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3 months ago, 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 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 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, horrible and filthy .
In dream, I desired everybody to understand the brand-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 addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. The threats surpassed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a difficult and long one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy 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 brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a very ill female. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my basic, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. 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 the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. She told 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 give it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being 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 perfect female type. I have constantly thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing before 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 scented 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, however concealing the arise from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in fear of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method 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.. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge guy, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent 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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