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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. 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 understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire aid. The dangers exceeded the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a hard and long one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. 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 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 vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly 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, anywhere in your home. After six 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. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting 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 best female kind. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. 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 wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a big guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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