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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, 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 wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that great, the dangers surpassed the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly 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 home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 give it a try. I nearly 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 constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. She convinced me I was stunning to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My 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 tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in fear of his partner unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo 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 great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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