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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker 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 addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and disgusting . In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the 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 junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not want help. The dangers exceeded the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined 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 children, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely thinking out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill lady. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using 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 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned 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, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering 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 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, but concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go 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 evidence positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge man, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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