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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across 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 of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, disgusting and dirty . 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 understands where the addiction will lead, however does not want assistance. The dangers outweighed the effects because the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. 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 about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured 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, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage 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, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in worry of his spouse unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had never ever been born if I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through 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 great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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