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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the brand-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 addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. The threats exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. 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 always about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. She told me a story about a female gymnast with a hunger for her own pussy. Being an ex-gymnast and volunteer cheerleading coach, I figured I 'd provide it a try. I almost broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. 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 harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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