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Three months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and revolting . In dream, I desired everybody 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 junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The threats outweighed the consequences since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just thinking out loud, and I believed she was a very sick female. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my basic, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, 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 guy that resides in fear of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but 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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