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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, 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 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 think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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, however does not want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that great, the dangers 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 challenging and long one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her spouse is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In mixed business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. 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 felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a very ill lady. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured 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, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly 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 bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just short gowns 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 best female kind. I have always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 started with a scented 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, however hiding the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought 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 excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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