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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 young 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 across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess 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, horrible and unclean . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise 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, but doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that great, the threats exceeded the repercussions. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and tough one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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 with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 offer it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Most 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 constantly. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore only short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered 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 recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his spouse unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of 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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