Two Bikers Had Their Way with Her in That Lost Warehouse

Marisa had lived a life of expensive tablecloths and cars she changed every two years. All of it evaporated the morning she and Damián signed the bankruptcy papers and discovered that, after paying the last creditor, they had nothing left. Not even each other: the money was gone, and the marriage went after it.

At forty-two, with no trade listed on any form, the only thing she found was a job as a waitress in a roadside inn a hundred kilometers from the city. El Cruce de los Álamos, it was called, near the village of Las Tordas. The pay was miserable and the contract included a room. That, she told herself, was the only advantage.

The advantage fell at her feet on the first day, when she learned the room had two beds and the other one was already occupied.

—Sorry about the mess —said a girl stepping out of the shower wrapped in a towel—. I’m Noa.

Noa was twenty, with impossibly dyed red hair and tattoos climbing up her ribs. The room smelled of cold tobacco, underwear was scattered on the floor, and the inn’s neon sign came through the window, tinting everything pink. Marisa set down her suitcase and understood, without needing words, what kind of place she had landed in.

The first shift was a slow humiliation. She dropped the tray, mixed up the orders, and the other waiters laughed at her clumsiness. At midnight, defeated, she went up to the room and fell asleep like a log, not even fully undressed.

***

The noises woke her at six-thirty in the morning. The neon glow let her see, in the opposite bed, hips rising and falling at a brutal rhythm. Noa was on all fours beneath a bulky biker, the same guy she had seen smoking at the bar hours earlier, with a scorpion tattooed on his back. The bed hit the wall in a dry rattling. The girl’s gasps mixed with his dull growl and the obscene sloshing of a cock sliding in and out of a soaked cunt.

Marisa closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. But through the sliver of her eyelids she could see everything: the biker’s thick cock sliding all the way out, shining, then plunging back in to the balls in Noa’s raised ass; the man’s fingers digging into the girl’s cheeks, prying them apart so he could watch himself go in; Noa’s tongue hanging out as she babbled, “Like that, harder, break me, give it all to me.” Every thrust sounded like a slap, flesh against flesh, and the bed creaked as if it were about to split.

In the middle of the assault, the man turned his face and looked straight at her. He wasn’t looking for Noa. He was looking for her, knowing she was awake, enjoying having an audience. Without stopping, he pulled his cock out of Noa’s ass, showed it to Marisa —huge, veined, lubricated— and shoved it back in with a snap, drawing a howl from the girl. He matched the thrusts to that gaze, slower, deeper, forcing Marisa to see every inch going in and out. When he was close, he yanked the cock out, grabbed Noa by the hair, put it in her mouth, and unloaded inside her with a long roar. A thread of semen spilled from the corner of the girl’s lips as she swallowed with glassy eyes, looking at Marisa too.

After that, the biker got up naked, his cock still half-soft and dripping spit and cum, lit a cigarette with complete calm, and dressed at his own pace, as if he owned the place. Before leaving he looked at her again and grabbed his package over the leather, squeezing it like a promise. Marisa squeezed her eyelids shut and didn’t breathe until she heard the door. She noticed her panties were soaked and her breathing was broken. When she was sure he wouldn’t come back, she slid her hand under the sheet and touched herself slowly, biting her lips so she wouldn’t moan, until she came alone thinking of that cock.

***

In the days that followed she met Carmen, a thirty-seven-year-old co-worker with dark hair, strong legs, and quick hands. Carmen had been there three years, lived in the village with her husband Diego and two children, and had a casual way of talking about everything.

—Those two aren’t bad —she told her one night, nodding toward two surfers heading down to the coast. Tall, in their thirties, one with a ponytail—. They asked me to bring you.

—You? Married?

—Don’t tell me you don’t look —Carmen laughed—. Put on something light. They’ve got a caravan in the clearing and I can’t be late.

Marisa hadn’t been touched by anyone in months. She changed, put on a flowered dress with no panties underneath, and went out the back door with her heart pounding in her throat and dampness already starting between her thighs.

In the caravan things were direct. The ponytailed one kissed her with tongue while lifting her dress and discovering she had nothing on underneath. He let out a rough laugh against her mouth.

—You came ready, gorgeous.

He shoved two fingers into her at once, no preamble, and found her cunt already dripping. He moved them inside calmly, searching, until Marisa gripped his shoulders. On the other bunk, Carmen was already naked, legs spread wide and the blond one eating her cunt with hunger; the wet smacks of his tongue could be heard, and her muffled moans telling him, “There, deeper, suck my clit.”

The ponytailed one ripped her dress off over her head, nibbled her nipples until they were hard as stones, and pushed her to her knees. He pulled his cock out of his swim trunks: thick, dark, curved. Marisa grabbed it with both hands, licked it from the balls to the glans, and took it all in. She felt it push against the back of her throat and gagged, but came back for more, sucking it down to the base, leaving strings of saliva hanging. The surfer grabbed her head with both hands and started fucking her mouth to his rhythm, with short, deep thrusts, groaning, “That’s it, fuck, that’s it, suck this bitch’s cock like a champ.”

He put the condom on quickly and laid her on her back on the bunk. He spread her legs in one pull, positioned himself, and with a single shove drove himself all the way to the balls. Marisa arched her back and cried out. He started fucking her hard from the first second, with thrusts that made her slide over the sheet, her breasts bouncing with every blow. On the other bed the blond one had already climbed on top of Carmen and was driving into the mattress while she bit his shoulder to keep from crying out too much.

—Get on all fours —the ponytailed one told her, and flipped her over without waiting for an answer.

He grabbed her hips and came at her from behind again. Marisa clung to the headboard. The cock went all the way in, hit the back of her, and tore from her gasps sounds she didn’t even recognize as her own. Carmen’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing in her bag —her husband, the kids— so everything was quick, almost mechanical, two men used to fucking daily and two women in a hurry.

Carmen finished first, glancing at the clock, with the blond one coming outside over her tits. Marisa, on the other hand, felt her man holding back: he didn’t want to finish with the condom on. So she pulled it out of her cunt, yanked the condom off in one motion, and knelt. She grabbed his cock, wet with her own fluids, took it all into her mouth, and started sucking it with a skill that surprised even her. She stroked his balls with one hand while pumping him in her mouth with the other, sucking hard, burying her nose in the pubic hair. She felt his testicles tighten and he let out a growl.

—I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna come in your mouth.

Marisa didn’t take it out. She felt the first spurt whip her palate, the second fill her tongue, and swallowed with her eyes locked on the man’s. She sucked the last drop, slowly easing the cock out, cleaning the glans with her tongue. As he dressed, the blond one asked for her panties and she, not wearing any, had to give him the thong Carmen handed her back from the bag.

—They want them as trophies —Carmen explained once they were outside, lighting a cigarette—. It’s normal with them. Listen, you’ve got a gift for this. You suck cock like a goddess, gorgeous. You’re off tomorrow, right? Come have dinner at my place. My husband turns forty.

***

Dinner at Carmen’s house was another life: a real family, two children, a mechanic husband who talked about opening his own workshop. Marisa felt a pang of envy so pure it almost hurt. On the way back to the inn, Carmen dropped her at the door.

—Look, the whore’s back already —she said, pointing at the neon sign.

Under the pink light, Noa was smoking with another biker. Another scorpion jacket, another hard-eyed man. The wheel turned again.

That dawn the scene repeated itself, identical and different. Marisa climbed into bed with her heart racing, knowing what was coming. Ten minutes later she was already hearing the first moans. This time Noa was on her back, legs spread wide and feet in the air, and the biker was pounding her with his hands braced on either side of her head. The mattress creaked. The girl panted loudly, with no shame, saying, “Put that whole cock in me, like that, tear my cunt up.”

The biker lifted one of Noa’s legs and set it on his shoulder so Marisa could see better from her bed. And the sight was brutal: the thick cock going in and out of Noa’s open cunt, soaked, dragging white foam with each withdrawal. He challenged her with his eyes, smiling, knowing Marisa was watching. He beckoned with his chin, inviting her. Marisa didn’t move, but she didn’t close her eyes either. The man sped up, driving into Noa with thrusts that sounded like blows, and when he was close he pulled out, knelt over her, and emptied his load between her breasts, long white streams splattering her neck and chin.

Without taking his eyes off Marisa, he approached her bed naked, his cock still dripping, removed the condom, and let it fall onto the empty pillow, staking his claim. The soiled rubber lay a hand’s width from Marisa’s face. She could smell it: sweat, latex, fresh semen. She said nothing. She pretended to sleep and, inside, felt a heat between her legs that shamed her. When the biker left, she waited to hear the Harley fade away and masturbated again, this time with two fingers sunk into her cunt, coming with her mouth pressed to the pillow.

***

One afternoon, during a break, Marisa stepped outside for air and saw Rubén, the youngest waiter —just turned eighteen, slender, with a sweet face— slipping behind the hedges with one of the bikers. Out of curiosity, or something she didn’t want to name, she crept closer and hid among the branches.

The biker had the boy against the wall and was speaking softly, with a hunter’s smile. He ran a hand over his chest, kissed him, whispered something in his ear. Rubén hesitated, but nodded. There was no hurry: the man undid his pants, pulled down his underwear, and took his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly until it went hard while the boy panted, head thrown back. Then he pushed down on his shoulders, and Rubén knelt and pulled the cock from his jeans. He took it in his mouth trembling, sucking awkwardly at first, eyes closed. The biker grabbed the back of his neck and set the pace, pushing it deeper until the boy choked and a strand of saliva fell from his chin.

—Stand up and turn around —Marisa heard him say.

The boy obeyed. He braced his hands against the brick wall, pants around his ankles, his pale ass exposed. The biker spat into his hand, slicked his cock, pried the boy’s cheeks apart, and began pushing in slowly. Rubén let out a whimper, bit his forearm. The man took him with calculated calm, dominating him slowly, giving him time to open up, until he started pumping hard. The cock went in and out shining, the boy gasping against the brick under the dim light of the streetlamp, and in the end he came on his own, without touching himself, leaving a white streak on the wall, while the biker unloaded inside with a grunt and squeezed his hip to drive it all the way in.

Marisa backed away. She had seen too much. But she understood one thing clearly: in that place, everyone ended up giving in to those men. The question was not if, but when and for what.

***

On her day off, the intercity bus driver dropped her in Las Tordas. An ugly village, with dead streets and nosy people. While she waited for the return bus, she heard the unmistakable potato-potato of a Harley before she saw it. It was him: the leader, with the scorpion tattoo on his neck and the ponytail spilling out from under his helmet. They called him Vito.

He stopped beside her and lifted his mirrored glasses.

—Don’t you have a car?

—As you can see —she replied—. I also wouldn’t win mother of the year.

He looked her up and down, as if sizing her up.

—Get on. It’s a shithole of a village. I’ll take you closer.

—I don’t have a helmet.

—Hardly any cops around.

Marisa got on. She felt the air on her face and the engine vibrating under her body, a sensation of freedom she no longer remembered. But Vito didn’t take the road to the inn: he turned off onto a side road. Soon a second Harley pulled alongside them. The other rider, skinny and pockmarked, nicknamed Cuervo, spat to the side.

—Taking your aunt somewhere, Vito? We could show her our mansion.

Marisa understood everything. They wanted meat. And, to her own surprise, instead of asking to be let off, she slid her hand to Vito’s crotch and felt him go hard under the leather. She squeezed the bulge with her palm, weighing it, until he let out a grunt of surprise. They’ll have her, she thought. But on my terms.

***

The warehouse was on the outskirts, full of motorcycles, tools, and stained sofas. Vito took off his helmet; his eyes were a cold blue. He kissed her hard, squeezing her ass over the dress, thrusting his tongue all the way into her mouth, nibbling her lower lip. He kneaded her tits through the fabric until he found her nipples, then pinched them through her bra until she gasped. When Cuervo came in with two beers, Vito lifted her dress without ceremony so the other man could see the black string thong wedged between her cheeks.

—Well, look at the lady —Cuervo said, his voice tight—. Might need a proper going-over. There aren’t many chances around here.

—Or maybe you’re the ones who don’t have any —she shot back, unflinching.

Vito liked that. He liked being challenged and then breaking someone; it showed in his crooked smile. He pulled her dress down over her shoulders, ripped her bra free in one motion, and her breasts came bare. Cuervo gave a low whistle. Vito bent down and sucked one nipple, biting it, while with his other hand he tore the thong open at the side and let it drop to the floor. He made her lean forward and brace her hands on the back of the sofa, ass in the air, and Cuervo, on his knees, pried her legs apart.

—There must have been plenty of people through here —murmured Vito, opening her cunt lips with his thumbs so Cuervo could get a good look.

Cuervo’s tongue landed flat, broad, and rose slowly from her clit to her ass. He repeated the path two, three times, unhurried, tasting her. He buried his tongue in her cunt, sucked on her like he was drinking, licked her lips, carefully nibbled her clit. Against her will, Marisa began to purr, rocking her ass against the man’s face. Vito set the pace with a hand on her nape, quietly telling her when to spread her legs wider, when to arch her back, when to shut up. It was that calm domination, without violence but without any choice, that lit her up. Cuervo slid two fingers into her cunt while still eating her out, and nodded at Vito.

—She’s dripping, man. Soaked.

—I know —Vito said.

When they turned her over and put her on her knees, she had both cocks in front of her face. They had both pulled them out at the same time. Vito’s was long, thick at the base, with a purple glans; Cuervo’s was slimmer but longer, with a vein running its full length. Marisa looked at them and swallowed.

—Slow —said Vito, sinking his fingers into the back of her neck—. You set the pace. But I count.

And she did count. Marisa started with him, shoved his cock all the way into her mouth, gagging, and began sucking him, lips tight, letting saliva run down her chin. She grabbed his balls with one hand, weighing them, while with the other she took Cuervo’s cock and pumped it. Then she switched: she let Vito go with a pop and took Cuervo deep enough to choke, sucking the glans on the way out, sucking loudly. Back to Vito. She alternated, feeling that each time she gave in a little more she also gained something: control over her fear, proof that she could still command something, even if it was only on her knees with two cocks taking turns in her mouth. The two men looked over her head and smiled.

—Both at once —said Cuervo, and they brought both glans together to her lips.

Marisa opened her mouth as wide as she could and licked both glans at the same time, passing her tongue from one to the other, sucking them like candies. She rubbed them against her tits, kissed them, took them one by one again. When she ran out of breath, it was she who took Vito’s cock all the way in again, to the base, as a demonstration.

—Good girl —he panted, brushing her hair from her face—. Very good girl.

***

They pulled a mattress out over the frame of a sofa bed. Vito held a condom in his closed fist.

—Bareback —she said before they could ask, pulling a jar of petroleum jelly out of her bag—. I don’t take anything.

—The lady came prepared —Cuervo laughed.

They both rolled on the condoms. Marisa lay astride Vito, took his cock in her hand, set it at the entrance to her cunt, and slowly impaled herself on it, feeling him in full, centimeter by centimeter, until she sat all the way down on him. A long moan escaped her. She started moving, rising and falling, letting the cock almost slip out before taking it back in with her pussy. Vito held her hips, setting the rhythm, nibbling at her tits as they bounced against his face.

Cuervo took position behind her. He smeared petroleum jelly on her ass and eased in first one finger, then two, turning them slowly, opening her. Marisa paused, braced against Vito’s chest, eyes closed and mouth open. When she felt Cuervo’s glans against her ass, she took a deep breath.

—Push slow —she said, her voice broken.

It hurt and burned at first, she felt herself opening from the inside, a heat climbing up her back. Cuervo went in a little, waited, went in a little more. Vito kept her still, whispering in her ear, “Breathe, breathe, there, there, all the way in.” When Cuervo was to the base, the two of them stayed still for a moment, with Marisa double-impaled, feeling split open, filled in a way she never had been. Then they started moving. They alternated thrusts with the coordination of men who had done this a thousand times: when Vito rose in her cunt, Cuervo withdrew from her ass; when Cuervo pushed, Vito came down. First gentle, then faster, until the pain turned into a current running through her entire body and Marisa started screaming unable to keep quiet.

—Five —Vito ordered, and the rhythm turned into a dry rattling.

Both cocks were wrecking her at once, with brutal strokes that made her bounce between the two bodies. Marisa felt Cuervo’s balls hitting her ass, Vito’s balls hitting her cunt from below, the two hard bellies crushing her. The sloshing was obscene. The cries were no longer hers, they came out on their own. Cuervo gripped her shoulders to drive himself in to the hilt; Vito sucked her nipples without stopping his thrusts.

Cuervo was the first to give in, with a hoarse cry, grabbing her ass and burying himself all the way in, coming inside the condom while continuing to pound her in small jolts. He pulled out slowly, leaving her empty from behind, and Vito laid her on her back without leaving her cunt. He lifted her legs, set them on his shoulders, and took her bent in half, with brutal thrusts that made the sofa-bed frame creak. She took a hand to her clit and rubbed fast, in circles, while Vito’s cock went in and out at a pace that drove her wild.

—Yes! I’m coming! —Marisa moaned, and a tremor ran through her from top to bottom.

She came screaming, her cunt tightening around the cock, with long spasms that folded her onto the mattress. Vito held out for two, three more thrusts and unloaded with a roar that reverberated through the whole warehouse, burying himself to the hilt, his legs trembling. He stayed still, emptied, on top of her, collapsing onto her chest.

Marisa lay sprawled on the damp mattress, exhausted, legs open, cunt throbbing, ass sore, feeling strangely in possession of herself. They had fucked all the way to the end, but the trophy —her thong, which Vito later hung from the rearview mirror to show it off when he drove off— was the only thing he took with him. The rest she kept for herself.

***

When Vito dropped her at the inn and drove off honking the horn, Carmen was waiting for her, smoking out back.

—Thank God. Did the bastard put on the show already?

—As always —Marisa said, her legs still shaking.

—They were born for this. To give orders and be obeyed. —Carmen took a long drag—. Honestly, I didn’t think you were that bold. But treating yourself now and then keeps you alive.

What Marisa didn’t tell her was the other thing: that her contract was hanging by a thread. Marcial, the floor manager, a bitter fifty-something with a wife in the kitchen, had been whispering for days that when the owner, Don Aurelio, arrived, he would ask that she not be renewed. “She doesn’t know how to do anything,” he and his wife said, “she reeks of a place she shouldn’t be in.”

Noa, who found out about everything, was the one who gave her the idea that night.

—I’ve got Marcial where I want him —she said, opening the laptop—. He’s a pervert. Two blowjobs and he’ll eat out of your hand. And look. —She turned the screen: it was Marcial himself, filmed without knowing it, with his cock out and masturbating in that very room—. Just in case.

Marisa looked at the screen and then at her own reflection in the window, outlined against the pink neon. There had been a time when that would have scared her off. Now she was calculating.

***

Marcial came to the room freshly showered, reeking of cheap cologne, with that barnyard-rooster swagger. Marisa greeted him in a robe, with nothing underneath, and let the fabric fall slowly, standing completely naked in front of him. Her tits, her belly, the triangle of her pubis: all on display. Marcial went silent, swallowing hard. There was no need even to turn on the laptop recording in the background.

—Lie down —she told him, and for once it was Marisa who was in charge.

She undressed him herself, calmly, enjoying the man’s trembling hands. She pulled down his pants, his underwear, and found his cock half-hard, thick and short. She knelt between his legs and worked him patiently. She started by licking it from the balls to the glans, with long strokes of her tongue, looking him in the eye. Marcial gasped and threw his head back. She took him into her mouth slowly, sucking him with tight lips, sucking only the glans, playing with the frenulum with her tongue. When she had him fully hard, she swallowed him whole, to the base, and slowly drew him back out again.

She kept him on the edge again and again. Every time she felt his balls tighten, she pulled the cock from her mouth and squeezed the base with two fingers, cutting off the orgasm. Marcial moaned, writhed, begged her, “Please, please, don’t stop, let me.” She ignored him. She sucked him again, pulled him out, pressed him between her tits and rubbed him there, took him back into her mouth. The man was pure pleading, panting that no one had ever done that to him, that he was dying, that it was the best blowjob of his life. When at last, after nearly an hour, she let him finish, Marcial unloaded into her mouth in long spasms, shouting, and Marisa swallowed everything without taking her lips away. He stayed frozen, trembling, legs open, defeated in his own arrogance. He would have signed anything she put in front of him.

A week later, Marisa was department head, with her contract renewed and her salary raised. Marcial’s wife, furious, confronted him in the kitchen:

—Weren’t you going to talk to the owner so they’d fire her? It’s obvious that woman can’t do anything.

Marisa, passing by with a tray, couldn’t help smiling.

—I can do one thing —she said without stopping—. Survive.