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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, revolting and filthy .
In dream, I desired everyone to know the 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 was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire help. The risks outweighed the effects because the sex was that great. 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 manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and tough one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a very sick lady. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. She informed 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to 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 severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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, however concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in fear of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big guy, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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