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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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 boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the threats exceeded the repercussions. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her husband is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload 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 constantly about somebody she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my easy, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing 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 day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring 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 perfect female kind. I have actually always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in fear of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. 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 might just picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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