Their Girl Pt. 03

"Or I could give it a try," he offered, his eyes drawn to the movement under the towel. This time he didn't look away or try to hide his interest.

- Present

"Jordan, hello? Earth to Jordan," I came back to myself as Marq tweaked my nipple.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, and his hand caressed the woody I sported -- no surprise considering where my mind had gone.

"Athletic dorms, freshman year, the day we sucked each other off for the first time. Our first kiss," I said, and I knew I had a sappy smile on my face.

He laughed softly. "Yeah, I go there sometimes too. Damn, we had a lot of energy back then. Neither of us had much in the way of technique, but it was so much fun learning. There's nothing quite like being a horny eighteen-year-old kid."

I thought about Kyra and her natural talent with her mouth and her incredible responsiveness to our touch and our cocks. "It will be a lot of fun teaching Kyra, too. Her technique is raw, but damn, she has some good instincts. And she's eighteen. She'll have the energy for both of us."

"Mmm," he hummed in agreement. "What do you want to teach her?"

"How to take us both at once. I want to feel you through that thin membrane, your cock in her pussy while mine's in her ass." Yeah, that went through my mind the night before, but she was so inexperienced it would be better if we waited.

Marq groaned. "Now you've done it," he complained and drew his hard cock from his silky pajama bottoms. "You've gone and made him wake up. Now you're going to have to put him back to bed."

I lifted my hips to slide my joggers to my knees, while Marq's silk pajamas disappeared like magic. His dark eyes seemed to glow as he threw one leg over me to sit low on my hips, just below my cock, so that our balls were mashed together, and our cocks lined up, added some water-based lube we both liked, and wrapped his big hands around both our cocks. He slowly moved his hips so that our cocks rubbed against each other while his firm hold on our cocks slid slowly up and down the shafts in a slow, seductive hand job.

The sensations were incredible, from the head of my cock to my balls, utterly stunning considering the relative simplicity of the act, and I needed more, faster, harder. I writhed, desperate to add my own hands to provide some relief from the slow torture, but the cuffs held. I yelled and hollered, and bucked my hips, but Marq had me thoroughly pinned down and had no apparent plans to give me relief any time soon.

"Please, Marq," I begged. "Let me come."

He leaned forward and released our cocks from his hand as he trapped them between our bodies, then nuzzled at my neck as I squirmed and trembled.

He whispered, "I can make this last all night."

"Oh fuck, Marq, please," I cried as he began to move his hips and body so that our cocks were trapped between the friction of our skin moving together. I wasn't even certain if I was begging him to make it last or to give me relief. My own hips found the rhythm he set. Between the heat of our bodies, the oil, and the sweat we were both producing, it felt almost like being in a woman's pussy, except for that wonderful hard cock that kept rubbing up against mine.

"Oh, yes," I cried as he let me speed our rhythm.

"Hush or I'm going to gag you," he threatened, both teasing and lustfully serious. Instead of a gag, he kissed me, using his mouth and tongue as a silencing tool, claiming, teasing, loving, our rhythm perfect and blissful. His arms crushed me to him as the intensity of the moment crested. Marq lost control of the kiss.

"Jordan, Jesus fuck," he yelled in a guttural shout, even as I yelled his name, and he fell apart with his own shivering, shuddering climax, my own pleasure almost painful as my body drew everything I had from my balls and into that already slick, sticky messy space on our abdomens.

Marq's entire weight collapsed on me, driving my face into his neck, but I didn't mind at all. Mostly I wanted to wrap my arms around him.

"Now look at what you made me do," he groaned.

"And I don't regret a second of it," I taunted. "I'd do it again in a second. And I will."

-------

Kyra

I only had another fifteen minutes on shift and the place had been dead for an hour. We had a grand total of one customer, forty-five minutes earlier. We cleaned and restocked, an unusual opportunity so early, and talked about the previous night's hi-jinks.

Usually, we had the pre-dinner crowds after five: people meeting up after work for a date or a girl's night out. Coffee really was an integral part of Seattle culture.

"So, did you find anyone last night?" Megan pushed for information.

I couldn't help it. I blushed.

"She did! She found someone!" Jazz pointed at my expression. "Okay, spill."

"Someone, yeah," I agreed.

Megan shook her head. "We all shared who we went home with, and how good -- or not good -- it was. Now you.

I felt like a slut. I was with two men. Two! My friends were adventurous, but I doubt any of them had been with two men before.

"Don't be embarrassed. Even if it was an old guy. They know how to use it, you know," Jazz winked.

"The bouncers," I mumbled.

"What?" Jazz asked. "Speak up. It sounded like you said, bouncers."

My blush was probably visible from space. "The two bouncers who picked me out of the line. Them."

"Two? You dirty girl! And they were H-O-T. Tell me they were as well hung as they looked like they might be. And tell me they knew where to find a clit," Megan looked like she was about to cream herself right there.

I nodded, unable to make my throat produce sounds. "Both," I finally managed to squeak.

It took about ten minutes before they gave up trying to milk more details from me. Jazz admitted she'd been with two men once.

"They had no idea what they were doing and it wasn't an experience I wanted to repeat, but for the bouncer hotties, I'd consider it," Jazz licked her lips hungrily. "I had no idea you were so adventurous. Good for you, girl."

A surge of jealousy rose in the pit of my stomach, and I was tempted to warn her off of "my men."

The bell on the front door chimed, and I rushed back to my station to finish my clean-up job.

"Kyra," Jazz called for my attention, her eyes wide as she gestured toward the front counter, where two hulking forms hovered by the register.

Marq leaned forward, and instinctively I met him over the counter, and he purred in a low voice, "Kyra, I'll take something tall with a little sweet, a little salty, a little bit of honey, and lots of cream," he said, so close enough to my ear I could almost feel the vibrations from his chest.

"Salted caramel espresso with honey and extra cream," I croaked to Jazz, who was manned the coffee machine in my place.

"Sounds delicious, I'll take one, too," Jordan agreed with a wink.

My pussy flooded with moisture and I felt my clit grow and harden. How did these men make me do that? I squirmed uncomfortably as I rang up their order.

My hands shakily rang up their order, and Marq paid with a black AmEx card.

"We'll be at the back table until you're off shift," he said with a wink, and

"Holy shit, girl, that's a double shot of trouble," Jazz muttered once they had their drinks and watched me with hooded eyes from the table in the back corner. The way they leaned into each other said plainly they were intimately friendly. Both were wearing thin, long-sleeve sweaters that hid none of the bulging muscles underneath. Jordan wore a leather jacket, open so I could see the outline of his pecs and abs, and Marq wore a puffer vest that let the shirt show the definition of his glorious arms.

"Don't I know it. We're going on a date once I get off work," I admitted.

I could have scraped Jazz and Megan's jaws from the floor.

Megan whispered to me in a harsh tone, "How exactly does a date work with," she glanced toward Marq and Jordan, "two men? Like, who pays the bill, and who sits next to whom?"

I shrugged. "I haven't figured it out yet. I'll let you know."

The rest of my shift was torture, knowing their eyes were on me. Not only did they own a club, and therefore were probably judging my customer service skills, but there was also the sex thing. Somehow they managed to add romance into what should have been just fucking, and the whole thing had me in a tizzy.

My shift finally ended, and Jazz all but shoved me out of the back room after I stripped off my apron. Unsurprisingly, Marq and Jordan were waiting for me at the open end of the coffee bar and each kissed me - not a PG kiss either. Jordan's kiss was slow and sensuous as he held half my damn head in one big hand. And Marq? His scorching kiss made my pussy throb with need.

Jazz and Megan whistled in appreciation, then turned away hiding grins when I glared at them.

"I didn't know how to dress for this, um, our date," I stammered when they finally let me go.

"Then it's a good thing we went shopping yesterday," he said with a wink and produced a huge leather Saint Laurent tote. "You can change in the bathroom."

The large designer bag held a complete outfit; delicate cream-colored silk panties, a matching lace and silk bra that would do nothing to hide my pebbled nipples and barely contained them, a black ponte-knit skater skirt I remembered barely reached mid-thigh, and a gold-colored fuzzy sweater that didn't quite reach my waistband, fell off my shoulders and crossed low in front of my breasts. The bag also included black ankle boots and tiny white fold-over ankle socks.

"Damn, they're not playin' around," I gasped. I had a hard time imagining wearing the outfit in public, but I had a feeling that, with Marq and Jordan at my side, no one was going to harass me for it.

It wasn't until I slid the panties over my legs that I realized they were essentially crotchless. My cheeks were -- barely -- covered, but the panties themselves would prove no barrier, since they had a long slit that matched my own. I felt blood rush to my clit as the silk brushed across that sensitive little button.

"Dammit," I swore softly. I intended to keep it until I had a real answer for whether I was willing to become their girlfriend and -- I looked up the term online -- their breeder, but they had already disarmed me. I was more than ready for them to fuck me between them again.

A little sex between lovers wasn't a commitment, right?

Once I was fully dressed and let my hair out of its work bun, I carefully examined myself in the bathroom mirror. The effect was sexy as hell but innocent, while somehow avoiding the whole schoolgirl thing. I had no makeup, but Marq and Jordan seemed to like me with a natural face.

As they requested, I still wore my white club bracelet. It looked odd with the outfit, but somehow it felt right.

I stuffed my work clothes in the designer bag. It felt criminal to put Goodwill finds into a Saint Laurent tote that was probably worth more than all of my belongings combined, but I had no choice unless I wanted to use a store paper bag.

I took a deep breath and emerged, to find Jordan standing just outside the door holding a huge furry coat, which he wrapped around my shoulders. It fell to my calves and was soft as butter.

He chuckled as he took in the plush hooded sheepskin duster, which was open to show my new outfit. "I want a girl with a short skirt and a loooong jacket."

My face was in a state of perpetual blush, and I peered up at his intense expression.

"What?" I asked almost defensively.

"It turns me on to see you in the clothes we bought for you," he growled, which made my pussy want to weep. "Marq's not gonna be happy that you're riding with me in the back. He went to get the car."

Jordan wrapped one arm around my shoulders possessively and steered me out the door, almost rushing me past the counter where Jazz and Megan were on evening clean-up and closing duty.

"Go get 'em, girl," I heard Megan call after me.

Outside, the blue Denali from the previous day waited at the curb, Marq at the wheel. Jordan carefully helped me into the back seat and buckled my belt, then took the seat next to me.

"Damn, little one. You clean up good," Marq twisted in his seat to watch the process.

"Thank you," I replied in a meek voice. These men made me feel like a little mouse under the gaze of two big cats. They could toy with me, kill me, whatever they wanted, and I had no power to stop them. And somehow, that turned me on even more.

I already knew what my answer to their dirty proposal would be, but I couldn't voice it. Not yet. I could barely think it.

Conversation in the car was easy and light. They asked about my day; I asked about theirs. The whole time, Jordan kept my hand in his; his thumb ran across the back of my hand and up my sleeve again, where he fiddled with the club bracelet.

My brain could hardly process the combination of language and the fire he was stirring in me with his casual touch, so when we rolled to a stop at a downtown waterfront building, I barely noticed we'd arrived at our destination until a valet opened the door for me.

"Ma'am," he inclined his head politely.

I barely knew how to respond. I was a homeless former foster kid.

It only took a second of me fiddling with my seat belt and coat before the valet was replaced with Marq, who shoved the keys in the guy's hands.

"I'll assist the lady," he growled, and held out his hand to help me exit the big vehicle.

I as absolutely unsurprised to find Jordan right beside him. For big men, they were fast and quiet.

One on each side of me, each with a hand on my back, they led me to a entryway with a formal doorman, and through a swanky lobby to a jewel-like elevator. I tried not to look like some hayseed, staring at the formal, expensive surroundings.

It was obvious it was one of the old buildings that was part of the city's waterfront restoration project, but not one of those "accessible" to peons like myself.

Art deco details from the 1920s or 30s adorned the floor, the walls, even the ceiling, though the art deco style elevator was clearly a late addition, custom-built to match the style of the lobby.

"Relax, you make this place look good," Jordan smiled down at me.

"I've never been anywhere like this," I admitted, and leaned into his warm, solid side.

"We know. You deserve more, little one. We're going to introduce you to the life you should have know, the places worthy of you," Marq told me as the elevator doors opened, revealing a glass wall overlooking Puget Sound. I realized the elevator wasn't just a late addition; it had been installed on the outside of the building. The doors were once a freight opening or something like that.

There were no buttons. The elevator rose as soon as the doors closed, and I gasped at the view as we were lifted over the barriers to the view to the west. It was dark, but the lights of ships on the sound, and across the water on the Peninsula side, twinkled in the crystal-clear air.

"Wow," was all I could summon in reaction.

When the doors opened we had to be on the tenth floor or something like that, and I was reluctant to turn away from the incredible view. When I turned around, a formally clad maître d' greeted us in yet another formal lobby, though this one was small, it was sumptuous. I was pretty sure the chaise lounge under the window would be more comfortable than any bed I'd ever slept in.

"Misters Bier-Witherspoon, and guest," he nodded, clearly recognizing my escorts. "Your table is ready."

An attendant took my coat and the guys' jackets, then he maître d' led us from the small lobby and into the dining room. It was unlike any restaurant I'd ever heard of, with a few elegant tables in the center, but huge floor-to-ceiling scrollwork screens divided that section from the "booths," which hardly met the definition. Each booth was more like a little private room, enclosed by more scrollwork floor-to-ceiling walls that wrapped around with a wide opening to enter the booths, which had Japanese style low tables. They were almost like little private dining rooms within the larger dining area.

The more traditional tables in the middle were occupied by elegant couples and a few with larger parties, and some of the booths had diaphanous curtains pulled, for privacy I supposed. The curtains were heavy enough so I couldn't make out the details of anything in the booths but light enough that it still felt airy and open. The scrollwork screens around the booths had rice paper sandwiched between two layers, for more privacy, I supposed.

Two thoughts occurred to me. One, this wasn't just designed to keep parties apart during covid, and two, during slow times at the cafe we talked about all of the fantasy places we'd eat or visit in the Seattle area if we suddenly got rich, and this place wasn't any of the swanky places we shared pictures we got from Google.

"What is this place? I've never heard of it," I whispered to Marq.

Marq chuckled. "Without us, you wouldn't. 'Temptation' isn't on any review sites or restaurant directories. You have to know it's here."

I could almost feel my pupils blow in my eyes when I realized just how exclusive the place must be. Sure, they could have taken me to one of the big name restaurants like Canlis or Archipeligo, to impress me with how they were able to get reservations without a couple of months' wait. I would have been bowled over. But this? I was stunned into silence and let my men guide my body into one of the booths, this one with a round table.

Jordan helped me lower myself to the seat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, which had a view of the waterfront facing south, so I could see everything from the Seattle Big Wheel to the brightly lit stadiums and port. Or, rather, everyone could see it but me. Marq and Jordan folded themselves into the cushions on either side with more grace than men that size had any business having.

"This place is amazing," I finally said when I found my voice.

"You haven't seen anything yet," Marq smirked as he claimed my hand and caressed the inside of my wrist with his thumb. Once again, I noticed that he matched my hand with his bare wrist -- the one without the cuff tattoo.

Immediately a server arrived with hors d'oeuvres, or was it salad? Three trays had gorgeous displays of food, and he laid them out in front of us. One had delicate pasta shells filled with chopped salad with some kind of purple dressing drizzled over the top. The second was little cornucopia breads stuffed with shrimp salad, and last was prosciutto wrapped around mixed greens.

As he left, the sommelier arrived and, with Marq's approval, poured a red wine in each of their wine glasses. There was no wine glass for me, so I assumed they knew I was not 21 yet.

Every fantasy my co-workers and I ever had was coming true, all at once. The only reason I even knew some of the words for the things I saw was the food fantasies we shared.

"This is so adorable," I tried not to sound like a squealing schoolgirl and reached toward one of the shells, but Jordan grabbed my hand before I could take one. He held my hand, mirroring Marq's hold on my other hand and wrist, then picked up one of the shells with his other hand.

I had noticed that Marq was left-handed, and Jordan was right-handed, which must have come in useful because both of them held my wrists in place with their non-dominant hands while they took turns feeding me the small bites of salad.

It was the most erotic thing I ever imagined as they alternated feeding me from their fingers.

"Oh, look at this, I've made a mess," Marq observed, seeing the purple-red dressing on his fingers from the shells. "Clean it off," he said, and held his fingers in front of my mouth.

One at a time, starting timidly, I licked and sucked the dressing from his fingers. More than ever I felt like a tiny prey animal caught in the sights of a predator as he held my gaze.