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Three months back, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess 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, revolting and dirty . In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The dangers exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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 always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pressing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month 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 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 nearly broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering 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 began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, 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, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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