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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, revolting and unclean . In dream, I desired everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. The threats outweighed the effects since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a challenging and long one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would state. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of randy guys, 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 bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my easy, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothes a excellent offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in fear 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 snoop 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 evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require 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 good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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