A Threesome in a Covid 19 World

For a while it seemed Amy and I were, in nearly all respects, lucky relative to the rest of the world in seeing out the Covid 19 virus lockdown.

We lived on an acreage in Bayview Heights, a sparsely populated Sydney suburb. We had our own pool and tennis court and Amy her own horse to ride, so we weren't lacking fresh air or exercise, even if we missed our sailing. Shopping was tolerable at the nearby stores in Mona Vale.

Personally I felt blessed to have Amy as my lock down partner. Some relationships were strained by being confined in close proximity. Not ours. It deepened and developed. More and more I came to appreciate what a beautiful person she was; kind, generous, and thoughtful of others, brilliant and just plain good and entertaining company. And then there was the fact that, really for the first time, I got to see her professional side as she worked away in her home office. Her dedication to seeing to the needs of her clients astounded me. It was small wonder she was so successful, even if it did amuse me to see her working at her desk in one of her tiny bikinis, or even topless, as she spoke on the phone with her clients.

And while her need for sex may have increased exponentially during the lock down, she did everything she could to help an older man like me find the drive to satisfy those needs.

That's not to say we didn't miss the social aspect of life. I had kids and grandkids I had to communicate with only over Skype, all our friends were reduced to telephone calls and of course, most importantly, Liddy was trapped in New York, living with her daughter and their new baby. And Amy, an inherently social creature, certainly felt the pain of reduced human to human contact.

The on-line threesomes we'd engaged in, where I made love to Amy while Liddy used a dildo to stimulate herself and 3-D enhanced reality goggles to give her an Amy point of view of our love making, continued. It became like a weekly date to supplement our daily skype calls with Liddy.

I managed to get the girls to discard the bikini top as part of the routine, but the need for the bikini bottoms to hold Liddy's dildo in place continued, giving Amy an ongoing excuse to at least partly satisfy her fetish for bikini sex.

The passionate approach we'd used in the first episode of the enhanced reality virtual sex always struck me as the most effective. My exaggerated, whole body, thrusting of Amy, and the rag-dolling of her that produced, provided a visceral visual impact for Liddy that she reacted to as if it was actually her underneath me. Indeed, the way her body reacted to each thrust eventually itself became a complete exaggeration of what I was doing to Amy; every thrust lifting her hips up and throwing her whole body back up the bed. It was fun for me to watch it on the screen too; although I always had to remember that, if I looked up at Liddy on the screen, her point of view perception would actually be that I was looking away from her.

And the orgasms they produced for Liddy became ever increasingly intense. Indeed, she was getting more than a few "aw mum" complaints from her daughter about the noise.

But her needs went beyond that and we'd often experiment with something else. One Liddy seemed to like was nothing more than I would describe as intimacy. I'd lay deeply penetrated on Amy and just caressed and kissed her while lightly screwing my shaft around inside her.

It was certainly a lovely way to make love to Amy -- one of my favourites -- but even though I tried to make the screwing motion apparent through my upper body movements, I wasn't really sure why it worked so well for Liddy. After all, she didn't have my weight on top of her and couldn't actually feel it as I stroked Amy's hair, kissed her cheeks and bent down and drooled over her breasts.

For Amy it produced what, for once, were fairly clearly cervical orgasms; a rolling series of deeply felt, highly emotional, climaxes that, while obviously intense, didn't produce the almost manically screaming that more passionate sex draws from her. So Amy proved herself right in arguing against Ellen's suggestion that her continuous orgasms while I went the animal on her had to be cervically produced. It seems Amy is one of those rare women who just completely gets off on vaginal sex. Well, actually, if the truth be known, Amy seems to really get off on any sex at all.

But surprisingly, for me anyway, it also produced some pretty intense reactions for Liddy too. And with that giant, long, rabbit eared equipped dildo she was using, it was hard to tell just what was triggering them for her. Although, one time she squirted as the mid length expanding bulge in the dildo, that was clearly targeting her g spot, had the desired effect and triggered a massive g spot orgasm.

What, between the crotch being stretched by the handle of the dildo and the various discharges Liddy put into them, those poor tiny little black bikini pants of Liddy's copped a terrible hiding. Not the Amy's got off lightly either.

But the bottom line is that the way Liddy could react so powerfully, merely to the visual suggestion of intimacy, just shows the importance of the brain in sex.

The impact of the virus got a bit more real when, in the second wave of the pandemic in Australia, Harry, Ellen's husband and the father of her two young daughters, caught the virus and after a traumatic three weeks, died. He was a doctor at the hospital and working on the front line of treating patients.

It was more devastating still for Ellen, because he'd quarantined himself from her at an early stage, so Ellen had been denied much intimate contact with him in the months leading up to his death and none at all after he fallen sick. He had truly been a hero; knowingly risking himself to help others and it was unfair that the virus chose him as one of the unlucky fewer younger people to strike down.

Ellen was and is a strong woman. As much as she loved him and was dedicated to him, I don't doubt that, had she been left to herself, she would eventually have gone on to find another loving young man to act as a supportive step dad to her kids; and perhaps, given she was still young, give her more.

But she was played a crueller hand than that. As the first doctor to succumb, the press were all over the story of the hero medic and the left behind family. To back up the story they pulled a family photo off the internet.

It was a lovely family photo if viewed in a private or restricted setting. A handsome dad, beautiful mother and two gorgeous young daughters. Unfortunately, that was part of the problem. It had shown that he left behind a truly stunningly beautiful wife who, no doubt, was perceived to be vulnerable by some.

I'd taken that photo on Ellen's phone. Harry had come down to the marina with the daughters to pick up Ellen after an afternoon of her crewing on my yacht in a beer can race. She was dressed, as she always was around me, in a variation of her 'fuck me' clothing. The reason for that goes back in history, but rest assured it had nothing to do with any likelihood of carnal activities between us.

In this case, she had nothing more on than her white micro mini A line skirt and one of her small bikini tops, with the flare of the skirt lifted by a gust of wind to show even more leg and just how little she had on underneath.

It was a stunning photograph of her. Like my late wife, Ellen had carried her two babies as if she had simply stuffed a basketball up her t shirt for the duration of her pregnancy and taken it out at the end; no additional weight and with her stomach bouncing back to its slim, flawless perfection within two months after she'd given birth. Still breast feeding at the time, and indeed on her way to give her youngest a catch up feed when the photo was hastily taken, her breasts were swollen to impressive proportions and slung teasingly by the bikini top. With her long legs, clear alabaster skin and naturally blonde long hair blowing wistfully in the wind, she was the perfect image of a Nordic supermodel on a professional photo shoot. Indeed, the whole thing looked like some advertising executive had brought together in one place for a photo shoot some idealistic, too perfect to be true, Northern Beaches family; which is probably why Harry had posted it.

Harry and Ellen had never been security conscious. In Australia, it's not that necessary and they didn't regard themselves as significant enough to draw attention. So their phone number and address were readily searchable.

The phone calls to their house started that same evening; suggestive calls, heavy breathing, at home in the middle of the day and in the dead of night. You name it, she had it. Plus Ellen had the sense there were people watching her house.

Clearly she couldn't stay there by herself, so she moved to her parents' house in Narrabeen. But it was a small three bedroom house which didn't really fit the extended family, which included an Italian au pair who, given what was happening in her country and Ellen's on going need for help while she continued her own medical practice, had become as trapped in Australia as much as Liddy was in New York. Nor did it provide a space for Ellen to run her on line medical practice from. When, after several months, her parents were clearly becoming impatient with the young granddaughters constant presence, Ellen knew she had to move again.

In some ways, my place was perfect. Because I'd purchased it as it was, I don't know how it came to be designed and built, but it always struck me that the house was like two standard houses joined together. It had three wings. The first two were in a U shape; master bedroom and on suite at one end, two bedrooms and another bathroom at the other, with the base of the U being an enormous living and dining room and kitchen. But sort of bolted to that was like a whole another house which flowed from one end of the base. It had you walk through a lockable door into a partly fitted out kitchen (sans cooktop and oven), then through a living room and then a corridor containing three bedrooms and a bathroom. And all double brick to minimise noise transmission.

That extra wing would give Ellen just enough room for her family and an au pair, plus an office out of which to work and let her quarantine herself should she wish or she could extend into the spare wing of the main part of the house for more room if required.

It terms of providing what she needed quickly, it was ideal.

There was just one little problem with it being longer term.

Ellen had been one of the Screw Girls on the yacht for its Pacific cruise. Now 'Screw Girls' is a self-depreciating term the girls applied to themselves. A play on crew girls. But it shouldn't be taken to mean that the relationships between us weren't loving and strongly bonded. And, of all the girls who moved on from their relationship with me after we got back, Ellen was by far and away the one with whom I had the strongest mutual bond. It wasn't that there was some relationship destroying breakdown which ended it; simply a recognition encouraged by me, that Ellen's future was better served by seeking out an appropriately aged husband to see her through life and father her children, than staying with someone far too old for her.

The difficulty was that there was still this strong sexual frission and intellectual bond between us. Her mere presence aroused me, and evidently mine aroused her. All we could put it down to was some sort of pheromonal connection between us. But, just as one aspect of it, I found there was something like an aura around Ellen and my mere entry into the space of that aura was like I was sexually violating her, even though we weren't actually touching. And she described exactly the same feelings in return.

You might then think it was crazy of Harry to have let his wife continue to sail with me; let alone prance around in front of me in the fuck me clothing she, along with all the screw girls, wore when on the boat or visiting me. But the fact was, Harry knew he had nothing to fear or really be jealous of. Ellen was the perfect loving and dedicated wife and I was an unfailingly respectful friend of both Ellen and Harry. As for the sexual frission well, he was well aware of it, but Harry was the ultimate beneficiary of that when he'd get the wildest and most passionate sex from Ellen every night after she'd been out on the yacht or around me.

But seeing someone a couple of times a week was different from having them live in your house. We'd been here before.

When we'd first got back from the cruise of the Pacific on the yacht, all the screw girls had been made welcome to live in my house; although I'd always made it clear to the younger ones that their best interest was served by finding a younger, more appropriately aged long term partner and that living with me didn't stop them from going out and looking for that. And while living with me didn't necessitate sleeping with me, they all initially chose to do so; effectively continuing the relationships we'd had on the yacht.

Amy, for reasons associated with her past abusive relationship and her determination not to have children, chose to stay. But Ellen and Issie both found partners and progressively went through a process where the point would come where it was no longer appropriate to sleep with me, so would move into a separate room until, eventually, they were comfortable with moving in with their boyfriend. In both cases those boyfriends would go on to become their husbands.

For Issie, the process had been issue free. The separation had been sad but painless and she was in any case very quickly wanting to take up living with her future husband.

Ellen was inherently a more cautious person. For her, a relationship went through a number of carefully orchestrated steps. And actually moving in with someone was a serious, not to be rushed, step.

The problem Ellen had was that living with me, without being able to be intimate with me, had driven her to frustrated distraction. In the end she found herself having to move in with Harry earlier than she otherwise would have.

Now she was back in the house and, after locking the connecting door for a couple of weeks as a form of mutual quarantine, fully integrated into the daily life of the house.

In a way, we didn't make it easy for each other. Our time on the yacht in tropical waters had mostly been spent in either mutual nakedness while at sea or just in tiny bikinis or other skimpy clothing, in the case of the girls, or swim briefs in my case, when in port. Certainly while around the house, Amy, Liddy and I hadn't changed much from that pattern, except to the extent absolutely demanded by the cooler seasons (or visitors). And, between ourselves, if that left me, or the girls for that matter, with a visual manifestation of arousal, that was regarded as a positive, not something to be embarrassed about.

Harry, having discovered he'd married a woman quite happy to prance around the house half naked whenever she could, hadn't done much to change Ellen's behaviour either.

We'd also never lost the habit of being tactile with each other. When Ellen had sailed on the yacht or visited our place after our return and her marriage to Harry, there'd been no more such a thing as personal space as there was during the most intimate phase of our relationship. We might not have intentionally grabbed, groped and played with the other's erogenous zones in the way we had before, but that was about the limit of the pull back.

None of all that mattered when we were mutually bound by a sense of loyalty and faithfulness to other partners. It was a fun tease and acknowledgment of our closeness, carried out in full view of our other partners, which everyone knew would lead nowhere and with any sexual frustration being able to be released with the appropriate person (or in my case, persons).

But now we were back to where we'd been when Ellen had first moved into a separate room shortly after first going out with Harry. And with it being late spring, the clothes were already down to the most minimal.

The evenings and weekends were the hardest. At least during most of the mid-week days Ellen would be working in her office, even if I knew she had nothing more than a tiny bikini on as she spoke to clients on the phone; with a professional looking blouse on standby for her patients to see on the screen if she had to go to Facetime or some other AV medium.

But at night we'd be sitting around together on our L shaped lounge watching TV or just talking; Amy and I seated in close contact on one arm of the L and Ellen, sometimes with the au pair, on the other.

And that raised a number of problems.

Amy, and indeed Liddy too when she'd been there, had always used this time to tease me up and arouse me. It was her/their way of boosting my testosterone and getting me ready for whatever plans they had for me that night, or indeed in Amy's case, often several times during the day.

I can't attest to any science on the subject, but it worked. Before Ellen moved in, Amy, bored and trapped by the lockdown even though she was working online, was seeking sex three times a day; overnight, at her morning tea break and at her lunch break. And Amy's not one for a quickie; she wanted full on, go the animal, sex.

I was always amazed how she'd calmly switch back to her professional voice dealing with clients over the phone after lunch while looking completely ravished in a dishevelled bikini which had my cum and her juices staining the crotch, when moments before she'd been screaming through multiple orgasms.

And I can only attribute her efforts at boosting my testosterone for the fact I was able to keep up with her demands.

Let's face it, when you've got a body like Amy's dressed in nothing more than a tiny bikini, or after her shower, topless with a small pair of even flimsier string sided panties, sitting in full contact with you, her perfect breasts nearly falling out of the bikini top that was barely managing to contain them, her own arousal causing her puffy nipples to be already pushing out the gossamer material, you've already got enough to get a reaction from any man. When she slides her hand across your thigh and tickles you up as well, you pretty soon have a full boner weeping pre-cum into your swim briefs.

After dinner, we might normally have been sitting like that for a couple of hours before we went to bed. We might have been watching TV, reading a book or just talking, usually with a glass of wine in whatever hand was free; but always Amy would make sure I had a boner for the full duration. And she wasn't adverse to me sliding a hand across into her crotch either, to feel her up to the point her bikini bottoms or panties became dripping wet. And sometimes all that would simply lead to us making out on the couch.

Amy certainly wasn't going to stop that -- short of actually making out - just because Ellen was there. After all, Ellen had seen it all before. Indeed, had participated in it. But Amy didn't even stop it while the au pair was there.

Now the au pair wasn't any innocent. Ellen told me she was certainly willing to party hard, and stay over somewhere where it was pretty clear she was enjoying a, cough, bit of male company. In her very early 20's, quite attractive and not adverse herself to flaunting her considerable assets, I didn't doubt she had no trouble attracting whatever attention she desired. Indeed, with a pleasant, bubbly personality, she was something of every wife's nightmarish idea of an au pair and it said something positive about Ellen and Harry's relationship she'd been taken on in the first place. But still, I found displaying a boner in front of her a bit confronting.

Amy, as she does, had made a good friend of her. And with Amy that means a full download of her relationship history with me; the screw girls and what happened on the yacht, the de facto polygamy, the never ending contributions towards my testosterone building and quite a lot about my sexual performance (which, let me be clear, I think she overrates because she underestimates how important her own attitude is to the results). So, in Amy's mind, she was in on the secrets and there was nothing to hide because everything had been explained. Being of a more conservative mould, I had my reservations. When Amy had me grow a boner on full display in front of her, I felt more like an inexperienced 18 year old getting too carried away with an excessive display of PDA in a hook up at a drunken party, than the mature age adult I was meant to be. Especially since, in addition to the erection all too obviously stretching out the material of my swimmers, I knew my hairy balls had been on display to her where the leg elastic had also stretched out to accommodate their expanded contents.