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Three 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 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 easily confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, unclean and disgusting . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 does not want help. The risks outweighed the consequences since the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her specialist manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

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 daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs 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 with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant 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, however concealing the result from my husband 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 cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in fear of his better half cheating on him. I won't 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 discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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