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3 months back, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, horrible and unclean .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know the brand-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 junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. The risks surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. 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 provide it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull 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 ideal female type. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was impossible. 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 simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in worry of his better half unfaithful 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 concerns. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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