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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off.
In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not assist that. Since the sex was that excellent, the risks outweighed the repercussions. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told 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 kids, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six 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 spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function 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 kind. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt 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 great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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