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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and dirty .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-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 resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that excellent, the threats exceeded the repercussions. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually 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 very first meeting. Her other half is a cops detective, 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 likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby 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 mixed business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included 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, anywhere in your 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections 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, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding 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 marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in worry of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method 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 want you had actually never been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however 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 might just envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge 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 may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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