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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off.
In dream, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that great, the risks surpassed the effects. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out 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 mixed company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed 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 kids, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. 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, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. 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 give it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
Most 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 shopped for clothing a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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 partner was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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