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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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 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. 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 addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, horrible and dirty . In dream, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire aid. The dangers exceeded the consequences since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise 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 discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, dads raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of randy men, 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 brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a extremely sick female. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my easy, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing 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 idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have actually always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely 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 version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented 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 concealing the result from my husband 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 cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his partner cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however 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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