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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 want to advertise 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 addiction will lead, however does not want aid. The risks surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. 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 very first meeting. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload 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 make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my basic, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month 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 home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. She informed 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 whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a terrific deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic 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, but concealing the result from my spouse was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. 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 start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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