The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes

by Linda Alvarez

  A thump in the small of my back toppled me forwards, my head coming to rest on Peta’s knee. She settled me carefully, stroking the hair from my eyes with one hand, while the other scooted the football, which had hit me, back to its owner, reassuring them that there was no damage, no apology necessary.

  Her expectant face peered down at me. “You OK?”

  Somehow, I thought she meant more than simply the blow from the football. “I think so.”

  She nodded, and a finger traced the outline of my lips. I kissed it as it went by.

  “So what happens when we arrive at our apartment?” I asked.

  “Despite my consideration in not jumping her in the cab, Suzie’s still nervous, so she asks if she can have a drink. I’m putting on some music – something mellow, like k.d. lang – so you go and get a bottle of red. You can’t find the corkscrew – no doubt I’ve put it away in the wrong drawer again – so when you return, Suzie and I are dancing. I’m holding her close, and my hips are pressed into hers. My hand’s on her butt, moulding her close to me.”

  “Are you packing?”

  Her hand shifted to my arm, and her thumb stroked the side of my breast. I turned to rub my cheek against her thigh. She wasn’t packing now.

  “Yes, so Suzie can feel the outline of my rigid cock. She sighs a little and slides her arms around my waist. That’s the sign I’ve been waiting for. Now I can move into a higher gear, so I kiss her properly. Harder, deeper. Really tasting her. She kisses me back, her tongue tangling with mine.

  “You can see we don’t need the wine now, so you put it down, and sit on the couch.”

  “Does Suzie mind that I’m there?”

  “She never speaks to you, as if she did, she’d have to acknowledge that you were there, watching. She’s pretending that it’s just me and her.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’m happy you’re there. I wouldn’t be doing it unless you were. I want you to get off on this as much as me, so I’m putting on a show for you. Suzie’s wearing a skirt of some soft cotton. And, slowly, inch by inch, I’m gathering it up at her butt. Now you can see the backs of her thighs. Now, the edge of her panties. What do they look like, Ria?”

  “Peach,” I said, without hesitation. “A real girly-soft peach. And lacy. She’s worn her sexiest underwear deliberately. It looks good against her pale skin.”

  Peta’s thumb stroked soft circles, inching ever closer to my nipple with each pass. I sighed gently – as Suzie would do – in acceptance of the spell her words were weaving.

  “And her legs,” prompted Peta. “What do they look like?”

  “Pale. She keeps her skin out of the sun. Only a hint of sunbloom. Soft legs. She’s not the sporty type. She stays slim by picking at her food, not by exercise.”

  “When I get her skirt up to her waist,” Peta continued, “I slide my hand down the top of her panties. Her butt is smooth and warm, and I can feel her shiver. I curve my hand down until I’m tickling the crease between ass and thigh; nearly, not quite touching the fine hairs of her cunt. We’re still moving slowly to k.d. lang, and I turn us around so that you have a full view of her ass—”

  “And that’s when you slip your fingers lower, further around, and move one up into her pussy. She gives a little gasp of surprise – she didn’t expect you to move so quickly – but now it’s too late, and you’ve got one, now two, fingers pistoning in and out of her cunt. She’s wet; I can hear the squishy sound your fingers make—”

  “She’s not doing anything to me; she’s simply holding on to my waist and riding my fingers. I want to add more, but the angle’s all wrong. She hasn’t touched me at all; my nipples are hard and tender against my shirt, and I want to adjust my cock so that the base of it gives me friction, but I don’t want to let go of her. But, it’s enough; because you’re watching me, watching us, and your eyes are avid and intent, and now you’re undoing the button on your jeans. You’re shy; you don’t want Suzie to see you, but I can see everything. You’re wearing—”

  “Simple black cotton panties. Unlike Suzie, I didn’t dress for the occasion. They’re old, and the waistband is a little loose, so I can work my fingers down to my pussy without pushing my jeans down further. My thighs are straining the denim apart, but it’s enough. I’ve got a finger on my clit. You can’t see my pussy, but you know what I’m doing, you know how I like to touch myself.”

  My eyes were closed to the rhythm of our words. Peta’s thighs were hot underneath my cheek, and her own musky scent filled my nose, blending with the tang of grass clippings. I knew – I hadn’t forgotten – that we were in one of Denver’s busiest parks, but it was mattering less and less. I wanted to turn my face into her pussy, pull down her shorts, spread her thighs and push my nose into her thatch, my tongue into the folds and crevices of her cunt and suck and slurp and drown in her juices. But, even in the words she was weaving, Peta knew me well; public sex just wasn’t my thing. So, I pressed my thighs tightly together, so that the pressure grew, and continued. “I know you want to fuck her, but there’s no way to move into the bedroom without breaking the spell. So—”

  “I decide to take her there, on the floor, on the only rug in the whole apartment, in front of the wide window that overlooks downtown. So, slowly, I withdraw my fingers from her cunt. She mews a little in disappointment, but she’s looking at me with wide eyes, waiting to see what happens next. Her cheeks are flushed, the pinkness creeps down the front of her T-shirt. She still hasn’t touched me, she won’t touch me, that’s too much for her right now. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll get my own pleasure, and your eyes watching me all the way will bring me there.

  “I step back from her, and yank my T-shirt over my head, kick off my sandals, and push my shorts and jocks down, so that I’m naked in front of her. She may not want to touch me yet, but I want there to be no mistake as to whom she is fucking. My cock springs free, hard and needy. Her hands rise, and her fingers flutter in front of my breasts. She’s wanting to touch, but hasn’t the confidence. It’s irking me a little; she’s all take and no give, this woman. So I curve a hand behind her head and press it to my breast. Her nose bumps my nipple, she gasps, and hesitates, but now my nipple is at her lips, and she opens her mouth, sucks me in, tongues me, then suckles harder.

  “Your eyes meet mine, over her head, and I wonder what you’re thinking, seeing another woman touch me, suckle me, the first in our five years together.”

  “Part of me wants to scream and drag her off you, kick her perfect little pink bi-curious butt out of our apartment, but most of me wants to see you fuck her, make her scream and shudder around your cock. And now, I’m touching my own nipple under my top, flicking it in time to her suckling. But she’s still dressed. I want to see more than her panties. Get her naked. Now!”

  “Yes, ma’am! I push her away from me, and shuck the skirt off her like the husk of an ear of corn. She stands passively, raising her arms to let me pull her shirt over her head. Her bra matches her panties – she definitely dressed with this in mind. But I don’t stop to admire then, I hook my fingers in the waistband and pull hard.

  “She gives a little strangled cry; the panties must be digging into her sensitive pussy before the material gives way, but I don’t stop, and there’s a loud rip. I toss her ruined panties to one side, and she’s naked, looking up at me with pleading eyes. I hesitate; I know she wants me to kiss her, but it’s you I’m thinking of. A kiss at this moment is such an intimate act, I don’t know if you want me to kiss her.”

  “Kiss her,” I order. My eyes are still closed, but Washington Park has faded to a distant background buzz. It’s just me, Peta and the ethereal Suzie, in the living room of our apartment.

  “So I kiss her and she responds with gratitude. She wants the romance as well as the sex. She tastes of bourbon, so different from you. But kisses aren’t enough—”

  “Fuck her. Take her now.”

  “I direct her hand to my cock. She’s now so far gone th
at she grasps it eagerly then strokes up and down the shaft. I push my hand on her shoulder, and she sinks to the floor underneath my touch. I kneel over her, part her soft white thighs with one hand. She’s wet; I can see her pussy lips shining. Her pussy hair is so blonde and fine that at first I think she’s shaved herself. She has sparse, soft hair, like a young girl.”

  “Do you go down on her?”

  “I think about it, but I can see you, and your fingers working away underneath your panties. Your face is red, and your breath is hitching in your throat. I know you’re about to come, and I want to see that. So no, I don’t. I kneel between her thighs—”

  “Which way are you facing? Can she see me?”

  “I’m looking directly at you, over her head. If she turned her head to one side she could see you, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is fixed on me, looming over her, cock in hand.”

  “And then—”

  “I fuck her.”

  Oh God. Washington Park was gone, gone, gone, and my entire being was focused on our apartment and what we were doing – would do? may do? – there.

  “I enter her with one sure thrust,” continued Peta, “and she clutches my shoulder and pants into my face. Her other hand reaches around, underneath her thigh, to feel my cock and how it fits inside her. I start to move, and every thrust rubs my cock on my clit. It won’t take much until I come.

  “I rise up and reach between our bodies, find her clit and rub. And she comes. Just like that, clenching down on my cock, shuddering underneath me, her pretty white teeth biting her bottom lip. Her body goes limp; she lies as flaccid as a wet towel. She’s not a giving lover, but I don’t care. My eyes meet yours over her head—”

  “You thrust harder, faster, until her whole body is shaking with the force of it. It must be uncomfortable for her – your cock is thick and long – and the force of your pounding must be hurting her, but you don’t stop. Because you’re about to come—”

  “And your fingers are working frantically, and your face is flushed and your hair is wet with sweat. Any moment now—”

  “I come. It’s a long, hard, shuddering climax, my body jackknifes double, and my thighs are rigid. And I scream, uncaring of Suzie, great gulps of air, forcibly exhaled—”

  “I’m coming with you. My final thrusts are almost savage, but I’m coming hard, deep into Suzie. She whimpers underneath me. I stroke her hair gently from her brow, soothing her with incoherent murmurs, but my eyes are still locked on you, and how beautiful you look in the low light, your sweaty hair over your face. And now it’s over, doubt sets in. My eyes plead with you for reassurance—”

  “I smile. It’s OK. Suzie lies forgotten underneath you, and you and I communicate with our eyes. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  I opened my eyes, back in the real world, Washington Park swimming back into focus. Peta loomed above me, her hand knotted in the fabric of my T-shirt, taut with the spell of our words. She kissed me, her tongue running in demand around my mouth. I could smell her excitement in the cradle of her thighs, the waves of musk that permeated her shorts.

  “So,” she said, when she lifted her head. “Shall we do it?”

  My cunt throbbed. “Do what?”

  “Paris. You said you’d come with me. We might need to fly instead of taking the yacht, but we could still rent a garret and make love to the sound of the Parisian traffic.”

  Right then, I’d have followed her anywhere. “Let’s do it!”

  Lucky Pierre

  Carol Queen

  “You know,” said Boyfriend, humping swivel-hipped, with the kind of satisfied tone he got when imparting the Great Wisdoms, “Lucky Pierre is the one in the middle.”

  The one in the middle this time was named Mark, however, not Pierre. I had found Mark myself – a rare circumstance. Boyfriend typically used his male sexual socialization to full advantage, plus his uncanny gaydar infallibly told him which fellow in the room might be most open to frank, affable erotic suggestion. Boyfriend was charmingly friendly and direct, asking, “Do you want to fuck?” as easily as most guys would say, “Hey, how about we grab a beer?” Of us two, he was invariably the more comfortable cruiser, and usually the most successful at bringing boys home. This did not always mean gay men; in fact, though Boyfriend was quite open to fucking gay men, being more or less a gay man himself, he was just as interested in bi men and even straight men.

  I believe the proper term for Mark would be “bi-curious”, and Boyfriend liked those, too. In fact, I never saw a reasonably cute man Boyfriend didn’t like, though admittedly it helped if he had a foreskin. (Mark was not endowed with one of these, but he had many other charms.) Lucky me, it made for many erotic adventures of the kind I’d always dreamed of but had yet to achieve, my past boyfriends always too straight, my girlfriends too lesbian. Just coming off ten years of dykeitude, already a few months of bisexual adventures with Boyfriend had me well fucked and newly intrigued by the permutations available to bisexual boys and girls.

  So I had gone out and found Mark, hoping to score as well as we did with some of Boyfriend’s acquisitions. Well, actually, I didn’t find him; Janice did, but she owed me one after the night I’d fucked one of the other guys she brought to our party. She showed up with this guy, having obviously hinted that he’d get sex – then she pretty much vanished. Well, I wasn’t going to let him just sit there looking uncomfortable – how unhostesslike is that? – but the guy could have been a lot more fun. If Janice was going to show up now with a hot young stud and then bitch about me snagging him, words would be said about her conduct on the previous evening. But she didn’t bitch at all. I can’t imagine anyone feeling bitchy around Mark. He had an angelic demeanour, a gorgeous cock and, what’s more, he shared the wealth.

  See, we were taking a class about making movies, so we decided to get together on the weekend and make one for practice. Six women, all from the class, and Mark, who tagged along with Janice because he thought it sounded like a good time. God knows where she met this long, tall, twenty-something drink of water, with his sweet face – and did I mention his cock was perfect? – but Janice prowled many streets. Unlike some of her finds, Mark was a keeper. He wound up fucking each of us in turn, never coming, giving each woman his complete focus, a tall, young, adorable sex toy of a man.

  Now, I’ve pulled a couple of trains in my time – nothing that set any records, but hot just the same. There’s something about taking on all comers (so to speak) – maybe because it’s the classic slut fantasy, the one so many women are ashamed to have, or maybe it’s because when you fuck four or five or ten people, if you warm up at all, you get really warm. And I was raised to be a nice and compassionate person – it’s sad to see someone moping on the sidelines, like the only little kid in the class not invited to the popular kid’s birthday party. I’ve always figured that if you exercise some judgment in choosing people to socialize with, there should be no great problem with fucking them later in the evening, if it comes to that.

  Still, there’s something special about a guy who can fuck one after the other, never flagging, never letting one woman feel he liked the last one better or he’s looking forward to the next. This man was not just thinking about baseball. He was truly sweet, truly present with each, which I knew because I was saving myself for last, magnanimously saying, “Oh, no, you go ahead,” when it was time to switch. I knew this might leave me with leftovers – an exhausted boy who only wanted to cuddle – but it seemed as though he knew how to pace himself. So for most of the afternoon I sat at the head of the bed watching, studying Mark with each of them. I saw the sweat and the eye contact, the murmured getting-to-know-you that’s so inexorable and intimate when it happens when you’re already fucking. Don’t get me wrong, I know plenty of fucks fly by with hardly any intimacy at all, but if you’ve never experienced the kind where you’ve barely said six words before your bodies meet, yet when you’re done you feel like you know the person deeply – well, you’ll just
have to take my word for it.

  I know what you’re wondering: If this is a bisexual story, why didn’t all the women get into a big pile? Maybe we weren’t very attracted to each other. More likely, we were all a little mesmerized by this force of nature. Boys like this don’t come down the pike every day.

  When it was my turn, sure enough, Mark wrapped me up in a cloud of sweet, slow fuck. Jeez, he must have been studying tantra. Say all you want about casual sex, but I can tell you, it’s completely possible to have a no-name fuck and get the message that you are precious, absolutely precious. Mark and I beamed that to each other as our hips escalated their speed. It was the only message to send, each of us a young seeker of exotic knowledge and true nirvana in the wild jungles of sex.

  Of course my first thought (well, OK, my third or fourth thought) was that I wanted to take him home to Boyfriend.

  The night Boyfriend said, “Lucky Pierrre is the one in the middle,” Mark was in me just as deep as he’d been that first day, a slow pump that put me in such a fuck-haze that Boyfriend’s presence was almost irrelevant. This is why people are scared to have threesomes: if two of them feel like this, what will the leftover person do? In real life, of course, a scene like this could turn into a jealous fit, even escalate into a divorce. But life with Boyfriend was like real life, only better: if his girlfriend was busy falling in love with the trick, no problem! He’d find something to keep himself amused. When you’re fucking – especially when you’re fucking more than one person at a time – there are always plenty of things to do. He had already slid his fingers into my cunt, massaging my wet velvet walls and Mark’s cock simultaneously – this made everyone happy, including Boyfriend, because Mark really had the cock of an angel, big but not too, shaped like cocks were meant to be. And Boyfriend had had his hands on a lot of cocks – several thousand at least – which meant that he had hands that could probably have touched any cock in the world and made it happy, hence his remarkable rate of success with straight men. When your cock is in such hands, why fuck it up by getting all homophobic?