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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout 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 freely confess 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 unclean, dirty and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. The risks exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her hubby is a police investigator, 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 also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In blended company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured 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 discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most 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 constantly. We looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have always thought about myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering 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 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 hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his partner cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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