AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do you like the way she licks you, baby?”
Derrick’s words sent me flying, just like he knew they would.
Elisa Sharone’s ménage piece, “Our First Girl,” also focuses on two girls and a boy:
Fingers sliding between her wet lips, the memory of the threesome tickled at the back of her mind. They’d always been monogamous and faithful, but in recent months their sexual boundaries had become fluid and what was once taboo now seemed like an adventure. She stretched her long limbs out across the bed and closed her eyes, letting the image take hold.
He’s watching her, this beautiful slender girl with long auburn hair straddling my hips and teasing my breasts. Her lips and teeth graze my nipple, her face hidden behind a curtain of curls. I can feel her pussy slipping against my skin as she rolls her hips and grinds against me. I pull our unexpected lover to my chest, holding her tightly as a kiss plays between our lips.
Then his cock slides easily into my slick heat and he thrusts hard against us both. And suddenly we’re moving together, him holding her hips as though he’s fucking her from behind while I draw him inside. I’m lost in the scent of her, the feeling of him. And together they make me come, both of their names on my lips.
“Tripartite,” by Georgia E. Jones, details the pleasure of two men and a woman (and also the pleasures of oral outdoors):
Adam sank to the ground, pulling me with him. I ran my hands across his belly before pulling down his trunks and putting my mouth on his cock. He made a strangled sound, and I sucked on him, hard, crouched between his thighs, not giving him a chance to adjust. Will lifted me to my knees, stripping off my bikini and touching me, spreading me open, nudging me with the head of his cock. He knew exactly how much sex I hadn’t been having since the divorce. Then I was filled up, the hot, thick length of Will inside me and hard thrust of Adam’s cock in my mouth. It was what I wanted, bone deep and mindless. I couldn’t establish any sort of rhythm, clenching around Will and grinding back against him. He said something—the dark voice of a cautionary tale—and held my hips in broad-palmed hands and did it for me.
I sucked on Adam, licking him up and down, cupping his balls in one hand then taking him as deep as I could until he touched the back of my throat. Adam came first, crying out, his hands fisted in my hair. I swallowed and rested my face against his belly, feeling Will thrust harder and harder, my own pleasure rising toward orgasm, but it was going to take longer than he had, so I just tightened around him as hard as I could and held on until he came.
We lay in a warm heap of tangled limbs. I measured my breathing against theirs, first Will’s, then Adam’s.
Dilo Keith’s ménage excerpt from Make Mine to Go explores an erotic M/M/M scenario:
They expeditiously had me up against the headboard, with my cuffs affixed to the rails instead of to each other, and pillows between my back and the metal. With no warning, Paul straddled me and shoved his cock in my mouth. I struggled to back away, as if an extra inch would actually help me take him. Maybe it did, or maybe Paul eased off a little. It was more of a face fucking than a blow job, leaving me with little to do except breathe and keep my throat relaxed. Perfect. I couldn’t have been much harder, not without begging for release.
From the sounds and movement of the headboard, I figured out Paul was holding on, using it for leverage. I groaned at the image of that and of Justin there watching me. I envisioned strong thighs driving Paul’s groin against me, my mouth stretched around him, and my arms held by leather, grateful that the camera was saving this for wanking to later. When Paul was getting close, Justin started jerking me off. He was doing himself, too, which was why the rhythm was a bit more like his, a little slower than I preferred. Not that the particular strokes mattered when two hot men had me at their mercy.
Are you interested in M/F/M—or F/M/F? Or some scramble of the M’s and the F’s as yet undecided? (Doesn’t it sound as if we’re discussing a particularly sexy spoonful of alphabet soup?) Play out with fantasies before you make the first move. Then puzzle those pieces together.
TANTALIZING TIPS
•Put on a racy movie and pretend the people onscreen are in the room with you. (Read my story “Counterpane” for more insight.)
•If you’re not ready to invite an actual third into your bedroom, incorporate phone sex or Skype to break down the barrier.
•Ménages can be enjoyable in many different varieties. If m/f/f works for you one time, try m/f/m the next.
FICTION: MÉNAGE
MARGARITA MAGIC
THOMAS S. ROCHE
When Brian returned from blending margaritas in the kitchen, Robyn and Eve were making out on the love seat. If this turn of events wasn’t a hundred percent unexpected, it still came as a surprise, for at least one unusual reason. Eve was, it had always been supposed, very much a lesbian. Brian had lived in San Francisco long enough and had enough queer friends to know that getting with a straight girl was thought in the lesbian community to be a big, fat, juicy invitation to the kind of drama that Eve, it was said, detested. Wasn’t it an even bigger, fatter, juicier invitation for a lesbian to get with a straight girl while her husband was in the kitchen making margaritas?
And wasn’t it even more so not to stop—or even slow down—when he came back?
Okay, but Brian had to admit that there had been hints. Eve didn’t have a girlfriend and clearly didn’t want one. And there had been flirting even before there had been margaritas as a topic of discussion. In fact, there had been lots of flirting. Brian liked that; his taste in women tended toward the punky, and Eve was hot. But Brian wasn’t a cad; he hadn’t already counted a threesome in the bag. He was basically just counting on margarita magic to help the flirting continue. He hadn’t guessed that things might escalate into a make-out session on the love seat.
But for margarita magic to even work—that is to say, for it to take a reasonable lesbian and make her think a threesome with a straight couple is an awesome idea, it usually takes at least a sip. Brian hadn’t even gotten Eve to taste the damn things, and here she was with his wife’s tongue in her mouth. Sure, that sweet mescal enchantment didn’t always need to cross the blood-brain barrier to work…but didn’t it at least need to pass Eve’s lips?
Apparently not before Robyn’s tongue did.
Brian set his intoxicating pitcher of frothy green sex on the coffee table. He sat in the soft easy chair facing the big, cushy love seat that held his wife and their guest.
He poured himself a tall one.
He took a mouthful of cool sweet magic and settled in to watch. Neither woman paid a damned bit of attention to him, which suited Brian just fine for the moment.
Robyn was half-atop their guest, and the two women were going at it furiously—making out as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. In fact, they were more than making out; Robyn’s hand was well up Eve’s dress, though there wasn’t that much of the dress, really, for it to be “up.” Among their friends and the friends of their friends, Eve was the famous femme slut in any given room, and tended to sometimes push her luck…her luck being the plausible deniability when she managed to flash anyone who would be scandalized but no one who would be pleasantly titillated. This dress was the sluttiest of the bunch, apparently sewn from an oversized Stooges T-shirt, short in the hem and so low cut she had practically been falling out of it all night. Its structural instability was augmented by a tactical series of hacks and slashes cut right through Iggy Pop’s grotesque yet oddly compelling bod, as if the naked torso of Eve’s addled idol was about to start bleeding on her. Admiring Eve in barely there punk clothes was so completely part and parcel of being her friend that when she’d shown up in this one, Brian hadn’t considered it the obvious invitation that Robyn had. Hey, they were just a straight couple having dinner with their barely dressed lesbian friend and then inviting her back to their place to listen to some Tom Verlaine solo albums, right? Hey, what could be suggestive about that?
