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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-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 knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. The threats surpassed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a extremely ill lady. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my basic, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a terrific deal, 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 ideal female kind. I have actually always considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included 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 partner was difficult. My very 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 remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in fear of his other half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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