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3 months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 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, horrible and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want aid. The dangers outweighed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her other half is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby 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 mixed business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told 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, females having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy visions 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 using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She informed 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a simple 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 cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic 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, however concealing the result from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, 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 kind of man that lives in worry of his better half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but 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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