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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and disgusting . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however 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 does not want assistance. The risks surpassed the consequences since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby 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 combined business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined 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, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my easy, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing 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 started a daily 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. She informed 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 provide it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, 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. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a great deal, 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, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I concerned accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go 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 positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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