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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, unclean and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats surpassed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just thinking out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill lady. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day 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 cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however 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 scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in worry of his partner cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather 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 big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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