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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, dirty and horrible . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise 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 doesn't want help. The dangers surpassed the repercussions because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby 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 godawful. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. 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 the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 try. I almost broke my back in the effort, 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, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became 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 best female kind. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in worry of his wife cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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