When I woke up I was warm, really warm, and incredibly comfortable. I snuggled into my heat source. When it moved to snuggle back into me, my eyes popped open, treated to a close-up view of an expansive, dark chest. Muscles for days, inches in front of my eyes. Beautiful, dark earthen skin, luscious and inviting. I wondered if it tasted as richly savory as it looked.
Before my brain could remind me of why it was a bad idea, my tongue darted out for a lick, then my mouth just needed a little nibble. Oh, gods, he tasted good.
“Mmmm, sweetheart,” Jordan’s voice rumbled through his chest.
I froze. What was I doing? It was Jordan in front of me. And the warmth behind me? That was Marq, whose long, thick cock was trapped between my legs, and twitching. I was a Kyra sandwich, caught firmly between two huge slices of delicious, dark skinned man.
“Don’t stop, baby,” Marq complained, and I realized I had been grinding my hips back against his while I nibbled at Jordan’s chest, and I was very wet — as was Marq’s cock, which slid deliciously against my sensitive labia.
I let my hips move again as I worked on Jordan’s chest, and his hands slid through my short hair, gently. I licked and nibbled at his small, flat nipples as Marq and I ground our hips together. It was pure instinct when he shifted his hips a little, and I did the same, and his cock slid deep into me, so easy, so good. I was a little sore, but damn, that felt good.
Jordan slid down my body until our lips met, and his tongue invaded my mouth as Marq began pumping slowly, in and out. I swear, his cock was penetrating so deeply it reached my belly button. I groaned into Jordan’s mouth.
Instead of the short intense burst of last night’s fucking, he was making love to me, languorous, deliberate, and sensual, his lips tracing a fiery path across my neck and shoulders.
Jordan ended the kiss, and slid down my body and began suckling on my nipples as he played with my breasts, each fitting in the palm of his huge hands. As Marq continued his slow assault on my pussy, Jordan continued working his way down my belly, until he was between my legs. I already had one leg curled back over Marq’s, which gave Jordan enough room for his lips and tongue to find my clit.
“Ooooh, yes,” I cried out as he clamped his lips over the sensitive little organ, his tongue teasing. It took me a moment to realize he had one hand between my legs, cupping Marq’s balls as he fucked me.
“Do that and I’m not going to last long, lover,” Marq growled from behind me, but Jordan didn’t stop, pleasuring both of us as we fucked. Gradually Marq increased his tempo, and between Marq’s deep, full penetration, Jordan’s clit-play and the knowledge of what he was doing to Marq, my orgasm washed over me like a tsunami, and I convulsed in their arms, lost to my pleasure — and a moment later Marq shouted his own completion as he flooded me with thick jets of hot cum.
My pussy was still quivering with aftershocks when I felt Jordan slide Marq’s cock out of my pussy. It took me a moment to realize, Jordan was sucking Marq’s cock clean. His head was still between my legs, but he was sucking and slurping at the long, thick cock. I wished I could see what they were doing. Oh, gods I wanted to see what they were doing.
My body immediately decided it wanted more of that, and what had been a gradual recovery from the intense orgasm became fresh desire.
Jordan let Marq go, and he rolled onto his back, groaning and panting, then Jordan reappeared from under the blankets, and kissed me, deeply. I could taste Marq’s cum and my juices on his lips, his tongue. It was never something I thought I would enjoy, but damn, we tasted good combined with Jordan’s sweet mouth.
Jordan rolled to his back, and pulled me with him until I was straddling his hips. His cock pressed against my sore but still needy pussy.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re everything,” he groaned as I sank down on him, taking his entire length in one well-lubricated motion. I stooped to catch my breath. Like his body, his cock was just a bit bigger than Marq’s, a little bit thicker, a little bit longer, and he stretched me to my limits. I was full of man, and from my position, I could finally get a good look at my earth god in decent lighting. I smoothed my hands over his shoulders and chest, traced the lines of his muscles.
Since I was about thirteen I felt awkwardly tall and out of place — a half-inch taller than an average American man. It was one part of why I never really had a boyfriend. Boys often seemed intimidated by me. In high school I learned not to wear heels, so that at least some of the guys were taller than me. It got better once they finished their growth spurts, but I was always the gawky, too-tall, skinny foster child who jumped from school to school.
These men — they made me feel small and feminine. They made me feel wanted. I rocked my hips slowly, ground my clit against Jordan, then lifted myself on my knees, Bakırköy travesti my hands still on his chest. His hands went to my hips to guide my movements as I rode him, slowly at first as I figured out how this works, then faster.
I felt Marq settle between Jordan’s legs behind me, and his hands grabbed at my ass. “Turnabout is fair play, lover. Baby, lean forward,” he instructed.
Jordan’s hands slid to my waist and continued helping me move with him, as Marq’s settled on my ass. A quick slap to my ass cheek made me jump, and Marq chuckled. His hands continued moving downward, until I couldn’t feel them. Jordan’s groan told me Marq was working on his husband, probably with his balls. Then I felt fingers at my entrance, sliding between my labia and around Jordan’s cock while my juices continued to flow.
The sounds of our flesh slapping together, Jordan’s moans of pleasure, and my whimpers of delight every time he slid past my g-spot, and again when my clit was mashed against his body, filled the room.
“Let’s try something new, baby,” Marq said, and I felt his hand at my second opening.
“What,” I froze.
Jordan made a sound of protest, and urged me to move.
“Just relax, baby. I won’t hurt you,” he promised. I began to respond to Jordan’s increasingly frantic attempts to get me to move with him again.
Marq dipped his fingers in the slick blend of juices that leaked around Jordan’s cock, and his thumb was there again, a gentle pressure, around and around. It felt so good in combination with my full pussy, and when it slipped inside the tight hole he was right — it didn’t hurt. I groaned and pushed back against his hands with my next downward motion, and his thumb slipped in deeper.
“Yes, oh, I like that,” I moaned. “Please, Marq, yes.”
When Marq added another finger it was too much, and my orgasm burst through me, tearing my nervous system into shreds. I yelled both their names, over and over, and felt Jordan lose his load inside of me. It felt like a fire hose as he let loose.
How I went from virginity to a threesome with two huge black men in less than twelve hours, I had no idea, but I liked it.
Once I could, I rolled off Jordan, and this time I was able to watch while Marq cleaned Jordan’s slowly softening cock with his tongue. I never imagined watching two men together would be so erotic, as Marq licked and sucked until Jordan’s erection had almost entirely deflated.
They both turned to me as one, and they had twin expressions that clearly said, “Your turn.”
“I can’t anymore,” I whimpered. I was wrung out.
“Yes, you can,” Marq corrected me. “Just lay back and let us do the work.”
I did, and rather than turning it into another round of sex, their tongues worked in turn to clean our combined juices from between my legs.
They made little noises of pleasure, as if they were eating the most delicious meal, and frequently paused to kiss each other.
“Shower time,” Marq said, and scooped me into his arms and carried me toward a door I assumed must be a bathroom.
I laughed tiredly. “Are you ever going to allow me to walk?”
Jordan was ahead of him, and turned on the shower — which proved to be about the size of the entire bathroom at the shelter, with multiple shower heads at different levels.
“Maybe,” Jordan said, quite seriously. “I doubt you could walk right now.”
“Sorry we don’t have any girly soap, sweetheart,” Jordan apologized as he poured shower gel into his hands and started to massage my shoulders and back with it. Marq did the same for my breasts, hips and he reached between my legs. I winced in anticipation — if I was sore when I woke up, now I was just on the verge of being in pain — but he was gentle, and except for a tiny bit of a burn where the soap hit my stretched, possibly bruised tender flesh, it felt good.
The scent of the soap rose with the steam. Sandalwood, I recognized. I loved going into candle and body lotion shops to browse and smell all the smells, and sandalwood was one of my favorites. Perhaps, sandalwood and bergamot?
“That’s okay, I like it. I don’t mind smelling like you. I love how you smell,” I said distractedly as I was lost in their touch.
I felt like I could stay with them forever. But forevers weren’t for some girl who fucked a married couple.
***
I shampooed Kyra’s short, silky hair, then added one of our conditioners. It was probably too heavy for her silky straight hair, but last night it was all over the place. It was damaged and dry from cheap products and neglect. I wanted to see that gorgeous hair long and healthy. I wanted to run my fingers through it, and wrap it around my cock.
“I want to fuck you again, this time against this wall,” Marq murmured into Kyra’s ear, “but I suspect you need a break.”
She only whimpered, the sound somehow both her willingness for more, and acknowledgment that she couldn’t. She still leaned heavily against Bakırköy travestiileri me, her legs weak. My own cock got ideas, responding to Marq’s heated tone, but it was barely a twitch. I needed a little while longer, but I’d love to show our girl how men have sex, in the best way possible. I’d also rather do it in our own bed, at home.
“Don’t tease her,” I warned Marq. “We need to get some breakfast into our girl. Hell, into me. I’m starving.”
“Breakfast. I missed it. What time is it now?” she asked, her voice stronger, as if she was starting to come out of her sex-induced stupor.
“Almost noon. I guess brunch is in order,” Marq answered her. “Then we’re going shopping. You need better clothes. Stuff you’ll feel comfortable in when you’re with us at the club. Our girl gets only the best. How much do you have back at your shelter?”
She shook her head against my chest. “Nothing of worth except my paperwork. Birth certificate, stuff like that, my enrollment for community college next semester. Some clothes. I never had anything much worth keeping,” she added, as if it was the most normal thing to say.
Kyra held up one hand, and stared at the white bracelet there, the blue club logo bright against the white plastic. “I still have this thing on,” she said.
“Please, leave it,” Marq told her. “White means you’re with us. It has a chip in it that gives you access to the club, including the VIP lounge. It doesn’t expire.”
I smirked, knowing she couldn’t see my expression. It also contained a tracking chip and a coiled antenna we could find anywhere with our cell phones. Most club-goers wear their bracelet for a day or two after being allowed inside. It had become a status symbol among a certain type of 20-somethings in Seattle.
If we didn’t find a natural way to meet her in the club, we were going to track her to her home or work and make sure she returned to the club with a “free pass” or something.
Stalkerish, I knew, but we’d never done it before. I had that damn bracelet in my pocket for nearly two years, waiting for the right woman to give it to. Somehow fate smiled on us, and dropped her right in our laps. Or on our cocks, as the case may be.
“Why did you give me this, and not my friends,” she asked, her hands resting on Marq’s biceps, her pale skin bright against his dark. It was a beautiful contrast. I wanted to see more of it. I loved seeing his dark cock sliding in and out of her pale pink pussy.
I dropped my mouth to her ear. “Because you are the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen, and even just standing there in line, we could tell you are real. What you were wearing, how you hold yourself, it was just you. No pretension. No mask. We wanted to get to know you. We let them in, because we weren’t sure if you’d leave if they did, and we wanted you.”
Kyra’s breathing hitched. “You wanted me?” Her tone turned upward at the end, as if in disbelief that anyone might desire her.
“Let’s get dressed and eat breakfast. We’ll talk about this more later. Now, rinse your hair,” Marq told her.
She stepped into the heaviest shower stream, and the conditioner washed down her body, and briefly looked like cum dripping down her smooth, pale skin. My cock twitched again. This girl was going to kill me, and I was going to like it.
***
It was well past noon by the time we sat down for breakfast. Jordan heated up our food in the office kitchen — coffee, orange juice, avocado toast, and bacon-egg cups, which were basically a piece of bacon wrapped in a circle, and an egg and spinach cooked in the hole inside. Jordan and I each had a pile of the little bacon and egg things, while Kyra had two, and picked at them while we ate ravenously. The night — and morning — activities built up an appetite.
The apartment had a kitchen, but at the moment no one lived there, so we had to rely on the office kitchen supply.
Jordan and I had overnight bags in the office, since we often ended up staying at the apartment, but Kyra was dressed in her 80s outfit again.
“Sorry for the walk of shame we have to put you through today,” I told her. There were so many reasons why she’d be distracted and mildly upset at the moment. I picked one and hoped I was close.
She looked down at her clothes and laughed. “I hate to say it, but except for the belts, these are my regular clothes. It’s what I’d be wearing any other day. It just happened to work for the night’s theme.”
Jordan looked doubtful. “So you’re a retro-80s rocker?”
I had to agree with his skepticism. It didn’t fit her personality.
She snorted a laugh. It was cute, coming from her. “No. It’s what I can afford at the thrift stores or free closets. The less I pay for clothes, the more I can save for an apartment. Speaking about paying for apartments, you said we’d talk about why the hell you didn’t use condoms, last night or this morning. It’s one hell of a risk. I can’t afford to be pregnant.”
“We travesti Bakırköy don’t see it as a risk. It’s what we want,” I admitted, a bit of guilt biting at my conscience. Yeah, as much as I loved seeing Jordan’s black cock in that pussy, I wanted to see a little black baby come out of it – either mine or Jordan’s, I didn’t particularly care. Any baby she bore would be ours, together.
“You might have talked to me about it first,” she said, her tone sharp. It was the first time she ever showed anger toward the situation we put her in, and I didn’t blame her. We weren’t exactly honest about our intentions. “I can’t afford to find a home for myself. I can’t take care of a baby, too.”
“We’ll take care of you and any babies you have. That was our intention from the first place. It just got a little, ah, out of hand.” Yeah, that wasn’t awkward. Not at all.
She snorted again. “Out of hand. Let me guess. You’re the kind of guys who get off on fucking lots of girls, and being their “baby daddies’ while you spread your oats far and wide.”
Jordan just about choked on his food, and gave me a withering look that told me I was going about this completely wrong. Once he cleared his throat he told her, “We’ve never had unprotected sex with a woman before. Last night, it just felt special. Neither of us wanted anything between us and you, just like we don’t want the intimacy barrier of a condom when the two of us are together,” he said, and gestured to include him and myself.
“I admit we moved fast,” I said apologetically. “We’re the kind of guys who know what we want, and when we find it, we don’t hesitate. We want you. Not just in our bed last night or tonight, but every night. We’re a couple, but we don’t want to be a couple. We want to be a trio, with you, a committed three way relationship.”
She blinked, her expression unbelieving. “You’ve known me for a grand total of,” she glanced a the clock, “eleven hours. How could you know you want me as a permanent part of your lives.”
Jordan nodded. “We do want that, just like we knew we were perfect together the day we met. It just took us a little while to figure out we weren’t straight. Let me explain. We’re both, bi, and we’ve been in love pretty much since the day we met, but we’re both tops. Pitchers, not catchers. Do you know what that means?”
“A little, but I have a feeling it means more than what it sounds like,” she admitted.
I was proud of her for understanding what she didn’t know, and having the courage to ask, so I decided to give her a full answer. “You’re right. It’s more complicated than most people think. Top and bottom is about who is giving and receiving pleasure. A top gives the pleasure, and usually the person who does the penetrating, known as a pitcher or peg. A bottom receives pleasure, and is penetrated, sometimes known as a catcher, the hole. A bottom is someone who enjoys being made love to, the recipient of pleasure. Most bottoms enjoy penetration, but some like or even prefer to be the one doing the penetrating,” I explained.
She sighed in mild frustration. “So tops are dominant, and bottoms are submissive?”
“Often, but not necessarily. It’s like saying men are taller than women. On average, yes, but there are exceptions. There are dominant bottoms, called power bottoms, who boss their top around on how to pleasure them, and relatively submissive tops, who are happy to be told how to pleasure their bottom.”
Jordan continued. “I think most people aren’t in the strict dom-sub category at all; they enjoy a balanced give and take, a partnership. And then there’s switches, who enjoy several different roles and can adjust to whomever they’re with,” he finished.
Kyra chewed her lip in thought. I’d given her a lot to think about. “And you’re both tops. I have a feeling you’re both dominant, too. How the hell do you have sex together?”
I shrugged. “Honestly, we step outside of our marriage for our dominance needs, with permission. We’re also quite capable of enjoying acts that require an equal partner. There are a million ways to enjoy each other as equals. In our case, we both enjoy giving and receiving oral, especially sixty-nine, and we exchange hand jobs, frotting, hot dogging,” I listed some of our favorite sexual acts. “When we’re in the right mood, we take turns playing bottom. It’s pleasurable as a bottom, but not something either of us would rather do very often, and it’s usually the result of losing a bet.”
Jordan laughed. “He’s usually the one who loses the bet.”
“TMI,” she said, her face turning a bright shade of pink, the thought of them together a little too intense at the moment, and I hit Jordan in the arm, just hard enough to hurt.
“Hey,” he protested, and rubbed at his arm.
“We’ve been together for ten years, and married for almost six. We were married right after my neck injury ended my NFL career. Once I no longer had to hide my sexuality to protect my job, we were able to come out and be a couple in public.
“You were an NFL player?” she looked surprised.
I looked at my body, then at Jordan’s. “Is it really that shocking? Jordan would have been too, but he was injured before the draft. He was better than I was and probably would have been a first-round draft pick.”
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