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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we stagnated 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 dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The dangers outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a really sick female. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my simple, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing 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 began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. 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 clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly 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 started with a aromatic 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, however concealing the result from my spouse was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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