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Three months back, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 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 workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. Staci ended my monotony 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 understand 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 was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The risks outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that good. 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 conference. Her husband is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, dads raping young daughters, women 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 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 knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my simple, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly 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, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. She informed 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 practically broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have actually always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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