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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, revolting and unclean . In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. The threats exceeded the effects due to the fact that the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs 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. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood 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 really ill woman. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. 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, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority 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 shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only brief 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 best female type. I have actually always thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in worry of his other half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge guy, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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