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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, horrible and dirty .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the dangers outweighed the effects. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a police detective, 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 likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, 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 horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my basic, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically 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, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering 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 fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in worry of his better half 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 positive 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 rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however 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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