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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and horrible . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however 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, however does not want help. The threats surpassed the consequences since the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a very ill female. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. 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 provide it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually always thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 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 hiding the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his spouse unfaithful on him. I won't 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 want you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge male, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, 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, but 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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