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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, revolting and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the 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 knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want aid. The risks outweighed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and tough one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a authorities investigator, 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 tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, 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 always about someone she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a really ill lady. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my basic, fairly clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily 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 idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have actually always considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs large 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my other half was difficult. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his wife unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover 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 actually never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, but 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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