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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never 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 dream, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however 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, however doesn't desire aid. The threats surpassed the consequences because the sex was that excellent. 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 partner is a police detective, 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 left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, relatively tidy 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 daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your 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 always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used only short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. 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 lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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