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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, 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 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 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 of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, unclean and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however 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 does not desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that excellent, the threats outweighed the effects. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a cops investigator, 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 likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my easy, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular 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 your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. 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 attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Most 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 constantly. We shopped for clothes a great offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before 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 started with a aromatic douche and included 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 hiding the arise 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 alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in worry of his partner cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but 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 imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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