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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever 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.
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 understand the 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 resembled the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The threats outweighed the consequences since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, females having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 offer it a try. I nearly 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. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull 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 kind. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering 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 began with a aromatic 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 hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed 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 excellent make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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