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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 homemaker 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 consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, horrible and filthy . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market 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 dependency will lead, however does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The threats surpassed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. 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 seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday 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 constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I concerned accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise 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 warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in fear of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however 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 never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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