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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 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 throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, dirty and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. The risks exceeded the effects because the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In mixed business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs 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 with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority 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 continuously. We shopped for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his wife cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo 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 good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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