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Three months back, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. 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. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker 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 whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Since the sex was that great, the risks surpassed the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a hard and long one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. 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 dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In blended business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my easy, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular 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, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. 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 try. I almost broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the extreme, especially 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 vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my partner was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted 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 tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in fear of his other half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop 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 catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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