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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we stagnated 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 housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean .
In dream, I desired everybody to know the brand-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 was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want aid. The risks exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 offer it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just 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 best female type. I have actually always thought of myself as being too brief, 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 gorgeous 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 vagina version 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my spouse was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. 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 never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might require 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 make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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