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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 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 think about, and no perversion turns me off.
In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the threats outweighed the effects. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her specialist manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started 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 discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 give it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only short gowns 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 perfect female form. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but 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 aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result 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. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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