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Three months back, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- two kids, 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 freely admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, revolting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however 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, however doesn't desire assistance. The risks outweighed the consequences because the sex was that good. 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, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her spouse is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy 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 brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, fairly clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. She informed 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 provide it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only 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 dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have constantly considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, 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 start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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