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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever 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 easily confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, revolting and dirty . In dream, I desired everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The dangers surpassed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In blended business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, 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 someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly 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 discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections 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 dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. 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 brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 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 result from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in fear of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or capture 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 comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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