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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the brand-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 was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The threats exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt 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 knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 offer it a try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

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 shopped for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially 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 vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented 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, however concealing 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 marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in worry of his spouse unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, 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, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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