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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 kids, 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 boredom 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 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 junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want assistance. The threats outweighed the consequences since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads 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 males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. 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 troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my basic, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my 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 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a terrific deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering before 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 fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may 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 great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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