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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the 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 addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not assist that. Because the sex was that great, the threats outweighed the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. 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 had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a very ill lady. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams 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 started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 practically broke my back in the attempt, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved 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 arise from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out 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 simply 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 actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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