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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker 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 whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and disgusting . In dream, I wanted everyone 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 resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not assist that. Since the sex was that excellent, the risks surpassed the repercussions. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my simple, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured 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, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head as well. 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 practically broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in worry of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can come and go 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 actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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