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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, horrible and filthy .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody 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 addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The risks outweighed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, however nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a cops detective, 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 chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In combined business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 to Staci. I seemed 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 just fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a extremely ill woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out replacing 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 day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being 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 type. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy 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 started with a aromatic 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, but concealing the arise from my husband 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 warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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