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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker and mom of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, revolting and unclean . In dream, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. The risks exceeded the consequences since the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In blended company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a really sick woman. 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 tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a terrific deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering 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 began with a fragrant douche and involved 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 spouse 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 cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of male that lives in worry of his other half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. 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 thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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