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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 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 slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, horrible and unclean .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand 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 junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want help. The threats exceeded the consequences since the sex was that good. 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 very first conference. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. 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 always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought about myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved 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 husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in worry of his partner unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not 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 find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through 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 laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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