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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never 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 tiring 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 consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that great, the threats surpassed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored 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 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 children, ladies making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely thinking aloud, and I believed she was a extremely ill woman. What I found especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my basic, relatively clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing 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 found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became 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. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my partner was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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