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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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 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 about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and revolting . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire assistance. The dangers exceeded the consequences because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, however absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a cops 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 horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. 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 make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my basic, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day 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 idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging 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 deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have constantly considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my hubby was difficult. My 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 mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in worry of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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