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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 boys, 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 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 admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, dirty and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I could not help that. The risks outweighed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my easy, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 provide it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have actually always thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs broad 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 involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my other half was impossible. 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 simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that resides in fear of his partner 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 concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never ever been born if I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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