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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit 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 dirty, revolting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise 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 addiction will lead, but doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that great, the threats surpassed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely thinking out loud, and I thought she was a really sick lady. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to 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 wore only brief gowns 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 constantly thought of 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 convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before 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 fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in worry of his better half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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