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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that good, the risks surpassed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a difficult and long one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a extremely sick female. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted 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 ended up being 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 best female kind. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included 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 concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his spouse unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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