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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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 desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 want help. The risks exceeded the effects because the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head as well. 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 offer it a try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent 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 excellent offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My very 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in fear of his wife cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. 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. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge guy, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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