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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. 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. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. The risks outweighed the consequences because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a extremely ill lady. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my basic, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. 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 trousers I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my function 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 brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing 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 began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his better half cheating 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 questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo 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 good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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