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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never 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 slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and disgusting . In fantasy, 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 was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire assistance. The dangers surpassed the effects because the sex was that good. I love 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 actually been a tough and long one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I found especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, relatively clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering 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 scented 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, but concealing the result from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop 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 favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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