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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit 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, dirty and horrible .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-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 dependency will lead, but does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The dangers surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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 had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a very sick woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started 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 found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. 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 form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't 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 want you had never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may force 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 start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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