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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, filthy and horrible .
In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks surpassed the effects because 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 adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my easy, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a great 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 dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 aromatic douche and involved 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 concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My very 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 remember being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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