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3 months back, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never 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 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 market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not desire aid. The risks surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. 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 constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started 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 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, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in worry of his better half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may require 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 begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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