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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a hard and long one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a police investigator, 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 also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy 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 atrocious. In mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a very sick woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. 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 practically broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became 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 type. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my husband was difficult. My 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 simple idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in fear of his spouse unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never been born if I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting 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, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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