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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 boring 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 of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, unclean and revolting .
In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that good, the threats surpassed the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her husband is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered 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 working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy men, 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 needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply thinking aloud, and I thought she was a very ill female. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a fantastic offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my partner was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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