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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty.
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 easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, revolting and dirty .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end 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. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her other half is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby 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 atrocious. In combined company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, 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 knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 provide it a try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a basic 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, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and included 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 hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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