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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe.
Staci ended my boredom 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 understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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, however doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The threats outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy 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 godawful. In mixed business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my simple, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day 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. She informed 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 child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. 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, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my other half was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo 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 good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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