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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. 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. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, unclean and disgusting . In dream, I desired everyone to know the brand-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 addiction will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. The dangers exceeded the consequences since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise 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 found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In blended company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload 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 laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a extremely sick female. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my easy, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday 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.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most 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 continuously. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only brief dresses 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 ideal female kind. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant 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, however hiding the arise from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in fear of his partner cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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