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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want 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, but does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks outweighed the consequences because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In mixed 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 stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to 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 always about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a really sick woman. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a excellent deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my partner was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered 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 mere recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in fear of his wife cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big male, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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