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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. 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 admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, revolting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats outweighed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a authorities 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 likewise 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 discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In blended company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy men, 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. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a extremely ill lady. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my easy, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular 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, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only brief gowns 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 always thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, particularly 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 variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant 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, but 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 marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in fear of his partner cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth 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 favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge male, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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