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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 probably never 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 think about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote 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 does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The threats outweighed the consequences because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her specialist manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. 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 investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also 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 discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In blended company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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 particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included 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, 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 as well. 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 give it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have constantly thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before 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 began with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my partner was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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