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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My partner, 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 as soon as a month, I felt guilty.
Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off.
In dream, I desired everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. The dangers outweighed the effects since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my basic, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular 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, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a good deal, 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, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear 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 go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had 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 woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a big male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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