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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 young 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 housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, horrible and filthy . In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise 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 desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I could not assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the threats outweighed the repercussions. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a difficult and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby 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 atrocious. In mixed business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my basic, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular 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, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a lot, 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 gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have actually always considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina 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, however hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in worry of his other half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through 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 excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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