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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 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 homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily admit 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, disgusting and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The risks exceeded the consequences since the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny guys, 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 to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pressing my basic, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. 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 house. 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 constantly. We bought clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only brief 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 form. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before 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 fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my spouse was impossible. My very 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover 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. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require 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, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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