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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess 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, revolting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but 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, but doesn't desire assistance. The threats outweighed the consequences because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with 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 knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six 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. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting 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 perfect female type. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to 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 scented 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 tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his better half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge man, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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