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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my dullness 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 wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Since the sex was that good, the dangers surpassed the repercussions. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

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, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, 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. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She encouraged me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable 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 started with a aromatic 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 hiding the arise from my other half was difficult. My 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. I remember being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy 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 questions. You can reoccur 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 wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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