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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote 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, however does not desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that great, the dangers outweighed the repercussions. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny males, 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently 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 your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering 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 started with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result 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 marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in fear of his spouse unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. 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 capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm 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, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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