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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe.
Staci ended my boredom 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 promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want assistance. The dangers surpassed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a authorities detective, 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 kids, dads raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my simple, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in 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 constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a lot, 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 gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. 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. 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. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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