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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, 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 once a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, unclean and revolting . In dream, I desired everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers outweighed the effects because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and tough one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her other half is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my simple, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday 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 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 make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically 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 began with a fragrant douche and included 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 hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. My 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 idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his wife cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. 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 been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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