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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I desired everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote 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 addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks outweighed the consequences since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a very ill female. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my 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 the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. 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 practically broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing 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 aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy 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 way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may 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 laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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