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Three months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved throughout 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 fantasy, I wanted everybody to know 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 was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire help. The risks outweighed the consequences because the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In mixed business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody 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 really ill female. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, relatively clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started 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 found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 give it a try. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting 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 ideal female form. I have constantly considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in fear of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big male, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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