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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, horrible and unclean . In dream, I desired everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. The threats exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of randy men, 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 bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my simple, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. 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 whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned 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. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my other half was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in fear of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop 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 positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I just 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 hit a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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