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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote 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, however does not want assistance. The risks surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing 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 utilizing 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 found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, particularly in 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 vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in fear of his partner cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but 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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