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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife 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 about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, horrible and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 knows where the dependency will lead, but does not want assistance. The risks surpassed the effects since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a very sick female. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my basic, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. She told 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 provide it a try. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she chose. 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 persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the severe, specifically in 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 started with a fragrant douche and involved 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 hiding the result from my husband was impossible. My very 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 remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in fear of his partner 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 questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big guy, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo 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 good make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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