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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across 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 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 unclean, revolting and dirty . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, however 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, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers outweighed the effects because the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just thinking aloud, and I believed she was a extremely sick female. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pushing my easy, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a fantastic deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and involved 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 concealing the arise from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that resides in worry of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never ever been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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