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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we stagnated 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 boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not assist that. Because the sex was that great, the threats surpassed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. 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 always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my easy, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. 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, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 cosmetics, 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 manager. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became 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 perfect female kind. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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, however hiding the result from my other half was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through 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 introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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