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3 months back, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, unclean and horrible .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but 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 aid. The threats outweighed the consequences since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and challenging one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her husband is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a extremely sick lady. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my basic, reasonably 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 started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have always considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his spouse unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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