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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across 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 dream, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote 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 doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not assist that. Because the sex was that good, the dangers exceeded the effects. I enjoy 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 been a long and tough one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my 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, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head as well. 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 offer it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing 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 began 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 concealing 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 alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his spouse unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop 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 proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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