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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we stagnated 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 housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit 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, filthy and horrible . In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want help. The dangers exceeded the effects due to the fact that the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered 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 dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy men, 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 someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. 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 provide it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering 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 aromatic douche and included 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 hiding the result from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted 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 simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in worry of his wife unfaithful 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 questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo 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, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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