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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 dullness 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 want my sex down and unclean, horrible and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market 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 addiction will lead, however doesn't want assistance. The dangers outweighed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her other half 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 stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet 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 with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a extremely sick lady. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my easy, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 offer it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, specifically 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 vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and included 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 arise from my partner was impossible. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in fear of his wife cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way 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. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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