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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, revolting and unclean . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I could not help that. The dangers surpassed the repercussions because the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny 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 bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed 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 understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply thinking aloud, and I thought she was a really ill lady. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my basic, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began 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 found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have actually always thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs wide 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise 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 attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in worry of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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