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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 young 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 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. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise 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, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the risks outweighed the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of randy 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. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my simple, relatively clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 make-up, 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 wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's insistence. 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 perfect female kind. I have actually always thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my partner was impossible. My very 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 simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in fear of his better half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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