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3 months back, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely 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.
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 freely admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and disgusting .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the 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 was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The threats exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a challenging and long one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
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 children, females making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, 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. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, 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 also. 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 try. I practically 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore only short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method 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. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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