I first met Ann when she was my mother’s colleague. Before me, Ann had only had one other lover, but she never talked much about him or what they did. All I know is that it didn’t end well.
I was immediately drawn to Ann. She had long curly black hair, green eyes, and a pretty smile. An impressive D-cup chest that she had no trouble showing off in low-cut tops. She was a bit curvy, but that was a huge plus in my book since I love women with generous curves. Her ass was full and round, undulating hypnotically when she walked.
Our first date was fairly standard—dinner, a movie. Back at her place, we dove into heavy kissing and groping. Our hands wandered everywhere—crotches, chests, asses. Our lips seemed incapable of parting, our tongues endlessly exploring each other’s mouths in scorching French kisses. She even let me fondle her under her clothes before ending the night.
The second date involved dinner followed by some shopping at the mall before heading back to her place. Soon enough, we resumed kissing and fondling, and before long, she stripped off my T-shirt. I returned the favor—she let me remove her top and bra without protest.
We moved on to unbuttoning and unzipping our pants to slide hands inside, but that night, she stopped me, saying it was enough. We kept touching each other long afterward. I loved how she didn’t even bother to get dressed when I left—just said goodbye with her tits still out.
Our third date was supposed to be a trip to the carnival, but torrential rain made us change plans. After dinner, we decided to just go back to her place. She asked me to take off my shoes and socks as soon as we entered—blaming the rain—but I quickly realized Ann had other motives.
Within minutes, we picked up where we’d left off: topless, pants unbuttoned and unzipped. We soon wriggled out of our jeans to spend quality time on her couch in just our underwear—me in boxers, her in a pair of sheer, sexy red panties with a plunging front.
After plenty of genital fondling through our underwear, Ann suddenly stood up and let her panties drop to the floor.
“Get up,” she ordered. I obeyed, and she immediately grabbed my boxers to slide them down.
She then took me by the cock and said, “Follow me,” as if I needed instructions. In her bedroom, we spent a wild evening of hot sex. I fingered her, then climbed on top to fuck her for a while.
On impulse, I pivoted into sixty-nine and licked her pussy while she sucked my cock—at least until I made her come, after which she lost all focus.
I flipped back over, we kissed some more, then she pulled out a condom and unrolled it onto me. She rode me hard, giving me one hell of a fuck. I finally couldn’t hold back and pumped that rubber full of cum.
I don’t know if it was innate to Ann or if I’d just unlocked something in her. The fact that we went from zero to fucking in three dates told me her built-in kink factor was pretty strong.
After we married, I introduced her to porn. Of course she knew it existed, but she claimed she’d never really paid attention to it. She quickly became a fan of my dirty magazines and even started buying her own—mostly erotica mags, but also titles for women featuring muscular guys or couples’ magazines.
At some point, we bought a VCR and soon amassed a solid collection of porn films. Ann loved sitting down to watch full-length pornos with me—or by herself.
I also gave Ann her first vibrator. She got hooked and soon built up an impressive sex toy collection. I lost track of everything she owned; Ann collected them like some women collect shoes—a different sex toy for every occasion. Some were long, others thick; some vibrated, others wiggled; some had double ends, others had suction cups to attach to walls or chairs. Some were for anal insertion, others for her pussy, and a few just for sucking.
Ann loved masturbating and definitely had no issues with messiness. Her pussy would drip with arousal down her thighs and ass all day and night; when I’d empty my balls into her, it was often somewhere on her body. During our weekend jerk-off sessions, I’d often pump a dozen loads onto her skin. Ann adored it. She’d just smear it around and keep going.
At home, we were practically nudists. If we were home, Ann wanted us both completely naked. It was more convenient for sex, and besides—with her curves—she found clothes generally uncomfortable. She hated underwear, almost never wore panties, and if she wore a bra, she’d remove it ASAP. She was a pro at wriggling out of her bra without taking off her top!
We also started dabbling in seriously kinky stuff. There were other couples with whom we practiced nudism, and while we didn’t fully swing, we edged close to partner-swapping with group masturbation sessions. We also experimented with watersports, and she loved being spanked, but those are stories for another time.
Ann and I eventually drifted apart. I can’t really describe it any other way. We just stopped communicating. Sex was the only thing we did well together. Hell, even after divorcing, we’d occasionally meet up for fucking and blowjobs. She took wicked pleasure in telling me about her new sexual partners—especially other women.
The last time I saw her, she’d just joined an all-girl orgy with four other women. Afterward, she wondered if she was leaning toward lesbianism, so she wanted to compare it to dick. At 2 a.m., she showed up at my apartment wearing nothing but a sheer white swimsuit, and we spent the rest of the night fucking.
When she left that morning—long after sunrise—she told me she’d enjoyed the girl-on-girl action but definitely preferred cock. She planned to keep exploring new pussies for a while longer, though. She kissed me goodbye and wished me a good life. Soon after, I heard she’d moved back to her hometown, and I never heard from her again.