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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 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 dullness 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 dirty, unclean and revolting .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know the brand-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 knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers 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 began her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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 always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my simple, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a fantastic offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore only short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs large 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result 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 alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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