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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess 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, disgusting and dirty . In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however 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, however doesn't desire assistance. The risks exceeded the consequences because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my basic, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 almost broke my back in the attempt, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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 hiding the arise from my partner was difficult. 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 remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in fear of his better half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never been born if I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through 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 launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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