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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two young boys, 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 homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit 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 filthy, filthy and disgusting .
In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the 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 was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire aid. The risks surpassed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. 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 seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a very sick woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my simple, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a easy 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 spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet 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 set of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually always considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my other half 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 warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. 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 actually never been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may require 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 great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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