By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
Double penetration isn't as easy as it looks. Porno is graceful: Dick slips in back, dick slips in front. Woman, pinned by two throbbing, amply long rods, moans her way to a climax. The men leave her ass and cunt dripping with their own wet cream pies.
Months of working myself into a frenzy jiggling a lubed-up butt plug against the back wall of my cunt (itself filled with a vibrator) have made the fantasy pervasive. Thrusting in my ass during regular cunt duty alone brings lightning bolt highs, beyond the clitoral shiver of thighs and inner gush. Yes, cymbals do crash, and body-wide convulsions rise to a sudden peak. Imagine how it might feel with live ones!
With my perfect Mister, a gay-leaning, pussy-licking macho man, the fantasy was in my lap. The problem: reality. Movies feature three in natural sync. Coordinated, tidy, everyone gets off. In real life, being the female cog in two threesomes, I've seen knees tire and hard-ons wane, and have myself become rawer than I ever allow otherwise, just to reach this elusive mecca. The first time, the man pounding my ass and I both came: too soon, it turned out. The other guy got so carried away watching he didn't get my not-so-subtle signals to join in, which at that rate would've required him to scramble underneath me, feetfirst, from the direction of my and ass-boy's heads.
The next night, my partner was ready on the bottom, but once I was thrusting on top of him, with the guy in my ass going in an entirely different direction, underneath man sort of just stayed soft. The condom, of course, was too tight.
Lust can dissolve quickly. In such a purely mechanical ordeal, DP becomes the grail, and the task is defined by the journey. I did get to feel that earth-moving orgasm the second night, but in the weirdest position: missionary. Lyn Lloyd
photo: Mayumi Lake/M.Y. Art Prospects
Though I should know better, I often find myself without condoms. Sometimes this problem leads to unexpectedly pleasant results. One time, I was in L.A., and neither my boyfriend nor I had protection. Instead of getting upset, we used the sex toys I'd brought with me. He handcuffed me to the bed, and while I lay on my stomach with a vibrator pressed against my clit, he pushed a butt plug into my ass, then spanked me with the hard side of a leopard-print-fur paddle. When I'd get very aroused and the plug would threaten to slip out, he'd simply paddle it back in. We turned a potentially frustrating situation into something hot. Rachel Kramer Bussel
Eating pussy in Zimbabwe had gone from taboo to illegal for methe president had even called gays "worse than pigs and dogs." My lover was maddening in her intensity, but equally compelling. We lifted our skirts for each other, as subtly as possible, often in alleyways. Eventually we rented rooms, as "traveling buddies." I devoured her, each time in a different way, and each time I was unsuccessful in muffling her moans. For safety we fled from one crappy motel to the next. I can't remember most, just the questionable sheets and smell of double vagina. We snuck in. We'd bring food and hole up for the day. Once, on the way there, a street vendor sold me the biggest papaya I'd ever seen. It was football-sized but twice as soft. I split the papaya wide like I spread her legs and gorged on her fruited pussy until I was bloated. Half a papaya later, she got up and licked my entire body clean. We ate the whole thing that night and shit papaya, actual papaya, the entire next morning. Neena