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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, dirty and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, but 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 want help. The threats outweighed the consequences because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out 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 combined company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet 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 constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never 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, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a excellent deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet 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 form. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my other half was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind 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 won't sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of 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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