Their Girl Pt. 01

"Get your ass out here, and bring anything you have with you. We're going to have a little talk," I told her. Damn, her body was fine. Nice firm little boobs, a perfect bubble ass, but not much in the way of hips.

She crawled out from under the shelves. She never even took her shoes off, and all she had was a large purse. When she stood up next to me, the top of her head came to my chin, and she kept her eyes on the floor. She clearly expected some kind of abuse at my hands, or at least being turned over to the police.

I had a weird dual reaction to her submissive, terrified pose. On one hand I wanted to protect the innocent-looking sweet thing, and on the other hand I wanted to dominate her, to take her, hard, against this wall.

My cock started twitching. I'd love to share this girl with Jordan, sandwich her between us, and fuck the living daylights out of her, and from Jordan's reaction to seeing her on video, hell, both of our reactions to spotting her in line outside, I was pretty sure he was game for it. And maybe she was exactly what we'd been looking for. Maybe that's why we pulled her out of line and gave her the white wristband.

"This way, sweetheart," I took her by the arm - firm enough to make sure she understood I meant business, gently enough to not hurt or scare her - and led her out of the storeroom. She followed my lead, reluctant but willing. Or maybe she was just too scared to put up a fight.

I took her to the private elevator to the management suite on the top floor, and when the doors closed behind us, what little color she had in her face drained, leaving her pale as a ghost.

"You're not taking me outside?" Her voice barely squeaked past her lips.

"To go where?" I asked, disbelieving. "You said your shelter is closed, and we're not shoving you onto the street. It ain't safe for a little thing like you."

The look she gave me clearly said she didn't believe she was safe here, either. Maybe she was right.

***

The elevator, a pretty standard one at that, seemed way too small. The bouncer took up way too much space. He was one of the two that picked me from the line, and here in the elevator, with decent lighting, I had a better look at him. His skin tone was on the darker side of the African-American of coloration, like rich dark chocolate, but with a bronzy tone to it, warm, like cinnamon. He had strong features, almost too strong to be handsome, but not quite, and his eyes were an unexpected honey-brown color.

I was pretty sure his braids were entirely natural, no extensions. Extensions never looked that good. He was clean shaven and had really good skin for a guy.

He was hot, not conventionally so, but there was something about him, he should have been an action movie star, ala Arnold Schwarzenegger or Dwayne Johnson. From the frozen expression on his face, he was either angry, or he had one hell of a resting bitch face.

When the doors opened, we were in the lobby of what looked like a typical modern corporate office, completely different from the downstairs industrial chic look. It was sleek, modern and clean, except for the brick wall at the end of the hallway, clearly intentionally left exposed, perhaps as a reminder of the downstairs atmosphere. He steered me toward an open door into a monitor-filled room. A security room.

The other bouncer from the line was seated at a desk, which had a clear view of the dozen monitors on the wall that cycled through different views of the club. They were all empty of people, even what appeared to be back corridors and an employee lounge. I was totally alone with these men, who were slightly terrifying.

"Are you guys head of security or something," I asked. Inwardly I cringed at the weak, squeaky tone that came out. I wasn't like that. I was strong. I was a survivor. I wasn't some little mouse to hide when the big cats came around. I was a fucking ferret. I bite back.

"Or something," the other bouncer said - the one with the short hair. His skin tone was similar to the other guy, but more of an earth tone, less bronzy. However, he was straight-up gorgeous, like Shemar Moore, but built on a larger scale. He had a "long stubble" beard, and his hair wasn't much longer. "What were you doing in our storeroom?"

I swallowed hard. "I was looking for a place to sleep until I could go back to the shelter for breakfast."

Both men were staring at me, a hunger in their eyes I didn't want to acknowledge, not while I was trapped here with them. I wanted to hide under a desk or something. Then my stomach decided to gurgle.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"At work, about six." Yep, I had an egg sandwich and a coffee, half price for the sandwich because it was from day-old stock in the walk-in refrigerator at work. We were allowed coffees for free, as long as we used our own cups. If we used a disposable cup, it had to be full price, since it was part of the point of sale system.

Mr. Stubble nodded to Mr. Braids, who took an earpiece from his ear, set it on a desk, and disappeared into another room. "We haven't had our dinner yet. Join us. I'm Jordan Bier. You've met my husband, Marq Witherspoon. Technically, legally, our names are hyphenated, Bier-Witherspoon, but it's a mouthful, don't you think?"

"Husband?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

He smirked. "Didn't see that coming, did you? No one ever does. Stereotypes. We've been married six years now. Instead of wedding rings, we got these." He held up his arm. On his right wrist he had a wrist cuff tattoo - a modern geometric design with 6.14.2014 worked into it. Their wedding date, I assumed.

I blushed, then relaxed as I realized one of my fears dissolved. They were gay. A gay couple. I was still a little scared of them, but something about knowing they were together, in that way, made them a little bit safer.

None of it explained why either of them were looking at me like I was their next meal.

"We don't turn homeless women out on the street, not when we have a comfortable, safe place to stay right here," he gestured toward a door on the other side of the hallway. "It's an apartment. We used to live here, when we were the only security for the place. We still stay sometimes, when we're too tired to head home, or if we have a, ah, guest."

I glanced at the door, and couldn't decide if it felt like a place to avoid, or a place I desperately wanted to be. Jordan, Mr. Stubble, may be married to another man, but even I recognized the chemistry I felt near him, even if he never got up from the expensive-looking office chair.

"What am I really doing here? I thought I'd be turned over to the cops, or something" I asked, somehow bringing back the toughness I had to develop since my mom disappeared when I was ten -- and we already lived in a shelter by then. "I've spent more than half my life in foster care or shelters. I've seen some shit. I'm not as naive as I look."

"Let's talk over dinner," he said, and gave me an assessing look, as if he was only just seeing me for the fist time. He stood, and took my hand like I was a lady at a ball, then escorted me into the kitchen area, where Marq - Mr. Braids, was setting a table with something that looked like really fat hot pockets, with a generous side of steamed vegetables.

"What is that?" It looked amazing and smelled like heaven.

Marq looked surprised. "Beef Wellington. We have dinners delivered weekly and frozen, I just heat them up," he pointed toward a commercial type convection microwave, like the one I used at work, but fancier. "These are fresh from today, because we just got back into town. This was a celebratory dinner."

"I'm sorry I messed up your celebration. I can go, I'll be fine," I said, and began to back away toward the elevator. They had to have an emergency stairwell somewhere, right?

"You're not ruining anything, I promise. In fact, we may have more to celebrate soon," Jordan said with a predatory smile that made me nervous. He guided me to a square table by a set of windows that overlooked the waterfront. Where the streetlights lit the roadway outside the window, heavy rain was slashing down - heavy for Seattle, where it rained all the time, but not like this.

I shivered. It wasn't a night anyone wanted to be caught outside. Or, morning. It was nearly 3 a.m.

The table was set for three, and I sat down on the chair Jordan pulled out for me. The guys flanked me, one at each end of the table. I cut into the food and nearly melted when it hit my taste buds.

"I've never eaten anything this good in my life," I said after the first few bites.

For a few minutes we ate quietly. I assumed they were similarly hungry. With each bite I had to suppress a moan of pleasure, embarrassed at my lack of experience with what I assumed was gourmet food, and extreme enjoyment. They never fed us anything like this in foster care or at the shelter. It looked, and tasted, expensive.

While I ate, I watched the guys, trying to figure them out. I realized Jordan's cuff tattoo was on his left wrist - I guess so if they held hands, their cuffs would match. When he turned his hand, I realized it also had the name "Marques," on the inside of the wrist.

"So, do you work, or are you looking for a job?" Jordan's question was a little too casual. He was fishing for more information.

"I'm a barista at an independent cafe. It's not a lot of money, but its a job. I'm saving up for a studio or something, but everyone wants me to earn three times rent, and that's like 60 hours of work a week, and I'm lucky if I get 35. I'm planning to talk to my friends to see if anyone has a room I can rent."

"The same friends who abandoned you tonight?" Marq frowned in disapproval.

I shrugged. "No big deal. We didn't have an agreement or anything, and really, they're my co-workers who are becoming friends. This was the first time I went out with them. The have amazing stories of their girls' nights out, and this seems like their normal MO. Usually if I have a late night I'd just take an Uber to an all night coffee bar or something. There are a few in town. I just order enough drinks to keep the baristas happy, and read a book or newspaper until the shelter opens for breakfast."

Marq put down his fork, his food pretty much gone already. Jordan was, also, and while I had eaten barely half the food on my plate, I had to admit, I was full. As big as these men were, I bet they put away a lot of food. But it didn't seem to be the food he cared about.

"You can stay here tonight. Only there's a catch. We only have one bed, and we're staying tonight."

"No problem, I'll take a couch," I said quickly. I slept on more couches than I could count. I stood up to put my plate away. "Is there a container I can store my leftovers for breakfast? It was amazing, and I don't want to throw it away."

Both of the guys walked up behind me with their own plates, and took mine.

"Nope," Jordan said. "There's more where that came from. You'll like breakfast, I promise." He added a wink, which made my insides clench. He was just being nice, right?

Jordan cleaned up the mess, and while I watched the process, somewhat zoned out, since I was so tired, and for a moment I didn't realize Marq was behind me. Not until he was so close I could feel the heat from his body.

"Why a couch? We were thinking we could share some body heat tonight, with the storm and all. These old brick walls have no insulation," he said, low and close to my ear, but still not touching me.

I stiffened. Part of my brain screamed, "Get the fuck out of here, danger," while the other part screamed "Hell yeah, bitch!"

"I, I thought you two were married? Gay." My voice had broken on me again.

Jordan moved to mirror Marq in front of me, and his hands gently held my shoulders. "Bi, not gay. Stay with us tonight. Trust me. We can make it so good for you."

I froze. This was everything I was warned about, the threat of strange men, the physical power they had over a woman. And they were a married couple! But, gods help me, I wanted this.

Without warning, they closed in on me. Jordan used Marq's body to hold me while he took my jaw in one hand and kissed me, his lips sweet and soft on mine, gentle, yet claiming, while Marq's hands held my hips and his very, very hard cock ground into my ass.

I groaned, partly in total lust for these two hard men, whose impressive, hard muscles I could feel through the thin fabric that remained between us, and partly in protest. I didn't want this! I couldn't want this! I didn't trade my body for a place to sleep. That's not how I operate!

In one last attempt to preserve the last vestige of my innocence, I tried to push away, to make some room between their bodies so I could walk away, to tell them to stop. A little rain never killed anyone.

"Baby," Jordan murmured, totally ignoring my useless attempt to gain space and regain control of my increasingly hazy brain cells, "You're the one we've been looking for."

"You are perfect," Marq agreed.

They were so strong I wasn't even sure if they noticed my weak resistance, and Jordan claimed my mouth again in a deep kiss that shut down any brain cells I had left. The next thing I knew I was in Jordan's arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and he was carrying me through the office. A door opened, then closed, and I heard the click of a lock. When I opened my eyes, the only light in the room was a bedside lamp that provided soft illumination of the bed.

"Let's get these clothes off of you. Body heat sharing requires skin to skin contact, you know," Marq said as Jordan continued kissing me.

I whimpered in protest as Marq lifted each foot to pull off my scuffed Goodwill-find Doc Martens and my socks, then my jeans were undone and -- gone; my panties with them. When Marq pressed against me again I realized his clothes were already gone, and his bare cock, hot and hard, pressed against my back, between my butt cheeks.

"I can't," I protested as they switched. Marq ground against me; he ducked his head to nibble at my neck and shoulder, two body parts I never guessed were erogenous as my entire body broke out in goosebumps, while Jordan shed his clothes, then slid my shirt over my head and reached around to unhook my bra.

"You can, baby, and this is going to be the best night of your life," Jordan promised as he explored my breasts - which were somewhere between a big B cup and a small C cup. He tweaked my nipples gently, and then his hand.

My hips bucked against his hand as his fingers instantly found my clit.

"Oh gods," I shouted in shock and surprise.

"She knows us," Marq laughed, low and sexy. "Yes, sweetheart, we're gods, your gods."

My resistance was fading, fast. They weren't hurting me. Just the opposite. I had no idea anything could feel this way.

At that point I gave up trying to fight this, whatever it was. I just let myself be swept away, which proved to be onto the huge four-poster bed. I only got a brief glimpse of two sculpted, dark, muscular bodies - and washboard abs forever - before they were on me.

I found myself spread wide, Marq's head between my legs. I sputtered a protest, then he found my clit and sucked it gently between his lips, his tongue the exposed tip.

"Aagh!" I cried and my hips tried to buck against him in shock and pleasure, but he held me tight. Then Jordan was kissing me, kneeling beside me. He took my hand, which was clutching the blankets, and placed it over his, oh, gods that was too big to be a cock. The dark, silky skin was stretched tight over the hard shaft, softer than I ever imagined, and his nicely manscaped balls weighed heavily underneath. I ran my hand gently up and down the shaft, taking the kind of pleasure in the feeling as I would a soft cat but it was absolutely nothing like petting a cat. This was... , I lost concentration as Marq slid two fingers into my opening, and began to gently massage my sopping wet pussy.

I groaned and pushed against his hand. I wanted more. So much more.

"You like that, baby," Jordan said, a statement, not a question.

I nodded, unable to think as Marq's fingers and mouth worked magic.

"Let's add a little extra, yes?" Without waiting for my assent, his head dipped to my breasts, where he suckled gently on each nipple, then nipped at them. With each nip a bolt of lightning tore through my body, from my nipples to my spine, and my clit throbbed and my vaginal muscles spasmed.

I exploded into a shivering, shuddering climax that refused to end, "

"Liked that, did you," Marq asked rhetorically.

I didn't have the energy to respond. "I think she's ready," Marq told Jordan.

Together, they flipped me on my hands and knees, multiple pillows propped under my hips and Marq climbed to sit against the headboard, legs spread wide, and his huge cock stiffly waving in my face. It wasn't quite as big as Jordan's, but damn. It had to be eight inches. In porn I kept hearing about ten and twelve inches, but in person, this eight inch cock, as thick as my wrist, was terrifying.

"You've never given head?" Marq said, reading the expression on my face.

"Never," I said in a small voice. I wasn't about admit it was the first cock I'd ever seen in person. The shaft was slightly darker than Mark's body tone, his bulbous, circumcised head lighter, almost pinkish-bronze, and his balls were damn near true black. Like Jordan, he was cleanly manscaped and smelled of - man. There was no other word for it. Clean, musky male. A bit of clear pre-cum beaded at the tip.

"Oh, sweetheart. That's all that much better, because we can teach you do do it the way we like it." He took one of my hands and wrapped it around the base of his cock. "I'm a bit big, especially for beginner, so let's start with this."

He showed me how tightly to hold, and I felt Jordan's hand between my legs, massaging my clit. I groaned and pushed back against the pressure, wanting more of the same.

"Give her a second, don't distract her during her lesson, ok lover?" he winked at Jordan.

I whimpered in need. I had no idea I could feel like this. Ever. Sex was theoretical, romance porn books in bed with my hand and my trusty battery-powered boyfriend. I thought it was all a fantasy. It couldn't be as mind blowing as the writers described.

I was wrong.

"Now, just start with the tip, use your tongue, and pretend it's a lolly pop, swirl, oh, yes," he said as I followed his instructions. His pre-cum was salty, musky, like him, and unexpectedly - I liked it. "Now, watch your teeth. Nothing stops the fun faster than teeth," he murmured as I began experimenting on my own, sealing my lips around the top of his shaft. This time I used the back of my tongue to massage his head, while the tip of my tongue worked around his shaft.

"Oh, yeah, just like that," he groaned happily. "You have talent, sweetheart. Now, use your hand to gently pump my shaft while you do that, oh, yeah," he said as I found my rhythm with both my mouth and hand.

I nearly lost it when Jordan's hand began to move against me again, thumn on my clit, while his fingers slid into my slick, post-orgasm pussy. I groaned on Marq's cock, and he bellowed in surprise.

Oh, nice. I had him right at the back of my throat - not quite triggering my gag - but I hummed.

"Oh, yes, sweetheart, like that," Marq purred.

I wiggled my hips in attempt to get Jordan to do something more, something - oh. His hand disappeared, and the cold air rushed in, but it didn't last long. Hot and hard, something much larger than his fingers -- his cock -- slid though my juices, like a hotdog in a bun, and each time he thrust forward, his head hit my clit.

"Mmmm, hmmm," I moaned my pleasure around Marq. The feeling of Jordan's hips against my ass felt amazing. I never wanted this to end.

***

The sight of Kyra sucking Marq's big cock, not practiced, but gratifyingly eager, and Marq's euphoric expression, almost made me lose my load like a middle school boy with his first porn video. We'd shared many women between us, but it was never like this, never, so complete.