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Three months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and horrible .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but 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, but does not want aid. The threats outweighed the effects because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise 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 disturbing and her language godawful. In blended business, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply thinking aloud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. 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 house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before 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 aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my spouse was difficult. My 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 simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in fear 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 snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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