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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, 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 probably never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire help. The threats outweighed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a cops investigator, 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 left 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 blended company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told 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 sons, daddies raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, 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 always about someone she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a really sick female. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pressing my basic, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 provide it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a simple 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, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a terrific offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore only short dresses 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 considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in worry of his better half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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