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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the threats outweighed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pushing my basic, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing 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 discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a terrific deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have constantly thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering 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 aromatic 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, however hiding the arise 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 marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives 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 will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo 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 good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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