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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, filthy and revolting .
In fantasy, I desired everybody 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 was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire aid. The dangers exceeded the effects since the sex was that excellent. I love 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 hubby is a authorities 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 tubby 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 company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, 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 found especially disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my basic, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck 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 began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 manage 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 make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore 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 boring life ended. 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, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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 result from my husband was impossible. My very 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 remember being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. 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 imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through 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 great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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