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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, unclean and revolting .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the 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 addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would practically destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that great, the dangers outweighed the repercussions. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had 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 left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In blended business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny males, 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 bros, 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 knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head as well. She told 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 offer it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have actually always thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned 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 other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might 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 released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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