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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, filthy and disgusting . In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not want help. The risks surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of randy males, 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. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 offer it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I wore just short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in 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 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 hiding the arise from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered 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 simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his wife cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method 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. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt 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 begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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