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

I was immediately attracted to Ann. She had long curly black hair, green eyes, and a cute smile. Voluptuous D-cup breasts she wasn’t ashamed to show off with low-cut and loose tops. She was a bit curvy, but to me that was a huge plus—I adore voluptuous women. Her ass was full, round, and jiggled invitingly when she walked.

Our first date was pretty standard—dinner and a movie. At her place, we dove into bold kissing and groping. We touched everywhere—groins, breasts, asses. Our lips seemed glued together, our tongues endlessly exploring each other’s mouths in hot French kisses. She even let me feel her up under her clothes before finally calling it a night.

The second date was dinner and light shopping at the mall before heading to her place. We immediately resumed kissing and fondling, and she quickly ripped off my shirt. I returned the favor; she let me remove her top and bra without protest.

We got as far as unbuttoning and unzipping pants to slip hands inside, but she stopped me that evening, saying that was enough. We kept up those makeout sessions for a good while longer. I appreciated that when I left, she didn’t bother covering up—she waved goodbye with her tits still out.

Our third date was supposed to be a trip to the fair, but the downpour changed our plans. We had dinner and decided to go back to her place. She asked me to remove shoes and socks by the entrance—blaming the rain—but I instantly knew Ann had other motives.

Within minutes, we picked up where we’d left off: shirtless, pants unbuttoned and unzipped. Soon we wriggled out of our jeans and spent a good while sitting on her couch in underwear—me in briefs, her in red sheer low-rise panties.

After mutual groping with hands stuffed down each other’s underwear, Ann suddenly stood up and let her panties drop to her feet.

«Stand up,» she ordered. I did, and she grabbed my briefs, yanking them down to the floor.

Then she took hold of 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 bit.

On impulse, I rolled us into a sixty-nine and licked her pussy while she sucked my cock—at least until I made her cum, after which she lost focus.

I flipped us back over, we kissed some more, then she pulled out a condom and slid it on me. She mounted me and rode me to an incredible finish. I couldn’t hold back and filled that rubber with cum.

I don’t know if it was innate in Ann or if I unlocked something in her. From zero to fucking in three dates told me her built-in freak level was high.

After marrying, I introduced her to porn. She knew it existed but—according to her—had never paid much attention. She quickly became a fan of my porn magazines and even started buying her own—especially “reader letters” types but also women-targeted ones with muscular men or couple-focused mags.

Eventually we got a VCR and soon built a solid stash of porn tapes. Ann loved sitting down to watch lengthy porn films with me—or alone.

I also gifted Ann her first vibrator. She got hooked and soon amassed a huge collection of sex toys. I lost count; she collected them like some women collect shoes—a different toy for every occasion. Some were long, others thick; some vibrated, others pulsed; some had dual ends, others had suction cups for walls and chairs. Some she used anally, others vaginally, and others just sucked.

Ann adored masturbating and wasn’t fazed by the mess. Her pussy dripped arousal down her legs and ass all day and night; when I came, she’d let it pool on her body. During our weekend jerk-off sessions, I’d often pump dozens of loads onto her skin. Ann loved it. She’d rub it in and keep going.

At home we were practically nudists. If indoors, Ann insisted we both stay fully naked. It made sex easier, and—being voluptuous—she found clothes generally uncomfortable. She hated underwear, hardly ever wore panties, and removed her bra at the earliest chance. She was a pro at unhooking bras without taking shirts off!

We also began venturing into real kinks. We went nude with other couples, and while not strictly swinging, we skirted close with group masturbation sessions. We experimented with urolagnia, and she loved being spanked, but those are stories for another time.

In the end, Ann and I drifted apart. I can’t 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 some fucking and blowjobs. She delighted in telling me about her new sexual partners—mostly other women.

The last time I saw her, she’d been to an all-woman orgy with four others. Afterward, she wondered if she was turning gay and wanted “some dick to compare”. She showed up at my apartment at 2 AM wearing only a thin white swimsuit, and we fucked all night.

When she left that morning—long after dawn—she told me that while she liked lesbian sex, she definitely preferred cock. Still, she planned to explore new pussies for a while. She kissed me goodbye and told me to live well. Soon after, I learned she’d moved back to her hometown, and I never heard from her again.