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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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 dullness 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 unclean, dirty and horrible .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the 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 junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The risks exceeded the consequences because the sex was that good. I love 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 very first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my basic, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. 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, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 give it a try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle 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 makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented 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, but concealing the arise from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in worry of his better half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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