Threesomes: For Couples Who Want to Know More
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Authors: Lainie Speiser
threesomes
for Couples Who Want to Know More
lainie speiser
MY STORY
The truth is I’ve always wanted to do it
. I’ve always fantasized about being an active participant in a three-way. I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to have more than one tongue following the curves and crevices of my body, to have more than one pair of busy, attentive, loving hands spoiling me, to have the option of kissing more than one eager and open soft, wet mouth.
I’ve always wanted to stretch my arms out and feel two bodies at my fingertips, to be filled in every imaginable way, to literally be smothered by the skin of both a man and a woman and do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do with that woman—or any woman, for that matter.
I’ve always wanted to have two men do my bidding, to be so sexual and so in control and so out of control that I couldn’t hold back my orgasm and neither could they as they released themselves in my mouth and inside me.
As you can tell, I’m really turned on by the very notion of having a ménage à trois.
My boyfriend knows this, and he knows without my having to tell him. He knows how excited I get when he takes out Steve Austin—my big, baby blue rubber vibrator. He uses it on me while I enthusiastically perform oral sex on him. I instantly become wet and excited because I have two hard cocks all to myself. I never use this vibrator when I’m alone—I only enjoy using it when fooling around with him; otherwise, my hands do the job quickly and efficiently. But using it with a partner is a totally different story: The double stimulation feels decadent, luxurious, and unapologetically greedy.
And he loves it, too. He’s rock hard the entire time, and I feel so free and wild that I can allow him deeper in my throat than ever before, without feeling any physical stress or the slightest bit of pause or discomfort. I truly love it. I love the feeling of being used to my full sexual potential, and I love feeling the double stimulation. I keep my eyes open so I can see Steve Austin working his magic between my legs while my boyfriend’s thick cock darts in and out of my mouth. If I could describe it in one word, it would be “voluptuous.”
And my boyfriend knows. “You just want two guys going at it on you, don’t you baby?” he says with a sexy grin. “You want to be a little slut. You need two hard, big cocks to make you come.”
One day when I was working behind the scenes in a phone-sex recording studio, a woman was recording the tale of her very first ménage à trois with a happily married couple. I sat on the couch outside the recording booth, listening to her performance, on-hand to make her comfortable with the session and ready to ask questions if the story needed further elaboration. But this model, Susan, was very thorough when it came to describing this occasion of sexual awakening.
She talked about having a threesome to experiment with the female counterpart of the couple more than anything. She talked about being undressed by her friend while her husband watched, kissing and caressing her all over. “I had always wanted to be with a woman, but I felt very shy about it,” Susan said. “This felt like a sexy but safe way to start. With her husband there, I felt free to really go for it without feeling self-conscious about it.” The women played with each other’s breasts, fingers, mouths, and tongues. They grinded against each other’s firm, supple bodies, face to face, kneeling on the bed. Her friend’s husband decided to join the action by going behind Susan and fondling her, playing with her wet, engorged clit.
After listening for a bit, I walked to the bathroom of the recording studio, locked the door, and began to masturbate. I came quickly
sitting on the toilet and replaying Susan’s sexy words in my head. A threesome felt so forbidden, but it was okay and consensual too, which made it guilt-free and still exciting. I could do that, I thought, I could totally do that.
I sent my boyfriend a text message telling him what I’d just done, perhaps out of my own guilt for being less than professional or perhaps just to be naughty, and he sent me a text back saying, “That sounds so hot. Let me know when you’d like to give that a try. It’s all up to you.”
This is one of the many reasons I like him so much, because when it comes to sex, it’s all up to me—no pressure, no hassle, all play.
It’s not that I haven’t been close to it. I have, for sure. But you would think a sexual being such as myself—now in her mid-thirties, who has worked in erotic entertainment in one form or another since graduating from art school (of all places)—would have done it by now. And not only would have done it by now, but would have done it many, many times.
But my vocation does not necessarily define who I am, not completely anyway. Just because I don’t have a typical profession doesn’t mean that I’m not exactly like most women. I have the same insecurities, reservations, and hang-ups as any other woman despite making a career for myself in the world of adult entertainment.
Having worked at several erotic titles throughout my career, and as the current spokesperson and columnist for
Penthouse
, I’ve been reading about threesomes, in the form of erotic literature or dirty letters, for quite some time now. I’ve seen delicious-looking photo spreads of happy threesomes totally engrossed in a triangle of flesh and orgasm, but observing it, let’s face it, is much easier than actually doing it.
Years ago, after graduating from art school, I embarked on an adventurous and exciting backpacking trip with my good friend Sabrina. She was a lot more free-spirited than I, even by art school standards, and while we were sipping Bloody Marys and smoking cigarettes on the plane, she leaned over and said, “You know what we should do at some point during this trip? We should pick up a guy we both dig and share him. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
Sabrina was, and is, one of the most gorgeous women anyone will ever meet. A Demi Moore look-alike with a wonderful sense of humor and a sweet spirit, she would attract even the most well-to-do men (and women), who might stop to stare and appreciate the splendor of her natural beauty. She took a long pull off her hand-rolled cigarette and added, “Preferably someone who can’t speak a word of English.”
Yet I couldn’t do it. I had a boyfriend back home, a much older man who would’ve approved of it, as he approved of me leaving for Europe for two months, because he was a teenager in the 1970s and fully believed experimentation was imperative in the development of any young person. But she was my friend and she knew all of my vulnerabilities, and although she’d seen me naked many times, she had never seen me naked in
that
way. You know what I mean.
The closest Sabrina and I got to a hot ménage à trois was when she and I shared a bed with a very young, handsome, smarmy, and well-endowed Australian man at a complete stranger’s house off the beach in Brighton, England. There was simply nowhere else to sleep, and I was really tired. So tired that I didn’t let their moaning and coupling inches away stop me from drifting off to sleep. That is, until I felt a hand stroke my arm—a rough, large, strong hand that did not belong to my small-boned, pretty Sabrina. I don’t think it was even an invitation but simply a matter of cramped quarters and darkness and mistaking one soft woman for another. I got up quickly, took my pillow, and tried sleeping in the bathtub for awhile, but then some other hippie came in to use the toilet and I switched to an old, smelly, funky couch with no cushions and stayed there for the rest of the night.