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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, filthy and disgusting . In dream, I desired everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that excellent, the risks outweighed the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of horny men, 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 to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just thinking aloud, and I believed she was a very sick woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started 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 learned 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 give it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic 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, but concealing the arise from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted 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 mere tip. 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 will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish 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, 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 woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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