me, then crouches back down, grabs my face with both hands, and kisses me hard. He bites my lip hard enough to make me struggle, and then pulls back just enough to whisper, “I think we can be beautifully evil and dirty together tonight, Chella.”
I agree.
“Unzip my pants and take out my cock.”
My hands are busy before he even stops talking. His cock is long and thick, and so hard. So beautifully hard. The tip of his head is gorgeous. Swollen and round and perfect. When I have it in my hands I look up and wait.
He smiles and caresses my head, petting my hair gently. “Begin.”
I take him in my mouth, so consumed with lust, I don’t want to stop. Ever. Not ever.
After that it’s nothing but a blur.
The kissing, the touching, the come on my face. Then I’m flat on my back, looking up at so many faces. So many men and women who have wandered into our night of darkness. Men masturbating as Smith fucks me. Women sucking dicks and sitting on laps, pushed up against walls and being taken from behind.
Smith, thrusting into me. My fingers grabbing his hair as he fucks me, watching the show Bric and Quin are putting on down below.
I pull his attention back to me, kiss his mouth. “Me,” I say. “Look at me.”
He does for a moment, but then he pulls out, flips me over, pushes my face into the glass, and fucks me from behind.
He likes the show, I realize. He likes to watch them.
I like to watch them too. I lock eyes with the man on his back down below, the one I don’t know. And I come. He and I come at the same time.
Smith knows this. His hand reaches under my body to stimulate my clit, prolonging my orgasm with fast strumming until I wriggle away, unable to take any more. His dick slips out and then he’s on his knees, pumping his cock hard, until his milky white come spurts all over my tits.
He collapses off to the side. All around us people are moaning and coming. Grunting and fucking. After a few seconds, Smith stands up and extends his hand. I let him pull me to my feet and lead me downstairs, my body sticky with sweat and semen.
We make our way back to the dark hallway, back to the quiet of the freight elevator, and then we ascend back up to my little apartment on the top floor. He’s looking at his feet and my legs are trembling as I struggle not to collapse.
“Are you sorry you took me down there?” I ask.
He keeps his head bowed but lifts his eyes to find mine. “Yes.”
“Why? It was within the parameters of the rules.”
He says nothing, just drops his gaze back down to his feet. The elevator doors open and he waves me forward, then into the apartment, where he removes my mask and pulls my hair out of the ponytail. “Go take a shower, get dressed, and I’ll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes to take you home.”
The connection is over. Was over the second we got off the freight elevator.
But I got my turn with him and I’m satisfied.
Score one point for Chella.
These three men have no idea how well I can play this game.
But they’re about to figure it out real quick.
I do as he asks. Shower, dress, go downstairs. He’s waiting for me in his little private bar, sipping a glass of whiskey. “Ready?” he asks from above, as I step out of the elevator. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just gets up, walks to the stairs that lead down to the landing, and then we walk down to the lobby, no touching, no contact, no talking.
The ride to my townhome, though short, feels like it takes forever because the silence continues. When we get there, I get out, expecting to go in alone, but Smith slides out after me, tells the driver to go home for the night, and then closes the door and starts walking up the stairs to my house.
He doesn’t even wait for me, just unlocks it and steps inside, holding the door open for me, letting me pass, and then closing it back up and arming the alarm from the inside.
“What are you doing?”
He’s already walking up the stairs.
“Smith?” I ask, skipping up the stairs after him. I expect him to climb up to the third floor, where my bedroom is, but he veers off the stairs at the second floor and heads to one of the guest bedrooms, flicking on the light as he enters.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I watch him as he begins to undress. He lays his coat over a chair near the window, takes off his suit coat and walks into the closet, flicking on the light.
It’s filled with his stuff.
“It’s officially Sunday, Smith. Your time is over.”
“I’m staying anyway,” he says, unknotting his tie and pulling it through his shirt collar. He hangs it on a tie rack I never even knew this closet had.
“You can’t just stay here.” I laugh. “It’s my house. And Quin and Bric will be mad.”
“Do you care?” he asks, unbuttoning his shirt. I stop caring for a second as I watch him slip the shirt down his arms. They are nice arms. And when he turns his back to me, I stare at the muscle of his shoulders.
“I do care, actually. I like this so far. I’m interested in playing along. So I don’t want to be the reason we fail.”
“We’re already failing,” he says, unbuttoning his pants and letting them drop to the floor. He stands there in his black boxer briefs. Hard. His cock is still hard and even though I shouldn’t be turned on again so soon after what we just did, I am. “Bric is telling you to cut me out. You’re trying to break the rules without breaking the rules. I’m going along—”
“You’re going along?” I ask, my voice a lot louder than his. “This whole night was practically your idea and you know it.”
“Yup,” he says. “It was my evil little plan to get you downstairs so we could fuck under the pretense we were all together.”
“Then why are you being such an asshole right now?”
“Because, Marcella,” he says, pulling on a pair of plaid pajama pants that—God help me, because it’s really not the time or place—make me chuckle a little. Smith Baldwin in pajama pants. It’s like we’ve morphed into this married couple, only someone forgot to tell me about it. “You’re playing with us, aren’t you?”
“You’re playing with me,” I say. “What’s the difference?”
“The difference is that you found us, didn’t you? I only thought I found you that night. I didn’t. You came to us. So what’s going on, Chella?”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Rochelle—”
“Fuck Rochelle,” he snaps. “No one cares about Rochelle. And don’t use her as your excuse.”
My stomach aches. A dark, cold, hard feeling sits down in the pit. Like it’s always been there, but I got used to it. And then it went away, unnoticed, but now it’s back.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
I swallow down the sickness inside me. “I swear, I haven’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then leave,” I say, standing up taller. Why should I let him know so much about me? I know nothing about him, other than he’s involved in some pretty sick shit.
“I live here now.”
“What?” I laugh, but it’s not funny. “You don’t.”
He walks out of the closet, flicking the light off as he passes me, walks over to the switch on the wall, flicks the other lights off as well, and then gets into bed.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Go to bed, Marcella. We had a nice time tonight and it was clever, right?” He stares at me in the darkness, his face just barely visible in the dim moonlight filtering in from outside. “We got what we wanted and we didn’t cheat.”
“Didn’t we? If we were being honest we would’ve told Quin and Bric we were there.”
He says nothing, He just smiles.
“Why are you staying here?” I ask.
“Why are you staying at the Club?”
“You guys want me there.”
“I want you here, Chella. Not there.”
“They want me there. Quin and Bric.”
“Do you know what you want? Out of this arrangement?”
I draw in a long breath of air and then let it out slowly. “No. But I’m doing my best to figure it out.”
“Are we helping you? Or hurting you?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I admit.
“You know what I want?”
I shake my head. “No. I have no idea what you want.”
“Don’t you think you should know that?” he asks. “Before you go much further.”
“What do you want?” I ask in a small whisper.
“You. Obviously.”
“Then why didn’t you just ask me out yourself? Why are you in this relationship with two other guys?”
“Because they help me process things. They give me perspective and clarity. And I like rules. Rules make sense. I like things that make sense. And love… love makes no sense at all.”
None of what he’s saying makes any sense to me, either. Not one bit of it. “Will you come upstairs Wednesday night? When I’m with Bric?”
“If you invite me, yes.”
“I’m inviting you.”
“Then I’ll see you then.” He turns over and faces the window. “Goodnight, Chella.”
I stand in the doorway for a few more seconds, unsure of what to do or say. But he’s dismissed me. So I guess it’s not even my decision to make. I leave, whispering, “Goodnight, Smith,” as I walk upstairs to bed.
I know what I want. I have so many ideas about what I want. But I’m too afraid to say them. Too ashamed to tell him. Any of them, not just Smith. I’m even ashamed to tell myself.
Because I like it in the dark. I don’t need a light to guide me through it.
And I didn’t need a peek. Because I’ve been living in the dark for a very long time, I just didn’t want to admit it.