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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty.
Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off.
In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the 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 addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. The dangers outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a difficult and long one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a really sick lady. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my basic, relatively clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my husband was impossible. My very 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 mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever 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 strike a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought 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 good make fun of the possibilities, however 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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