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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- 2 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 homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, horrible and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the 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 understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that great, the threats surpassed the consequences. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a very sick female. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my easy, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday 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 concept in my head.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have actually always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 began with a scented douche and involved 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 result from my hubby 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 remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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