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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely 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.
Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off.
In fantasy, I wanted 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 does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. 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 adjustments 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. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined business, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy men, 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. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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 house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. 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 give it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became 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 form. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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