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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote 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 dependency will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. The dangers surpassed the effects because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby 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 godawful. In combined company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy men, 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 brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my basic, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short 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 dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have constantly considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my other half 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. I remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in worry of his better half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, 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 launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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