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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, horrible and dirty . In dream, I desired everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The risks outweighed the consequences because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, females having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of randy males, 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 brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. 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 almost broke my back in the effort, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent 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 clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my spouse 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 cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever 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 precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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