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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, unclean and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know 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 understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The dangers surpassed the consequences because the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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 knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. 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, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 offer it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just brief gowns 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 best female form. I have constantly thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his partner unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't 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. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea 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 great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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