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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty. 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 admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, horrible and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The threats surpassed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny males, 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 bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a really ill woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. She told 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 provide it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothes a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used only short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in fear of his spouse unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but 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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