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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, filthy and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I could not help that. The threats exceeded the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, however nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured 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, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have always considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly 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 vaginal area version 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my hubby was impossible. My very 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 mere suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his spouse 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 reoccur 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 wish you had never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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