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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 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 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 boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off.
In dream, I wanted everyone to know the 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 resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that excellent, the threats exceeded the effects. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny guys, 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have always thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 started with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my hubby was difficult. My 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. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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