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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, filthy and disgusting .
In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not desire assistance. The threats surpassed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would state. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found 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 troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She told 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 offer it a try. I almost broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a terrific deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide 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 involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in worry of his other half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never ever been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through 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 excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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