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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty.
Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off.
In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote 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 addiction will lead, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that great, the threats outweighed the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly 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, throughout your house. 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 always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. 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 trousers I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. 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 best female type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs wide 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my spouse was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in worry of his better half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought 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 great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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