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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, dirty and disgusting . In dream, I wanted everybody to know the 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 understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not assist that. Since the sex was that excellent, the threats exceeded the repercussions. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload 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 knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly 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 your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly 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 lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented 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, however concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in worry of his wife cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never ever been born if I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might 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 great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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