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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off.
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-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 understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want help. The dangers outweighed the consequences since the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her husband is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a very sick female. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my easy, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. 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 give it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a excellent deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my partner was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in worry of his better half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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