Ann - getting to know her

I met Ann when she was my mother’s coworker. Before me, Ann had only had one lover, but she never talked much about him or what they did. All I know is it didn’t end well.

I was instantly attracted to her. She had long curly black hair, green eyes, and an adorable smile. An impressive pair of D-cup tits she didn’t mind showing off in low-cut round-neck blouses. She was a bit plump, but that attracted me even more since I love curvy women. Her ass was full, round, and temptingly jiggly when she walked.

Our first date was pretty normal: dinner and a movie. Back at her place, we got lost in intense kissing and groping. Our hands kept exploring crotches, tits, and asses nonstop. Our lips never seemed to part, and our tongues kept exploring each other’s mouths in fiery French kisses. She even let me slide my hands under her clothes before calling it a night.

The second date was dinner followed by light window-shopping at the mall before heading back to her place. We quickly resumed kissing and touching, and soon she was ripping off my shirt. So I returned the favor—she let me remove her blouse and bra without protest.

We got as far as unbuttoning and unzipping each other’s pants, sliding hands inside, but that night she stopped me, saying it was enough. We kept at it for a while longer. When I left, I appreciated that she didn’t bother getting dressed—she said goodbye with her tits still out.

Our third date was supposed to be a fair, but torrential rain changed plans. We had dinner and went straight to her place. She asked me to remove my shoes and socks at the door—her excuse was the rain—but I soon realized Ann had other motives.

Within minutes, we picked up where we’d left off: naked from the waist up, pants unzipped. Soon we peeled off our jeans and spent a long time on her couch just in underwear—me in briefs, her in a sheer red low-rise thong.

After grinding against each other through our underwear, Ann suddenly stood up and dropped her panties to the floor.

“Get up,” she ordered. I did, and she immediately grabbed my briefs and yanked them down.

Then she gripped my cock and said:

“Follow me”—as if I needed instructions. In her bedroom, we began a wild night of hot sex. I fingered her, then climbed on top and fucked her for a while.

On a whim, we flipped into a sixty-nine. I ate her pussy while she sucked my cock—at least until I made her cum and she lost focus.

I flipped back around, we kept kissing, then she pulled out a condom and rolled it on me. She climbed on top and gave me an amazing fuck session. Eventually I couldn’t hold back and filled that condom with my cum.

I don’t know if it was innate in Ann or if I unlocked something in her. The fact we went from zero to fucking in three dates told me her built-in perversion factor was pretty high.

After marrying, I introduced her to porn. She knew it existed, but claimed she hadn’t paid it much attention. Soon she became obsessed with my dirty magazines and even bought her own—mainly reader’s letter mags, but also some women’s porn featuring muscular guys or couples.

We eventually bought a video, quickly amassing a solid porn collection. Ann loved sitting through those long porn films with me—or alone.

I bought her first vibrator too. She got hooked, soon collecting sex toys like trophies. I lost count—Ann collected them like other women collect shoes. Some were long, others thick, some vibrated, others thrusted, some had double ends, some had suction cups for walls and chairs. Anal toys, pussy toys, clit suckers…

Ann adored masturbating and couldn’t care less about the mess. Her pussy dripped arousal down her legs and ass all day; when I came, I’d usually cover her body. On our weekend jerk-off marathons, she’d end up with a dozen loads on her skin. Ann loved it—she’d just rub it in and keep going.

We were basically nudists at home. If we were inside, Ann demanded full nudity—it made sex easier, and she (being curvy) found clothes uncomfortable. She hated underwear, rarely wore panties, and would unhook her bra under her blouse like a pro if she ever wore one.

We also explored real kinks. We met other nudist couples—while we never swapped, we got close with group masturbation sessions. We tried watersports, and she loved having her ass spanked, but that’s another story.

Ann and I eventually drifted apart. I can’t put it another way—we just stopped communicating. Sex was the only thing we did well together. Even after divorcing, we’d occasionally meet up to fuck or suck. She loved telling me about her new sexual partners—mostly women.

The last time I saw her, she’d been at a girls-only orgy with four women. She wondered if she was turning lesbian, so she wanted “dick for comparison.” At 2 a.m., she showed up at my apartment in 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 that while she enjoyed girl-on-girl action, she definitely preferred cock. Still, she’d be exploring new pussies for a while. She gave me a goodbye kiss and wished me well. Soon after, I heard she moved back to her hometown. Never saw her again.