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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, revolting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know 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 resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not assist that. Because the sex was that good, the threats exceeded the consequences. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations 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. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. 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 always about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my basic, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included 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, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. 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 offer it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through 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 great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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