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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, unclean and horrible .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know 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 was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire aid. The threats surpassed the effects since the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet 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 with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly 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, throughout 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 try. 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.
Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a terrific deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 started with a scented 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 hiding the result from my spouse was difficult. My very 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in worry of his wife unfaithful 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 questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever find 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 never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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