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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and disgusting . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not desire help. The dangers exceeded the effects due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a extremely sick female. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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 the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I concerned accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have always thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my spouse 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. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his wife cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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