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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and revolting .
In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that great, the threats surpassed the repercussions. 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 nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my basic, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. 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. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull 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 ideal female type. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide 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 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 husband 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in fear of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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