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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 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 ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. 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 desired 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 understands where the addiction will lead, but does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats surpassed the effects because the sex was that good. I love 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 conference. Her hubby is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. 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 seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill lady. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pushing my basic, relatively clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Many 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 went shopping for clothes a fantastic offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included 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 husband was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't 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 favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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