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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I wanted everybody to know the 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 knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. The threats exceeded the effects since the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a authorities investigator, 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 also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing 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 ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, daddies raping young children, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included 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 found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous 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 wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation 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 other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in worry of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can come and go 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 want you had actually never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed 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, 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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