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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. 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 freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The threats exceeded the consequences since the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 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 cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a really ill lady. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my simple, relatively clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily 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.

Many 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 went shopping for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just 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 beautiful to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My very 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 idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in fear of his better half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite 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 could only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but 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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