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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. 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 once a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony 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, dirty and horrible . In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise 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 help. The risks exceeded the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed business, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told 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, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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 constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly 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, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She informed 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and included 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 concealing the result from my other half was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method 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.. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. 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 start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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