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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 boys, 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 throughout 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 freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and disgusting . In dream, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not desire assistance. The threats surpassed the consequences since the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

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, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull 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 type. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding 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 marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in fear of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I simply 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 hit a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may 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 released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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