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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. The threats exceeded the consequences because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of randy guys, 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 to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly 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 the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring 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 ideal female kind. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, especially 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 version 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my partner was impossible. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in fear of his partner 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 questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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