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From: "Nikki@P.U."
Newsgroups: alt.disgusting.stories.my-imagination
Subject: BARBIE (MF, Mg, MFg, inc, ws, rape, rom)
Date: Sat, 31 Jul 2004 22:36:27 -0700
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BARBIE (MF, Mg, MFg, inc, ws, rape, rom)
by Phil Phantom
Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of
three--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 entered my mind, and probably
never would have had we not moved 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I
freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I
think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down
and dirty, filthy and disgusting.
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I
didn't want to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to
reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead,
but doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would
virtually destroy my marriage. I'd lose my children and
possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks
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 began her expert manipulations
that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and
difficult one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my
father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off
for both me and Staci.
Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police
detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I
had nothing in common. In fact, 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 working on my masters in English. I found her
childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her
language atrocious. In mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her
crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left
me speechless.
I'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life:
S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping
young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching
dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives
taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young,
dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of
perverse sex.
Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci.
I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories
and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone
she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct
knowledge of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing out loud,
and I thought she was a very sick woman.
What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies
worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus,
pushing my simple, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love
out; replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with
me as the feature performer. I stopped my monthly practice of
masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began 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 learned how to lick my own
pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. She told 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 attempt, but
a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush
handle 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 make-up,
giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me
constantly. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci
making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I
deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear
out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of
pants I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's insistence.
I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I
came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll.
Staci worshiped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I
had the perfect female form. I have always thought of myself as
being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top heavy.
Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack
next to a shit hole.
She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially
between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me
comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide
apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure--a
cunniecure as she called it.
A cunniecure began with a scented douche and involved a close
shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and
ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her cunnicures, but hiding
the result from my husband 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 mere suggestion. This time, I
listened attentively as he said, "Theresa, I'm not the type of
man that lives in fear 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 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 proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you
wish you had never been born."
That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't
quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he'd do exactly.
Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had never threatened
me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I'd never
been born entailed. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne
stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously
doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left
my mind.
I thought he might force me to undergo 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, but it was Max's threatening
lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me
down the road of adulterous affairs.
I steadfastly refused. Staci steadfastly persisted. When we
went out, she made the purpose clear, and that was to find me a
man to fuck. She made me feel like meat on a hook the way she
dressed me. I could expect Staci to lift my skirt in public to
show an attractive admirer that I wore no panties. I always
protested these outrages, but never hard enough to stop them.
She also brought men to my house during the day. If a plumber or
salesman stopped at her house, I could expect him to stop at mine
with Staci. Once in my house, I had to endure Staci's
embarrassing urging for me to expose myself to the interested
stranger. I always put up stiff resistance; but, more often than
not, I ended up naked and doing vulgar poses. I absolutely
refused to permit touching, but I posed for pictures, danced on
tables, masturbated with Staci's dildoe collection, and allowed
the men to jack off on my body.
Staci pushed friendship beyond the limits and pushed marital
fidelity to the limit. I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper
toward adultery. I felt crazy even considering adultery. I had
the perfect cock right at home. Max has a remarkable cock,
eleven inches and thick, thicker in the middle, like a slender
football, a real pussy pleaser. The only problem was, I wasn't
getting that cock enough due to his traveling schedule.
I knew cheating was just a matter of time if I didn't end the
relationship with Staci. Ending the relationship seemed
impossible, though. Each week, she had me dressing sluttier and
sluttier, even around my family.
The kids didn't know what to make of my new wardrobe. Whenever
I'd see their accusing eyes roam my scantily-clad body, my
husband's threat played in my mind, reinforcing my determination
not to allow penile penetration under any circumstances.
Max's reaction (or rather, lack of one) to the way I was dressed
and made-up gradually put me at ease. True to his word, he never
questioned me. I could leave the house at ten in the evening,
looking like a two-dollar whore, and Max would not lift an
eyebrow. If I returned at three A.M., Max would not grill me.
He would not check my pussy to see if I was loose or messy. I
never was, but he didn't know that. I presumed he didn't want to
know. Staci said he didn't want to inhibit me.
This strange behavior almost had me convinced that Staci had been
correct in her analysis of Max's message. She said, "Max is
telling you to fuck around, but be discrete about it. He is
telling you to have your fun, but don't get caught. He just
doesn't want your cheating brought out in the open. Lots of men
are like that, Theresa, especially men that are away from home as
much as Max is. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, girl. Go
get you some cock."
I couldn't believe this was true about Max, but she did make
sense. Before I was ready to try my first adulterous affair, I
wanted a better test. Max was to be home all weekend; so, on
Friday night, Staci and I went out. I never looked sluttier.
Staci had me in a tight patent leather mini skirt, fishnet hose,
a push-up bra under a transparent blouse, wearing five-inch
heels. I not only looked like a whore, I felt like a whore, and
walked like a whore. Five-inch heels will make any five foot
woman walk like a whore. My kids saw me in this outfit, and they
were stunned. Max just told me to be careful as we left the
house.
We stayed out all night. I slept at Staci's house after we did a
little bar hopping. When we saw activity in my house the
following morning, I walked across the street. Before making
that walk, Staci added the finishing touches to my appearance.
The bra was gone. The panties were gone. My blouse had two
buttons missing. I had a broken heel, so I carried my high
heels, and I also carried my hose. My hair was a wreck, and my
lipstick was smeared. I looked thoroughly fucked, but my pussy
was tight, fresh, and clean, just in case he confronted me, which
I was certain he would do.
I entered my house as nervous as a fucked nun returning to the
convent. Max was serving breakfast to the kids when I eased in.
They all stopped to stare. I tried to move on up the stairs, but
only managed to go up five or six steps before Max halted my
progress by saying, "Are you hungry?"
I couldn't believe it. Did he really ask, "Am I hungry?" and in
a calm serious tone? I was looking down on the dining table just
below. More importantly, they were looking up, up my naked legs.
I wasn't sure how far up my legs they could see, but they didn't
need to see far to know I had no panties on. Excitement coursed
through me. On impulse, I moved closer to the rail, facing them.
With one foot on the step above, I'm sure the kids could see my
shaved pussy. Their expressions and hard stares at my crotch
told me that much.
Max remained cool. He couldn't see up my skirt from his standing
position on the far side of the table, but he saw my provocative
stance. He knew I was intentionally showing my beaver to the
kids. I said, "Maybe. What are you serving?"
"What do you want?"
"Oh, eggs and toast would be nice. Hot coffee would be extra
nice. I'll freshen-up and be right down."
He said, "You can freshen-up after breakfast. Here, take my
seat. I'm finished."
My heart raced as I contemplated his unexpected offer. I
expected a scene, but I didn't want that scene to unfold before
the children. Max's tone, however, did not suggest a scene was
forthcoming, and that really had me intrigued. My clit tingled
at the notion that my husband wanted me to hang around the family
in the condition I was in. I mulled the offer for a second, then
shrugged and marched down the five steps. Max held the chair for
me, and I sat.
Max returned to the kitchen to cook my eggs, pop in some toast,
and pour my coffee. While he was away, I exchanged smiles with
my amused children. I could see "Whore" written on all their
faces, and I loved what I was seeing. I asked if everyone had
slept well. Phil, my oldest, asked if I had. I smiled and said,
"I slept some, but not much. I'll nap after breakfast."
Max was listening in as Joey said, "Where did you sleep, Mom?"
I said, "Here and there, Joey. Where did you sleep?"
He didn't answer, he just smiled knowingly. Sandy said, "You
never stayed out all night before."
"No, I suppose not."
Max returned with my coffee and said, while setting the cup
before me, "I thought I told you kids, no prying. What adults do
with their time is no business of yours." He addressed me,
saying, "Your eggs and toast will be right out."
I smiled warmly and said, "Great, I'm starved."
Before returning to the stove, he said, "You look like you might
be."
That was it. That one statement came as close as Max got to
implying I'd done anything improper. He joined me while I ate my
breakfast. The kids remained, though they were finished.
Everyone watched me eat. Afterward, I got up, took a shower,
took a nap, and woke around noon to emerge in a tiny bikini we'd
purchased the previous evening.
I announced that Staci and I had a date to go swimming in a
private pool. Max didn't ask whose private pool. When Phil
tried to ask, Max cut off the question, then berated him for
prying again. I sauntered out the door, almost naked in heels.
We had no private pool to go to, so Staci drove me aimlessly
while I told her about my remarkable morning. She was pleased,
but not surprised. I was pleased and excited, but still not
prepared to cheat. Staci thought I had no excuse, and lobbied,
once again, for a trip to visit her father.
Staci's mother died three months after Staci and I met. Her
father, who she loved dearly, became a despondent recluse. Staci
thought he needed cheering up, and thought a roll in the sack
with me would be just what the doctor ordered. A day did not go
by that she didn't press the issue. With the crutch I'd been
leaning on severely weakened by Max's apathy, and with the
inevitability of adultery looming on my horizon, I couldn't say
no. Besides, I was pretty fucking horny just from basking in the
hungry, appreciative, and accusing eyes of my children. I said,
"All right, but just a quickie, and just this once."
Staci was elated, and drove like a maniac. She led me up the
walk by my elbow, and entered the hou