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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife 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 would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, disgusting and filthy . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. The risks outweighed the consequences since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny men, 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 offer it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

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 looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. 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 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 best female type. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in worry of his partner cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but 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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