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Three months back, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe.
Staci ended my dullness 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 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 resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that excellent, the risks exceeded the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my simple, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck 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 daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his wife unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't 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 positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, 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 launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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