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3 months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, revolting and filthy . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the brand-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 was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Since the sex was that good, the dangers outweighed the repercussions. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my basic, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter'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 continuously. We shopped for clothing a fantastic offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have always considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my other half was difficult. 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 keep in mind being incensed at the mere tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in fear of his other half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may 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 released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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