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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and revolting .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market 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 desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that excellent, the threats exceeded the consequences. 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 meeting. Her partner is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise 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 godawful. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just thinking aloud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, relatively clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. 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 give it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage 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 purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became 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. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs wide 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my spouse was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted 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 tip. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in fear of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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