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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and disgusting . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the brand-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, but does not want help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that great, the dangers outweighed the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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 constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my basic, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically 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 daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have actually always considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing 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 scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my other half 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 mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides 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 won't snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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