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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want aid. The threats exceeded the effects because the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy 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 atrocious. In combined company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your 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 provide it a try. I almost broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. 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 continuously. We bought clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only brief 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 boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon 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 aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in worry of his other 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 questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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