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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never 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 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 dirty, disgusting and filthy .
In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. The threats surpassed the consequences because the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but 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 children, fathers raping young children, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a really sick female. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pressing my simple, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. 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, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head too. 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 provide it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child'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 make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my partner was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted 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 suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in worry of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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