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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely 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 freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, horrible and dirty . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The dangers surpassed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her specialist manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of patient 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 common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise 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 company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. 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 understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pressing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using 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 idea in my head.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in worry of his partner unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge man, 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 thought he might require 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, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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