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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily 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 dirty, disgusting and unclean . In dream, I desired everyone to know the brand-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 addiction will lead, but does not want aid. The risks surpassed the effects because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included 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.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting 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 form. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially 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 version 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my hubby was difficult. My very 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in fear of his partner cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he might require 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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