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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two 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 most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom 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 desire my sex down and filthy, unclean and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but 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 doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. Because the sex was that great, the dangers outweighed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in worry of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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