Everybody Loves Anna

Every person in my University classes knew the stories and escapades of Miss Anna Eleanor Richards; she wasn't particularly coy about her adventures and had little objection with explicit candour. I was certain her phone number was on half the mens' toilet walls in the block; a hypocritical response from immature male students when faced with women in control of her sexuality. I never saw any of the promiscuous men get shamed because of their dalliances.

But Anna was Anna; she never missed a night out and was never scared of who saw her and in what state. She arrived at the "PJ Party" at the student bar in a wonderful black negligee, that left very little to the imagination. She was unexpectedly naked at the Toga Party and the Tarts and Vicars 80s Extravaganza was an opportunity to wear an outfit that the local sex shop would have refused to sell because it was too risqué.

However, her reputation wasn't based on her racy attire or lack of inhibitions, but was founded on the stories of her sex life. Most of the men on my course had claimed to have had a one-night stand with her; I knew many were revealing long-held fantasies rather than recent encounters, but the term "I had an Anna last night" became slang for an overnight fuck. She never cared what people said about her; it never bothered her.

I was one of the few men that had never truly crossed Anna's path; I had had a steady girlfriend from my first year until a few months before graduation and my love would not have enjoyed the thought of me playing away with the blonde-haired buxom beauty that had enchanted so many of my peers.

As it was, her attitude was highly hypocritical, as my long-standing girlfriend's favourite pastime in the afternoon was bent over her teaching's assistant's desk while he fucked her doggy-style.

The secrets, rather than the sex, upset me; I was the last person to know. Our relationship was completely unsalvageable after we had the most public of all rows across the University courtyard. You can't call your girlfriend such abhorrent names in front of hundreds of people and then fix it all with a simple apology.

Dave - one of the more popular students on my course, and someone who I was only mildly acquainted with - did his best to cheer me up. He did the only thing he knew - lashings of beer and an invitation to a party. His birthday celebrations.

The freshly-turned 21-year-old engaged in some mild arm-twisting and I joined the rowdy crowd of twenty students who hit the student bar, the local nightclub and then crashed into the living room in his student house for more drinking and hedonistic celebration.

It was a warm night; many of his guests lounged in chairs, on the floor or in the garden from their excessive alcohol consumption. I watched the less comatose revellers play spin the bottle and then start on more drinking games. For the first time that evening, I registered Anna in the corner of the room; her body stirred. Her body-hugging black dress had ridden up, exposing the tops of her stockings and revealing her lack of underwear. I glanced for a few seconds longer than was gentlemanly.

She rose to her feet, staggering slightly. I put my hands out to help her gain her balance. It is often said that strangers make up their minds about a person within the first few seconds of meeting them; she smiled at me and I smiled back. A warm, welcoming smile with her bright red lips and turquoise blue eyes. She murmured her appreciation, as she got up to say good night to her host. She said she didn't want to stay for the drinking games and watch Dave and his friends vomit the night away. I agreed with her, and offered to walk her home.

She accepted.

We may have both been very tipsy, but the two-mile walk from Dave's student house to Anna's campus flat was an enjoyable time spent with a truly engaging young lady. I made her laugh with ease, she made me smile and my cheating ex didn't even enter my thoughts. Given Anna's reputation, it would be easy to believe we fucked that night, but we didn't. I walked her home, she kissed me to thank me and we went our separate ways; the only part of our bodies that touched - other than our hands - were our lips.

It would have stayed like that if Dave hadn't passed me Anna's phone number on a piece of paper the following day with a short message, "she said she wants you to ring."

We watched a film in her bedroom that night with a bottle of wine and popcorn; I saw her topless but nothing happened. Nothing ever did. For two months, she was either with me in the evening, or with a short-term partner; I saw her naked multiple times but I was firmly in a category of "men she knew who she didn't fuck." There was no-one else on that lonely island.

It would have stayed like that until we graduated if the night of her class party hadn't happened. Anna and I arranged to meet at her flat at 11pm to watch something on television; I had an essay to finish before the end of my course and my delectable friend was going to an end-of-term fancy-dress party dressed as the Easter bunny, as imagined by the Playboy Mansion.

It was inevitable she would get male attention; Anna always did. It was also inevitable the alcohol consumption on an empty stomach would send her tipsy. I had arrived early and a naked man wordlessly let me into Anna's shared six-bedroom flat, arranged around a communal bathroom, lounge and kitchen. The sounds of Anna fucking were not alien to me; the sights and smells were. Her bedroom door was open; her costume discarded over the sofa.

"You've come to bang her?" He asked, despite never having met me before. "I told Martin to send anyone who wanted a quick fuck. She's fucking gagging for it." There were two men on the bed with her, three men watching in her cramped bedroom. Her hair was matted with cum; several full, discarded condoms lay in and around her bin and her room smelt of sexual exertion.

Anna was living up to her bog wall reputation. She never recoiled when she saw me; she never stopped, but simply beamed her Hollywood smile and replaced her lips around the jutting erection of an overweight classmate.

While I watched and waited, five guys fucked her before I did; a couple more got blowjobs. Each guy pistonned his prick deep into the shaven snatch of my slutty soulmate, before unloading into a wafer thin condom. And then replaced. I lost count of Anna's climaxes; many times she had confessed to me that a long-held fantasy of hers was being the subject of a gangbang and that night she had made it come true.

She looked into my eyes as my cock rubbed the swollen, slippery opening of her well-used cunt. Not a word was spoken; her eyes talked volumes. We had had three months of foreplay, three months of teasing and dancing and three months of snatched kisses and holding hands. Three months of unwelcome celibacy for me and friendship to get to the wonderful feeling of my bare cock spearing into her warm pussy.

I leant forward to kiss her; our noses touched, her sperm-covered lips engulfed mine and for the first time I tasted another man's cum. She grunted as my hips ground into her well-used cunt; my naked body writhed over her hot, sweaty flesh. She panted, snatching breaths between my thrusts. I propped her stocking-clad right leg over my shoulder and drove my dick deeper into her sopping cunt.

We had an audience; I had never fucked in front of anyone else before, but two guys drank beer and watched the live sex show unfurl before them. Anna squealed and panted with every thrust; I felt like a porn star ravaging a fellow professional as lewd noises and vocal utterances of our mutual enjoyment filled the packed room.

My deep thrusts drew me to the edge, her delightful pussy gripped my member as it pounded her insides, and coaxed an orgasm from me. I squirted deep into her. She smiled at me. The wonderful, warm, gentle smile broke out across her cum-splattered face and sweaty body as I took deep breaths, coming down from the fireworks that had been detonated in my groin.

Three months was too much for any man.

I briefly met her classmates; they left her flat soon after it became clear Anna's whorish behaviour had finished for the night and we shared a shower in her tiny bathroom, to clean and soothe her achingly sore body. Her alcohol-filled party in the bar had moved to her empty flat, and then broken up into a game of strip poker; she claimed her classmates had a marked deck, which quickly evolved into forfeits. The leap from drunken sexual forfeits to a gangbang had been rapid.

But it changed everything; I was no longer a friend, but a friend with benefits, and then a boyfriend. She promised monogamy and for a handful of years, she kept her promise. We did a lot of screwing, had two kids, got engaged and then married, before settling down in a remote corner of the country, two miles away from her divorced, ex-hippie mother.

Cornwall was her childhood home, and the rolling coastlines, dramatic countryside and good weather made for an amazing place to bring up children, but our family home just outside Newquay was barely affordable on our combined salary.

A year of financial struggle only got worse when my employer downsized; we faced the real prospect of losing our home. We didn't want to move away from Anna's roots, and my batty mother-in-law gave us a lot of help with the kids, but IT jobs were not plentiful in the UK's surfing capital and those that did exist, paid meagre wages.

Anna found the solution; I applied for and got a job at a bank in Manchester, 400 miles away. My new employer were expanding and desperately needed my programming skills. The larger wages were sufficient to pay the mortgage in Cornwall and still allow me to have a house-share in the suburbs. In fact, we'd never had as much disposable income.

I found suitable accommodation on the Internet, with two fashion students from the local University, and I negotiated with employer to change my working patterns. I worked much longer days and weekends for a fortnight to make up enough hours to have the third week in three, in Cornwall and away from work. It gave me family time, so I did not miss my kids growing up or lose touch with my wife.

It was still hard for us both; Anna and I had barely spent a few days apart in the previous few years of marriage but suddenly I was absent for two weeks in every three. The one week I was at home, Anna was insatiable, making the most of every evening we had together. The two dry weeks that followed the week of debauchery were tough. We exchanged salacious pictures and dirty phone calls but it wasn't enough.

As this routine entered its six month anniversary, she broached the subject; jokingly at first as she suggested that there were more than enough "fit surfers" to satisfy her if she wanted, to a more serious proposition. She wanted an open relationship; the lack of intimacy was making her miserable.

In truth, I wasn't sure I wanted the freedom to fuck other women. I had always been monogamous with my partners; Anna had cheated on every single one of her boyfriends, apart from me. We agreed to try her suggestion for a couple of my trips away; she would have freedom from monogamy while I was away - but only while I was out of the county. When I was at home, it would be just her and me.

I am not sure I expected what followed; the first WhatsApp message came before I had even reached Manchester at the end of my six hour car journey. A chiselled muscular young man, with a bulging six pack and an even more impressive cock filled my phone's tiny screen as my trembling hands held my phone in the motorway services. My children were spending Sunday teatime with my mother-in-law; my wife spent her Sunday being devoured by a surfer.

The images kept on coming; a Friday night out with the girls led to a night of passion with her boss, a leaky pipe caused a helpful tradesman to service the radiator and my wife's plumbing, and a late night Amazon delivery driver got a better tip than he expected.

It stopped for the week when I was home; her randiness not completely exhausted by her random hookups and her devotion to our marriage vows renewed for seven days. She longed for my approval and I didn't withhold it. It is every husband's duty to try to make his wife happy, and this lifestyle was what my wife needed: the freedom to be a single woman with the security of marriage. The thrill of the chase, the safety of roots.

Anna continued, for two weeks in three. She installed Tinder on her phone and had other profiles on other sites I didn't want to know about. Not a day went past when I didn't receive a picture, or two. Cocks of all size parting the cleft of my wife to fuck pleasure into her puffy cunt. She told me what happened every night in our bed over the phone, barely leaving out any of the salacious detail. My cock strained in my hands, as her lustful encounters were spelt out in agonising detail.

I needed more; I began to feel envious as my wife's blow-by-blow account of her sexual activity was relayed to me. I wanted to see her fuck, and the following month we equipped our spare bedroom with four cameras and a new double bed. Anna's playroom could be streamed to my phone in glorious high definition and surround sound.

To some it might be an added humiliation for the cuckold - not only knowing he was not present to satisfy his wife, but also that he was now able to watch other men complete the task he was not able to do. To us, it was a way of ensuring that I was still involved in Anna's sex life; my wife being totally transparent with me. It turbocharged everything.

I saw her in her outfits; I saw her wear a Liverpool kit for a football fan, I saw her in scandalously short dresses and stockings. I saw two men spitroast my wife as she climaxed from the relentless pounding in her cunt and giving our recently divorced neighbour the time of his life one evening. Her sex life became her hobby and mine; my phone alerted me when there was movement in the cameras and I'd watch. I never went near online porn again.

My housemates wondered what I was watching; the two carefree students unaware at the shenanigans in the spare room of my house 400 miles away, but they just saw their housemate excitedly taking his phone and rushing to his bedroom to watch some action unfold on the small screen.

It would be unfair to say that I was "excited" with the open relationship at first; I agreed to try cuckolding to keep my wife content, but as my trips to Manchester continued and my wife's scorching sex life flourished, I took a perverted pleasure in watching and savouring the wild fucking.

She had two regular lovers; the surfing instructor with his blonde hair, chiselled abs and cute bubble-butt visited at least once a week, and our divorced neighbour, with his thick dick and slight paunch, came to fuck Anna more regularly. She complemented her regular partners with other hook-ups; sometimes I'd see the same guy two or three times, other times they would be more transient.

But all of them left Anna satisfied; even if they weren't amazing in the sack, the act of fucking another guy brought my wife pleasure. She revelled in adding notches to her bedpost, she loved looking straight at the camera and smiling, knowing that I would be watching, either in my bedroom or in the office toilets.

Our cuckolding moved onto another level when Anna made a further request of me; she asked me the day after I had returned home, and was relaxing in our lounge with a glass of wine. The lounge wall had been freshly re-plastered and painted, by one of her favoured short-term partners, who was also a decorator's apprentice.

Brock, her regular surfing instructor, had asked if I wanted to be involved when I was back in Cornwall. I'd never met the guy, although my wife was very intimately familiar with the muscular teacher. I didn't know what he was proposing but I was worried Brock had spent a bit too long watching cuckold porn on the Internet. Despite my reservations, I promised my darling wife I would meet him.

It's easy to see how the marriage with my wife sounded like it revolved solely around sex, but as we had a cuckold relationship we had to have a strong bond. Every other aspect of our partnership had to be perfect to lay the foundations for her play. We had to have total trust, complete understanding and constant communication. In the week I was at home, I had two date nights and a trip to the cinema with Anna, as well as numerous trips to the park with the kids. We got my eldest a new bike, and I spent hours with him on the beach front and park.

On my last night in Cornwall, Brock joined us for a home-cooked meal; a low-pressure opportunity for the man who had fucked and sodomised Anna dozens of times to meet me, her knowing husband.

I'd expected an ego; I believed that I would meet a guy who knew his Adonis-like figure was the subject of oodles of female adulation and traded extensively on how much women drooled over his body. I thought I would be sharing my evening with a "player"; a man whose insecurities were covered by imposing his version of alpha dominance over other men.

Nothing was further from the truth; Brock certainly had a good body and his entire life was structured around physical activity, but he was a calm, down-to-earth, relaxed figure. There was a degree of humility to him that I had not expected and a genuine desire to play with us both, rather than just Anna.

We were not the only couple where Brock was fucking the wife; his surf school had numerous young and middle-aged wives who sought an adrenaline rush by riding the waves of the sea and also rode the cocks of the instructors. But Brock had three couples where the relationship was more regular, and the arrangement was more structured.

"I like playing with the husbands too," he confessed, with a little grin. "Have you ever had a threesome on the beach? Or gone to a swingers' club?" He asked. "I took Bob and Denise there and she got seriously fucked. It's hardcore and it just blew Bob's mind."

My wife looked at me intently; her dress riding up to the top of her fishnet stockings as she waited for my response. The look of lust in my wife's eyes was enough for me to consent to try their venue; it didn't cross any of my hard red lines, although I'd never dreamt or fantasised about going to a swingers' club. Seeing my wife in such a location would be intense.

The club that Brock wanted to take us to was a weekly event a dozen miles away; Anna and Brock went the following Saturday while I was watching football in Manchester on the faded leather couch. She didn't say much when I spoke to her on the phone, but her excited voice spoke volumes. She was desperate for me to see her get fucked in person.

Three weeks later, Brock, Anna and myself parked outside the expansive farmhouse three miles from the coast. My mother-in-law was on babysitting duty and Brock was smartly dressed in a skintight shirt that left little to the imagination. My wife, however, was wearing just a sheer dress; it displayed more than it covered, and both Brock and I watched as her hips swayed from side-to-side as she walked across the small car park, ogling her body.

I was a lucky man.

Anna coyly looked over her shoulder as we entered. The club was split across multiple levels; the hardcore BDSM fun was in the cellar, the exhibitionists were screwing in the garden and barn, and all over the converted house were beds, couches and chairs.

And people fucking. Multiple men screwing multiple women, in every possible combination. I was taken aback at first; Brock took me to get changed into just a half-face mask and Anna gave me a glass of fizzy, sweet wine from the bar.

I watched the action around me; first a red haired lady spit roasted by two oversized cocks, causing her to writhe in pleasure at the vigorous thrusts pounding her cunt. I watched a blonde-haired lady wearing a red mask be fucked against the wall and two women taking it in turns to run their hands teasingly over the erect cock of a restrained man in a Mickey Mouse mask.