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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, filthy and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. The threats exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would state. 8 months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In blended company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however 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 children, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. 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 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 found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a really sick female. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular 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, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic 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 impossible. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in worry of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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