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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker 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 most likely 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, disgusting and dirty . In dream, I desired everyone 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. The threats outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her other half 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 shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. 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 constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month 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 home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothes a great offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have always thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version 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, but concealing the arise from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in worry of his wife 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 concerns. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you want you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act. That was it. I merely 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 threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought 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 good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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