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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, horrible and dirty .
In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The risks surpassed the repercussions because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. 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 cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. 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, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 offer it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a great offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented 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 arise from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned 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 kind of man that resides in fear of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth 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 proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely 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 woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a big male, 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 ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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