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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 think about, and no perversion turns me off.
In dream, I wanted everyone to understand 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 resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that excellent, the threats exceeded the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pushing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck 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, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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, but concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My very 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 keep in mind being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go 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 evidence positive or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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