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3 months back, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, revolting and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not desire help. The threats exceeded the consequences because the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her other half is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely thinking out loud, and I thought she was a really ill lady. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my easy, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing 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 started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. 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 provide it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a terrific deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation 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 hiding the result from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in fear of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo 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 great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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