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3 months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- two kids, 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, horrible and filthy . In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the 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 addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. The dangers outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that great. 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 meeting. Her partner is a cops detective, 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 also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In blended business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy 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 someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my basic, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She told 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 give it a try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used 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 perfect female type. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy 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 aromatic 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 hiding the result from my other half was difficult. My 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 suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method 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 favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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