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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 dependency will lead, but doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Because the sex was that great, the risks exceeded the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a tough and long one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. 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 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 blended business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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 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 constantly about someone she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a extremely ill woman. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my 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, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just short gowns 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. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my partner was impossible. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his wife cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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