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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers surpassed the effects because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In blended company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She informed me a story about a female gymnast with a hunger for her own pussy. Being an ex-gymnast and volunteer cheerleading coach, I figured I 'd provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually always considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge male, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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