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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, horrible and filthy .
In dream, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Because the sex was that good, the risks outweighed the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. 8 months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. 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 constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck 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 daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head too. 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a great offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large 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 involved 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 concealing the result from my spouse was difficult. My 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 remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in worry of his wife cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover 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 ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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