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Three months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, horrible and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand 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 understands where the addiction will lead, however does not desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The dangers surpassed the consequences because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a challenging and long one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my easy, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular 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, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 whirl. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought about myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but 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 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, however hiding the arise from my other half was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may 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 introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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