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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, unclean and revolting . In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not help that. The threats exceeded the effects because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just thinking out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 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 spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have always thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation 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 hiding the result from my partner was impossible. My 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 remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in fear of his partner 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 want you had never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought 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 great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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