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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably 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 wanted everyone to know 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 was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the threats surpassed the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a cops investigator, 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 tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In mixed business, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 always 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 way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my basic, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically 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 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing 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 pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have constantly thought about myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing 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 scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my hubby was impossible. 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force 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 released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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