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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as 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 confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, unclean and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that great, the risks exceeded the effects. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her specialist manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my easy, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head as well. 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 nearly broke my back in the effort, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a excellent offer, with Staci making the choices 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 perfect female form. I have actually always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered 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 mere suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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