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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My partner, 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 easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not desire aid. The dangers exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that good. 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 adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding 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 very first meeting. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my 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, throughout your house. After six 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 provide it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with 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 make-up, providing 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 manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. 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 perfect female type. I have always thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic 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 hiding the result from my partner was impossible. 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 suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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