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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty.
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 confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, revolting and unclean .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the 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 was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The dangers outweighed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, 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 someone she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a terrific offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my spouse was difficult. 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 simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in worry of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through 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, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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