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3 months back, 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 lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty. 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 easily 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 dirty, revolting and unclean . In dream, I desired everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. The risks outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her other half 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 stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my basic, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 give it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with 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 clothes a great offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have constantly considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to 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 included 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 hiding the arise from my husband was impossible. My very 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 diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in fear of his partner unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born if I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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