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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife 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 addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and horrible . In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that great, the threats exceeded the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly 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, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 almost broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his wife unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a big male, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good 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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