I went in for 500 angry flyers

The bell above the door of ‘Quick-Print Copy Shop’ jangled, a cheap, tinny sound that perfectly matched the flickering fluorescent lights and the smell of ozone and cheap paper. I was there for flyers—500 of them, bright red and screaming about the city council’s latest corruption scandal. My kind of party.

The guy behind the counter looked up from a massive, humming printer that seemed to be having a seizure. He was dark-haired, with intense eyes and a build that suggested he spent less time pushing paper and more time pushing weights. A name tag, slightly crooked, read ‘Marco.’

“Help you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that cut through the machine’s grumbling.

“I hope so,” I said, slapping a USB drive on the counter. “Need these on the cheapest, brightest red cardstock you’ve got. The kind that feels like it’ll give you a paper cut just by looking at it.”

A smirk played on his lips. “We call that one ‘Angry Communist Red.’ Good choice.” He took the drive, his fingers brushing mine. A little spark, static electricity maybe, or maybe not. I held his gaze for a second too long, a habit of mine. I like to see what people are made of.

He plugged in the drive, his brow furrowed as he pulled up my file. “City council, huh? Nasty business.”

“The nastiest,” I said, leaning on the counter, watching him. “Which is why people need to know. Gotta stir the pot.”

“You’re the stirrer, I see,” he said, not looking away from the screen. I liked that. No nervous glance away, no awkward shuffle. He just took the comment and tossed it right back.

The printer finally choked out a test page. He held it up. The red was indeed violently bright. “Perfect. It’s hideous. They’ll love it.”

“Or hate it. Either way, they’ll read it.” I grinned. “How long for five hundred?”

“Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. Luis is in the back finishing a big job. The other machine is down.”

As if on cue, another man emerged from a back room, wiping his hands on an ink-stained rag. He was taller than Marco, leaner, with a sharp, handsome face and a smile that seemed to know things. “Who’s this, Marco? Bringing in the big clients, I see.” His voice was smoother, lighter, with a different cadence.

“Veronica,” I said, answering for myself. “And you must be Luis.”

“The one and only.” He tossed the rag aside. “Fixing the beast. Again. You here for the… ‘Expose Their Lies’ flyer?” He’d clearly seen it on the shared server.

“That’s the one. You read it?”

“I skimmed. You don’t pull any punches, do you?” Luis said, coming to stand next to Marco behind the counter. The space suddenly felt smaller, warmer.

“What’s the point of punching if you pull it?” I countered.

Marco laughed, a short, genuine sound. “She’s got you there.”

The air shifted then. It wasn’t just about the flyers anymore. It was the way they were both looking at me, a shared, unspoken curiosity passing between them. Marco’s dark, appraising gaze and Luis’s more playful, intrigued one. I felt a familiar thrill, the same one I got chasing a lead into a dark alley—a mix of adrenaline and stupid, glorious desire.

The main printer finally finished its big job with a final, shuddering sigh. Luis went to unload it. Marco started my order. I just watched, my heart starting to beat a little faster against my ribs. The shop was hot. I shrugged off my leather jacket, revealing a simple black tank top underneath. I saw Marco’s eyes track the movement.

The printer started churning out my flyers, a rhythmic thump-thump-thump that filled the quiet shop. Thump. Thump. Thump. Like a heartbeat.

Luis came back around the counter, leaning against it next to me, so close I could smell the clean scent of his soap mixed with printer ink. “So, a journalist. That must be… interesting.”

“It has its moments,” I said, turning to face him. Our knees were almost touching.

“I bet it does.” His eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second. “Must meet a lot of people.”

“Some are more memorable than others.”

From behind the counter, Marco spoke, his voice a low growl. “You always this forward with guys you just met?”

I didn’t look away from Luis. “Only the ones who can keep up.”

Luis’s smile widened. He reached out, not touching me, but tracing a finger in the air an inch from the bare skin of my arm. “And what happens if they can’t?”

“Then it gets boring really fast.”

The printer stopped. The sudden silence was deafening, thick with tension. Marco stood there, a stack of blazing red flyers in his hands. He wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at me, his eyes burning with a raw, unmistakable heat.

“Your flyers are ready,” he said, his voice rough.

“I can see that,” I whispered.

Nobody moved. The three of us were frozen in a triangle of want. It was crazy. It was reckless. It was the exact kind of story I lived for.

I broke the silence. My mouth was dry. “Is there a back room? Or are we doing this right here on the counter?”

Marco’s composure broke. He let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, and tossed the flyers onto a shelf. “Back room. Now.”

He lifted a section of the countertop to let me through. Luis’s hand found the small of my back, his touch electric, guiding me. The room was a chaotic mess of paper reams, ink cartridges, and rolled-up banners. It smelled of dust and sex, or maybe that was just my imagination already working overtime.

The door clicked shut behind us. Luis backed me against a tall stack of paper boxes, his body pressing into mine. He didn’t kiss me, just looked down, his nose almost touching mine. “You’re sure about this?”

In answer, I grabbed the front of his shirt and crushed my mouth to his. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, all teeth and clashing tongues and the taste of coffee and mint. He groaned into my mouth, his hands coming up to cup my face, holding me there.

I heard Marco behind me, felt his heat against my back. His hands slid around my waist, pulling my hips back against him. I could feel the hard ridge of his cock through his jeans, pressing into my ass. “Fuck, you’re something else,” he muttered into my hair, his voice thick.

His hands roamed up my sides, under my tank top, calloused fingers scraping over my ribs. He found my breasts, still covered by my bra, and squeezed, his thumbs rubbing rough circles over my nipples until they were hard, aching points. I arched my back, pushing into his hands, a moan escaping into Luis’s mouth.

Luis broke the kiss, his breath hot on my cheek. “Let’s get this off,” he murmured, pulling my tank top over my head. He made quick work of my bra clasp, and then his mouth was on my breast, his tongue lashing my nipple while his fingers pinched and rolled the other. I cried out, my head falling back against Marco’s shoulder.

Marco’s hands were at the button of my jeans. He popped it open, yanked the zipper down, and shoved his hand inside my panties. I was soaking wet, and he growled his approval. “So fucking wet for us already,” he said, his fingers sliding through my slick folds. He found my clit and rubbed it in a tight, perfect circle that made my knees buckle. Luis held me up, his mouth still working on my breast, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“I want to taste you,” Luis said, pulling away, his lips swollen and wet. He sank to his knees in front of me, yanking my jeans and panties down to my ankles in one rough motion. He didn’t even give me a second before he buried his face between my legs.

His tongue was flat and hot and perfect. He licked a long, slow stripe from my entrance to my clit, then circled it, again and again, before sucking it into his mouth. I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair. Marco held me upright, one arm across my stomach, his other hand still working my clit in time with Luis’s mouth. The dual sensation was overwhelming. I was being devoured, taken apart by two mouths, four hands.

“Fuck, yes, right there,” I moaned, grinding against Luis’s face. He hummed against me, the vibration shooting straight to my core. Marco’s fingers pushed inside me, two thick digits curling and scissoring, stretching me. “She’s so tight,” he said to Luis, his voice ragged. “You feel that?”

Luis just groaned in response, his grip on my thighs tightening. I was climbing higher, my orgasm coiling tight in my belly. The sounds were filthy: wet sucking, ragged breathing, the crinkle of paper beneath our feet.

“I’m gonna come,” I panted, my eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

Marco bit my earlobe. “Come for him. Then you’ll come for me.”

That was all it took. The coil snapped. My orgasm ripped through me, a silent scream on my lips as my body convulsed, shaking against them both. Luis held me through it, drinking every drop, until I was sensitive and trembling.

Before I could even catch my breath, Marco was turning me around. He unbuckled his belt, his eyes locked on mine. His cock sprang free, thick and veined and already leaking. Luis stood up behind me, kissing my shoulder, his own hands on his jeans.

“You want this?” Marco asked, his voice a low threat, a promise.

“God, yes,” I breathed.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He gripped my hips and drove into me in one deep, brutal thrust. I cried out, the feeling of being so completely filled almost too much. He didn’t give me time to adjust, just started fucking me with a hard, steady rhythm, each thrust slamming me back against Luis.

Luis’s hands were on my hips, steadying me, his own cock pressed against my ass. He leaned forward, his voice a whisper in my ear. “You think you can take us both, periodista?”

The question, the sheer audacity of it, sent a new jolt of lust straight through me. I was already stretched around Marco, but the idea of more, of being taken completely… “Yes,” I gasped. “Do it.”

I heard the tear of a foil packet—Luis must have had one in his wallet. A moment later, I felt the cool slick of lube against my back entrance. Marco’s thrusts never slowed, each one pushing me onto Luis’s waiting fingers as he prepared me, first one, then two, stretching me with a careful, burning pressure.

“Ready?” Luis whispered.

I just nodded, my face pressed against Marco’s neck, breathing in his sweat and skin.

Luis positioned himself. The pressure was immense, a sharp, burning stretch that made me gasp. Marco held still for a moment, letting me adjust. “Breathe, cariño,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly soft.

I breathed out, and Luis pushed in, slowly, inexorably, until he was fully sheathed inside me. The feeling was unbelievable. I was completely filled, stretched to the limit, every nerve ending on fire. They both stayed still for a long moment, letting me feel the incredible fullness.

Then Marco moved. Then Luis moved. They found a rhythm, a perfect, sinful counterpoint. One pushing in as the other pulled out, over and over, until I was nothing but a vessel for their pleasure, for my own pleasure. The world narrowed to the smell of their skin, the sound of their grunts, the slap of flesh on flesh, the creak of the cheap office chair Marco had braced himself against.

It was a frenzy. It was a blur of hands and mouths and cocks. Luis’s hands gripped my breasts, pinching my nipples. Marco’s mouth was on my neck, sucking a bruise into my skin. I was being fucked senseless, my own moans a continuous, broken stream. “Yes, fuck, right there, don’t stop, please…”

I came again, a harder, deeper orgasm that tore a scream from my throat. My body clamped down around them both, milking them, pulling them deeper. That set them off. Marco came first with a guttural roar, his thrusts becoming erratic as he emptied himself inside me. Luis followed seconds after, his own release pulsing into me as he buried his face in my back with a choked cry.

We collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs and sweaty skin onto a stack of discarded poster paper, the crinkling sound loud in the sudden quiet. The only sounds were our ragged breaths. I was sandwiched between them, their weight a comforting, crushing pressure.

After a few minutes, Luis shifted, pulling out of me gently. Marco did the same, both of them disposing of the condoms. I just lay there, boneless, staring at the water-stained ceiling tiles, a stupid, satiated grin on my face.

Marco was the first to speak, pulling up his jeans. “So. The flyers.”

I started to laugh, a raw, real laugh that hurt my throat. “Right. The flyers.”

He helped me up. Luis handed me my clothes, his fingers brushing mine, a different kind of heat in his gaze now. We dressed in silence, the air still thick with the smell of sex.

Marco gathered the stack of flyers and put them in a bag. He handed it to me. “On the house.”

I took the bag. “A girl could get used to this kind of customer service.”

“Anytime, Veronica,” Luis said, that knowing smile back on his face. “Anytime.”

I walked out of the print shop, the bell jangling behind me. The flyers felt light in my hand. My body felt thoroughly, deliciously wrecked. I had my story. And oh, what a fucking story it was.