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3 months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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 most likely 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 boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire help. The risks exceeded the effects because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her husband is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined 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, mother's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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 to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a very sick lady. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. 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 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being 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 ideal female type. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result 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 warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge guy, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force 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 laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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