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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably 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 think about, and no perversion turns me off.
In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market 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 does not want aid. The risks exceeded the consequences because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored 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 heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny guys, 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a extremely ill woman. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six 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 cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a terrific offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation 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 concealing the result from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in fear of his better half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never 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 might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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