Page 5 of Turning Back

Smith waits, then says, “Well, I gotta go. So much to do today. Make sure you go to work this afternoon. And Chella says she wants to have lunch at the Club tomorrow.”

“No,” I say. “Fuck that.”

“Fine with me,” Smith says, shrugging as he walks over to his gym bag and hikes it over his shoulder. He pets the dog, who pants excitedly at his attention. “But she told me to tell you she’d be in the White Room waiting for you tomorrow at one. So if you want to stand her up, be my guest. Just don’t expect her to show up for lunch the week after.”

He walks out without another word and leaves me to my thoughts.

If Chella wants to pull this either-or shit, she can. But I don’t like ultimatums. I might not be as rigid as Smith or as dominating as Bric, but I know how to hold a fucking grudge.

I won’t be showing up at the Club tomorrow.

No way. Fuck that.

Chapter Two - Bric

The curtains in the top-floor apartment of Turning Point Club are closed, but sheer. So just enough light filters through from the rainy day outside to make the atmosphere seem gloomy and dramatic.

It’s not a good sign.

I could change the mood, flick on a light or open those curtains, but is the light really the problem?

The girl’s hands are cuffed to a chain above her head that attaches to the ceiling. It clinks as she moves, her head turning this way or that as Jordan moves about, getting things ready. She’s blindfolded, so she doesn’t know I’m here. And she has noise-canceling headphones on, so she can’t hear anything but the music and the words Jordan whispers into the mic wrapping down his jaw as he works.

I take my tie off and unbutton my shirt, waiting for my cue.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it and it goes to voicemail after a few seconds.

“Ready?” Jordan asks, holding out the chain harness for me.

I take it, letting the silver links pool into my palm. “Yup.” I sigh.

“What? Are you bored?” he asks.

“Kinda,” I say, surprising myself. “She’s not gonna like this.”

“You don’t know,” Jordan says, equally exasperated. “I talked about it with her last night. She said yes… so…”

I shrug. I’m not into this girl. Which is weird for me. I’m into anyone. As long as they go along and do as they’re told, I’m generally good. Very easy to please. But this one… she’s only been here for a week and I can already tell. She won’t last. It’s a waste of time.

“I’m going to place the clamps on your nipples now, Sandy. Don’t move.”

Sandy whimpers and, predictably, moves when I reach up with the first clamp and touch the peak of her nipple.

“Don’t. Move.” Jordan is not the most patient of men. So it comes out rough. But the girl stills as I attach the clamp. There’s a long moment where she doesn’t quite know how to react and I almost hold my breath, waiting for the freakout.

She sucks air in through her teeth as the pain eases and then relaxes.

That’s my cue for the next clamp. This time I make sure she reacts so she’ll pull on the chain and get the punishment twice.

She twists—winces, moans, and then whimpers.

I look at Jordan as he whispers encouraging things into her headphones. This whole headphones thing was a lot more fun when Smith and I did it with Chella. A lot more fun.

Am I even hard? I look down at my cock and find it halfway there.

Jordan catches me looking and cuts the mic. “What is your fucking problem today?”

My phone buzzes again. I ignore it. “I just want a fucking pre-lunch blow job, you know?”