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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout 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 confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The risks surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In blended company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs 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 to Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. 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, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 provide 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 makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing 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 supervisor. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my spouse was difficult. My very 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 recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives 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 will not sleuth or ask questions. 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 catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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