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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. 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 admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, horrible and dirty . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. The dangers surpassed the effects since the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered 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 atrocious. In blended business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, relatively clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly 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 house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a fantastic deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I used just short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, 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 stunning to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering before 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise 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 marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in fear of his other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big man, a male 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 may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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