Just Like Anne

Just Like Anne

As told by Lara Wilder

I'm Lara, a naughty, teasing hotwife with a serious craving for attention, and this is how it all got started. Just a quiet night in, a favorite movie, and a little too much touching under the covers... but what happened next turned fantasy into something very real. Let's just say watching wasn't enough anymore.

We have this ritual, my husband and I. You may have one too, or a version of it. Ours happens late at night, when the house is quiet and the duvet is warm and pulled up.

"Want some help?" I'll ask with a naughty smile as the projector screen glows to life. Sometimes we finish the night looking at pictures of me -- the kind you definitely don't frame (but would appeal to a very appreciative audience). And then, like clockwork, the movie flickers on, glowing like some kind of holy sacrament.

Tonight's title? Pool Boy And The Pizza Guy Fucks Ebony Anne Amari.

I know. The title isn't exactly subtle. But it's a classic -- and yes, we've watched it dozens of times. At first, it was just background noise, something to play when you're already half-naked and ready to go. But somewhere along the way, it became a thing -- because Anne? She's exotic, brown-skinned, a total tease in that ridiculous bikini. There's something about her -- the way she moves, how she knows she likes being on screen -- that just clicks. She's a little like me.

It opens with Anne walking around a pool in the tiniest pink slingshot bikini. You know the type -- barely-there, a thong that somehow disappears between her cheeks, and stretchy pink straps that make it a walking wardrobe malfunction.

She sits by the pool. She stretches. She arches. She knows she's being watched. And she puts on a show.

And that's where I always start to feel my husband's fingers drift. Slow circles over my butt, slipping lower, sometimes parting me just a little, like he's warming up for something he hasn't even told himself he's going to do yet. His other hand? Already in my hair as I rest my head on his thigh. And if I'm not already gently stroking his cock by then, I'm about to.

I told you -- it's a ritual.

Last night, it got... more intense than usual.

Anne was teasing the pool boy, her bikini almost giving him the full view. My husband's hand slid a little deeper between my cheeks as we both inhaled.

"You love watching this," I teased, my lips brushing over his length. He was already semi-hard. Just watching her tease did that to him.

He stroked my back, that same lazy hand still tracing over my ass with maddening patience. "Mmm. You in that bikini would be better."

That made me pause -- not because I didn't love hearing it, but because I could see it. Me. In the pink slingshot. Walking out by the pool, knowing someone was watching me. Knowing the whole show was for them.

I dipped my head down and took him in -- slow, wet, deep. His breath caught.

When I came back up, I asked it: "You want to see me do this?"

His eyes didn't blink. "I want to see you go crazy. And do anything you want."

Those words hit me somewhere deep. I felt his cock throb in my mouth, and suddenly I wasn't just watching Anne anymore -- I was studying her.

Onscreen, the pool boy had just dropped his pole. Anne was brushing his arm, leaning in too close. He was flustered, the way men are when they're trying to act professional while their dick is screaming take her. She asked him if he wanted a surprise. My husband groaned softly when she said it -- not for Anne. For me.

I gave him another deep stroke and started to rock my hips into his hand, silently telling him where I wanted more.

The doorbell rang in the movie. The pizza boy arrived with a box in one hand and his jaw on the floor as Anne answered the door in the same bikini. She gave him that smile -- the one that says, "Yes, I know exactly what you're looking at."

I slid my fingers between my legs, already soaked. I matched her strut in my mind. That could be me.

I pulled off him, licking my lips slowly.

"I'd do it," I whispered. "I'd do everything she did. And more."

He groaned, fingers now spreading my cheeks wide, pressing against the entrance to my ass like he was ready to tongue it himself. His other hand stroked the back of my head and guided me back onto his cock, deeper this time.

Onscreen, Anne walked towards the two guys, who were now awkwardly sitting on the sofa. She moved slowly, hips swaying, giving the camera a full view of her behind. That pink slingshot vanished into her curves like floss. Her walk was pure invitation.

And suddenly... that was me. In my head. In his head.

Anne steps between them. It's one of my favorite scenes. She doesn't say a word -- she doesn't need to. Their hands go straight to her butt, stroking and squeezing like they've been dying to touch. She stands there, calm and deliciously confident, letting them explore -- thighs, waist, sides, the swell of her breasts. Then the kissing starts, deep and hungry, all lips and tongues and fingers slipping under strings. Anne strokes the fronts of their shorts, slowly teasing out the hardness, like she's unwrapping two very eager gifts.

Anne's bikini dropped to the floor. She was naked between them now, smooth, bronzed, and so in control. On screen, the playful softcore teasing gave way to something more raw. I knew my husband loved the build-up, seeing Anne parade in that tiny bikini, he loved seeing me like that too. But now the action changes gear.

One guy knelt behind Anne and buried his face in her, tongue working deep. She reached for the other's belt frees his cock, and strokes it gently before taking it in her mouth. She goes slow, savoring it, her eyes fluttering closed while her hips rock back onto the tongue between her cheeks.

I moan around my husband's cock, and he groans as I suck him deeper.

His fingers press harder, circling my tightest spot, then slipping in his fingers -- I arch my back, pushing into it, as my fingers move faster over my soaked pussy. I'm mimicking Anne's rhythm now -- rocking back into him while my mouth moves hungrily over his shaft.

It's so hot. So good. I can't stop.

I pull back for a second, panting. "I'd do it," I whisper. "Everything she does. And more."

His response is wordless -- just a growl, deep in his chest, as he pushes his fingers deeper into my rear while gripping my hair with his other hand.

Onscreen, Anne is riding one of them now -- slow grind, hips rolling like she was made for this. The other stands in front of her, and she wraps her lips around him again. Her hands guide them both. She's completely in control, enjoying being the center of attention.

It's me.

I close my eyes and feel it -- feel myself between them, one cock sliding deep inside me, stretching me, filling me. And my lips wrapping around the second, tasting him, stroking him with my tongue.

My fingers are soaked. Fingers curls deeper inside my ass, just slightly -- and it's perfect. My body starts to tighten, winding up like a spring.

He's close. I can feel it in the way his hands grip me, in the low growl rising from his chest.

I suck him harder, deeper, swirling my tongue, moaning around him as I grind into my own hand like I'm already sandwiched between two men -- full in every way, performing, watched, used, and adored.

And then -- I shatter.

It hits me like heat. My body pulses, squeezes, clenches. I cry out, mouth still full, as I ride the waves of it. He bucks into my throat once, twice, then explodes -- hot, thick, deep. I swallow greedily, not spilling a drop, letting my tongue swirl like Anne does in that exact moment onscreen. Then I sit up, cum running down face and chest and run my tongue over my lips.

He's panting.

I'm glowing.

Onscreen, Anne is being filled from behind and still sucking and teasing with her mouth. Her eyes are half-lidded, moaning, grinning. Loving it.

I glance over at him.

"You really want me to?" I ask again.

He doesn't even hesitate. "I want to watch you go wild. I want you to perform. For real."

I smile.

Not a sweet smile.

A wicked one.

Because I already know what I want to do.