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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. 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. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty.
Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off.
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not want help. The threats outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that great. I love 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 first conference. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In blended company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. 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 someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly 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 the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Many 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 constantly. We shopped for clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used only short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy 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 started with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding 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 marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never 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 exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big male, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require 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 good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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