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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. 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. 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 know the 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 junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that excellent, the threats outweighed the repercussions. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny guys, 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 bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a really sick lady. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my basic, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using 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 learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head too. She informed 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role 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 form. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before 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 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 hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in worry of his spouse unfaithful on him. I won't 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but 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 never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big male, 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 left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo 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 great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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