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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. 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 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, disgusting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire aid. The threats exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In combined business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular 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 concept in my head also. 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 give it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy 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 fragrant 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 concealing the arise from my spouse 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 remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in fear of his partner cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge guy, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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