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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker 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 whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, unclean and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however 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, however doesn't desire assistance. The risks surpassed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her spouse is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with 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 constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a extremely sick lady. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my 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 your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 provide it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have constantly 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 stunning to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before 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 began with a aromatic 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, but hiding the result from my spouse was impossible. My very 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 simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover 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. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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