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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 housewife 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 whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, revolting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however 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 doesn't want aid. The threats exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had 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 working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In combined business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just thinking out loud, and I thought she was a really sick lady. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 practically broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a excellent deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have constantly considered myself as being too short, 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 lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable 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 began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't 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 learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but 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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