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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. 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 once a month, I felt guilty. 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 everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote 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 dependency will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The threats outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a tough and long one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. 8 months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a cops 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 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 uneasily at her crude 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 sons, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my basic, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured 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, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. 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 offer it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but 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 spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in fear of his better half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require 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 released Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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