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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and revolting .
In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the 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 was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that great, the dangers outweighed the repercussions. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers watching 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 women. 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 seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply thinking aloud, and I believed she was a extremely ill female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my simple, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. 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 perfect female form. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented 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, however hiding the result from my husband was impossible. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, 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, 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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