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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout 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 admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and horrible .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand 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 resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not assist that. Since the sex was that great, the risks outweighed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half 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 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 atrocious. In combined company, 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 shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my basic, relatively clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
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, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted 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 just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have always thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version 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 arise from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in fear of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth 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 evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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