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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, unclean and horrible .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone 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 was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire assistance. The threats outweighed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and hard one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would state. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my simple, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially in 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 began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my husband was difficult. My 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never 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 laugh at 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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