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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never 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 confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, revolting and unclean .
In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. The risks outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her husband is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just thinking aloud, and I thought she was a very sick lady. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my easy, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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 house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to 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 aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in worry of his better half unfaithful 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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