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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess 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 unclean, filthy and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everybody 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 resembled the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that good, the dangers outweighed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and tough one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however 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 kids, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. 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 knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. She told 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 give it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My very 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way 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.. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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