“The Gift” © 2010 by Saskia Walker. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“More Than a Mouthful” © 2010 by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Gift Exchange” © 2006 by Sommer Marsden. First published in
Ruthie’s Club
. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Peace de Resistance” © 2009 by Kris Cherita. First published in
Wicked Pleasures
, edited by Cecilia Tan, Ravenous Romance. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Wish Girls” © 2005 by Matthew Addison. First published in
Fishnet
. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“The Spark” © 2008 by Cecilia Tan. First published in
Periphery: Erotic Lesbian Futures
, edited by Lynne Jamneck, Lethe Press. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Celtic Tongues” © 2010 by Jacqueline Applebee. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Ivo” © 2009 by Alana Noel. First published in
Oysters & Chocolate
. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Kimberle” © 2009 by Achy Obejas. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Wild Roses” © 2002 by Mary Anne Mohanraj. First published in
Ripe Fruit: Erotica for Well-Seasoned Lovers
, edited by Marcy Sheiner, Cleis Press. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“The Gift” © 2010 by Lewis DeSimone. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Hot Spring” © 1996 by Carol Queen. First published in
Coming Up: The World’s Best Erotica
, edited by Michael Perkins, Richard Kasak. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
“Don’t Be Mad at Me” © 2007 by Adriana V. López. First published in
Juicy Mangos
, edited by Michelle Herrera Mulligan, Atria. Reprinted by permission of the Author.
Introduction
Whether or not we’ve ever actually had sex with more than one person at a time, I’d be very surprised if it’s not something just about everyone has fantasized about at some point. For many of us, I have no doubt that it’s a fantasy to which we return, in one variation or another, again and again.
For me, the thrill lies in being the focus of so much attention – sexual attention – and, in the realm of make-believe at least, the more the merrier. Three is decidedly not a crowd, and nor is more.
Unfortunately, the reality of these encounters seldom lives up to the fantasy. I think this is mostly because a sexual relationship between just two people is already sufficiently complicated, without the exponentially increasing complications brought by each additional lover. The chances of being with two or more other people and everyone being sexually attracted to each other,
and
in the mood for sex, are – let’s face it – generally very slim indeed.
This book makes no claim to being a guide to how to “open up” your relationship, or otherwise engage in group sex. However, many of these stories may very well inspire you to try something similar – with your partner, if you have one (or partners, if you have two or more), or by finding a couple (or group) if you’re solo.
These stories explore different variations of the ménage à trois and group sex in erotic fantasies from diverse writers – some male, some female – who conjure for us from their intimate imaginations almost every possible permutation of sex between more than two people. More than simply who is taking part, however, and what they are doing to each other, these writers explore, most importantly,
why
their characters are having sex.
This anthology contains a greater number of longer stories than any other collection I have edited. Partly this is due to the sheer size of a Mammoth book, which allows for much greater scope than a standard collection printed with fewer pages to keep costs down. A Mammoth undoubtedly provides a much broader canvas on which longer stories, and more of them, can be told. More importantly, though, the dynamics in a relationship between three or more people are complex and demand space to be set out and fully explored.
While I have chosen a few stories that are straightforward raunchy fantasies – sometimes we just need to get off, there and then – I have also selected some highly literary explorations of ménages à trois or group sex, which are emotionally insightful, beautiful and – sometimes – heartlessly cruel.
Sometimes, in these tales, an additional partner is included in the context of a “traditional” relationship between two people – either as a one-off to act out a certain fantasy or celebrate a special moment, or as a more permanent arrangement.
Sometimes the sex is spontaneous, a welcome surprise for those involved, who embrace the pleasure that’s offered to them; at other times it is premeditated, a gift offered by one or more people, or something planned and longed for.
The stories come from a number of different sources: some were solicited from writers with whom I’ve worked before, or whose erotic writing I have read and admired; some were stories that I’d previously read and couldn’t forget; finally, some of the writers I’d invited to contribute recommended their own favourite stories, or writers. Even with quite so many pages to fill, there was no shortage of excellent material.
Finally, I made a public call for submissions to fill the last few slots, hoping to be pleasantly surprised, both in terms of subject matter and fresh, new writers. And I was delighted by the material I received, even if I did have to sift through a lot of chaff to get at the few golden kernels that lurked in the pile – a metaphor, in a way, for the search for additional sex partners and the intense thrill of unanticipated pleasure which success can bring.
These stories are fantasies. Sometimes, the fictional characters engage in behaviour that is unsafe in terms of sexually transmissible diseases. While I hope these stories turn you on, if you feel inspired to act out your own fantasies involving sex with multiple partners, I urge you to practise safer sex.
For now, though, follow these writers along their many winding paths of erotic adventures with multiple partners, and allow your imagination to be beguiled.
Linda Alvarez
Forgiveness
Lacey Savage
“You want to fuck another man, don’t you?”
My husband isn’t a great communicator. But whatever his faults – and he has many – I’ve never been able to accuse him of being anything less than direct.
That night, he might as well have asked whether I remembered to drop off his dry-cleaning, or if I’d paid the gas bill before the date came due. His face remained smooth, unperturbed, marked only by the fine lines that had just recently started to appear at the corners of his eyes. He waited for my response with the kind of fathomless patience he’d exhibited when attempting to housebreak our puppy, Sam. Alas, Sam never took to peeing anywhere but in people’s shoes, so we gave him away less than a month after rescuing him from the shelter. Richard had expected an eager, panting creature desperate to please. What he got was a stubborn animal.
Unfortunately for Sam, Richard already had one of those. And I was already housebroken.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I took a bite of my dry salad. In the booth behind me, a woman moaned after every bite of her fragrant lobster bisque.
I swallowed the mouthful of tasteless lettuce and cursed the stupid diet I’d decided to follow a week earlier. Seven days of eating like a gazelle, and I was no closer to fitting into my never-worn little black size four dress than I’d been when I could happily devour chocolate sundaes with whipped cream.
My mouth watered. Just then, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than a dollop of rich whipped cream. Except maybe for my husband to stop talking. We’d always done better together when we didn’t speak.
“Don’t lie to me, Dana.”
I sighed and set my fork down. “You really want to talk about this, Richard? Now?” I indicated the restaurant around us with a sweep of my hand. From the sparkling chandelier that scattered fragmented golden light over my bland salad, to the affluent clientele dressed in tailored suits and skintight gowns adorned with glittering jewels, Antoine’s wasn’t the kind of place where a scene would go unnoticed.
As always, Richard had picked the restaurant. He read a stellar review in last weekend’s
Times
and decided it would be the perfect spot for us to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. I agreed, already fantasizing about showing up in a black, backless little number that barely came down to mid-thigh. I pictured myself two sizes thinner, fabric draped around my curves like a second skin. I wanted to be the hottest woman here. A goddess, a sex kitten. The object of every man’s fantasy.
All right, so my dreams have never been rooted in reality. If I’d realized that happily-ever-after endings were as unlikely as fat-free chocolate cake, I never would have walked down the aisle.
Besides, it was either go to the fancy restaurant, or tell Richard I’d rather stay home in my pyjamas with a carton of ice cream and the vibrator I hid in the refrigerator crisper.
“Why not?” He dabbed the corner of his mouth with the white linen napkin before setting it back on his lap. “You won’t discuss sex at home.”
“You never ask about it at home.”
“You never talk to me at home.”
I pursed my lips, instantly on the defensive. So what if I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had a civil conversation? I also couldn’t pinpoint exactly when we’d started leading separate lives, only that I liked it.
No. That wasn’t quite right. I’d grown used to it. I told myself that it was well past time I put my childish ideas about love and marriage behind me and came to terms with the fact that married couples ignored each other, slept on their side of the bed careful not to touch, and bickered when someone failed to replace the toilet paper roll.
“What if I let you?”
I paused with a forkful of salad halfway to my mouth. The mini tomato I’d speared fell off and rolled on to the floor. My heartbeat kicked up a notch. “What if you let me do what?”
Richard leaned forward, elbows on the table, dark eyes spearing mine. “Don’t play coy with me, Dana. I’m smarter than you think.”
“I—”
“Save it. I saw the way you eyed the waiter when he walked over here. You stared at his crotch like he’d hidden an icecream cone down his pants. It’s shameful, really. He must be half your age.”
“Asshole,” I said pleasantly, reaching for my glass of champagne. “If you’re considering a mid-life crisis, leave me out of your kinky fantasies. I give you my blessing to buy a fast car and look up your secretary’s skirt.”
My voice hitched on that last bit, and Richard scowled. Just like that, I’d turned back the clock six years. Only it hadn’t been his secretary then; it had been his personal trainer. And he didn’t just look up her skirt. He’d burned a few extra calories fucking her on the fitness circuit after hours.
He stared at me, eyes black and hollow. “That was a long time ago. And you’re not going to believe a word I tell you anyway, so I don’t know why I bother.”
I shrugged, saying nothing.
Richard hesitated, cleared his throat. “Look, Dana … I don’t want to look up Amy’s skirt. I want to look up yours.” He reached across the table for my hand, and the touch of his warm fingers on my wrist made me jump. “Only you won’t let me.”
For a tenuous moment, my breath caught in my throat and I had no reply. I’d grown so used to avoiding Richard’s advances that I’d become an expert at it. Four years ago, I bought my first set of flannel pyjamas. I now owned twelve in different colours, all sporting playful kitten designs. They were the kind with thick elastic bands, and I wore granny panties beneath them. I stuck curlers in my hair and smeared green goo on my face before heading to bed. I’d done everything except tattoo “No Entry” on my crotch.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like sex. I thought of it constantly, wished for it incessantly. Nor was Richard’s appearance the problem. I’d thought him irresistible once. His thick hair had been black then and hung down to his shoulders; now he wore it cut short, and grey showed at his temples. His suit jacket hugged broad shoulders, and although he didn’t spend all his time at the gym like he once had, he still rose early to swim laps around the pool.
I waited for the urge to pull back my hand. For so long, the only reaction I had to my husband’s touch was stark, pulsing anger. Sometimes, the spark of fury ignited my imagination and I’d picture him fucking his whore. That’s when the slow burn of maddening rage would combine with sullen waves of revulsion to form the kind of temper that landed people in jail.
None of those turbulent responses came this time. Instead, the sultry warmth Richard’s fingers had kindled in my wrist shot up my arm. My nipples tightened, fuelled by the intensity in his gaze.
Left momentarily speechless, I licked my lips. He focused on them, parted his as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
When he finally spoke, his tone took on a sharp edge. “How long will you hold my mistake against me?” His grip tightened on my wrist. Pain flowered in a savage burst that chased the lingering flash of awareness from my skin. “Another year? Two? Twenty? I need to know.” He sucked in a breath. “I need to know, because if you won’t put the past behind us, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I yanked my hand away and slammed my open palm on to the table. The silverware clattered. A few heads turned in our direction and I could hear curious murmurs from the diners around us. “Leave me? Fine, then. Leave me.”
He furrowed his brows and slanted a glance at our neighbours. “Why not?” His voice was a low, violent whisper that hit me with the force of a slap. “You left me long ago.”
Abruptly, Richard leaned back in his chair and signalled the waiter. “You want to punish me, Dana? You’ll do it tonight. You’re going to get it out of your system, teach me a lesson, show me the error of my ways. And in the morning, you’ll let me prove to you that I’ve spent the last six years regretting what I’ve done.”
The waiter hurried over, and I had to bite my tongue while he cleared our plates. Knowing Richard watched me, I looked the boy over again. He was young, maybe twenty-three, maybe slightly older. Dark stubble cast a shadow over his lean cheeks and square jaw. He’d slicked back his hair, allowing a light brown strand to escape and curl over his forehead for that 1950s movie star allure. He probably thought it made him look cool. I thought it only made him look younger.