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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, dirty and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire assistance. The risks exceeded the repercussions because 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 began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, 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 always about somebody she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely thinking out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick woman. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my basic, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular 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 your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 offer it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became 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 best female type. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included 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 hiding the arise from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way 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.. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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