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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved throughout 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 desired everybody to know the 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 addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I could not help that. The dangers outweighed the consequences because the sex was that good. I love 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 hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a very ill lady. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular 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 house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothes a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before 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 scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my spouse was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in fear of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , 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 never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force 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 laugh at 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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