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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never 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 slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, horrible and unclean .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that good, the dangers outweighed the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and difficult one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a very sick lady. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. 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, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing 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 manager. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly 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 vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My 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 tip. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in fear of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge male, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever 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 excellent laugh at 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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