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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I freely admit 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 dirty, disgusting and filthy . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote 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 dependency will lead, however doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The dangers outweighed the consequences because the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In mixed company, 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 stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. 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 about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. 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, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge guy, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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