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Three months ago, I was your daily 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 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 about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, disgusting and unclean .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want assistance. The threats outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise 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 disturbing and her language godawful. In combined business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs 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. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I found especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular 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, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. 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 whirl. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with 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 makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my hubby was difficult. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in fear of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force 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, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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