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3 months back, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 housewife 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 slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, disgusting and unclean . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want assistance. The threats exceeded the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband 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 tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely thinking aloud, and I thought she was a very sick lady. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday 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 idea 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a basic 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 cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a excellent deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. 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 in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in fear of his wife 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 concerns. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through 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 laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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