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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and dirty .
In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise 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 dependency will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the risks outweighed the consequences. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and difficult one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. 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 dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I laughed uneasily at her crude 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, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny males, 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 somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my basic, relatively clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to 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 convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 began with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good 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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