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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, horrible and dirty .
In dream, I desired everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but 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, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The threats surpassed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a really sick woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my easy, fairly clean 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 utilizing a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have always thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide 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 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, however concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in worry 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 won't snoop 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 wish you had never ever been born if I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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