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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, disgusting and dirty .
In fantasy, I wanted 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 addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. The risks exceeded the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, however nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered 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 found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed company, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy men, 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my simple, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. She informed 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 give it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull 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 type. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my other half 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 remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male 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 method you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually 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 exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had actually 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 man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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