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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty.
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 addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, horrible and unclean .
In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the 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 was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. The threats surpassed the consequences because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp 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 needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 almost broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority 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 constantly. We looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came 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 kind. I have constantly thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 hiding the arise from my hubby was difficult. My very 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 remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his better half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed 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, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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